Read Do You Want to Know a Secret? Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
Do You Want to Know a Secret? (35 page)
Since her conversation with Range Bullock, Eliza had been debating with herself. Never in her career had she felt so torn. She agreed with Range that the individual’s right to privacy was essential. Yet news was news. If you defined news as information that people had an interest in, the Kendall-Wingard story would certainly qualify. But if news was knowledge that people needed because it was important to their lives, Eliza wasn’t sure that the affair would fit the bill. On the one hand, she felt that Range might be letting his friendship with Bill Kendall color his decision and, on the other hand, she herself knew what it was like to have one’s private life splashed across the headlines.
She wondered if watching Joy over the next twelve hours would help her decide how to proceed. But afraid to leave a decision of this importance to herself alone, she had scheduled a ten o’clock appointment with Yelena Gregory.
Eliza planned to devote the day to Joy and the piece that Range wanted on the candidate’s wife as the AIDS fundraiser. After her meeting with Yelena, Eliza would look on as the end of the public service announcements was taped and then travel with the pool press assigned to the candidate’s wife’s trip to Newark.
Taking a last gulp of coffee, she tilted her face upward for Lucille’s makeup application and listened to the makeup artist nag her about drinking more water. Eliza silently cursed the financial cutbacks at KEY. She wanted her own
KEY News
crew to accompany her as she followed Joy but, to save money, the networks increasingly depended on designated pool camera crews to cover campaign events. One cameraman’s tape would be dubbed or fed to the other networks. Consequently, in a situation like today’s, the available pictures of Joy Wingard would be the same for CBS, NBC, ABC and KEY. The reporter’s script and the soundbites selected became the unique elements of the news piece.
Eliza preferred to have her own crew. Inevitably, there would be some opportunity to get that extra video impression that would distinguish a story visually. A good crew would recognize and seize those special images. A mediocre crew could at least be directed to record a moment that she wanted captured. If you didn’t have a crew of your own, you had to depend on the pool crew’s getting it. Their job was to get the basics for everybody. They weren’t interested in special instructions from individual correspondents or producers.
A nattily dressed Harry Granger loped toward her, coffee cup in hand,
New York Times
tucked under his arm. He carefully lowered himself into the chair next to Eliza’s. His skin was unusually pale and he looked tired.
“Your tie looks great, but you sure don’t.”
“Thanks, I like you, too.”
Eliza laughed. “I’m sorry, Harry, but you don’t look too good. Aren’t you feeling any better?”
“My voice is back, but I must admit I’ve felt peppier in my day.”
“Don’t say that too loud, my friend. TV is a young man’s game, you know. They’ll start looking for your replacement.” Eliza’s eyes twinkled.
Harry smiled wryly. “Good, I was feeling guilty about the favor I was about to ask, but now I don’t.”
“Why do I have a hunch I won’t like what’s coming?”
“Actually this makes some sense, seeing as you are doing a story on her. Would you do me a big favor and do the Joy Wingard interview this morning? I’ll owe you one.”
Eliza looked hard into Harry’s face. “You must really feel lousy. You never give up your air time. Sure, I’ll do it.”
Harry brightened and looked relieved. “Hoping you’d say that, I took the liberty of bringing the research packet with me.” He unfolded his newspaper revealing a manila folder resting inside. He handed the folder to Eliza.
She opened it and began to peruse the newspaper and magazine articles inside, recognizing most of them as ones she had already read. She preferred not to do this interview, but she said yes because she wanted to come through for Harry. Now that she was committed to asking Joy Wingard questions, she might as well make her questions count.
“Wake up, Janie
. Time to get up, my little faerie.”
The big blue eyes opened slowly and sleepily. Mrs. Twomey leaned over and kissed the top of Janie’s head, gently patting the back of the quilt-covered child.
“Come now, love. I’ve made your favorite french toast this morning. Come now, while it’s still hot.”
Janie sat up quickly and Mrs. Twomey guided her feet into fluffy bunny slippers. The pair made a quick stop in the bathroom and were just arriving in the kitchen when the phone rang.
“Hi, Mrs. Twomey. It’s me. Everything okay?”
“Sure it is, Mrs. Blake. Janie’s just after getting up and she’s about to eat her breakfast. Do you want to talk to her?”
“No, don’t interrupt her. It’s you I really wanted to talk to, Mrs. Twomey. I’ve left my notebook home and I need it today. I’m sending a courier over to pick it up.”
“Where is it?”
“In my bedroom, on the night table. Please get a yellow legal envelope from my desk in the den and put the notebook in it, seal it and mark my name on the outside of the envelope. You can leave it with the doorman, or if it’s easier for you, just have the doorman instruct the courier to come up.”
“Fine, Mrs. Blake. I’ll see to it right away.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Twomey. Don’t forget, I’m going to Newark this afternoon and I’ll be getting home later than usual. Take good care of my sweetheart.”
While Janie concentrated on her syrupy french toast, Mrs. Twomey went to Eliza’s room, finding the notebook just where it was supposed to be. Idly flipping through it, she recognized many of the names that were so much in the news these days. Mrs. Blake had such an important job and Mrs. Twomey was proud to work for her. Imagine talking with movie stars and presidential candidates just like they were regular people!
As the housekeeper went to the den to get an envelope, she came to a page headed
Bill Kendall
. Listed underneath was the name Joy Wingard and, in parentheses, the word affair.” Beneath that was the name Leo Karas next to which there were more parentheses around the word “psychiatrist.’ There was another notation, “DQ,” with a question mark.
The intercom buzzed. Mrs. Twomey guiltily snapped the notebook shut and went to the box next to the front door.
“Send the courier up, please.”
Quickly sliding the notebook into the envelope and marking the front
Eliza Blake, KEY News
, she wondered at the thought of Bill Kendall being mixed up with the presidential candidate’s wife. How the ladies at the Irish-American Club would love that piece of gossip! But she wouldn’t say anything. Having the momentary importance of being able to tell that news wasn’t worth risking the long-term prestige of working for Eliza Blake.
Handing the envelope to the courier, she locked the front door and made her way back to Janie. She sat down on a kitchen chair and rubbed her swollen ankles.
“Good, my little faerie! You’ve eaten your breakfast all up!”
It was front
page news in the
Star Ledger
that Joy Wingard was going to be in town that day. Father Alec noted with interest that she was touring AIDS facilities. How ironic, but how opportune.
He had the day to himself, the first time off in over three weeks. Every day and night were filled with cathedral duties and archdiocesan meetings. He knew that business was important, but he worried that he was spending more time on the mechanics of the Church than on its mission. He wanted more direct connection with people who needed help.
He never forgot that he had taken a vow of obedience. He intended to honor that sacred promise. He carried out the assignments he was given capably and diligently. His superiors were pleased. Maybe too pleased. He kept getting more and more administrative jobs.
Studying the picture of the beautiful woman on the front page, Father Alec turned his attention from thoughts about his ecclesiastical career to something else that had been bothering him. Joy Wingard. Did she know that Bill Kendall had had AIDS?
Father Alec hadn’t been sleeping well at all over the last several weeks, tossing and turning and having strange, disturbing dreams. He knew what he was grappling with. His conscience was bothering him. He felt that he was bound to stay out of it, with Bill’s confidentiality at stake. Yet if Joy was HIV-positive, she should know it. Early medical treatment might make a difference. Not to mention the possibility of spreading the infection. Experts said it was seven times less likely for a woman to transmit the virus to a man than vice versa, but it did happen. Haines Wingard could be the next president of the United States. The priest closed his eyes, not wanting to contemplate the consequences.
He had briefly toyed with the idea of writing to her anonymously and suggesting that she get tested. But he decided that was the coward’s way out. It also occurred to him that even letters marked Personal and Confidential might first be opened by the Secret Service. She might never get to see the letter.
Was God providing this opportunity? It would be easy for Father Alec to show up at St. Michael’s this afternoon. A priest at a Catholic hospital would go virtually unnoticed. Perhaps he could pull her aside and talk to her. He was increasingly sure that he had no other choice. She had to know that she was at risk. It would be wrong not to tell her. He hoped that God and Bill Kendall understood. After all, he rationalized, Bill hadn’t talked about Joy under the seal of confession. Even though the anointing he gave Bill carried with it a forgiveness of sins, Bill had never actually gone to confession to him.
His mind made up, Father Alec didn’t quite know how he was going to talk to Joy Wingard, but something inside him made him confident that he would be able to complete his mission.