“This time, I know you’ll approve. I just left the Raleigh family’s townhouse. The brother’s definitely in, and thinks the father will be, too.”
“Excellent. As long as we have one of them, we should be okay. Start getting releases signed and nailing down the production schedule. I mean it about moving quickly.”
She was tucking her phone back into her purse when it vibrated. According to the screen, it was Charlotte.
“Hey there,” she answered. “What’s up?”
“I’m about to meet Angela for a cocktail. You want to join us?”
“I actually saw Angela a couple of hours ago in my office. She was with her cousin. Is Casey going, too?” Laurie had just promised Andrew Raleigh that she would keep an open mind about the facts of his brother’s murder. It would be inappropriate to be seen socializing with the woman who was convicted of killing him, not to mention the chance that she might actually be a killer.
“Definitely not,” Charlotte said. “She walked Angela back to Ladyform after they met with you, so I did get a chance to talk to her. Angela felt so bad about Casey having to go to the mall for clothes that we let her raid the sample closet. She’s got enough sportswear to last for the next fifteen years. I got the impression she’s had enough of the public eye over the last few days. Angela got her a car service so she wouldn’t have to brave the train back up to Connecticut. Meet us at Bar Boulud, right across from Lincoln Center?”
Laurie liked the idea of having time with Angela away from her cousin. Maybe if she earned her trust, Angela could help get her aunt’s approval, as well. “Sure, what time?”
“Now!”
Laurie glanced at her watch. It was 4:15. As Andrew Raleigh had said, it’s five o’clock somewhere, Laurie thought. She deserved to celebrate. She finally had her next show.
22
Andrew Raleigh was pouring himself a scotch from the bar cart in what his father, and his father’s father before him, insisted on calling the Kennedy Library. Laurie Moran may not have wanted a drink, but just the smell of this house was enough to drive him to the bottle.
He was fifty years old and still marveled at the daily pretentiousness that defined his family. The Kennedy Library? It’s not some monument at the national mall, he wanted to yell. It’s a useless room at the top of the stairs filled with books that are more decorative than read. Perhaps the room is not completely useless, he thought, as he felt the comforting burn of alcohol in his throat.
The sight of his father stepping from the library’s anteroom had him pouring a second round. “How’d I do, Pops?”
As instructed, Andrew had scheduled his meeting with Laurie here so that his father could monitor the conversation from the next room. “You’re drunk already,” the General snapped, his tone icy.
“Not yet, but getting there.”
Andrew resumed his spot in the wing chair, and then immediately regretted it. Even though Andrew was two inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than his eighty-year-old father had ever been, he suddenly felt small with his father standing over him. General James Raleigh was in his most casual attire, which meant a navy sports coat, gray flannel pants, and a heavily starched white shirt. To go without a tie was the equivalent of wearing pajamas in public for the General. Andrew was immediately conscious of his own attire, more fitting for one of the casino resorts he enjoyed so much.
Looking at his father, Andrew thought, Hunter was always your favorite, and you never stopped telling me about it.
He remembered when he was ten years old, his mother found him in his room, studying a photograph of him, Hunter, and their father. When she asked why he was staring at it, he began to cry. He fibbed and said that he was crying because he missed Daddy, who was in Europe on army business. The truth was that he’d been crying because he’d had a dream the night before that he wasn’t really related to his family. Like his father, Hunter was lean and fit with a strong jaw and hair suitable for a news anchor. Andrew had always been softer and rounder.
You always treated me like your fat little baby, he thought, compared to my brother, the glorious charmer.
Now his father’s face was formed in a disapproving scowl, as it was so often in Andrew’s presence. “Why did you make it sound like I was the one pressuring Hunter to call off the engagement? Why didn’t you tell her that you knew to a certainty that Hunter planned to drop that woman like a stone the moment they got home from the gala?”
“Because I know no such thing, Father.” He could hear the derision in his own voice. “And you were pressuring Hunter to break it off, even though he loved Casey. I agreed to go along with this scheme of yours, but I won’t risk getting caught in a lie on national television.”
Despite what Andrew had told Laurie, he had no interest in helping her with the show. If it had been up to him, he would have turned on his usual charm, heard out her pitch, and then politely declined. It was, in Andrew’s view, what any normal family would do. No point in rehashing bad memories. Protection of privacy. All that jazz. An easy out.
But the Raleighs were never normal, and James Raleigh never took the easy route. Andrew tried to persuade his father once again. “I really don’t think we should get involved in this show, Dad.”
“When you’ve done something to earn your last name, you can have an opinion.”
Andrew felt himself shrink farther into the chair. “Well, I still don’t understand why you didn’t meet with her yourself,” he muttered, taking another sip of scotch.
He couldn’t believe it when his father snatched the glass from his hand. “Because a television executive would expect someone of my stature to spurn her invitation. I don’t want to seem too eager to help or she might be suspicious of what I have to say. You on the other hand? Finally, your aw-shucks, go-along-to-get-along persona comes in handy.”
Would his father ever understand that his personality wasn’t a persona, like a coat that he could take on and off at will? His mind flashed back to a visit from his father at Phillips Exeter, before Andrew was “asked to leave” for a “less demanding” boarding school. His father had spent the entire evening fawning about Hunter’s “exquisite command of the stage” during the student body’s auction to raise money for scholarships for low-income students. What everyone neglected to mention was Andrew’s role in rounding up so many student volunteers to support the event. Hunter may have been the Raleigh student that everyone admired, but Andrew was the one they enjoyed spending time with.
“So basically what you’re saying is that I seem dumb enough to agree to do this show. But meanwhile, you’re the one who wants us on it. What does that say about you?”
“Andrew, don’t try higher-level thinking. We both know it’s not your forte. When are you going to learn that you can only wield power from the inside? If we had no role in the show, we’d be giving away any hope of control. Imagine the lies Casey could tell about your brother. About me. About you, for God’s sake. If we signed away all interest in participating, these immoral television people would rush to air without giving us any chance of rebuttal. We absolutely must be involved. Why do you think she asked about Mark Templeton?”
“Because he was at the gala that night. That show interviews anyone who may have noticed the smallest detail. She even wanted to speak to Mary Jane for whatever reason.”
“We don’t all have time to watch television,” James snapped. “Mary Jane will say whatever I tell her. She’s always been a loyal soldier. But you’re naive to think that Laurie Moran’s questions about Templeton were a coincidence. When I have Mary Jane send in my conditions, she’ll make it clear that I’m begrudgingly going along with your suggestion. My role will be limited to speaking kindly of your brother.”