by Sally Quinn
“I care about all of my reporters. It’s my job.” She hoped he didn’t notice how nervous she was.
Was there a flicker of disappointment in those eyes this time?
“Ah. The consummate editor.”
“Speaking of which, we’ve got to get back to the office and discuss this immediately with Alan and Walt. I can’t eat, anyway. This conversation has not done much for my appetite.”
She noticed he had cleaned his plate.
“Funny, I’m just the opposite,” he said with a grin. “Danger always improves my appetites.”
She couldn’t be sure whether he had added the “s” or whether she had just imagined it.
* * *
They got back from lunch just as the gong sounded for story conference. She didn’t have a chance to discuss anything with Alan and Walt beforehand except to tell them she had to see them.
As soon as the meeting was over she signaled Sprague and Walt and they all went into Alan’s office.
Sprague looked ashen as he walked in and she noticed that he was carrying a small package.
“Sprague’s life has been threatened,” she blurted out before anyone could speak. She realized that she was visibly upset even though she was making a special effort to stay cool. She had to be professional about this.
Alan and Walt looked at her, then at Sprague. He did not refute her.
“How do we know the threat is real?” asked Alan.
Sprague threw the package on Alan’s desk.
“This just came in the mail.”
Alan opened the package. Inside was a small coffin fashioned out of balsa wood, the kind used to make model airplanes.
“What else?”
Allison was always amazed at how calm, measured, and rational Alan was under pressure. Sprague told Alan and Walt what he had told her at lunch.
“Well, I think that’s evidence enough that the threat is real,” he said. “Sprague, you’ve been dealing with these jokers for several years. I’ll trust your instincts. Still, before we make any decision about how to proceed, I’d like to have you and Allison sit down with Garcia at the DEA and tell him what’s going on. Get his response.”
“He’s not going to be too thrilled about meeting with an editor. He’s already getting squeamish about me. If Foxy got wind that he was leaking to me he’d be in deep shit. And I don’t just mean out of a job.”
“Well, try him. If Allison determines that this stuff is real I probably ought to talk to him myself. We’ve got to take this seriously. These guys don’t fuck around.”
Just then Alan’s secretary stuck her head in the door.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Warburg,” she said, “but the head phone operator is on the line. She wants to speak to you.”
Alan nodded, picked up the phone, and grunted an acknowledgment. When he hung up he looked grim.
“One of the operators has just received a bomb threat. They say they’ll blow up the Daily.”
“How seriously do we take that, Tyson?” asked Walt.
“We can’t dismiss it, though it’s unlikely. If I had to guess I would say it’s more of a nuisance threat. The threat against me, however, I take very seriously.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Allison.
“We’ll handle the two cases separately,” said Alan. “We’ll beef up the security around here; make sure the guards take extra precautions but nothing more. As far as you’re concerned,” he turned to Sprague, “do you want off the story?”
“No way.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“I can’t order you off a life-threatening story, Tyson. But I’m not interested in heroics. If you insist on pursuing this we’ll have to get you round-the-clock armed security guards; extra life insurance. You may want to stay in an apartment or hotel. I’m not sure you should drive your own car. You’ve got to let us be more aware of your movements. And I want to be convinced in my own mind that Jane and Melissa are safe.”
“I feel pretty sure they are,” said Sprague.
“Okay. I’m going to call Sam the Superlawyer and see what advice he’s got. He may have some ideas about the FBI we could use. Walt, would you check with foreign and some of the other beat reporters to see if they’ve got any thoughts? There may be some contacts out there with information we could pursue, people we could get to persuade them that this is a rotten idea.”
As they walked out Allison asked to see Sprague alone.
She was aware as they walked back to her office, that the whole newsroom was watching them. Reporters had an uncanny sense of something important going on. She was in and out of Alan’s office, sometimes with Walt, every day. Yet somehow they knew that this was big. She could see them begin to cluster. Even if she and Walt and Alan and Sprague never said a word about it, like magic, the story would be out within a day, absorbed like osmosis into their pores.
She shut the door, sat down, and turned to Sprague.
“Okay. Now what?”
“I want to go to the Bahamas.”
“Sounds terrific but is this really the time to take a vacation?”
He laughed. “On assignment.”
“I can tell I’m not going to like this.”
“I want to go check out Jenkins’s Cove.”
“I knew it. Sprague, that’s insane. You’d have no protection down there at all. You’d be a sitting duck. Besides, what could you possibly learn? They’d never let you on the island and even if they did you’d never get off alive. You’ve been reading too many spy novels. I never thought I’d say this but why don’t you go back to Colombia?”
“This is radical.” He laughed. She got the distinct impression that he was enjoying this, that he was teasing her with it.
“I don’t think it would be useful right now to go back to Colombia. I’m not really making any new contacts the way I did in the beginning. When I first went down there I could talk to anyone, go anywhere. I had a grand ole time. Now they’re beginning to notice me. I’m too visible and my sources are going underground. Most of them are journalists anyway. They’ve all got horror stories they don’t dare print because they’re afraid of being killed or kidnapped. They feed them to me, I run them, then they boost my stories by quoting the Daily. But even they have gotten more confidential. Medellin is too dangerous. I’m just not going to have much success working in Colombia right now. That’s why I want to try Jenkins’s Cove. At least if I sail there and observe from the water for a few days I can get some idea of the scale of the operation.”
“Can you at least wait until we’ve met with Garcia?”
“I can. In fact, I’ll go set that up right now.” He stood up to leave, then turned to her. “By the way, how do you feel about Mexican food?”
“It’s too spicy.”
“Your problem is you have no adventure in your soul.”
“I used to.”
It had started as a teasing remark and she had meant to keep up the light tone. Her response startled her as much as it did him and reminded her that she had actually been distracted enough to forget about Kay Kay for a short time. But when she said it she could see a look of sympathy cross his face. She wondered if the pain she felt showed on hers.
“Oh, Allison, I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
He stood looking at her for a moment, then left and walked back toward his desk.
Walt stuck his head in her office.
“Got a sec?” He came in before she answered and shut the door.
“We’re going to have to have a little conference about Sprague. This is nasty business. It is also a major story that could topple the government. It’s bigger than Sprague now. Alan doesn’t show it but he’s worried as hell. So am I. Sprague is a cowboy himself. He could be in a lot of trouble.”
“I know. I was thinking the same thing. But now it’s not just Sprague. It’s the whole paper. Why don’t we get him and a couple of the other investigative r
eporters who are working on Justice, the White House, and DEA and their editors and meet at my house one day? I think we’ve got to brainstorm this. We’ve also got to work as a team. Up until now everyone has been acting as a free agent. I don’t like it. I don’t feel we have a handle on it. I need to get an idea of what’s going on and who’s doing what and who knows what before the whole thing gets out of control.”
“Great idea. Do you want to set it up?”
“Yes. And Walt?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s line up those security guards for Sprague. I don’t want to lose anyone… else.”
* * *
Des had suggested they go out to dinner. That was going to be a million laughs. Des had given up booze for Lent. It had been almost a month now since he’d had a drink. It wasn’t working out too well for them since Allison was smashed by her second glass of wine every night.
During the day she was an emotional robot. As the evening approached she would begin to unravel. By the end of the second story conference at 7:30 she was close to losing it. She never did. By some miracle she had managed to cauterize her feelings. She had always heard about this out-of-body experience, this numbness, but had never believed it. Now she understood how people managed to sustain tragedies. Their minds put up shields to protect them from the pain. Rachel called it denial, telling her once she had no capacity for it. She had asked for tricks to learn it. Now she didn’t need tricks. It just happened.
Somewhere in the back of her brain there was a part of her that wanted to mourn, wanted to remember Kay Kay. When she drank she had more of a connection to those parts of herself. The booze didn’t unleash any emotions, but it allowed her to relax a little and helped her to sleep. She wasn’t having those terrible dreams anymore. Now the dreams were of her and Kay Kay floating on clouds. Kay Kay was round and plump and pink and she held her in her arms. It was silent and tranquil and serene and they were both happy. She loved going to sleep. She loved to drink so she could go to sleep and have her dreams. She still hadn’t cried since the day Kay Kay died.
She got home before Des did and poured herself a large glass of white wine. It was after eight, too late for the news. She was not in the mood to be intellectually challenged. The tension at the Daily over Sprague and the threats was getting to her. He was still trying to convince Garcia to meet with her and he was still insisting on going to Jenkins’s Cove. Meanwhile he had gotten round-the-clock security guards and was very much on the story. Everyone in the building knew about the bomb threats and it had the whole newsroom, including her, on edge. They believed the threats were nuisance threats but no one could be sure.
Des had heard about it and asked her what was going on. She had told him as much as she could. It was hard not to be able to talk to him about it, but he was from another news organization and she couldn’t really trust him not to divulge anything. She had been spending more time with Sprague because they could confide in each other. She could tell he was lonely without Jane and Melissa. He had started calling her at night when Des was there to talk about the story. Often it was something that could have waited until the next day. Des was getting pissed. He hated it when she got up and went into another room to talk. Their professional competitiveness had always been a problem. She scooped him years ago, then humiliated him by letting him get the story wrong. They had broken up over it and Allison suspected he had never really forgiven her. Now when there was a story the Daily was working on and she couldn’t talk about it, it only opened the old wound.
The evening phone calls, in fact her whole relationship with Sprague, made it difficult for her. She felt responsible for him, she worried about him, but more than that she needed him.
She couldn’t talk to Des about Kay Kay. Des couldn’t stand Allison’s way of dealing with it—drinking, overworking, her refusal to mourn. Allison couldn’t bear Des’s self-indulgent wallowing in pain. With Sprague she didn’t actually talk about it but his letter had made it possible for her to allude to her feelings. It was an odd about-face from their adversarial relationship. They had become each other’s protector.
* * *
She had just settled in to this stupid TV show when the front door opened downstairs and she heard Des come in. He was talking to someone. She heard a woman’s voice respond and they both laughed. He hadn’t mentioned bringing anyone home with him. She felt particularly annoyed that he would presume to inflict someone on her without discussing it first. She was feeling antisocial. She just wanted to get something to eat quickly and go to bed with her dreams.
When they got to the top of the stairs he called her name.
“Sonny! Sonny, I’ve got someone here to see you.”
She didn’t get up. She waited until they walked into the study. Des came in first, an excited but wary smile on his face. Behind him, looking even more apprehensive, was Jenny.
She hadn’t seen Jenny since the baby. Jenny had written her a long letter asking to be friends again, but she hadn’t answered it. She hadn’t answered any notes. To answer them was to deal with it. She was still ambivalent about Jenny. She knew Jenny was free-lancing and still looking for a job. She felt guilty about that but she still felt Jenny had betrayed her. She knew Jenny hadn’t really had a choice, yet she had never forgiven her for breaking off their friendship. She wasn’t angry anymore. She just didn’t trust her. So she was surprised at her own reaction now. She was glad to see her. Jenny was her best friend, her only real friend. It had been very lonely without her.
“Jen, how ‘bout a drink?” Des asked before either of them spoke.
“Oh, great. That would be great. A glass of white wine?”
“Easy. It’s already opened.”
Was that a reproach? My, how the tables had turned. Or was she just a little sensitive?
He poured Jenny a glass of wine and handed it to her. Then poured himself a diet soda.
“I, for my sins, am off the sauce for Lent.”
“What a revolting custom.” Jenny laughed. “Lent always reminds me I’m glad to be Jewish.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Allison. There was just the tiniest edge in her voice.
“I’m going upstairs to get a sweater,” he said quickly. “I’ll be right down.”
“God, I hope I didn’t offend him,” Jenny said, after Des had left the room.
“No. I did.”
They looked at each other.
“I’ve missed you, Sonny. You’re still my best friend, you know.” Allison took a sip of her wine. She didn’t know quite how to respond. “What about Sadie?”
She might as well bring it up. Taboo subject that it was.
“She’s one of my closest friends, probably the closest after you. But you and I have known each other much longer.”
“This last year and a half hasn’t exactly been the happiest time for your two friends, has it?”
“Sadie was extremely upset about… about Kay Kay’s death.”
“I got her note.”
“You would like her.”
“It’s not to be.”
Her voice was firm but her tone was resigned rather than bitter.
“How are you, Sonny? I worry about you. You’re driving yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
She got up to pour herself another glass of wine and found that she was weaving slightly. Only a few more hours and she would be asleep in her bed.
“Thank God for my work,” she said, stretching out on the sofa. “It’s been my salvation. It’s Des I worry about. He’s more and more unhappy at the Weekly. I’m afraid he’s going to take a hike any day now. He’s bored and unfulfilled and he thinks the whole team in New York is a bunch of social-climbing assholes. Without his work to fall back on he’s suddenly gotten religion in a big way. It’s really scary, Jen. He’s turning into somebody I don’t know. This Catholic thing is like a cult, like the Moonies. He goes to Mass every morning. I feel like I can’t communicate with him anymore. And we can’
t talk about Kay Kay. It’s too painful for both of us. He gets teary and I get angry and the whole thing is a disaster.”
She had been rattling on.
“I don’t believe it. What am I doing laying all of this on you? You walk in the door and get mugged. I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t really have anyone else I can talk to about Des.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Sonny. I love you and I love Des and you know I will be loyal.”
She had forgotten how good it felt to have a woman friend she could confide in, someone she could trust.
“What am I going to do about Des, Jen, before the body snatchers come and take him away?”
“You know he’s just as worried about you, don’t you? He says the only thing that’s gotten him through is his religion. The fact that you don’t believe the things he believes worries him because you have nowhere to turn for solace. Have you seen Rachel?”
“Once. It helped a little. I was having some bad dreams and after talking to her about them, figuring them out, they went away. But I don’t need a shrink. I know what the problem is. I would be crazy if I weren’t sad. I’ll be fine. Really. It will just take some time. The question is, will I be able to stand being married to a religious nut? The answer is, I’m not so sure.”
“He really loves you. This is always a hard time for people, for couples who lose a child. I do volunteer work in the oncology section at Children’s Hospital now. A surprising percentage of the parents whose children die split up. They just can’t take the stress on the marriage and it affects each person in a different way. One partner will resent the way the other one handles his or her grief. They have nobody to take out their anger on except each other. It’s a double tragedy. Don’t let that happen to you and Des. You’re both strong people and you love each other. You need each other to get through this. Don’t try to be superwoman, Sonny. It won’t work anymore. You’ve gone beyond that now. Let yourself grieve. You’ll work through the pain a lot faster if you do. It will help your friends, too, you know. It’s awfully hard on everyone to watch you suffer so.”