“She’s probably not even aware that you’re missing.” Kennedy stands and walks over to the picture window, through which the party tent is visible down a gentle slope of carefully manicured lawn. “I suspect that you’re not as essential as you may like to believe.”
“Talked me into it, Stan, you silver-tongued devil.” G.W. leans back in the recliner again; the footrest obligingly extends itself. “While you’re up, why don’t you fetch us another couple of shots of my special reserve.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t join you for this round.” Kennedy carries the decanter over to the recliner and refills his friend’s glass. “I must arise frightfully early in the morning.”
“Tell me about it,” G.W. moans. “Jill talked me into going down to the starting line with her.” He shakes his head. “I told her that I could see her better on the tube – this is gonna be on TV, ain’t it?”
“ESPN is carrying it live.”
“But she insisted that I come down to see her off. For good luck, she said. Like she really needs it.” He snorts. “But what the hell, it’s not like I have to go very far. I could walk there from here. But why the hell do you have to start the damn thing so early? Who in their right mind feels like going for a dip in the lake at seven A.M.?”
“You’re lucky she’s not a boy, G.W. The men’s race starts at 6:30.” Kennedy grins. “This is something new for triathlons, separate men’s and women’s races. If we had had the time to plan it, we would have held them on separate days. But time was a luxury that we were denied, so we went with staggered starts instead. So don’t complain to me about how early you have to get up tomorrow. I have a pre-race meeting at 5:30.”
“I didn’t know they even had numbers that small in the morning,” G.W. says compassionately, raising his glass. “Better you than me, old buddy.”
“I’d best head back out into the inferno.” Kennedy takes a final sip from his glass and places it on the bar, still half full. “I promised your mayor I’d speak with her an hour ago. And she’s been awfully helpful in handling the logistics for setting up the race on such short notice.”
“Our illustrious mayor,” G.W. says, “is too fucking dumb to empty piss out of a boot. She may be taking the credit for it, but you can bet your ass that somebody on her staff did all the real work for her.”
“She claims to have taken a personal interest in this event,” Kennedy says. “She said that not only is landing the Olympic triathlon trials a feather in Dallas’ cap – as if we had any choice in the matter – but she’s especially proud that one of Dallas’ fine young people, a ‘splendid specimen of Dallas womanhood,’ I believe she said, was favored to win the race.”
G.W. smiles and hoists his glass once more. “I sure as hell will drink to that,” he says. And he downs the bracing liquid in three healthy gulps.
2.5.5: Dallas
“Jill!”
As Jillian turns to see who’s calling her, a flash explodes just a few feet from her face. “Whoa!” she says, holding her hands up to shield her eyes. “You’re going to blind me!”
“How about a shot of you two closer together?” a familiar voice suggests.
Ever since Jillian intervened for Nathan half an hour ago, Sunshine has stuck with her like an obedient duckling, a faithful shadow, sometimes even holding on to Jillian’s arm, as if she’s afraid of getting lost.
Which wouldn’t have been so bad if Nathan hadn’t been tagging along. The guy creeps me out, Jillian decided. He looks absolutely ridiculous in that white robe. And those stupid leather sandals. He looks more like something out of the middle ages than a “throwback to the sixties,” as Uncle Stan called him.
He didn’t even have the good manners to express any gratitude when Jillian let him into the party, although he must have known that admission was by invitation only. In fact, he didn’t say much of anything, he just followed along behind Jillian and Sunshine, looking at everything, his hawk-eyes soaking it all in.
But then, after a few minutes, when Jillian turned to ask him if he was going to follow her around all night, he was gone. He must have just wandered off without saying a word. The rudeness aside, that was fine with her. The guy gave her the willies.
“Where did Nathan go?” Jillian had asked. “He was here a minute ago.” She craned her neck and looked around, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Nathan wanders where he will,” Sunshine had said, very seriously. “We have learned not to be surprised by his sudden disappearances.”
And just then, the familiar voice called her name – and as she turned, the flash exploded in her face.
And now, a few seconds later, her vision has begun to clear, and she’s able to focus on the familiar face that produced the familiar voice.
“Just a little bit closer, ladies,” Leida Andersen urges, motioning with one hand while she holds a camera up to eye level with the other. “Maybe put your arms around each other’s shoulders? You know, comrades in arms?”
“How did you get in here?” Jillian is livid. “You’re not on the guest list. This is a private party.”
“And what a beautiful place you have here, Jill,” Leida gushes. “And so very generous of your father to throw it open for a party like this.”
“How did you get in?” Jillian demands again.
“It’s amazing what a press card will do,” Leida says with a smirk. “It unlocks many doors.”
“I want you to leave.”
“Jill, I know how you feel, but why don’t we just bury the hatchet? There’s no point in us walking around angry with each other.” She extends a hand to Jillian, who ignores it.
“If you don’t leave voluntarily, I’ll have you thrown out.”
“Jill, look, you’re being childish,” Leida says, withdrawing her hand. “We should be helping each other, not arguing. I can do you a great deal of good, but I need your cooperation. Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?”
“You? Help me?” Jillian snorts in derision. “Like you helped me on your show? Thanks, lady, but I don’t need that kind of help.”
“That was unfortunate,” Leida admits. “You have to understand that I was under a lot of pressure at WSXR to generate controversy. Good for ratings, and all that. But I’m working for PBS now, and it’s a whole new environment. We play by an entirely different set of rules.”
“Like sneaking into private parties without an invitation? Like snapping pictures of people without asking their permission?”
“Jill, listen to me,” Leida says, as her smile wilts. “I’m producing a PBS documentary about the Olympic Ironman triathlon. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to be one of the major players in it. Perhaps the major player. I’m going to try to paint an objective picture of you, but if you make things difficult for me…” – she shrugs – “…well, the portrait of you that would emerge might not be especially… flattering, shall we say.”
“You’re despicable.” Jillian begins to scan the crowd to see if she can spot any of the security people. I’ll have this bitch tossed out on her ear, she thinks.
“And if not for yourself, think of the sport. Think of your fellow triathletes.” Leida nods at Sunshine, who looks uncomfortable at the possibility that she might be drawn into the conversation. “Getting into the Olympics is a big break for the Ironman. A lot of attention is going to be focused on you. On all of you. The impressions that people form over the next few weeks are going to stay with them for a long time, for better or for worse, fair or unfair.”
“What do I care what people think?” There, isn’t that Darvell Tallent? Jillian holds up her arm to attract his attention; he starts to lumber slowly toward her. “I don’t need any publicity.”
“But Jill, as you may be aware…” – Leida gestures vaguely at the surroundings – “…not all triathletes are as fortunate as yourself. Very few triathletes are actually able to earn a living from the sport, and some of those people get most of their income from endorsements, not from ra
cing.” She forces a smile. “I’ll bet that Sunshine would love to see her smiling face beaming out at the world from a million boxes of cereal, wouldn’t you, dear?”
Sunshine considers the question somberly. “What kind of cereal?” she finally asks. “It would have to be natural cereal. Most cereal is just sugar. It’s poison. I wouldn’t want my picture to be used…”
“Sunshine, for God’s sake.” Jillian is exasperated.
“The point is, Jill,” Leida says, stepping closer and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “the point is that you have to make a decision. You can be a positive force or a negative one. You can do the sport a world of good, or you can do it a lot of harm. You can have people think of you as someone to look up to, someone to emulate. Or you can come across as a spoiled brat. The choice is yours.”
“Miss Kendal?” Darvell Tallent is solicitous as he ambles up to the three women. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Leida glances up at Tallent, and Jillian enjoys a delicious moment as Leida realizes that not only has Jillian already summoned a security guard, she’s summoned a 320-pound security guard who, until four years ago, started at right tackle for the Dallas Cowboys. But Leida recovers quickly, and she treats Jillian to a shimmering, if patently unfelt, smile. “The choice is yours, Jill,” she repeats, staring evenly into Jillian’s eyes. “Think it over.”
And that’s just what Jillian does.
This woman has no business being here, she thinks. This is my home and this is my party, and I didn’t invite her. She’s got a lot of damn nerve thinking that she can just wander in here, invade our privacy, crash my party, just because she’s a reporter.
But on the other hand, Jillian thinks, maybe she’s got a point. If she’s doing a story about the triathlon, I can’t stop her from including me in it. And if I throw her out of the party, the picture she paints of me will be, as she said, less than flattering. She’s obviously vindictive, she’ll crucify me on film, and there won’t be anything I can do about it. It probably would make sense for me to swallow my pride and cooperate with her. What the hell. She sighs.
“Miss Kendal?” Tallent repeats, puzzled. “Is everything okay?”
Off in the distance, up the slope, a group of people begins to laugh uproariously, as if someone has just told an especially funny joke. A cheer wafts up from the lake; some of the partiers must have jumped in for a swim, Jillian thinks. They’re probably two sheets into the wind by now, especially the ones who don’t have to race tomorrow, and they’re probably doing sprints, just like they were at the Longwharf.
Who knows, maybe they’re even in the buff.
Wouldn’t that look great in Leida’s documentary.
Jillian stares into Leida’s eyes. Leida looks back at her, unblinking. She doesn’t think I’m going to do it, Jillian realizes. She thinks that she has some kind of power over me just because she’s a goddamn reporter. She doesn’t think I have the nerve to throw her out. Even after the shit she pulled on me on her show.
“Darvell,” Jillian says, smiling up at Tallent. “This woman is a reporter, and she was not invited. I don’t know how she got in.” She checks his expression to make sure that he’s caught the implicit criticism. “But I want her out of here. Will you take care of that for me?”
“Oh, shit,” Leida says, softly, more disgusted than angry, throwing up her hands. “I don’t fucking believe it.”
“We generally allow properly credentialed members of the press into functions like this, unless we receive explicit instructions to the contrary,” Tallent says, defensively. “And your father didn’t say anything about the press one way or the other. Now, I wasn’t at the gate when Miss…”
“Andersen, Leida Andersen.” She smiles up at him as fetchingly as she can. “Public Television.”
“…when Miss Andersen came in, but I’m sure that if she had a valid press card…”
“Which I most certainly do.”
“…whoever was at the gate would have let her in, no questions asked,” Tallent finishes. “That’s just our policy.”
“I understand, Darvell. But Miss Andersen is definitely not welcome here. I’ve asked her to leave, but she refuses. Please escort her out.”
“Miss Kendal.” Tallent is clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to clear that with your father.”
“I don’t see why that should be necessary, Darvell,” Jillian says, sharply. “I’m sure that Daddy will go along with whatever I say. It is my party, after all. You let Nathan in on my say-so,” she reminds him. “Now I’m asking to show this person out.”
“Meaning no disrespect, ma’am, your mother told us to do whatever you said about your friend’s guest,” Tallent says, with a nod at Sunshine. “That’s why we consulted with you on that matter.” He shifts his feet. “But I can’t ask someone to leave unless one of your parents says it’s okay. Please try to understand.”
She’s losing face in front of her antagonist, so Jillian is not in any kind of mood to understand anything. But she also realizes that she’s not going to change Tallent’s mind. If she pursues it any farther, she’ll only provide more satisfaction to Leida.
“Well, then, go find Daddy and tell him that there’s a reporter here without an invitation, and that I insist that she be made to leave.” Seething inwardly, Jillian struggles to maintain her composure. “Will you do that for me?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” Tallent says, cautiously. “I think that would be the best idea.”
“And Darvell,” Jillian says, as he begins to move ponderously away, “could you please take this woman with you? I don’t want her disturbing any of the invited guests while you’re off looking for Daddy.”
As Tallent pauses to consider her request, Jillian can see that she’s made the right move. Tallent hadn’t enjoyed disagreeing with her; after all, she’s the only child of one of his best clients. And now she’s suggested a simple way for him to get back into her good graces.
“Sure,” Tallent says, just as Jillian expected. “That’s reasonable. Miss Andersen, will you come with me, please?”
“I most certainly will not go with you. That is not at all reasonable.” Leida holds her ground with fire in her eyes. “I’m here as a member of the press, and I will not have my access limited by some hired thug. Haven’t you ever heard of the First Amendment? I believe that it’s still part of the Constitution. Even in Texas.”
“You’re on private property, ma’am,” Tallent points out. “If you don’t have an invitation, then I’m afraid that you have no right to be here at all, First Amendment or no First Amendment.” He takes a small step toward Leida and stares down at her. “Actually,” he adds, “even if you did have an invitation, if Mr. Kendal asks you to leave, then you’re gone. Reporter or no reporter.”
“And what if I refuse to come with you?” To Jillian’s surprise, Leida is not backing down. “What would you do, hoist me over your shoulder and carry me away? Knock me over the head with a club and drag me off?”
“I wouldn’t hit you with anything, ma’am, not unless you were to threaten me with a weapon. That’s not how we operate.” Tallent is clearly enjoying himself. “But I will restrain you and carry you off if you refuse to come with me any other way.”
“My God, if you lay a hand on me, I’ll raise such a stink that they’ll hear me in the next county, I swear I will.” It seems to Jillian that Leida’s voice is barely under control. “Do you really think that G.W. Kendal would want that kind of a scene at his daughter’s party?”
“I’ve done it before, Miss Andersen. It’s never been necessary at one of Mr. Kendal’s parties, to the best of my recollection, but I’ve evicted people from other premises. Many times. And my employers have never been displeased. Not even once.”
“I’m not just talking about making a lot of noise here and now.” Leida pulls herself up to her full height, which still leaves her more than a foot shorter than Tallent. “If you lay a ha
nd on me, every news service in the country will hear about it, I promise you that. And I’ll hit you with a lawsuit so fast your head will spin. And I don’t just mean your company. I mean you, personally, you… you Neanderthal.”
As far as Jillian can tell, the insult doesn’t bother Tallent at all. “I’ll take my chances,” he says, smiling genially. Then he spreads his open hands wide in a gesture of conciliation. “But I don’t really think that any of that will be necessary. Wouldn’t it make more sense to come with me and present your case to Mr. Kendal? Perhaps if you tell him what you just told me, you might convince him to let you stay.”
Fat chance, Jillian thinks. If she talks like that to Daddy, she’ll be out on her ass so fast she won’t know whether to shit or go blind.
Leida glares at Tallent, then at Jillian, who smiles back at her sweetly. “Very well,” she says stiffly. “I’ll come with you. But I want it to be understood, in front of witnesses, that I’m only doing this under protest and only under threats of violence. Sunshine, you’ll testify to that, won’t you?”
“Gee. Golly.” Sunshine seems to have momentarily been struck dumb. “I… I don’t know if I’d say that he actually threatened you with violence, Miss Andersen.” She swallows, hard. “I mean, I guess I’d testify, if I was asked to, but I don’t know if I’d be able to say that this gentleman actually threatened you.”
Leida throws up her hands in disgust. “Sunshine…”
“But anyway, Miss Andersen, Nathan teaches us not to get involved in lawsuits. Certainly never to initiate them. If somebody asks you to do something for them, you should do it. That’s what Jesus said: ‘Whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain.’ It’s from the Sermon on the Mount.” She smiles sweetly at Leida, who stares back in disbelief.
“Nathan teaches us,” Sunshine continues earnestly, “that you should do good things even to people who do bad things to you. Because, if you think about it, you’re the one who’s going to have to live with the karma you create. So even when people hurt you…”
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