“Do you remember the question?”
“Yes. Save yourself. Go on the air and confess, shed some Jimmy Swaggart tears. Apologize to the people you hurt, show the voters how your innate compassion made you want to believe a man’s sad tale, left you vulnerable. Do that, and I’ll help you out.”
“Help me?”
“I’ve made a little film, Anatomy of a Lie. And you’re not the star.”
Chapter 28
“I only stopped by for some tapes Jack Riley left for me,” I said. My arms were full. I was trying to effect an escape from Lana Howard’s office without either a major spill or a commitment to a long-term employment contract. I didn’t have a hand for the door, and she wasn’t about to open it.
“Think about it, Maggie,” she said, whispered tones-a churchlike hush. “Office space, the best facilities, regular paycheck. Use of the letterhead.”
“I like what I’m doing, Lana. I have to admit that the money is a temptation, but a regular paycheck can be tighter than a noose.”
“I understand that. I understand how important it is for you to maintain control over your projects. But we both know that big world out there can get pretty cold. A regular paycheck can make a damn fine blanket.” She sauntered over to the burl-wood cabinet that held her wet bar; the office was opulent. She took out a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice and poured two glasses-two sparkly clean glasses-offered one to me. “What would it take to bring you in from the cold?”
I set down the tapes on a comer of her leather sofa to accept the juice. She was watching me, slow smile growing. I respected Lana, respected her judgment. All through this brouhaha I was involved in, she had shown me the best qualities I would want in a boss: flexibility and daring. It wouldn’t be hard to work with her on a regular basis.
A network job? I ran through the lists of pros and cons, but the heading over both sides ran something like, “You’ve already spent your advance check twice over, Casey’s tuition is due the fifteenth of every month and the money you’re being offered is obscene.”
Lana reached for my empty glass. “Maggie?”
“This is what it would take: I sign with you for two years, five months. Two two-hour projects a year on assignment, six short-subjects on topics of my choosing. I have full editorial control. If the network chooses, for whatever reason, not to air any of my projects as-is, the project reverts to me so I can sell it elsewhere. Beyond that, I want the network to rent and furnish my home office space for my use, and I want Guido Patrini hired as a consultant.”
Lana wrapped me in a big, blanket-like hug. “You’re going to like it here, Maggie.”
“That’s it?”
“I have to run it by the board, but I think we’ll come to terms. Welcome aboard.”
All I could think to say, was, “Damn.”
I gathered the tapes again and went upstairs where Guido was working with a staff editor.
“You’re not going to believe what I just did,” I said.
“That’s highly likely.” He was watching the time on a piece of LaShonda’s interview. “What now?”
“I got myself hired as a network slave.”
He jumped as if startled. “Say it ain’t so.”
“Got you a slot as a consultant.”
“I have a job,” he said, pausing the tape, turning to face me. “It seems to me it wasn’t so long ago we both burned out in a place that looks and smells a whole lot like this one.”
“Independent projects only,” I said. “And they’ll let you use the letterhead. That should help your love life.”
When he glanced at LaShonda’s face on the screen, his features went all mushy. “My love life’s just fine, thank you.”
I said, “You slut.”
“Mike called,” he said. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Guido didn’t know where Mike was, so I dialed his pager and left the number of the phone on the console beside me. Mike took almost a minute to call back.
“Etta’s been trying to reach you,” Mike said. “Said she’ll be home all afternoon.”
“I’ll go by and see her,” I said.
“Want company?”
“Always.”
“Thought maybe it was time to take a closer look at what it is you do.”
I felt suddenly all mushy inside, myself. “I’ll meet you at the new house in fifteen, twenty minutes.”
I gave Guido a lot of instructions and a big kiss, and ran out to the parking lot.
The South Pasadena house was getting new trim paint, including the front door. I walked through a maze of scaffolding and ladders to get inside where the dog, lying on his belly in the foyer, watched the ceiling painters. Old Bowse’s big brush of a tail was tipped in a combination of Desert Sunset, the color of the door, and Peaches and Cream, the color of the walls.
I grabbed Bowser by the collar and asked the painters above me, “Anyone seen Mike?”
In unison, “Backyard.”
I led the dog out and closed the doors behind me.
Mike and Michael were carrying an unfamiliar oak dresser along the walkway between the drive and the cottage. There was a U-Haul truck parked in the drive. With Bowser at my side, I walked across the lawn toward them.
“What’s this?” I asked, pushing in a dresser drawer that had fallen out.
“I’m moving in,” Michael said. “Go inside, take a look.”
“Yeah.” Mike was grinning like he was up to something. “Go take a look.”
Too nosy to listen to warning voices, I went inside. I don’t know exactly what I expected, hard rock posters maybe, or nudes on the walls. The cottage looked great, rug on the polished wood floor, desk and bookcases to match the dresser, a couple of chairs. And a very attractive woman around my age smoothing a new-looking spread on the bed.
“Hello,” I said, grabbing Bowser’s collar before he could give her his customary muzzle-in-the-crotch greeting.
She stood up, smiled while she gave me close inspection. “Maggie?”
I had to move further into the room so that Mike and Michael could wrestle the dresser through the door. They set it against a side wall and Mike, wiping his face, came up beside me.
“Maggie,” he said. “Meet Leslie. Michael’s mom.”
She offered her hand, smiling broadly. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And about Casey.”
Michael laughed. “Don’t worry. I only tell Mom the good stuff.”
“That’s a relief,” I said. It was so strange to look into this woman’s face; echoes of Michael’s face. I felt neither awkward nor competitive, as I had when Charlene showed up on my doorstep. Only curious. Leslie was, in several ways-in height and build, and in general manner-a darker version of me.
I said, “The cottage looks wonderful, Michael. After spending a week on the couch, the privacy should be a relief”
He looked around at his new quarters. “I don’t know. I got used to the company.”
“Couches,” Mike said, as if some switch had been hit. “The dealer Charlene works for has made an offer on all the condo furniture. Anybody want any of it?”
Michael said, “I don’t have room for anything else.”
I said, “No,” trying to make it sound like a casual no and not a thank God, get that gray shit out of my life no. I had already spoken to my old tenant, Lyle, about taking my furniture out of storage and sending it down.
“Les?” Mike said. “You have an empty room now. Want anything?”
She snickered. “Think about it, Mike.” Then she turned to Michael and draped an arm over his shoulders. “What’s left in the truck?”
“The dresser was the last of it.”
“Then, let’s go get your car, turn in the truck.”
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” Mike asked Michael.
“Thought I’d have a farewell run on the couch.” Michael gave his dad a hug, then, to my delight and surprise, came over and hugged me, too. “I’ll be home after dinner.”
Arm in arm, Mike and I walked out to see off Michael and his mother. As the truck backed into the alley, I said, “I like her.”