Do You Want to Know a Secret? (18 page)

“Good piece on
suicide this morning, Eliza.”

The day after the funeral, Eliza was summoned to the Fishbowl. Range Bullock sat behind his cluttered desk. Eliza noted that the producer looked beat. The lines around his eyes were deeper, the skin was paler against his red hair.

Range got right to the point.

“Eliza, the decision’s been made that you will take over Bill’s Presidential Personality Profiles assignment. As you know, these longer pieces are time intensive. I think it would be too much to expect Pete to work on the Triple Ps as he is getting used to the anchor job. At the morning meeting, I made my case for handing the reins over to you. The Front Row gave its stamp of approval.”

Eliza’s heart pounded. This was especially gratifying after the
Mole
mess! Maybe Mack was right. People weren’t paying any attention. She anticipated the executive producer’s next words.

“So you’ll be a regular contributor on the
KEY Evening Headlines
. . . at least through to the election. Your star is on the rise, Eliza. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have you with us!”

“Range, thank you, thank you very much. It’s a terrific assignment and I promise I’ll give it my best shot. I only wish that what’s led up to it hadn’t happened.”

“Me, too. But don’t let Bill’s death diminish your satisfaction. Bill would be happy for you.”

Eliza smiled. Range’s words rang true.

Bill’s takeout pieces got four to five minutes each week. The exposure would be wonderful. Pete Carlson was not going to like this.

Range was going on. “Your first Triple P will be on Haines Wingard. He’ll be a good way to break in since most of the shooting can be done right here in town as he campaigns here next week. With all the shooting here, there shouldn’t be any conflict with your
KEY to America
duties. Of course, the future stories will require that you travel, but the field producers will do most of the legwork and advance shooting before you get there. So what I’m telling you is, this assignment does not mean that your
America
work is lessened. We’re expecting you to do it all.”

Eliza smiled. “I get it. I get it.” All the hard work would be worth it. It occurred to her immediately that, unfortunately, it would mean more time away from Janie. Part of her believed that it was good for Janie to see a mother who was accomplished and self-sufficient. Another part prayed that the child wouldn’t be hurt by her absences.

Range was continuing. “Wingard is planning to spend a lot of time and money here. New York has so much to offer peoplewise, issuewise and videowise, you’ll be sure to get a good story. Let me put it to you this way—if you don’t come up with a winner, you’re going to look like crap.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Range.”

Bullock cracked a weak smile. “Eliza, level with me. Are you sure that you’re up to this? We all have been under a lot of pressure with Bill’s death. You’ve had the extra pounding of that
Mole
article.”

“Surely, Range, you don’t believe everything you read in the papers.” Eliza tried to joke but it sounded hollow to her ears. “I don’t know,” she continued. “Do you think I should clear it up?”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“I’m not quite sure,” Eliza mused out loud. “Maybe I should talk about it right on the show in the morning. Air the whole thing out.”

Range shook his head. “Eliza, I think you’re making too much of this. Let’s ride it out for a while and see how it goes.” He peered over his bifocals. “But promise me, if it gets to be too much, you’ll let me know.”

“I promise.”

Range nodded. “Go see Jean. She’ll give you Bill’s political notes. As usual, Bill’s work was well researched. God, that guy did his homework. True pro. Never lay back and let it come to him. As big as he got, he never let anyone down as far as I could see. He kept his edge.” The corners of Range’s mouth turned down. Eliza read the melancholy in his eyes.

“I appreciate this, Range.”

“Go do what you have to do.” Abruptly, he swiveled around to his computer terminal.

Eliza wasted no time in getting to Jean and explaining what she was after.

“Life sure does go on around here, doesn’t it?” The secretary shook her head. Opening her desk drawer, she pulled out a gray diskette. “Range told me to expect you. I’ve been downloading Bill’s files for you. This has the ones regarding the campaign.”

Jean slowly rubbed the diskette, then handed it to Eliza. “I hope this has everything you need.”

Eliza reached out and touched the secretary’s arm. “I’m so sorry about everything, Jean. If there is anything I can do for you, will you please let me know?”

Jean nodded, unable to speak and busied herself with the papers on her desk. She didn’t like Pete Carlson taking Bill’s anchor chair and she didn’t like Eliza Blake taking Bill’s confidential notes. It was an invasion of his privacy, leaving his personal thoughts and observations exposed for Eliza to read and interpret. Bill made those notes for his own use, not Eliza’s. He had talked of writing a book someday. His story.

But there were those other files on Bill’s computer, files Jean couldn’t access. They were password-protected. She felt somewhat miffed that Bill hadn’t entrusted his secret password to her.

The secretary watched resentfully as Eliza left the office. Jean didn’t like the new order of things around
KEY News
. Her king was dead.

Chapter 34

If only they
were all that easy. Father Alec smiled at the elderly couple who had stopped him to ask about the history of the west rose window. It was easy to recite facts, pure and simple.

The deep shades of the window were shown to their best advantage in the last afternoon light. The window was called “The Coming of Christ,” and it was thirty-two feet in diameter. It always reminded him of the kaleidoscope he used to play with as a kid. The kaleidoscope had given him hours of enjoyment, often becoming his focus as he tried to block out the sounds of his parents fighting about money again and again. He would go up to the room he shared with his older brother, sit on the floor in the corner and hold the kaleidoscope toward the glaring ceiling light fixture. Deep, rich colors and unfailing symmetry. Beauty and order. All was right with the world.

Twenty-five years later, the rose windows in the cathedral served for Father Alec the same function as that old five-and-ten-cent-store kaleidoscope. When he was troubled or discouraged, he could sit in the deep quiet of the cathedral and study the three rose windows. He had never admitted to anyone that sometimes, when prayer failed, his thirty-two-foot kaleidoscope could do the job of calming and soothing.

Beneath the massive west window there were smaller windows depicting the likenesses of seven saints. John Chrysostom, the preacher with the golden mouth who had ended up a martyr. Monica, the model of Christian motherhood. John Bosco, the founder of the Salesian order. Lawrence, a martyr. Anastasia, another martyr, and Agatha, whose excruciating destiny was to have both breasts lopped off. Agatha was also a martyr. The seventh saint was Nicholas, who died in ecstatic joy, but alas a pious thief had cut off dead Nicholas’s arms.

The distinguished white-haired man in his Burberry jacket and his carefully coifed wife listened politely as Father Alec recited what he knew about the windows. He sensed they wanted to ask him something.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know about the cathedral?”

The silver-haired woman cleared her throat nervously. “Were you here for Bill Kendall’s funeral yesterday?”

Before the priest could answer, the husband hurried on. “We’ve lived in New Jersey all our lives, in Ridgewood, just about twenty miles north of here. Until the Pope came, we had no idea this place existed. And then last night we saw the report on the funeral here. We’ve been watching
KEY News
for years . . . Bill Kendall was familiar, almost a friend. Heck, since the kids left, Margaret and I have watched him while having our cocktails just about every night. We just couldn’t believe what happened. Just goes to show you never know what is going on in someone’s life.”

“No, you never do,” the priest agreed.

“Now that Frank is retired, and we are always looking for things to do, I said to him this morning, ‘Why don’t we drive down and see the cathedral?’ And here we are.” Margaret paused and looked around the massive church, her mouth slightly opened. Father Alec noticed the good false teeth.

“Well, we’re glad to have you here. If there is anything I can help you with, please ask.”

The young priest made his way around the cavernous, empty chamber and stepped into the pew in front of the small altar at the side of the church. He knelt and bowed his head. If someone had been sitting behind him, they would have noticed his shoulders rise and fall as he heaved a large sigh. Father Alec was thinking about the day he had met Bill Kendall.

Less than two months ago. Sitting just about here, in front of the thirteenth station. The priest had noticed a man dressed in jeans and a navy ski jacket. The man stared up at the vaulted ceiling, an anguished look on his face.

Father Alec had seen many torn faces in his few short years as a priest. Anonymous faces. This time the face had a name and the priest knew it. As he approached the man sitting alone in the pew, Father Alec hoped that his presentation would be just as it always was when he reached out to someone in pain.

“Is everything all right?”

At first, Bill Kendall had just stared at him. Father Alec recognized the look. It said, Yes, I do want to talk, desperately. But the look also asked, Can I trust you?

Instinct told the priest not to say anything. Give the man time to size me up. It was uncanny how someone in pain could make gut decisions very quickly. Moments passed.

“Father, I have AIDS.”

Chapter 35

“That KEY News
crew is sticking to us like glue. I hope they don’t catch me blowing lunch.”

In two hours Haines Wingard had devoured fried chicken, yellow and white rice and fried bananas in the South Bronx, spaghetti with garlic and oil and a cannoli at Angelo’s in Little Italy, and a hot dog followed by a large kosher pickle at the legendary Katz’s Delicatessen. Now Senator Wingard and his campaign manager made their way by car over the Brooklyn Bridge.