“You may have been trying to save your own skin, but give yourself credit; you went out of your way to save somebody else’s as well. It was not an easy decision. I’ve been there myself. Whatever your reason, your instincts were correct. You took the high road and it worked.”
“Just barely,” Dena said. “My boss was pretty mad at me. I thought I might get fired there for a while. I can tell you that … he’s pretty tough.”
“Ira Wallace?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
He nodded and said with a weary look on his face, “Oh, yes, I know him.”
Kingsley sat back and seemed to be deciding something. “You know, Miss Nordstrom, I like you, I like what I see. You’ve got style, presence, and you’ve got class. You’re just what they want—but, by God, I just hate to see those bastards get a hold of you.” He grimaced. “But be that as it may, my advice for you is to get every red cent out of them you can because they are going to try and suck the very soul out of you. You gave my friends fair warning, so I’m giving you fair warning. You think you had trouble with the Hamilton piece? That’s just the tip of the iceberg, child’s play to what’s coming. I can smell it, I can feel it, and it makes me sick.” He looked directly at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I believe in freedom of the press. That’s what we’re here for, to get the truth out there to the public. But as soon as someone like Wallace gets in the door, they start to pollute the entire industry and I see it happening more and more every day. They don’t want news, they want audience, and to get it they want ratings and they don’t care how they get them. But I’m sure you are aware of that.”
“Yes,” said Dena, “I am.”
“I’ve covered three wars and have seen a lot of killing in my time. But this new bunch taking over are the coldest, meanest bastards I’ve seen and frankly, they scare the hell out of me. Mark my words, as soon as they can get rid of all of us old guys they’re going to replace us with as many pretty young men and women, like yourself, to do their dirty work. To push their garbage and trash down everyone’s throats while they hide behind their office doors making millions, laughing at us, while the whole damn country falls apart!”
People in the restaurant were looking over as Kingsley’s voice got louder. When he realized what was happening, he was embarrassed and said softly, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I subjected you to all my rantings. Hell, I’m probably just a senile old fool thinking the worst.”
“Mr. Kingsley, you mustn’t say that. You’re not old or a fool and you have a right to be upset.”
He caught the waiter’s eye and motioned for the check and laughed. “Call me Howard, please. You know, my wife says I should retire. Maybe I should, but I don’t want to hand this medium or this network or this country over to those bastards, not yet anyway. Oh, they’ll get it sooner or later, but until then, somebody has got to keep reminding people we aren’t all the scum they are trying to turn us into.”
“All the more reason why you can never retire. We need you. They sure won’t listen to me.”
He smiled while signing the check. “Miss Nordstrom, I guess what I was trying to say to you is—try not to let them use you too much. Fight back when you can.” He paused. “And don’t hesitate—call me if you need me.”
“Oh, I will. And it’s Dena, please.”
As they walked out, she said, “You know, I really appreciate your talking to me. Truth is, I don’t think I’m going to be offered a new contract. I think I might not have what it takes.”
Howard opened the glass door leading to the street. “Oh, you are going to get offered a contract, all right. Julian Amsley’s smart enough to know what he’s got and he’s not about to lose you.”
Dena looked at him, dumbfounded.
He laughed. “No, I’m not a psychic. I play poker with Amsley every Friday and he likes to talk.”
As he hailed a cab for her, he said, “By the way, you don’t like to sail, by any chance, do you?”
“Sail? Oh, yes, I love to sail.” She caught herself again. “Well, actually, I’d love to try it.”
“Good, when the weather gets better, we’ll give you a call. We have a little place in Sag Harbor, maybe we can get you out for a weekend.” A cab stopped and he helped her in before he shut the door. “Oh, listen. On that contract thing. They’ve got two hundred thousand a year budgeted. Don’t let your agent settle for less. They won’t tell you but your popularity rating is through the roof. They’ll offer one. Hold out for four and settle for three. Amsley loves it when he thinks he might lose something, and when he hears we had lunch together, that ought to scare him at least a hundred thousand.”
He closed the door and handed the driver a ten-dollar bill. “Take this young lady where she wants to go for me, will you? And be careful, she’s valuable property.”
The driver beamed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Kingsley.”
As he drove off, he said, “Howard Kingsley, well, I’ll be damned.” He looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Last week I had Polly Bergen from What’s My Line? back there.”
“Really?”
He glanced at her in the mirror. “Yeah. And you look familiar; aren’t you somebody?”
“No, I’m just a friend of Mr. Kingsley’s.”
The driver shook his head. “Pretty nice friend to have.”
“You’re right.”
Dena sat back and thought about lunch. It was still hard for her to believe she had actually been with him and that he had talked to her and really cared. She was so glad that Howard had approved of what she had done. But there was a part of her deep down that wondered if she really would have quit if it had meant her job.
She could not be sure. She could never be sure of how she really felt about anything. All she knew was that she had been lucky this time.
A week later Sandy called, excited. “Guess what, you got the contract!”
“Wow, great, Sandy.”
“I knew we could do it. And wait until you hear this—I had to work like the devil—but I finally got them up to two hundred a year and you should have heard what they started out with. Isn’t that great news?”
“Sandy, tell them I won’t do it for less than four hundred thousand.”
There was a long pause. “You are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
Two weeks later, a battle-weary Sandy called. “All I could get them up to was three.”
“Fine,” Dena said. “I’ll take it.”
“Dena, I swear to God that if I die from heart failure, Bea and the kids are moving in with you.”
Selma Calling
New York City
1973
Dena was in the editing room working on the interview with Bella Abzug when her secretary buzzed and told her that she had a long-distance call from a Mrs. Sarah Jane Poole.
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know but she says it’s urgent.”
“Well, please find out what she wants. I’m in the middle of something.”
Five seconds later her secretary buzzed again. “She says you know her, that she’s a close, personal friend. Mrs. Sarah Jane Poole?”
“Oh, Christ … I have no idea who that is. Put her through.”
An excited woman’s voice was on the other end. “Dena?”
“Yes, this is Dena Nordstrom.”
“It’s me!”
“Who?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your old roomie, your college roommate, Sarah Jane Simmons Krackenberry from Selma, Alabama?”
“Sookie?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, for gosh sakes, why didn’t you say it was you? How could I forget you, crazy thing. How are you?”