Authors: Joseph Amiel
"It's been a horror," she replied. "But I'd have one thing less to worry about if you'd stand by the elevators and wait for Senator Chandler. Keep him occupied. He should be here in a few minutes. His wife will miss cocktails, but a limousine will bring her over as soon as the broadcast ends."
Greg had seen Chandler on television many times, but had never met him. Accustomed to politicians whose attractive media images masked their characters, Greg had preconceptions about what the man was like: several years older than Chris, so perhaps a bit paternal; a professional hand-shaker without much substance; when not cut down to five-second sound bites, long-winded and pompous. Greg did not expect to and certainly did not
want
to like him and to chance the guilt that might impose.
The man who stepped off the elevator turned out to be both likable and not pompous in the least. Greg asked about the prospects for of a media
bill
currently before the Senate and received a thoughtful answer. The man was not a sprightly conversationalist, Greg noted, a bit bland, a bit studied, but there was no mistaking how well-meaning he was.
Ken startled Greg with his next remark. "I just want you to know that I think you've handled my wife quite well."
"What?"
“I believe I have you to thank for her being so satisfied.”
"I'm afraid I don't—"
"Oh, that's right," Ken recalled, "she once mentioned that you two have done this sort of thing before."
Greg kept silent.
"The news program,” Ken explained, “it's very good. She was concerned the style might be too show-
businessey
, but it hasn't been, not at all. We're both very pleased."
Greg limited his reply to a nod of thanks and the reply, "I was her executive producer in Los Angeles."
"A wonderful coincidence!"
Ken commented enthusiastically. "And I understand you were also in L.A. this week. How did it go?"
Greg’s teeth unclenched. "Her being at the FBS event helped a lot. Important TV people were there. They were all very impressed that Chris had come over to FBS."
Ken's forehead wrinkled. "I know she can take care of herself and I'm probably being overly protective, but these long, hectic trips take a lot out of her. She seemed exhausted when she got back."
"Could I get you another drink?" Greg asked.
Greg checked his watch. If a second broadcast had not been necessary to include updates or corrections for the West Coast feed, Chris would soon arrive. As he calculated the number of minutes she
would need to descend to FBS's lobby, to travel east to the Waldorf, and then to walk to the ballroom, he spotted Barnett and brought Ken over to him.
This was his father-in-law’s first public appearance after his illness, and he had undertaken it only because of the announcement Diane would make. Ken deftly shifted the conversation from the old man's improving health to his own upcoming re-election effort and began soliciting their support.
Chris came up behind the others just as they arrived at their table in front of the ballroom's stage. Greg saw worship in Ken's eyes as he kissed her. She did indeed look tired, he thought. And as apprehensive as he
himself
felt.
His apprehensions rose as Ken introduced to Barnett the woman who had succeeded Ray
Strock
. He expected a reply she could not mistake for praise.
Barnett surprised him. "I've truly enjoyed your contribution to the news," he told her. The recuperating Chairman had obviously been keeping an eye on the ratings.
She was flattered by the compliment from a television pioneer. Introductions were then made to two other couples at their table: the male pediatric cardiologist and the female ghetto educator who would be receiving awards tonight and their spouses.
"You know Greg
Lyall
, of course," Ken said to Chris, "and this is his wife, Diane, our hostess."
Diane expressed her gratitude. "You and your husband were very kind to agree to attend on such short notice."
"I was delighted for such a good cause."
Chris was smiling and seemed at ease. Greg could only surmise that she had efficiently erased their night together from her memory as they had sensibly agreed to do before parting in Los Angeles.
To enhance dinner conversation, Diane customarily seated spouses apart. She placed her father on one side of her chair and Ken Chandler on the other.
"Chris," she then said, "I’d like you to sit over there, beside my husband."
In that instant Greg observed a flash of panic on Chris's face so fleeting that, had he not known her so well, might have passed unnoticed. As he held out her chair, she finally glanced into his eyes. That single look set off a stampede of passion that raced through them both. Willpower fencing it in gave way. Railings of self-interest were leaped. Self-control was pounded beneath its hooves like long grass. A
last glance implored him not to do or say anything that might arouse her further.
He sat down. Inadvertently, his thigh slid along the satin that clothed hers. Her shiver passed a spasm though
his own
body, a tremor that liquefied muscle and bone as it rumbled through.
She gazed down at her plate and spent an inordinately long time unfolding the fan shape of her napkin. She dared not look at Greg beside her or Ken across from her.
It seemed to Greg that minutes passed while he and she sat immobile, unconscious of the world outside their emotions. Finally, anxious that someone would notice their silence, he turned to her.
"Did you have a good flight back from Los Angeles?"
The face that lifted to his was in agony, whipped by despair and desire.
"What did you say?" she muttered.
He did not reply and finally had to look away. He followed the waiters’ progress toward the tables with the appetizers; eating could occupy them and excuse their silence.
Soon, the lights dimmed, and a man's sonorous voice issued out of the public-address system to welcome the guests to the tenth annual dinner for the children's wing.
When the announcement was made about the new children’s hospital by the Board’s chairman, a tall man going to gray, with gold-rimmed glasses and a poised manner, he was clear about who deserved the praise.
"The hospital will come into existence mainly as a result of the dedication of one person. You all know her as a tireless fund-raiser. But I also know her as a tireless worker among sick children and a grateful staff. She and her family have most generously donated thirty million dollars to enable us to begin construction." He paused for the applause. "In their honor the directors have voted to name the new children’s hospital after its very great and generous benefactor, her father, Barnett Roderick."
The spotlight picked Barnett out. Slowly, he stood up and tipped his head to acknowledge the applause. That so many there knew of his recent illness magnified the response. He impulsively leaned over and kissed his daughter on the cheek, publicly acknowledging his love and his thanks.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the administrator concluded, "I am honored to introduce to you our chairperson for this dinner and the president of
and the moving force behind the new Barnett Roderick Children's Hospital, Diane Roderick
Lyall
."
Diane brought three small children onto the stage with her, one on crutches. Diane took the microphone in hand and crouched down beside
them. With a sweetness and gentleness that communicated her love for them, she elicited their names and briefly told their stories of successful treatment at the children's wing
"She's magnificent!" Chris whispered to Greg.
"Sometimes she really can be," he agreed.
He glanced at Barnett. Pride and love glowed on his father-in-law's face. Greg envied him so devoted a child.
At the end of the evening, as everyone around the table stood up, preparing to leave, Greg was able to turn his back on the others and speak privately to Chris.
"We have to see each other alone," he whispered.
"I don't know when."
"Do you and Ken have any plans for the weekend?"
She shook her head.
Diane appeared at Greg's side to say goodnight to Chris and thank her for coming.
Greg turned her. "I thought we might invite Chris and Ken to join us in Connecticut this weekend."
"You usually hate when I invite people." She smiled at Chris. "He says he can't really relax if he has to be a host. He must feel very comfortable with you and your husband."
Diane assumed Greg wanted to strengthen FBS's relationship with
its valuable anchorwoman and her influential husband, whom she had learned sat on the Senate committee that oversaw the FCC. She herself relished the opportunity to lobby the senator for federal funding for the children's hospital.
"Please come up with us," she said. "It would be fun."
"Ken," Greg called out, "we've invited you and Chris to our country house for the weekend. We can all fly up in a helicopter first thing in the morning."
Ken nodded to Chris to indicate his willingness. A weekend such as this could solidify an important source of support.
Chris's attention shifted back to Greg. "Are you really sure about this?"
Her voice conveyed her doubts—and her inability to resist.
"I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend the weekend with." Greg's voice was low and assured.
"I don't understand what we're doing in an area like this," Sally said.
Danny had pulled over to double-park for a moment and check the map. He had never been in L.A.’s black ghetto before. He was having trouble finding the address he was seeking, but was afraid to put down the window and ask directions.
"I told you, I've got an appointment."
She looked at the address. "Two blocks farther on you make a right."
"How do you know?"
"When I was on dope," she decided to confess, "
if
I couldn't contact my seller, I'd come down here and buy it on a street corner."
"Jesus, down here?"
"It's drug dealer heaven. I can find my way around here blindfolded in the middle of the night. . . . Sometimes I did."
Danny located the low-rise apartment house built among single-family dwellings and parked. He waited a moment for some men to walk by and then dashed into the building.
In the vestibule, he rang up and was admitted into the interior of the building. Biff Stanfield was waiting at the door to the second-floor apartment when Danny climbed the flight of stairs. But so was Biff’s girlfriend, Lily, a lawyer with a firm representing people in the music industry.
Danny thought she was some kind of put-on, at first. Black women lawyers were only something they invented for TV because it looked as if you weren't prejudiced if you put one into a show. He himself had done it twice.
But she sure sounded like a lawyer.
"Biff doesn't show you the proposal," she insisted, "until we get a piece of paper that says you two are partners."
"So, now you don't trust me," Danny railed at Biff. "I spend a lifetime building a reputation in this business, an honorable name, but suddenly the old values don't count for anything. I tell you, it's an insult to ask me for a piece of paper. I'd rather rip out my heart than give you a piece of paper.
Because that's what I'd be doing.
Without a good name, a man is nothing."
"Lily?" Biff asked.
She folded her arms. "No contract, no proposal. And there's another thing. Why couldn't Biff meet in your office?"
"An office is cold, unfriendly. Partners meet in a home."
Lily had a different explanation. "I figure you didn't want anybody there to be able to testify that Biff had meetings with you on the project."
"I can't believe this." Danny turned wounded eyes on Biff. "This is the thanks I get for convincing a major network to meet with me on Tuesday about this project?"
"A meeting?" asked Biff eagerly.
"Who with?"
Danny avoided giving Marian's name. "A giant in our industry, that's who.
A powerhouse.
A legend.
Someone with whom I'm very close."
"And this network powerhouse wants to meet us on Tuesday to talk about
Lowe and High
?"
"Me.
This person likes the idea and wants to meet with
me
on Tuesday to see the full proposal. This person hates writers. This person would kill the whole project if I show up with a writer. Incidentally, this person also hates the title. It's got a new one:
Danger, Stranger
."
"
Danger Stranger
?"
"No, with a pause, a comma.
The important thing is the proposal. We've got to go over it."
Biff turned to Lily. "We could let him look at it."