Once again Elizabeth met Isabel's eyes. "It's fine," Isabel said, adding dryly, "At eighteen you have a few years to think about what's most important to you. But you haven't got a problem about Nuevo, Maya, because it looks like there won't be a fight after all."
"You haven't given in to those robbers!"
"I've given in to the facts of life. The legislature isn't going to budge. And to tell the truth, I don't think enough people want to fight. Jobs, business, money, excitement . . . who the hell would fight all that?"
"But it isn't right!" Maya exclaimed. "I mean, of course jobs are good, and it's good that people are coming back to the valley, and tourists are good, and the new road to the ski area means they'll be here year-round so there will be jobs even after the dam and all the buildings are finished—"
"You're making the speech for the opposition," Isabel said.
"No, I'm saying that all those good things certainly will happen, but it's not right that they won't help us a bit!"
"Jobs," Isabel said.
"So my father can work in a hotel instead of his own farm. Wonderful. And Gaspar can work in somebody else's store, and Roybal can pump gas in somebody else's station. How grateful we should be! And where do we live while we work for other people? In places we rent from them, or in other towns and drive back and forth each day. So rich people who probably won't even live here, and don't give a single damn about this valley, will get richer and richer from our work, on land they practically stole from us. And that is not right!"
Astonished, Elizabeth watched the change in Maya from a bewildered girl uncertain about her future to a fierce woman willing to fight for what she thought was right. If everyone was that determined, Elizabeth thought, they could move mountains.
Move mountains? It would be better if they could move a town.
What a good idea, she thought. Find a friendly giant to pick up the
town and put it somewhere away from the dam and the center of the valley that was going to be flooded.
No, even a giant wouldn't help; he'd have no place to put it down. All the land was bought up long ago, and no one would give up enough acres for—
She sat straight, her mind racing. "Maya, Isabel, listen." She'd wondered last summer if they could build a new town, but she'd been thinking of nearby valleys. Now, Maya's words changed everything. Rich people will get richer from our work. . . . "Listen," she said again. "What if we can find a way to keep the town and also have the lake and a state park and a resort?"
"There is no way," Isabel said. "We'll be under a hundred feet of water."
"You won't be here." Elizabeth took her notebook from her shoulder bag and sketched the valley, with the town at the narrow end, the dam, the long oval that would be Lake Nuevo, the state park on one shore and the resort on the other. She drew the new road that was being cut on the high ground overlooking the future lake, making a wide arc around the dam and the resort, and out the valley at the other end. And finally, as Isabel and Maya watched, she drew a town, straddling the new road.
Maya let out a small cry. "Build Nuevo higher up—?"
"Can't," Isabel said shortly. 'That land isn't ours. I saw the plans last week; that whole area is for future expansion of the resort."
Elizabeth nodded. "So they say. But if Nuevo could be built there. ..." She darkened the new road on her sketch, connecting the town, the resort, and the state park.
"Well, wouldn't that be something," Isabel murmured. "Nobody could get anywhere without going through the town—"
"—shopping at Gaspar's store," said Maya.
"—tanking up at Roybal's gas station," Isabel went on.
"Buying souvenirs," Elizabeth said. "Picnic baskets. Tennis balls. Underwater watches. Postcards. Aspirin. Suntan lotion. Ski goggles. T-shirts."
"Tourists!" Isabel exclaimed. "Spending carelessly, as tourists do. My God, wouldn't that be something! Except, of course, that it's impossible."
"Who says it is?" Elizabeth asked. "Has anyone suggested it?"
"Of course not. We don't own the land!"
"We would if someone gave it to us."
"You've found a saint? Or an idiot? Who else would give up a hundred acres because we ask nicely?"
"That's what we're going to work on. We're going to find some pressure points."
"Pressure points," Maya said thoughtfully. "Is that like blackmail?"
"Persuasion," Elizabeth said with a smile.
Isabel reached across the table, putting her hand on Elizabeth's. "I love you for wanting to help. I admire the devious workings of your mind. But if you do anything for us now, you'll be going public against your husband and his newspapers."
"I know," Elizabeth said briefly. She turned to a fresh page of her notebook. "Let's make a list of what we're going to do."
Isabel squeezed her hand. "Okay, you don't want to talk about it. You want to plan strategy. Who am I to refuse, when I see that glint in your eye?" She put her other hand on Cesar's shoulder. "Padre! Wake up! Things are getting interesting around here."
"Try to forget the camera," Elizabeth told Jock Olson. A technician was clipping a tiny microphone to the pocket of his denim shirt, and Olson was looking at it warily, as if waiting for it to bite. "After a while you won't even notice it. You weren't nervous when we talked yesterday; you wanted to get acquainted first and we had an ordinary conversation. This is no different."
"Except for a few million people who'll be seeing it."
Elizabeth gave him her warmest smile and watched him respond almost automatically with his own smile and an easing of his tense shoulders. "No one wants to make you look foolish," she said. "We all want you to be as wonderful as you were yesterday."
They sat in armchairs in a studio in Albuquerque, where Olson was working for the winter. Behind them was a backdrop of an enlarged photograph of Nuevo as it had looked the previous summer, with two hundred trucks kicking up dust, construction equipment biting into the mountainside, and clouds of dirt and debris blasted into the air by dynamite.
Elizabeth nodded to the cameraman, then led Olson through a description of his farm background, his first job as a worker at Albuquerque Construction, and his new job, beginning last summer, as crew chief on the Nuevo Dam. Relaxing, he answered Elizabeth's questions about how he felt about construction work and being crew chief; he became animated and joked about "this dam job we're doing at Nuevo."
Elizabeth laughed, then said curiously, "What damn job? Is something wrong with it?"
"No," Olson said immediately. "It's fine. Lots of guys would give their eye teeth to have it."
"But it can't all be fun."
"It's not supposed to be fun; it's work. Hard work, with lots of hassles. But the pay's good and it's a steady job. Something always needs to be built somewhere."
"What kind of hassles? Bosses looking over your shoulder—?"
"No, what are you talking about? Nobody looks over my shoulder; I'm a professional. Me and the engineers and the general contractor—we work together."
"But then who's hassling you? Not your workers; they know you're in charge. So who else is there?"
"Look, Mrs. Lovell—"
"Elizabeth."
"Right. Elizabeth. Look, there's a town there. People live there. They don't like us."
"But they don't even know you."
"We buy things in town, we eat there, we talk to them; there's some cute chicks around. ..."
"They don't want you to talk to the chicks? The young girls?"
"Right. But that's not the main thing. Shit, they don't—sorry, I forgot; shouldn't say that—they don't like us because we're building a dam that will flood their town."
"But that's your job."
"Tell them that. They think if we disappeared the dam wouldn't get built."
"But someone would build it."
"That's the thing. You see that; I see it; they don't want to. But there's too much money at stake. There's gonna be condominiums there, a club hou
se, golf course, boating docks . . . This is big, big money, and ain't nobody in the world gonna let anything stop the dam because if it's not there, there's no lake or anything else. The people in that town don't know shit from shinola—sorry, I forgot—the people can't stop it. Last summer some of 'em tried: stood in the road, you know, when the trucks were coming, but nobody got hurt. Mostly they talked; damn if they didn't about yak us to death. Between the ones who wanted us gone and the ones who wanted jobs, I damn near went nuts. I kinda felt sorry for a lot of 'em; they were so sure everything would be hunky-dory if we'd just get the hell out and leave them alone."
"Why should you feel sorry for them? It sounds to me like they were nothing but trouble."
"Well, no question, they were a pain in the ass. But, funny thing: when you got to know them they were okay. Just . . people. Like everybody else."
"And you liked them?"
"Well, sure. Some I did, some I didn't. Like everywhere."
"And they liked you?"
"Yeh. We got along."
"Did they make you an honorary citizen of Nuevo?"
"How the hell did—? Well, Cesar joked about giving me a piece of land in town, but it wasn't like I was a citizen."
"Cesar? One of the people in town?"
"Right. Decent old guy. Everybody's old man, sort of."
"But how did that happen? How could you make friends with them while you're building a dam that's going to flood their town?"
"I just . . . hung around. Damn it, I liked the place! I've been all the hell over the country, every state just about, but this place I really liked— the town, the valley, the people. So I'd hang around and we'd rap and after a while there were a lot of us. ..."
"How many?"
"Fifteen, twenty, sometimes more; they'd come and go, but there was usually a bunch telling stories, rapping . . . like Cesar . . . he'd talk about years ago when the place was a jumping town; he and his friend, a guy named Zachary, dead now, used to hunt rabbits, chase 'em into the— well, that's a long story. And this guy Gaspar? Owns the general store; knows everybody all the way to Pecos, and all the gossip; used to listen at the window when people dumped their problems on Cesar's daughter. You probably heard of her—Isabel Aragon—she was elected to the legislature in the last election. Isn't that something? I wasn't around; we'd shut down for the winter and I was on another job, but I'll bet they were so damn proud. ..."
Elizabeth let the interview unfold at its own pace. Her eyes never left Olson's face; the warmth of her smile and the intimate line of her body, leaning forward in her chair, made him forget the camera: it was as if they were alone.
When Tony watched the uncut tape with her the next day, in Los Angeles, he let out a sigh. "Dynamite. You are a wizard, my sweet. How did you find him?"
"Cesar told me about him. I'd thought of interviewing Cesar and Maya and a few others, but I wanted someone from outside who cared about them."
"Well, you found him. Pity you can't use him for three months."
"I'm using him next week, Tony."
"My sweet, you can't. We've scheduled the European interviews into April."
"I know, but they can all be moved back a week." She was rewinding the tape. "Why did you think I came in today to edit it?"
"I thought you came in to see me."
"Not now, Tony; I'll see you for dinner."
"You'll have to tell Bo you're using this guy next week."
"I know. I'm seeing him this afternoon."
"Well, then. Dinner. L'Orangerie, and wear something special."
"Why?"
"You and I are going to make a potential sponsor fall in love with us."
"Do we need a new sponsor?"
"Bo says we lost one," he said carelessly. "I don't pay attention, but tonight's a big one. Japanese cars. Or is it German cameras? Whatever it is, we're supposed to be our most beautiful and charming selves. I'll be back at six to pick you up."
As he left, Elizabeth rewound the tape and began running it again, in spurts, cutting it to fifteen minutes and editing out the words unsuitable for television. As she reached the end, Bo Boyle came in and watched the last few minutes.
Elizabeth: Why isn't it a good idea to have a lake in that valley? We can always use more places for recreation, can't we?
Olson: Depends on the place. I don't like the way they're doing this one, is all. Look, I've worked on a lot of these fancy resorts and nobody builds them out of the goodness of their heart—they build them to make big bucks. Which is okay—everybody likes to make money—but you shouldn't do it by hurting decent people like Cesar and the rest.
Elizabeth: You mean they should be able to stay?
Olson: Sure. Why not?
Elizabeth: But their town will be gone.
Olson: Build a new one. There's lots of room—we're not doing any work at all in one whole section of the valley. It'll just sit there, empty.
Elizabeth: Build a new town?
Olson: It's not such a big deal; people do it all the time. Tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes—people rebuild. They could take some of that land—nobody'd miss it—and then everybody'd be happy. I'd
even work for nothing, after hours, to help them. And build myself a place, too, a real home, for between jobs. This is a damn nice valley we're talking about; and nobody should be kicked out of iti Listen, this is a terrific idea! Everybody can be there because damn it, there is room in that valley for everybody!
At the last word, Boyle turned and slipped out of the room. His office was a few steps away; once at his desk he punched the numbers on his telephone and drummed his fingers while waiting. "Boyle," he told Rourke's secretary and waited again until Rourke was on the line. "It may not be anything, but I thought you'd want to know about it. LoveLPs just taped an interview with a guy named Olson, construction chief on a dam in that place in New Mexico, and he came up with the idea that the townspeople ought to be given land high up to build a new town. Did you say something?"
l *No, w Rourke replied. "Go on."
"That's about it. You told me to watch for stories on mining and re-sons, so I thought you'd want to know about this one."
"Did she prime him to say what he did?" Rourke asked.
"Not clear. But she always does preliminary' interviews, so it's likely she knew what he'd say."
"Kill it." Rourke said.
"No problem. Do you want a copy of the tape?"
"I want the original. No copies. Is that clear 0 "
"Sure thing."
"And let me know what she does next."
"About what""
"About anything. Is she there now
"Yen. Editing her tape."
".And staying the night at Tony's?"
"I presume. She doesn't inform me, but she hasn't stayed in the Beverly Hills cottage smce they got back from Europe."
".All right. How is Tony's mail?"
"Fair. Up and down. He's slow, though; he just doesn't knife people the way he used to."
"What were last week's ratings?"
"Twenty. Not as low as before we had her, but not where we'd like them. We lost the greetmg card company; I've lined up a couple of possible new ones to fill m."
"All right. Keep m touch. And kill that interview."
Boyle started back to the editing room, then slowed. Why do it now,
when he'd have to give reasons and see those gray eyes change from friendliness to anger? There was a better way to handle it.
Isabel, Cesar, and Luz brought Maya with them to Elizabeth's house to watch the February 6 edition of "Anthony." Holly rescheduled her voice lesson to be with them and they all ate dinner together, then moved to the den and sat in a semicircle in front of the television set, waiting for Elizabeth to introduce Jock Olson.
"This is Elizabeth Lovell and 'Private Affairs,' " said Elizabeth on the screen, after Tony had finished his opening interview. "Introducing you tonight to an apprentice chef, Terry Pelz of Butte, Montana, whose private dream was
to study in Paris with the great—"
"Chef?" asked Maya in bewilderment.
"Mother, what happened?" Holly demanded.
Elizabeth stared at the screen where she sat in an empty restaurant in the sixteenth arrondissement of Paris with a gangly boy who talked fervently of food as art and love. "Someone made a mistake," she said angrily. "I scheduled Terry for next week. I left five notes on five different desks; I told Bo, I told Tony. And I put the tape in the box for tonight."
She switched off the television set. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to make a telephone call."
She went to her bedroom and closed the door. "Al," she said when the engineer answered, "who mixed up my tapes?"
"Mixed up? Nobody. There were only four tapes in tonight's box— three of Tony's and yours on this guy Pelz. Is something wrong?"
"Yes, but it's not your fault. I'll see you tomorrow."
She stood in the doorway of the den. "Holly, do you mind if I go to Los Angeles tonight? Somebody deliberately switched those tapes and I can't wait to find out who did it. And why."
"There's no plane tonight," Isabel said. Her mouth drooped with disappointment. She and Elizabeth had planned to pressure key legislators with the mail they expected to come in after Olson's interview. Maya had written a pamphlet telling how a new town would have historical value, since the oldest buildings, including the church, would be moved to the new site; how it would create goodwill by showing that progress didn't have to steamroll people; how it would provide jobs for New Mexicans.
Now they couldn't use any of it. They'd have to wait—and the legislature would be in session only through March. Seven more weeks.
"The network plane is at the airport," Elizabeth said. "I was going to fly in early tomorrow. What do you think, Holly?"
"I think you should go. And take me. Will you? I'd only miss one day of school."
"This isn't the best time. It may be a battle royal. I will next week, if you can miss rehearsal."
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