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‘Same thing every time we lose one to her: “Seebright seems so much sweeter than Joe Goodman.”’
How had I let this interview slip through my fingers when we had it solidly in the bag? Why hadn’t I taken extra steps to secure her? And why were we doing this interview in the first place? Just because Hartley was a controversial, pro-family politician with four children? Did his prurient behaviour deserve all this media coverage? Absolutely.
Hartley wasn’t a deeply entrenched Christian conservative, but his ferocious anti-homosexual, pro-family oratory singled him out as one of the most outspoken Southern politicians. About eighty pounds overweight and six feet four inches tall, he usually walked around the lectern to speak so he could tower over the audience, rattling his fist in the air as his jowls jiggled. His grey moustache and goatee highlighted his enormous mouth and protruding lower lip. He had crystal-blue eyes and a perpetually sweaty bald spot that reflected the camera lights. He helped win the 2004 elections for Mississippi and the White House by supporting the drive to put the anti-gay-marriage referendums on ballots in twenty-four states. That White House strategy brought all the mega-church crowds out in their Greyhounds and was a major factor in the triumph of the Republican Party. Now he’d already jumped on the anti-gay bandwagon again for 2008: lobbying to put the ancient anti-sodomy laws on the ballots in the thirty-odd states where they weren’t already on the books.
I tried to accept the magnitude of my screw-up before I walked into executive producer Erik James’s office. That way, I wouldn’t argue. Arguing was never a good idea when Erik was angry. He was behind his desk finishing up a call when his assistant showed me in. I stared at the dozens of Emmy Awards lining his top shelf. He had worked for NBS for almost twenty years, at first executive-producing the Sunday news shows and then launching the multi-award-winning ratings bonanza Newsnight with Joe Goodman.
He hung up the phone and stared me down. Then the diatribe began.
‘You talk a big game.’
‘I don’t mean to.’
‘And your follow-through is lacking.’ He pushed his chair back, walked around to the front of his desk and took off his gloves. At five feet six, Erik had a pot belly like a pregnant woman two weeks past her due date. Even though he was standing a safe distance away, his stomach was almost touching me. ‘YOU! SUCK!’
‘I do not!’
‘DO TOO!’ He waved his hands in the air like King Kong. One of his suspenders popped and he furiously clawed at his back trying to reach it. Now he was really pissed off.
‘Erik, Leon Rosenberg assured me …’
‘I don’t care what he assured you! How many times did you go down there? What were you doing, shopping?’ That was low. No question I was the only Newsnight producer with a rich husband, but I’d worked my behind off for over ten years for this guy and I’d broken more stories than any producer on his staff.
‘That’s really unfair. You know I’ve killed myself to get this story.’
He flared his nostrils. ‘Last I checked, you didn’t get me any story, F-fuckin’-Y-I.’
‘I, I …’
He sneered at me. Then he reached into a huge glass jar on his desk and gobbled a fistful of jellybeans. ‘Get out o’ here,’ he mumbled, and some of his Kelly-green spit landed on my shirt, next to a coffee stain.
The battle was over for now. We’d start fighting for another angle on this Theresa Boudreaux story together as a team again in the morning. This wasn’t the first time I’d gone through this. Not that my defeat didn’t depress me, but I refused to let it derail me. The pressure was intense to break some news and advance the story. Every tabloid in the country had published cover photos of Theresa, many with a question mark, ‘Hartley’s Heartthrob?’ Right-wing radio talk shows chimed in with their unwavering support of Hartley while they trashed the bloodthirsty members of the liberal media elite.
Ultimately, as the story played out, Theresa gave nothing away to Kathy Seebright, she’d merely gotten her to confirm that she knew Hartley, that they were ‘close’. So, at that moment, my bosses and I were having a meltdown over nonsense. But histrionics over nothing are the price of entry in the network news business.
Back in my office, I applied some lipstick very carefully as I tried to take control of my day. I stopped for a moment with the compact in my hand and stared out the window at the Hudson River. The anxieties piled on: a major professional screw-up, my insufferable husband, Dylan and his troubles. My watch read eleven o’clock – Dylan had gym before lunch: perhaps the exercise had already cheered him up. He had asked me to cancel his play dates that week. Obviously the humiliation at the game made him want to hide behind his door after school and get lost in a Lego robotics trance, but I told him I wouldn’t cancel anything, believing that interaction with his friends was curative. I felt bewildered about what else to do with him except follow the routine and make sure he didn’t close in on himself. When I get very depressed, I eat KitKats. As I tore the wrapper off with my teeth, my cell phone rang.
‘Honey, it’s me.’ I heard honking and car brakes screeching in the background.
‘Yes?’
‘I want to apologize.’
‘All right. Let’s hear it.’
‘I’m sorry about this morning. I’m sorry I was difficult.’ A siren whizzed by.
‘Difficult?’
‘Sorry I was impossible.’
‘You were.’ I took a bite of chocolate.
‘I know. That’s why I’m calling. I love you.’
‘Fine.’ Maybe I could forgive him.
‘And you’re going to love me more than ever.’
‘Oh, really? And why would that be?’
‘Well, you know my success with the Hadlow Holdings deal has had some ripple effects.’
‘They owe you big.’
‘And they’re giving me something big.’
‘OK. And what might that be?’
‘The question is, what are they giving my wife?’
‘Phillip, I have no idea. It’s not cash, so what is it? How can they repay you?’
‘They asked me that very question.’
‘And …?’
‘How does pro bono work for Sanctuary for the Young sound?’
My charity. The board I had served on for a decade that supported foster children. The organization was broke, almost going under, they could barely serve the desperate kids. My eyes welled. ‘You didn’t.’
‘I did.’
‘How much help?’
‘Lots.’
‘Like how much?’
‘Like they’re going to treat it like a regular account.’
‘I can’t believe you did this. It’s going to change everything.’
‘I know. That’s why I did it.’
‘I don’t even know what to say.’
‘You don’t need to say anything.’
‘Thank you, Phillip. It’s totally amazing. You didn’t even tell me you were considering this.’
‘You give them a lot of your money, and a lot of your time, but I wanted you to give them something even more substantial. I know what they mean to you.’
‘So much.’
‘I know.’
‘I love you back.’
‘Item two: there is something you need to do for me before my flight to Cleveland.’
‘Where are you, anyway?’ I asked. ‘I can barely hear you with all those horns honking. Are you in Times Square?’
‘I’m actually rushed as all hell. Are you going to pick up the kids?’
‘Just Gracie. I couldn’t deal with her expression this morning. I’m going to pick her up in her classroom, but ask Yvette to meet me outside to take her home. Then I’m hightailing it back to the office.’
‘Perfect. I need you to stop at home before you get Gracie.’
‘I won’t have time.’
‘This is critical.’ Phillip suddenly sounded like a British boarding school headmaster. ‘I need you to go home. Go into my office. Turn on my computer. Get the code for my new safe. The screen will automatically ask for my password.’
‘Phillip, can’t this wait?’
‘Please do as I say, for God’s sake!’
‘No. I’m not doing as you say. I’ve had a shitty day so far and I’ve got more work to do. I’m telling you, this is most definitely NOT a day I am going to be leaving the office for a long time. I can’t tell you how much the pro bono thing means to me. You know that. But I still can’t do this right now.’
‘Honey. This isn’t an ask. This is a “you gotta do this for me now”. I’m travelling for three days and before I take off I need to know that this is handled.’
‘This is really so important?’
‘Yes, beautiful.’ He laid on the charm with a soft voice. ‘It is. I love you. Please. I’m going to owe you huge.’
I decided I would make a quick stop at home after picking Gracie up, perhaps without anyone even noticing I’d left the office. ‘Hurry up. What is the password?’
No answer.
‘Phillip, I will do this for you, but I am very rushed too. What is the password for your home computer?! Couldn’t you have thought of this this morning?’
‘I was distracted this morning. By Dylan of course.’
Tapping my pen on a notepad, I sighed. ‘You were telling me the password …’
‘Uh …’
‘Phillip! What is the password?’
‘The password is Beaver.’
‘What? You’re kidding.’
No answer.
‘Phillip, your password is Beaver? That is so lame. Is this on your work computers too? In a stuffy law firm like yours? What happens if your IT guy has to get into your account?’
‘Why should I care about an IT guy?’
‘Phillip, I can’t believe you want me to type in B-E-A-V-E-R.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry. It’s a private password. I’m the only person who knows it and now unfortunately for me you do too. I’m a horn-dog, so shoot me. Now go into my office when you get home and type B-E-A-V-E-R into my computer. Get the new safe code, it’s hidden in a document titled “Kids’ Activities”, it’s 48-62-something …’
‘And then what?’
‘On my desk, in the in-box, under some bank stuff, or just on a pile to the right on top of the desk you’ll see a folder marked Ridgefield. I need you to put it in the safe.’
‘Why?’
‘Carolina.’
‘Carolina what?’
‘First it’s the nail scissors. Then she puts a pile of newspapers to be thrown out on top of my desk as she’s dusting, then by accident, she grabs important folders, then she throws everything out. I lose everything. And I can’t risk losing this.’
‘Phillip, please. You’re being crazy neurotic. I’ll call her up and tell her not to touch your desk.’
‘Every day I tell her not to touch my nail scissors or my collar stays or my favourite Mont Blanc pen, and every day I can’t find any of them. She doesn’t listen.’
‘You know that husbands are more work than children, don’t you?’ My body was now splayed over my desk like a banana peel.
‘I never would be asking you this, but in this age, you never know.’
‘You never know what?’
‘Never know anything! It’s the information age! Everything is stolen from people’s trash, their mailboxes, their computers.’ Phillip was now in calm, lawyerly I-know-everything-there-is-to-know-on-the-planet mode. ‘I come from three generations of lawyers, and I am trained and versed in making prudent decisions. This is a prudent precaution and I’m going to Newark airport, no way to stop on the East Side. I want to leave knowing this is taken care of.’
‘Why can’t I just do it tonight when I get home?’
He’d lost his patience. ‘For the last time, I beg you, please stop questioning me. It’d be so much easier for me today, if, for once, just this once, you could just do as you are told.’
I harrumphed and went straight home, where I didn’t exactly do as I was told.
CHAPTER FOUR Everyone Knows That (#ulink_8df7dc04-acf9-5178-8d33-2b4d8c157877)
It was pouring in New York at noon the next day.
‘Oui?’ The maître d’ stuck his enormous French nose through a crack in the thick, chocolate-brown lacquered doors.
