She nodded and got into the car. Hers was the only car on the road, and she rolled down the window to let the warm, fragrant air rush over her. It was a moonless night and the headlights seemed inadequate pinpricks in the dark ahead. She wished suddenly she had accepted Tyler’s invitation to stay the night. The drive ahead seemed too long, the road too dark. And she felt an emptiness that she finally recognized as envy —- a great longing for the fulfillment her brother had so unexpectedly found.
She groped on the passenger seat and her fingers found a cassette. She quickly thrust it in the player. A second later, the sounds of Puccini’s Tosca spilled out. After a moment, she reached over and turned the volume up high, then even higher, filling the car and night with music.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Lilith stood staring out the window, down at the people in Union Square. After a minute, she turned back to face Ian, sitting at his desk. “She outmaneuvered you,” she said.
“There was nothing I could do,” Ian said. “That’s the way Father set it up. One vote for each of us.”
“But why didn’t you see it coming? Why didn’t you know about the FCC thing?” Lilith heaved a big sigh. “That station made a lot of money.”
“I know, Mother. I was the one who set it up to do exactly that.”
“I just don’t see why you —-”
Ian slammed his hand down on the desk. “It’s gone! Sold! Let’s forget it, all right?”
Lilith stared at him, wide-eyed. Then she walked regally to a chair and sat down, wearing a hurt look.
“I’m sorry,” Ian said.
“You’re awfully tense, dear.”
“I have a lot on my mind.” Ian began to sift through some papers as a way of hinting to Lilith that he wished she’d leave. But she just sat there and after a moment he noticed Lilith’s eyes wandering around the room intently and that she was frowning.
“What is it?” he asked in exasperation.
“Do you plan to see Richardson today?” she asked.
“No, he left for New York two days ago.”
“Without giving us his answer?” she asked, surprised.
“He’s coming back next week,” Ian said. “But I get the impression he’s not interested.”
“Nonsense. I think he’s just stringing us along to get a better price. Perhaps if you were more aggressive —-”
“Mother, I’ve talked to that man until I’m blue in the face. I just don’t think he wants the papers.”
“Well, despite what all the gossips say, I don’t think he’s here just to renew old acquaintances, although I certainly wouldn’t put it past Kellen.” She paused. “I think we should lower our asking price. This sale has to go through.”
Ian stared at her for a long time. “I don’t get it,” he said. “I’ve listened to you complain for years about how Father stole your family’s newspaper. And you keep telling me how important it is for me to run things so Robert can sit in this office. But now you’re ready to just turn around and hand it to an outsider. I don’t get it, Mother. I just don’t get it. What in the hell do you want?”
Lilith opened her purse and pulled out a gold compact. She opened it and looked at her reflection, smoothing a stray black hair away from her heavily powdered cheek. She put it away and leveled her dark eyes at Ian.
“I want to hurt Adam the way he hurt me,” she said.
For one fearful moment, Ian thought he saw tears form in Lilith’s eyes and he froze, not having any idea of what to do. But then Lilith’s mouth drew into a firm line.
“He left me for that woman,” she said. “He’s dead and I have to hurt him —- both of them —- the only way I can, through their daughter. Kellen won’t get the one thing he wanted her to have most.”
Ian could think of nothing to say. Finally, he picked up some papers on the pretense of stacking them in a neat pile.
“Richardson said he’s coming back next week,” he said. “I’ll present him with a new offer.”
Lilith smiled.
“You know, Mother,” Ian said, “even if Richardson bites, there’s no guarantee we can count on Tyler. He’s obviously aligned himself with Kellen.”
Lilith began to button her jacket. “I wouldn’t worry about Tyler. He can be persuaded. You just have to find the right button to push. If I’m right about my hunch, Tyler has a secret that might prove very embarrassing if it got out.”
Lilith smiled, enjoying Ian’s bewildered look. “Why, didn’t you know, dear? Your little brother’s a homosexual.”
“Tyler? A faggot? I don’t believe it!”
Lilith frowned. “I so dislike that word.” She rose, picking up her purse. “Well, as unbelievable as it might sound, I really think it’s true. And what’s more, I think his...his friend is that politician Waverly.”
Ian’s mouth fell open. “How do you know that?”
“I saw them together at the Black and White Ball. By the end of the night they seemed awfully friendly.” She shook her head at Ian’s incredulous face. “One just has to be observant, dear.”
Ian recovered slightly. “Well, if you’re planning to go into the blackmail business, Mother, you’d better have more than a hunch. Besides, you know Tyler. He probably couldn’t care less if anyone knew.”
“Yes, I know. But I wonder how Mr. Waverly might feel. He has a family image to protect. I’ve seen him in public with women so he’s obviously not out of the cupboard.”
“The closet,” Ian said.
“Whatever.”
She glanced at her watch. “Well, I must run.” She went to the door then turned back to Ian. “You know, you’re right, dear. We do need something more than just my hunch. I think we should hire someone to watch them.”
“A detective? Good Lord, Mother.”
“Just to gather some information,” Lilith said. “Just in case we need it. You’ll do it for me, won’t you, dear? Of course you will. You’re such a good son.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
In the next month, Kellen relied on work to keep her from thinking about Garrett. But the words he had said to her that day at the Sutro Baths remained in her head and she turned them over repeatedly, carefully, like pages in a book, looking for insight to his feelings and her own.
True to his word, he didn’t contact her. And she didn’t call him. She finally admitted to herself that she was afraid to. Afraid seeing him again would melt whatever resolve she had.
So she worked. The sale of the television station went through smoothly, and Stephen’s plan for the plant was resurrected. It was projected the plant would take a year to complete but Stephen, working at a furious pace, was flogging everyone toward a nine-month completion date. He was away from home and the office often, and Kellen turned his long absences to her advantage, maintaining her own heavy schedule at work.
She concentrated on the unsolved problem of the Times’ flagging city circulation but a solution remained as elusive as ever. Then, on a routine trip to the loading dock, she overheard two delivery men talking. One man said he was quitting the Times next week and taking a job at the Journal.
She approached the men, introduced herself and asked the man why he had quit.
“Well, ma’am,” he said uneasily. “It’s got nothing to do with the Times. I like working here. But my wife is a nurse and she works a lot of night shifts. I need to get home in time to watch the kids.”
“And you can’t if you work here?” she asked.
He shook his head. "I can’t make my deliveries and get home by six,” he said. “Traffic’s just a mess, you know?”
She nodded. The roads and freeways were congested and the Times was delivered during the beginning of rush hour. The Journal trucks, on the other hand, maneuvered through the empty predawn streets.
The man gestured toward a truckload of the Times sitting at the loading dock. “This is driving me crazy, ma’am.”
“Me, too,” Kellen said ruefully.
The man shrugged. “Well, ma
ybe you should just starting delivering the Times in the morning.”
Back in her office upstairs, Kellen kept thinking about the man’s comments. She was thinking, too, about that vice presidents meeting months ago where the circulation man had said he had been getting a lot cancellations in the city because of late deliveries.
Deliver the Times in the morning. She knew the man down on the docks had been joking. But could it be as simple as that?
Kellen punched her intercom. “Adele, come in, please. I’m going to need some help getting some information I need.”
Three hours later, she leaned back in her chair staring at the production reports spread out on the desk and her scribblings on the legal pad.
It could be done, she thought with rising excitement. The Times could be converted to a morning publication.
She quickly packed her briefcase. She couldn’t wait to get home and tell Stephen about her idea.
Stephen set the legal pad down on the desk, taking off his glasses. He looked up at Kellen.
“It seems like a good idea but I don’t know,” he said slowly. “There are a lot of things you haven’t taken into consideration.”
She stared at him in consternation. She had hoped for more enthusiasm, but so far Stephen had given her mainly reasons why it shouldn’t be done. It was just his cautiously pragmatic side emerging but right now she didn’t want to hear it. Right now she wanted a show of support.
“I know that,” she said. “So we’ll form a project committee, like the one for the suburban plant.”
He shook his head. “Kellen, I’ve got all I can handle with this plant. Maybe when it’s up and running —-”
“We can’t afford to wait another year. Something has to be done now.” She paused. “I’ll head the committee.”
He stared at her. “Switching to morning delivery would mean huge changes for editorial. I can’t give you the input you need right now, Kellen. Be reasonable. Let’s tackle one thing at a time.”
She took a deep breath. “I know editorial well enough to act on your behalf.” She paused. “I want to do this, Stephen. I’m going to call a meeting of the vice presidents for tomorrow. Can you be there?”
“I was planning to go down to the plant site. But I’ll be there if you want me to.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
He pushed himself out of the chair. “I’m tired,” he said. “I think I’ll go to bed early.”
She sat there, her eyes focused on the legal pad lying on the desk. Stephen paused at the door of the study. “Are you coming up?” he asked.
“Not right now,” she said. She heard him go up the stairs and for the next half hour, she sat there without moving, staring at the legal pad.
Kellen glanced down the long conference table at the vice presidents. She could read their reactions to her idea in their faces —- everything from amazed skepticism to barely disguised scorn.
“That’s about all I have to say, gentlemen,” she said. “Perhaps you have some questions?”
The men, almost as one, glanced at Stephen. Finally, Dennis Dingman cleared his throat.
“You’ll have to excuse us, Mrs. Hillman. We’re all just a little shocked by your proposal.”
“I can appreciate that,” Kellen said. “Converting the Times from an afternoon to a morning newspaper would cause upheaval and some problems. But I’m convinced it is the only way we can stem our circulation loss and regain our dominance over the Journal.”
George Avare looked puzzled. “But how?”
Kellen looked to Stephen. “Stephen has talked about how hard it has become to get the paper delivered on time because of traffic problems,” she said. “This will solve them. It also accommodates trends toward morning readership.”
Harry Beebe shook his head. “But we’re sure to lose circulation if we switch. Readers are creatures of habit.”
“Some readers will be angry and leave us,” Kellen said. “But most people view the newspaper as an old friend. You get angry at the friend once in a while but you don’t desert him. I’m confident most of our subscribers will stay with us. We will continue to put out a late edition to satisfy the afternoon need.”
Avare, who had been hired by Ian and had never liked Kellen, stared at her. “What about your brothers, Mrs. Hillman?” he said. “How do they feel about this?”
“I told them both about it this morning. Tyler has backed my recommendation. Ian, on the other hand, feels the move would jeopardize any chance there might be to sell the company, which you all know has been his intent for some time now. That’s why he refused to be at this meeting.”
She closed the file in front of her and folded her hands on top of it. She stared at her hands for a moment then looked up.
“I have something to say about that,” she said. “Most of you knew my father. He hired four of you and guided your rise here. You know he published newspapers that stood for something -— integrity, truth, the best values of the reader. And he always did it with a great passion.” She paused. “I can no longer stand back and watch any of that be compromised and I will not allow this company to be sold. I will do whatever is necessary to prevent it.”
The room was quiet. “Our next step,” Kellen said finally, “will be to form a project committee to research this. I will head it and I’d like each of you to appoint someone from your division. We have to move fast on this.”
The men glanced at each other but remained silent.
“If there are no other questions,” Kellen said, “then I think we can call it a day.”
The men rose and filed out of the room, talking among themselves in low tones. Kellen lingered, watching Stephen out of the corner of her eye. The tension that had begun last night was still unresolved.
Stephen rose from his place at the far end of the table and came over to her. “You handled that well,” he said.
“I could have used your help.”
“You didn’t need it.”
She closed her briefcase with a snap and started for the door. He followed. They said nothing as they walked down the hallway.
“I know this can work,” she said finally. “But not if they’re not on my side.”
“They’re used to Ian calling the shots, Kellen. Now all of a sudden you come on strong. They feel like they’re caught in the middle of a family feud and are probably afraid to take sides. Also, you’ve issued a direct command. They might be feeling a little threatened.”
She stopped to face him. “Is that how you feel?”
Her question hung in the air and she wished she could take it back.
“No,” he said finally.
“Then why do I feel like you’re fighting me on this?” she asked.
“I told you last night that I thought it was a good idea, Kellen. But I also think you’re moving too fast. I know how much you want to solve the problem but I don’t want to see you do something impetuous that you’ll regret later. If you’d just wait until I have more time to help —-”
“Stephen, stop it, please. You’re treating me just like you used to when we were kids. ‘You don’t think things through, Kellen, you’re too impetuous, you need my help.’ Well, I am not a kid anymore, Stephen. Stop treating me like one.”
Her outburst had startled him into silence.
She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get going or I’ll get caught in the rush hour traffic,” she said.
She went toward the elevator. Stephen paused then followed her. She pushed the button and they waited, neither saying anything.
“Don’t go,” he said.
“I just want to be alone, Stephen. I want to think.”
“You don’t have to go down to Carmel to do that.”
“Yes, I do. I already told you that I want to get away for a few days.”
He was staring at her but she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were trained above the elevator, watching the floor indicator move slowly, too slowly.
“I’m sorry, Kellen,�
�� he said. “I didn’t mean to sound like I’m patronizing you. I’m sorry about last night, too.”
Her eyes stayed on the elevator lights.
“Don’t go,” he said. “We’ll talk about it. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, we’ll talk about it.”
Her eyes dropped to the floor.
“If it’s something I’ve done —-” he began.
She shook her head. “It’s not you, Stephen, it’s me.”
The elevator door opened and she got in. She pushed a button but Stephen held the door open. He seemed to want to say something but finally he just let the door go.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
The Rolls hugged the road, heading south away from the congestion of the city. Soon, the urban sprawl gave way to open hilly land and coastal towns. Kellen knew the road well and tried to lose herself in the simple pleasure of driving but she could not stop thinking about Stephen.
She glanced up at the clear blue sky then over to her right. She knew from experience that just beyond the road there was a cliff and that far below was the ocean, pounding on the rocks. But today, a heavy fog bank had moved in and lay nestled against the cliffs. Nothing was visible but the top of the fog, resting atop the ocean like miles of meringue. The sight was disorienting, a strange distortion of the reality she knew was there, just beyond the guard rail.
Disoriented...that was how she felt right now about Stephen. It was as if their marriage was shifting slightly. It was like the time when she was twelve and had felt her first real earthquake tremor. She had felt the floor of the house move slightly under her feet, and when it was over seconds later she had looked up and seen cracks in the walls of her bedroom. The sturdy old house on Divisadero, she had realized, was only as solid as the ground it was built on.
Was that what was happening to her marriage? Was the ground on which it had been built undermined by some fault?
Last night, when Stephen asked why she was going to Carmel he had been exasperated and even a bit angry at her reluctance to explain why. She couldn’t explain it to him.
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