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Gary Winthrop was America’s Prince Charming. A member of one of the country’s most prominent families, he was young, handsome, charismatic.
‘He doesn’t like personal publicity,’ Cromwell said. ‘How did you get him to agree?’
‘We have a common hobby,’ Dana told him.
Cromwell’s brows furled. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Dana smiled. ‘I like to look at Monets and van Goghs, and he likes to buy them. Seriously, I’ve interviewed him before, and we’ve become friendly. We’ll run a tape of his news conference, which we’ll cover this afternoon. My interview will be a follow-up.’
‘Wonderful.’ Cromwell beamed.
They spent the next hour talking about the new show the network was planning, Crime Line, an investigative hour that Dana was going to produce and anchor. The objective was twofold: to correct injustices that had been done and to spur interest in solving forgotten crimes.
‘There are a lot of other reality shows on the air,’ Matt warned, ’so we’ve got to be better than they are. I want us to start out with a grabber. Something that will capture the audience’s attention and –’
The intercom buzzed. Matt Baker flicked down a key. ‘I told you, no calls. Why –?’
Abbe’s voice came over the intercom. ‘I’m sorry. It’s for Miss Evans. It’s Kemal’s school calling. It sounds urgent.’
Matt Baker looked at Dana. ‘First line.’
Dana picked up the phone, her heart pounding. ‘Hello … Is Kemal all right?’ She listened a moment. ‘I see … I see … Yes, I’ll be right there.’ She replaced the receiver.
‘What’s wrong?’ Matt asked.
Dana said, ‘They’d like me to come to the school to pick Kemal up.’
Elliot Cromwell frowned. ‘That’s the boy you brought back from Sarajevo.’
‘Yes.’
‘That was quite a story.’
‘Yes,’ Dana said reluctantly.
‘Didn’t you find him living in some vacant lot?’
‘That’s right,’ Dana said.
‘He had some disease or something?’
‘No,’ she said firmly, disliking even to talk about those days. ‘Kemal lost an arm. It was blown off by a bomb.’
‘And you adopted him?’
‘Not officially yet, Elliot. I’m going to. For now, I’m his guardian.’
‘Well, go get him. We’ll discuss Crime Line later.’
When Dana arrived at the Theodore Roosevelt Middle School, she went directly to the assistant principal’s office. The assistant principal, Vera Kostoff, a harassed-looking, prematurely gray-haired woman in her fifties, was at her desk. Kemal was seated across from her. He was twelve years old, small for his age, thin and sallow, with tousled blond hair and a stubborn chin. Where his right arm should have been was an empty sleeve. His slight body seemed dwarfed by the room.
When Dana walked in, the atmosphere in the office was grim.
‘Hello, Mrs Kostoff,’ Dana said brightly. ‘Kemal.’
Kemal was staring at his shoes.
‘I understand there’s a problem?’ Dana continued.
‘Yes, there certainly is, Miss Evans.’ She handed Dana a sheet of paper.
Dana stared at it, puzzled. It read: Vodja, pizda, zbosti, fukati, nezakonski otrok, umreti, tepec. She looked up. ‘I – I don’t understand. These are Serbian words, aren’t they?’
Mrs Kostoff said tightly, ‘Indeed they are. It’s Kemal’s misfortune that I happen to be Serbian. These are words that Kemal has been using in school.’ Her face was flushed. ’Serbian truck drivers don’t talk like that, Miss Evans, and I won’t have such language coming from the mouth of this young boy. Kemal called me a pizda.’
Dana said, ‘A pi –?’
‘I realize that Kemal is new to our country, and I’ve tried to make allowances, but his – his behavior is reprehensible. He’s constantly getting into fights, and when I reprimanded him this morning, he – he insulted me. That was too much.’
Dana said tactfully, ‘I’m sure you know how difficult it must be for him, Mrs Kostoff, and –’
‘As I told you before, I’m making allowances, but he’s trying my patience.’
‘I understand.’ Dana looked over at Kemal. He was still staring down, his face sullen.
‘I do hope this will be the last incident,’ Mrs Kostoff said.
‘So do I.’ Dana rose.
‘I have Kemal’s report card for you.’ Mrs Kostoff opened a drawer, took out a card, and handed it to Dana.
‘Thank you,’ Dana said.
On the way home, Kemal was silent.
‘What am I going to do with you?’ Dana asked. ‘Why are you always getting into fights, and why do you use words like that?’
‘I didn’t know she spoke Serbian.’
When they reached Dana’s apartment, she said, ‘I’m going to have to go back to the studio, Kemal. Will you be all right here alone?’
‘Word.’
The first time Kemal had said that to her, Dana had thought he had not understood her, but she quickly learned that it was part of the arcane idiom spoken by the young. ‘Word’ meant ‘yes.’ ‘Phat’ described members of the opposite sex: pretty hot and tempting. Everything was cool or sweet or tight or rad. If there was something they didn’t like, it sucked.
Dana took out the report card that Mrs Kostoff had given her. As she studied it, her lips tightened. History, D. English, D. Science, D. Social Studies, F. Math, A.
Looking at the card, Dana thought, Oh, Lord, what am I going to do? ‘We’ll discuss this another time, she said. ‘I’m late.’
Kemal was an enigma to Dana. When they were together, he behaved beautifully. He was loving and thoughtful and endearing. On weekends, Dana and Jeff turned Washington into a playground for him. They went to the National Zoo, with its spectacular array of wild animals, starring the exotic giant panda. They visited the National Air and Space Museum, where Kemal saw the first Wright brothers plane dangling from the ceiling, and then walked through Skylab and touched moon rocks. They went to the Kennedy Center and the Arena Stage. They introduced Kemal to pizza at Tom Tom, tacos at Mextec, and southern fried chicken at Georgia Brown’s. Kemal loved every moment of it. He adored being with Dana and Jeff.
But … when Dana had to leave to go to work, Kemal turned into another person. He became hostile and confrontational. It was impossible for Dana to hold on to a housekeeper, and sitters told horror stories about evenings with Kemal.
Jeff and Dana tried reasoning with him, but it had no effect. Maybe he needs professional help, Dana thought. She had no idea of the terrible fears that plagued Kemal.
The WTN evening news was on the air. Richard Melton, Dana’s personable co-anchor, and Jeff Connors were seated beside her.
Dana Evans was saying, ‘… and in foreign news, France and England are still locking horns over mad cow disease. Here is René Linaud reporting from Rheims.’
In the control booth, the director, Anastasia Mann, ordered, ‘Go to remote.’
A scene in the French countryside flashed on the television screens.
The studio door opened and a group of men came in and approached the anchor desk.
Everyone looked up. Tom Hawkins, the ambitious young producer of the evening news, said, ‘Dana, you know Gary Winthrop.’
‘Of course.’
In person, Gary Winthrop was even more handsome than in photographs. He was in his forties, with bright blue eyes, a warm smile, and enormous charm.
‘We meet again, Dana. Thanks for inviting me.’
‘I appreciate your coming.’
Dana looked around. Half a dozen secretaries had suddenly found urgent reasons to be in the studio. Gary Winthrop must be used to that, Dana thought, amused.
‘Your segment is coming up in a few minutes. Why don’t you sit here next to me? This is Richard Melton.‘ The two men shook hands. ‘You know Jeff Connors, don’t you?’
‘You bet I do. You should be out there pitching, Jeff, instead of talking about the game.’
‘I wish I could,’ Jeff said ruefully.
The remote from France came to an end and they switched to a commercial. Gary Winthrop sat down and watched as the commercial ended.
From the control booth, Anastasia Mann said, ‘Stand by. We’re going to tape.’ She silently counted off with her index finger. Three … two … one …’
The scene on the monitor flashed to the exterior of the Georgetown Museum of Art. A commentator was holding a microphone in his hand, braving the cold wind.
‘We’re standing in front of the Georgetown Museum of Art, where Mr Gary Winthrop is inside at a ceremony marking his fifty-million-dollar gift to the museum. Let’s go inside now.’
The scene on the screen changed to the spacious interior of the art museum. Various city officials, dignitaries, and television crews were gathered around Gary Winthrop. The museum’s director, Morgan Ormond, was handing him a large plaque.
‘Mr Winthrop, on behalf of the museum, the many visitors who come here, and its trustees, we want to thank you for this most generous contribution.’
Camera lights flashed.
Gary Winthrop said, ‘I hope this will give young American painters a better chance not only to express themselves but to have their talents recognized around the world.’
There was applause from the group.
The announcer on tape was saying, ‘This is Bill Toland at the Georgetown Museum of Art. Back to the studio. Dana?’
The camera’s red light came on.
‘Thank you. Bill. We’re fortunate enough to have Mr Gary Winthrop with us to discuss the purpose of his enormous gift.’
The camera pulled back to a wider angle, revealing Gary Winthrop in the studio.
Dana said, ‘This fifty-million-dollar donation, Mr Winthrop, will it be used to buy paintings for the museum?’
‘No. It’s for a new wing that will be dedicated to young American artists who might not otherwise have a chance to show what they can do. A portion of the fund will be used for scholarships for gifted children in inner cities. Too many youngsters grow up without knowing anything about art. They may hear about the great French impressionists, but I want them to be aware of their own heritage, with American artists like Sargent, Homer, and Remington. This money will be used to encourage young artists to fulfill their talents and for all young people to take an interest in art.’
Dana said, ‘There’s a rumor that you’re planning to run for the Senate, Mr Winthrop. Is there any truth to it?’
Gary Winthrop smiled. ‘I’m testing the waters.’
‘They’re pretty inviting. In the straw polls we’ve seen, you’re way ahead.’
Gary Winthrop nodded. ‘My family has had a long record of government service. If I can be of any use to this country, I will do whatever I am called on to do.’
‘Thank you for being with us, Mr Winthrop.’
‘Thank you.’
During the commercial break, Gary Winthrop said good-bye and left the studio.
Jeff Connors, sitting next to Dana, said, ‘We need more like him in Congress.’
‘Amen.’
‘Maybe we could clone him. By the way – how is Kemal?’
Dana winced. ‘Jeff – please don’t mention Kemal and cloning in the same breath. I can’t handle it.’
‘Did the problem at school this morning work out?’
‘Yes, but that was today. Tomorrow is –’
Anastasia Mann said, ‘We’re back. Three … two … one …’
The red light flashed on. Dana looked at the Tele-PrompTer. ‘It’s time for sports now with Jeff Connors.’
Jeff looked into the camera. ‘Merlin the Magician was missing from the Washington Bullets tonight. Juwan Howard tried his magic and Gheorghe Muresan and Rasheed Wallace helped stir up the brew, but it was bitter, and they had finally to swallow it along with their pride …’
At 2:00 AM, in Gary Winthrop’s town house in the elite north-west section of Washington, two men were removing paintings from the walls of the drawing room. One man wore the mask of the Lone Ranger, the other the mask of Captain Midnite. They worked at a leisurely pace, cutting the pictures out of the frames and putting their loot into large burlap sacks.
The Lone Ranger asked, ‘What time does the patrol come by again?’
