Do You Want to Know a Secret? (19 page)

“Look, boss, you know the drill as well as I do. Campaigning in New York City requires ethnically and demographically balanced photo ops. Eating the local chow goes with the territory. As for the TV crew, I want them to catch you smacking your lips over every spicy mouthful. I hear KEY is working on a big piece featuring you, scheduled to run the day after the primary. We want you to look good.”

“Who’s doing the story?”

“Eliza Blake.”

New York . . . the city of contrasts. Only forty blocks separated the nation’s poorest (South Bronx) and the wealthiest (Upper East Side) congressional districts. New Yorkers themselves took pride in being a tough audience. They had opinions on everything, which they didn’t hesitate to express. Often, those opinions were expressed right to the candidate’s face at various campaign rallies and appearances. Candidates had to stay on their toes.

So, as the Wingard entourage made its way that balmy May afternoon toward McKinley Junior High School in the heavily ethnic middle-class section of Brooklyn known as Bay Ridge, the candidate and his manager were on their guard even more than usual. New York was a very complicated playing field of ethnic, racial and political considerations. The two men wanted to finesse the game.

“How you handle New York will be viewed as how well you’ll handle the country. You know, like the song says, ‘If you can make it there . . .’ If you bomb here it will be tough to get over.”

Winning the primary had been only the first step.

Win unsuccessfully suppressed a burp. “Okay, let’s go over this next stop quickly.”

“Drugs—Q and A with junior high school students. It’s been done and done and done. I know. Yet I’ll bet you it makes all the New York local stations and at least two of the network shows tonight.”

Heller lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and exhaled out the half-opened window before continuing.

“Remember, Win, keep it general. If you have to refer to a specific drug, use crack as the example. Crack scares parents the most and, after all, they are the ones who will be doing the voting for the hero who is going to make the nightmare go away. If some kid asks you about booze, speak about how troubled you are by the increase in teenage drinking. Then get off the subject. Liquor is not illegal and most of the mommies and daddies want it to stay that way.”

Win smiled, listening as he checked his teeth in the mirror fastened to the headrest in front of him.

“Keep your answers short. The TV people are all looking for soundbites. So respond in statements of about ten or fifteen seconds that sum it all up. And be prepared to fill in if there are any lulls in the questioning by the kids. Here are some questions you can turn around and ask the students if they run out of questions to ask you.”

Nate handed Win several index cards. The candidate perused them. How many kids do you know who use drugs? Does anyone know anyone who was killed by drug use? What suggestions do any of you have on what to do about drugs? Senator Wingard slipped the cards into his jacket pocket.

“I know it by heart, but let’s go over it again. I favor drug education starting in kindergarten, an end to foreign aid for governments that refuse to cooperate in attempts to stop drug smuggling, and I’d increase support to the DEA, coast guard and customs service. Do I or do I not favor immediate treatment for any addict seeking it?”

“You do. Yes, it’s extremely costly and the federal government is in tough economic shape. But you believe that these people need help.”

The senator smiled. “Thanks for clarifying for me what I believe.”

“Don’t mention it,” returned Nate as he flipped his half-smoked cigarette out the window.

“I’m also against pollution, aren’t I? When are you going to give those things up?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t worry about me. I’ll stop after you’re in the White House.”

The car pulled up in front of McKinley Junior High. Officials and school personnel were standing in front, waiting to greet the candidate. Wingard turned to Heller. “Thank God we’ve got Pete Carlson on our side.”

“It
is
helpful, isn’t it?” smirked Heller. “It’s so nice to have our own highly placed source in the
KEY News
ranks. That Yelena Gregory keeps blabbing all sorts of interesting tidbits to Pete. But I’ll tell you one thing, boss. We’re going to have to provide for Pete after we win, he says. He’s making himself sick by sleeping with her. He doesn’t know how much more he can take.” Nate chuckled.

“Remember, think soundbites,” hissed Nate as a beaming Senator Wingard stepped out of the car and extended his hands toward the well-wishers milling on the sidewalk.

Chapter 36

His face almost
purple with rage, Pete Carlson burst into Yelena Gregory’s office.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “I should be doing the Presidential Personality Profiles. Not Eliza Blake!”

Yelena rose from her desk. “I’ve been expecting you,” she said quietly, as she walked to the office door. “Hold my calls,” she said to the uncomfortable receptionist stationed outside the office. Closing the door softly, she hissed at him, “Don’t ever do that again!”

It was not the reaction Pete had expected from her. He began to sputter, but Yelena held up her hand to stop him.

“Don’t even start with me. I go to bat for you as much as I can, but there are negative vibes about you around this place, Pete. I didn’t make them,
you
did.”

“But this is such an insult! Bill always did the Triple Ps, along with his anchor duties,” he implored.

Yelena was unmoved. “Why don’t you just act like you go along with the official explanation? That it’s too much to ask you to do the presidential candidate takeouts while you’re getting used to anchoring.”

“But everyone knows that I should be able to fit both in. Bill did it. Now Eliza’s doing it, combining her morning anchoring with the responsibility of working on the Triple Ps.”

Yelena took a sip of her herbal tea while she contemplated his words. Pete was right. He should be able to handle both jobs. But Range had been adamant at the morning meeting. He wanted Eliza Blake reporting on the
Evening Headlines
. Yelena could have overruled him, but she didn’t. She, too, felt that the
Evening Headlines
would benefit from Eliza’s input.

Pete took Yelena’s silence as an indictment. “So, you don’t think I can
handle
it, do you?”

“That’s not what I said, dear.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He quickly turned to leave, but Yelena held out a hand to stop him. “Pete, please, wait.”

As an executive she was unmoved by Pete’s rantings. But as a woman she didn’t want to lose the man who made her feel desirable for the first time in her life.

Pete read Yelena’s ambivalent expression.

I guess I’ll just have to sleep with her more, he thought. And get more dirt on Eliza Blake while I’m at it.

Chapter 37

“You made it
, thank God. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold this seat.”

Eliza slid into the metal and plastic chair next to Mary Cate Ryan.

“Thanks, M.C. I appreciate it. What’s the deal? This wasn’t on the schedule yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know. The assignment desk got a call from Wingard’s people after midnight. Apparently Wingard wants to make some AIDS-related point. Could be interesting. So far all any of the candidates have done is tsk, tsk and wear little red ribbons in their lapels.”

The din subsided as Nate Heller walked up to the podium in the Miracle House conference room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming, especially on such short notice. Senator Wingard will make a short statement after which he will take your questions.”

Mary Cate discreetly elbowed Eliza as Haines Wingard strode to his position at the front of the room. Without turning her head toward her partner, she muttered, “Hunk, big time.”

Eliza half smiled in response. She wasn’t sure what she thought of the candidate. Everything she had seen and read about him was so politically correct, so perfect. There hadn’t been anything that she had found in her research that she felt gave her any real insight into the man. No personal stories about how he had coped with a hardship or setback. Nothing so far that had given Eliza a gut feeling about the man himself. She hoped she’d be able to get something beyond the surface when she interviewed him.

“Members of the press, this is a condom.” Haines Wingard stood in his $1,300 navy pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit, held up a small blue square packet, opened it and displayed its contents. Cameras whirled and clicked and the audience twittered nervously.

Eliza leaned over to Mary Cate and whispered, “Guess who’s going to lead everyone’s show tonight.”

“Now that I have your attention, many of you have already guessed my reason for calling you here this morning. Acquired immune deficiency syndrome. AIDS. It’s spreading at an astounding rate in the United States and the rest of the world. Projections of worldwide AIDS cases at the start of the new millennium are estimated to be somewhere between 38 and 110 million.
Thirty-eight to 110 million!”

The audience was quiet.

“It’s not a waste of time to go over the basic facts. AIDS is caused by a virus. The human immunodeficiency virus—HIV. But unlike a cold virus or a flu virus, HIV doesn’t die after it has done its damage. HIV makes itself at home, combining its genetic material with the body’s cells. The HIV uses those cells to make copies of itself, our cells becoming tiny virus factories.”

Wingard looked around the room, his eyes daring anyone not to pay attention to what he was saying. He took a drink of water before continuing.

“HIV primarily attacks T cells, the critical part of the body’s immune system. Once T cells are destroyed, the body’s delicately balanced immune system is upset and can’t protect itself against disease. The result is an excruciatingly painful death.

“We’ve heard ad infinitum that the main methods of transmission are unprotected sex, shared needles or syringes and contaminated blood transfusions. Blood screening has been implemented to test for HIV. But there are a few other points worth noting.