Trump Tower (42 page)

Antonia gestured, “I wouldn't know.”

“Much,” Mrs. Essenbach said.

“Much,” Antonia nodded, reached for her coffee, picked it up, and toasted. “To your health.”

The woman picked up her coffee cup, too. “And to yours.”

C
yndi spent part of the day at T'ien.

When she was done there and in the car on her way back to Trump Tower, a text message arrived on her phone. “You will always be one of my life's great loves. Alas. George.”

Alas? She wondered, why alas?

The only Georges she thought she knew were George Timothy Daniels and George Masterson. But Daniels always signed his texts Timmy, and Masterson always signed his texts Bat, after the cowboy.

She hadn't seen Daniels for a year or so, although he texted every now and then to joke, “We'll always have the Lincoln Bedroom,” referring to the most famous sleepover spot in Washington, DC.

Except, they'd never been to the White House together. It stemmed from a chance meeting in Lincoln, Nebraska, when they found themselves at the same hotel. They were both doing publicity tours—him for a space shuttle flight, Cyndi for her “À Poil” cosmetics line—and every time they tried to sneak off together, one of the people traveling with them got in the way.

Come to think of it, she decided, she hadn't seen George Masterson in quite a while, either. Not since he'd bought the racing rights to the name Bugatti, had built himself a car he called the Bugatti Fangio Nero—named after the great Argentine driver, Juan Manuel Fangio—and had started competing in Formula One.

They'd known each other since Masterson's racing years with McLaren. He hardly ever texted, but every month a dozen long-stemmed roses arrived for her with the same note, “Always and forever. Bat.”

So if it isn't Timmy and it isn't Bat—
she reread the text for the umpteenth time—
who's George?

She didn't have a clue.

And the sender's number was hidden, so she couldn't even reply, “Please, give me one more chance.”

That made her laugh.

Back at Trump Tower, she walked into the lobby to find that Fabrice and his assistant Joelle were already there. She kissed them on the sides of their faces twice and motioned to them to follow her. They carried their two cases—with all their hairdressing equipment—to the elevator, where Miguel was waiting.

But before Cyndi got in, she said, “Hold on a sec,” and went to Belasco's office. He was sitting at his desk writing something.

“
Bonjour
,” she said.

He looked up, smiled broadly . . . “Miss Benson . . .” then stood up and walked to the door to shake her hand. “Are you well?”

“Confused,” she said.

“Confused?”

“Do you ever sign your texts George?”

“My texts?”

“Text messages. From your phone. Do you ever sign them George?”

“No.” He stared at her. “Now I'm confused.”

“Don't be.” She blew him a kiss. “
Au revoir
.”

She went back to Fabrice and Joelle in the elevator, grinned at Miguel, “
Vamanos, caballero
,” and went home to have her hair done.

A
young, dark-haired twenty-year-old woman in an NBC page uniform arrived at Alicia's desk in the newsroom. “Miss Melendez?”

Alicia looked up from her computer screen, then grinned. “Suzy?”

The young woman in the uniform nodded. “I wanted you to see what I look like.” She did a quick pirouette. “How cool is this? Suzy Timmins, NBC guest relations . . .” she curtsied . . . “at your service.”

“You look terrific.”

“My father and my mother and me . . .” She put a small, wrapped box down on Alicia's desk. “Thank you. I hope you like Godiva chocolates. My dad said everybody likes . . .”

“I love them,” Alicia held Suzy's hands. “That's very sweet of you. And I was delighted to help.”

“MTA is going to announce another fare hike,” Greg shouted from across the newsroom. “We'll go with the MTA right after Meagan live.”

Alicia waved at Greg, then said to Suzy, “Now that you're part of the family, if you want to stick around and see how we make magic . . .”

“I can't,” she said. “I have to go. But thank you. Really . . . to you and Mr. Haynes . . .”

“Mr. Haynes had absolutely nothing to do with it,” she assured Suzy. “I did it all on my own. And I'm not, repeat not, sharing my chocolates with him.”

Suzy giggled, then waved and walked away.

She'd hardly known Suzy's father, but when he dropped her a note and introduced himself as the night security supervisor at Trump Tower and asked for her help, Carson told her, “You never know when you might need a favor from him.”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . when I'm away and you need him to destroy the CCTV footage of you coming home with . . .”

She suggested, “Johnny Depp?”

“For example.”

She shook her head. “Forget it. That's CCTV footage I'm keeping.”

Her phone rang.

“Do him the favor, anyway,” Carson said.

And she did. She got his daughter an interview for a page job—they were very tough to get—then put in a good word for Suzy at Guest Relations. It worked, and Alicia was glad that it had.

Her phone rang again. “So if you're keeping the footage with Johnny Depp . . .”

“Sometimes a girl wants to brag.”

“Why him?”

“You said you were away.”

“I think I'll stop traveling.” He nodded, then announced, “Cameron Diaz.”

“You?” She looked at him, “You manage that and, trust me, I'll let you keep the tape.”

Her phone rang again.

“Alicia,” she said grabbing it.

“Alishe . . . Sandy at
Nightly
. You got a minute?”

“Sure.”

“Come on down.”

As soon as she walked into the newsroom there, Sandy Bridgeman spotted her, came over to greet her, took her hand, and pulled her off to the side of the big newsroom where they could talk privately.

“We need a favor,” he said, towering over her. “Bill.”

“Bill?”

“We've been given the go for a camera on the roof of the museum tonight.”

“Oh . . . that Bill.”

“Yeah . . . that Bill. We've got a producer, everything's ready, and Bill's agreed. We need you to do ten to twelve minutes with him for a package tomorrow night.”

Wow, she thought, a piece on
Nightly
. “What about Brian?” She looked around and spotted him on the other side of the newsroom in a meeting. “He's going.”

Sandy paused. “Yeah . . . well . . . Brian's going as a paid guest and, you know, his neutrality thing. He felt there was a conflict . . . paying his way in and getting the interview . . .”

“I'm paying my way in.”

“It's different.”

She wanted to know, “How?”

“Because he's the
Nightly
anchor and you're not.”

She gave him a nasty look.

Picking up on that, Sandy added the word, “Yet.”

She smiled. “If he's conflicted, then I'm conflicted.”

“You've been given Papal dispensation. I've already spoken to Steve,” he said, referring to the president of NBC News. “He adores you, so he's okay with it. Brian adores you, so he's also okay with it. And I love you unabashedly, so I'm okay with it.”

Alicia took a deep breath. “I don't know.”

“What don't you know? Alishe, this is an exclusive one-on-one with the former president of the United States talking to you on network television about his work for Haiti.”

“I'd love to do it but . . .” She confessed . . . “I already told Greg Mandel I wouldn't.”

“So? Tell him you will.”

“It's not that easy. I am conflicted. I'm a paying guest at the party. Anyway, we've got a young reporter named Meagan O'Donnell on the steps tonight in
front of the museum. We're leading with her at six, then coming back to her with a tape insert at the bottom of the show. She's looking to get Clinton, and anyone else.”

He stared at Alicia for a very long time. “We're talking about a package on
Nightly
. . .”

“I know but . . . it's a conflict exactly like Brian's.”

“It's not the same thing.”

“It is . . . except, maybe, a little different.”

He took a deep breath, then said, “Hold on,” and left her there to go across the newsroom to speak with Brian Williams.

The two men talked for a couple of minutes before Sandy came back smiling. “Alishe . . . Brian says, good for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Alicia looked at Brian, and he gave her a thumbs up.

She smiled and waved.

“But he wants me to call Greg Mandel and strike a deal. We'll offer him two minutes of your interview for his eleven o'clock. But he'll have to trailer us. You know, something like, see the full interview tomorrow night on
NBC Nightly
. We can work that out.”

She looked at Sandy. “Now Carson will kill me.”

“Why?”

“Because it's a party, and I'm not supposed to be working.”

“If he does,” Sandy promised, “we'll lead with the murder tomorrow on
Nightly
, then headline the package as your final interview. Should be great for the ratings.”

N
EWS
F
OUR
N
EW
Y
ORK
opened with Alicia going to a live feed from Fifth Avenue, where Meagan was standing on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum. The two women talked about the evening. That done, Meagan fed back to Alicia, who promised they'd return to Meagan at the museum at the end of the broadcast.

From there, Alicia went straight into the MTA fare hike story.

She followed that with the package on a new redevelopment plan for Coney Island, and then a live feed from the site of the arson in Staten Island.

Three more local stories came up before she went to the weather and then to sports.

Alicia was about to go into a package on broken windows in New York City schools, when Greg called into her earpiece from the booth that they needed extra time with Meagan at the museum. So the broken windows story got pulled, and Alicia went back to Meagan.

From the steps of the museum, Meagan did a quick “on the red carpet” with Jay-Z—he reminded viewers how important it was that they all send money to the Clinton Haiti fund—got a hello from Donald and Melania Trump, another hello from Jon Stewart, a fast fifteen seconds with Nina Danielle Sklar, then went into a taped forty-five seconds with the Haitian singer and political activist Wyclef Jean.

After that, it was back to Meagan, live again, now holding onto the great old character actor Harry Lustig, who was there with his wife, the actress Dorothy Dall, their son Greg—he was just about to open on Broadway in a revival of
Pajama Game
—and Greg's wife, the singer-songwriter Christine Spane.

“New Yorkers love Haiti,” Harry said in his characteristic Brooklyn growl.

“Christine is from Allentown, Pennsylvania,” Greg reminded his dad.

“Don't argue with your father,” Dorothy warned her son.

“I'm not arguing,” Greg insisted.

“Stop arguing,” Christine said.

Then the four of them chimed in, together to camera, “New Yorkers love Haiti, and so does everyone from Allentown.”

Meagan, who had obviously arranged this, was grinning from ear to ear. “More from here at eleven. Now back to you, Alicia.”

“Thank you, Meagan, and thanks to the Lustig quartet,” she said. “
NBC Nightly News
with Brian Williams is next. From all of us here at
News Four New York
, good night.”

She smiled at the camera, then looked down at her script on the desk.

Over the studio speaker she heard Michael Douglas' introduction to
Nightly
, and then heard Brian say, “On our broadcast tonight . . .”

The floor manager called to Alicia, “We're clear.”

She got up, said, “Thanks, everybody,” and raced to the makeup room to change into her clothes.

When she was dressed, Agnes the makeup woman touched up her eye shadow and gave her a quick comb out.

Alicia grabbed the box of chocolates that Suzy had brought her, threw her day clothes into her carryall, and hurried out of the building.