“You're boring me to tears,” he accused her.
“I'm stuck with what they're feeding us, Jack. No one else is getting anything better.” But it didn't stop Jack from calling every few hours and complaining to her. And when Bill called her at one o'clock, she was relieved to hear him.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked with genuine worry.
“I can't remember,” she smiled. “I'm so tired, I'm not hungry.”
He didn't offer to come by. He just showed up twenty minutes later, with a club sandwich and some fruit, and a couple of soft drinks. He looked like the Red Cross arriving, as he showed up, and picked his way through the sea of reporters in the lobby till he found her, and forced her to sit in a chair and eat while he watched her.
“I can't believe you did this,” she grinned broadly at him. “I didn't even realize it, I was starving. Thank you, Bill.”
“It makes me feel useful.” He was amazed by how many people were there, reporters, cameramen, sound crews, producers, all milling around the hospital lobby. They were spilling out into the street, where the news vans were parked helter skelter. It looked like a disaster area, and it was. And he was pleased that she ate all of her sandwich. “How long are you going to have to stay here?”
“Until he's out of the woods, or we drop, whichever comes first. Jack is threatening to send Elliott to replace me, because my broadcasts are so boring. But there's not much I can do about it.” And as she said the words, the press secretary stepped up to the podium again, and everyone rushed to their feet and pressed forward, and Maddy had to go with them.
This time they told them that it was going to be a long, slow haul, of painstaking progress, and the press secretary suggested that some of them might want to go home, and get spelled off by their colleagues. The President was making a good recovery. There were no complications, and they had every reason to believe that he would continue to improve.
“Can we see him?” someone shouted.
“Not for several days,” the press secretary answered.
“What about Mrs. Armstrong? Can we talk to her?”
“Not yet. She hasn't left her husband's side for a minute. And she's going to stay here until he recovers. She's sleeping right now, and so is he. Maybe you should get some sleep too,” the press secretary said with the first smile they'd seen in twenty-four hours. And then he left, and promised to come back to them in a few hours, as Maddy turned off her microphone and looked up at Bill. She was so tired she could hardly see straight.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked her.
“I'd give my right arm to go home for a shower, but Jack would probably kill me for leaving.”
“Can't he send someone to replace you?” It seemed inhuman to just stay there.
“He could, but I don't think he will. Not yet anyway. Jack wants me here. But I'm not doing anything anyone else couldn't do. You heard what they give us. It's pretty much packaged. They're telling us what they want us to know, but if they're telling the truth, it sounds like he's doing okay.”
“Don't you believe them?” Bill was surprised by her skepticism, but it was her business to be that way, and ferret out any inconsistencies in their story. She was good at that, which was why Jack wanted her to stay there.
“I do,” she said sensibly, “But the truth is, he could be dead for all we know.” It was an awful thing to say, but it was possible certainly. “I don't think they'd lie about it unless they had to for national security. In this case, I think they're being pretty honest. At least I hope so.”
“So do I,” Bill said with fervor.
He stayed with her for another half hour, and then he left. And at three, Jack finally let her off the hook, and told her to go home and change, and come back to the studio for the five o'clock broadcast. She barely had time to do it, and she knew she wouldn't have time for a nap. He had already told her to come back to the hospital after the seven-thirty broadcast. And after she went home and changed into a dark blue pantsuit, she knew she could sleep in on the gurneys for the press at the hospital, she was almost reeling by the time she got to hair and makeup. Elliott Noble was there too, and he looked at her with admiration.
“I don't know how you do it, Maddy. If I'd been at that hospital for the last twenty-seven hours, they'd be carrying me out on a stretcher. You've done a great job there.” Though not according to her husband. But she was touched by the compliment, and knew she'd earned it.
“I'm just used to it, I guess. I've been doing this for a long time.” It made them feel more like colleagues, and she liked him a little better. At least for once he'd been decent to her.
“How do you think the President really is?” Elliott asked her in an undertone.
“I think they're probably telling us the truth on this one,” she answered. And somehow, with his help, she got through the five o'clock broadcast and the seven-thirty and she was back at the hospital at eight-fifteen, just as Jack told her to do. He had stopped in to see her between the two shows, looking fresh and rested, and gave her a whole new set of orders, criticisms, and directions. He didn't even ask if she was tired. He didn't care if she was. This was a crisis and she had to deliver. But she never failed him. And although he didn't acknowledge it, everyone else did. She was one of a few veterans of the first night when she got back to the hospital. Most of the other networks had replaced their people with fresh teams, and she had a new cameraman and a new soundman. And miraculously someone felt sorry for her and brought her a gurney in the lobby, so she could get some sleep between press releases. And when she told Bill about it on the phone, he urged her to use it.
“You'll get sick if you don't get some sleep,” he said sensibly. “Have you had dinner?”
“I ate between broadcasts, in my office.”
“Something nourishing, I hope.” She grinned at what he said. He had a lot to learn about her business.
“Health food actually. Pizza and doughnuts. Standard fare for reporters. I'd have withdrawal if I didn't eat that. I only eat real food at dinner parties.”
“Do you want me to bring you something?” he offered, sounding hopeful, but she was too tired to see him.
“I think I'm going to hit my gurney and try to sleep for a couple of hours. But thanks anyway. I'll call you in the morning, unless something major happens here.” But nothing did. It was a peaceful night, and she went home to shower and change in the morning.
As it turned out, she was at the hospital for five days, and on the last day, she finally saw Phyllis for a few minutes, though not in an interview. The First Lady had sent for her, and they chatted in the hallway outside the President's room, standing among the Secret Service. The President was being guarded closely. Although his assailant was in custody, they weren't taking any chances. And Maddy could imagine they felt very guilty that they hadn't stopped the bullet.
“How are you holding up?” Maddy asked the First Lady with obvious concern. She looked a hundred years old, and was wearing a hospital gown over a pair of slacks and a sweater. But she smiled at Maddy s question.
“Better than you probably. They're taking wonderful care of us. Poor Jim is feeling pretty rotten, but he's much better. This is a little rough at our age.”
“I'm so sorry it happened,” Maddy said sympathetically. “I've been worried about you all week. Everyone is taking care of him, but I wasn't sure how you were faring.”
“It's quite a shock, to say the least. But we're muddling through. I hope you can all go home soon.”
“I'm going home tonight actually.” The press secretary had announced that the President was no longer in critical condition. And everyone in the lobby cheered at the news. Most of them had been there for days, and they were so relieved some of them cried when they heard it. By then, only Maddy had been there since the beginning. And they all admired her for it.