"What do you think?" Kurt asked. He opened and closed the wings several times. "See? It even folds up."
"That's nice, Kurt." Sheila stared at the hinged contraption. "But what is it?"
Kurt grinned at his father. "Wait a minute, I'll be right back." He ran to his bedroom again and returned with his guitar. Gently he rested it on the two wooden projections. "It's a guitar stand, Mom." He stepped back to admire his present. "Stevie even put felt on it to keep it from scratching my guitar."
"Yeah," Satterfield said, looking at the timeworn instrument, "you sure wouldn't want to put any marks on that beauty."
"Go ahead and make fun of it, Dad. But you wait. I've got fifty dollars saved up already. One of these days I'll have enough for a real good one."
"And what kind's a real good one?
"An Ovation. You know, the kind Lenny Kravitz plays."
Satterfield tousled his son's hair. "You'd better keep saving your money."
"Kurt, you go wash up for dinner," Sheila said. "I'm going to make the salad. It won't be too long."
Satterfield watched Sheila as she went to the corner cupboard and reached for a bottle from the top shelf. Her lime sun dress was cut low in the back, highlighting her deep, even tan. As she stretched, the lines of her shapely calves became even more pronounced. He remembered every inch of her body. She still looked great, but too much time had passed and too many things had been said. He could no longer imagine making love to her.
Sheila nudged the bottle of bacon bits with her fingers and tipped it over. It rolled off the shelf, hit the counter, and shattered on the floor.
"Damn!" Sheila kicked angrily at the pieces of glass, then covered her face with her hands.
"It's just a jar. What is wrong with you tonight?" Satterfield asked.
Sheila took her hands from her face. She hesitated as if to compose herself. "I'll talk to you about it later, after dinner. Could you help me clean this up?"
Sheila was quiet for most of the meal. Satterfield kept his eyes on her. Since the divorce she had always been able to handle her problems on her own, no matter how difficult, but tonight she seemed to be struggling over something, maybe even reaching out to him.
After they finished with cake and ice cream they cleared the table and moved to the living room. Kurt seemed to be too caught up in the occasion to notice his mother's mood.
"Okay, mister, time for your present," Satterfield said. "You're going to have to go to your room until I bring it in. And no peeking out the window, either."
Kurt's face lit up. "I won't, I promise."
Satterfield brought in the new guitar and quietly removed it from its case. He lifted the old Stella from the wooden stand, and set the shiny new Ovation in its place. "Okay," he called out. "Come on in."
Kurt ran from his bedroom and looked first at his father. Satterfield held the old Stella across his lap. When Kurt turned and saw the new guitar his eyes became huge. "Wow! An Ovation! I don't believe it! Thanks, Dad!" He threw his arms around Satterfield's neck. "Oh, man!"
"Happy birthday, son."
Kurt picked up the new guitar and strummed a few chords. "This is great, Dad!" He looked at Sheila. "Mom, can I go show Stevie? He won't believe this!"
"Sure. But you might want to say goodbye to your father. I'm not sure how long he's staying." She looked at Satterfield.
"I'll be here awhile." Satterfield smiled at Kurt. "Later on I want to hear some licks on that guitar."
"You got it, Dad. Just as soon as I get back." Kurt gently put the guitar in its case and raced out the door.
"All right, what's got you so upset?" Satterfield asked. "Ever since I got here you haven't been yourself. What is it?"
Sheila looked up at him. "I'm scared, Frank, really scared. I got a call this morning from a reporter with the Tribune about the time I spent with The Family. I don't know how she found out. I've never told anyone but you."
"Well I've sure never told anybody," Satterfield replied. At least now he knew what was upsetting her. "So why did she call you?"
"She said something about wanting to interview me because I was one of The Family members who had gone on to become successful. I can't remember everything she said. I went numb as soon as she mentioned The Family." Sheila was blinking away tears. "She called me at the shop, Frank. Do you know what would happen to my business if anyone found out about this? Half of my customers are in the entertainment industry. They'd leave me in a minute."
"All right. What do you want me to do?"
"Call her. Tell her to leave me alone. Threaten to arrest her, anything. I don't care. Just please get her out of my life."
"What's her name?"
"Here, I wrote it down." She handed Satterfield a piece of paper. "Stephanie Kenyon."
Chapter 15
The walls of the waiting room were covered with hand-crafted wainscoting, reminiscent of an old collegiate hall. Only some ivy outside interrupted the silvery lines of the leaded glass window. Near the corner of an upper pane, a yellow and orange garden spider had spun an elaborate silken retreat. The office building was nearly empty, and the silence of the warm summer evening was broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner that jutted incongruously from the oak paneling.
"Come on back, Cindy," Dr. Thomas said with a smile.
Cindy Pennington picked up her coffee and followed him into his office, taking a seat in one of the two leather armchairs facing his desk. She was not unattractive, but she seldom wore makeup and her long, chestnut hair had little in the way of body or style.
Dr. Thomas grabbed a briar pipe from the wooden pipe rack and filled it from the glass humidor. He opened the French doors behind his desk and sat down in his chair. This was the first time Cindy had ever asked to see him between their regularly scheduled appointments. When she had called several hours earlier she wouldn't tell him why she needed to see him, just that it was very important to her.
"Well, how are things going?" Dr. Thomas asked. "How's the job?"
"Okay, I guess." She shrugged. "In ER it seems like the more you try, the worse it gets."
Dr. Thomas nodded in agreement. "Sometimes that's the way it seems." He stroked his graying, neatly-trimmed Vandyke. "You know, Cindy, nurses are right up there with teachers and social workers when it comes to job burnout. It's almost unavoidable. It just seems to go with the profession."
"I know, but what else am I going to do? Can you see me going back to school at thirty-nine? It was hard enough the first time."
"You don't need to change careers, you just need to develop methods of dealing with the stress you encounter. Time off can help, you know. How long has it been since you've had a vacation?"
"Too long. In fact, Roger Dunn just asked me to go to Las Vegas with him."
"Maybe that's exactly what you need."
"I don't know. He's been putting a lot of pressure on me to go to bed with him." Cindy shrugged. "I told him I wouldn't do it until I was sure that I loved him. He thinks that's old-fashioned, but that's his problem."
"I like your assertiveness, Cindy. But let me ask you something. You've been dating Roger for quite a few months now. Don't you think it's normal for him to want to have an intimate relationship with you?"
Dr. Thomas knew that Cindy's inability to get close to people served her well at work. Nursing, especially in the emergency room, demanded that she distance herself from the seriously sick and injured patients, many of whom did not make it. But that inability to get close stood in the way of developing the meaningful, personal relationships he knew she longed for.
Dr. Thomas chewed lightly on the stem of his pipe. "Cindy, I know you didn't come here tonight to talk about Roger Dunn. What's troubling you?"
Cindy Pennington's eyes seemed fixed on the Oriental rug beneath her chair. "Do you remember why I started coming to see you?"
"Of course," Dr. Thomas replied, "but that's all in the past."
"I thought it was, too, but now I'm not so sure."
>
Dr. Thomas leaned forward. "What is it, Cindy? What's happened?"
She raised her head. "A reporter from the Los Angeles Tribune called me today. She's doing a story on people who were in Mother Earth's Family and she wants to interview me."
Chapter 16
Stephanie's eyes opened slowly. Again the telephone rang. She switched on the small lamp on her nightstand, then remembered she had moved the phone from her bedroom to the living room when she was working on the book. She squinted at the numbers on the clock--it was three fourteen.
She hurried down the hallway to the living room. The phone lay on the floor, next to her notebook. "Hello?" She waited for a response. "Hello...hello?" There was no reply, but she had a feeling someone was still on the other end. "Hello," she repeated, "is anyone there?" She thought she detected faint breathing. She waited a few more seconds, then unplugged the phone and carried it back to her bedroom. She had just plugged it into the outlet when it rang again.
"Hello?" Stephanie answered. There was still no response. "Listen, either stop it or my husband will call the police!" She slammed down the phone. "Creep."
She looked at the clock and groaned, wondering if she'd be able to go back to sleep. As she reached to turn off the lamp the phone rang again. She counted the rings. After the tenth she unplugged it, but she still heard the kitchen phone ringing. She went to the kitchen, flipped on the light, and stood there, trying to decide whether to let it ring or to lift the receiver and hang up again.
The ringing stopped.
"Morning, Steph."
Stephanie looked up from her work and yawned. "Good morning, Hal."
"Big night last night, eh?"
"I wish. Some idiot kept calling me in the middle of the night. I couldn't go back to sleep, and then I had to get up early to drop off my car at the garage."
"Who called?"
"I have no idea. I picked it up twice but no one answered. I finally just let it ring."
Hal's face showed his concern. "Has this happened before?"
"Oh, sure, I get the heavy breathing treatment from time to time. This one seemed different, though. It's hard to explain, but there was just something about it...like the person hadn't picked my number at random." Stephanie shrugged. "Hey, it was probably just some kids."
"You don't think it was Randy, do you? Sounds like something he might pull."
"I don't think so. Whoever called didn't say a word, and that's not Randy's style. Besides, I heard he moved in with some aerobics instructor. She probably keeps him too busy to be calling me at three o'clock in the morning."
"Have you got a minute to talk?" Hal asked. "In private?"
"Sure."
Stephanie followed Hal to a conference room. He closed the door behind them and they sat down at the end of the long table. She waited while he took out a cigarette and lit it. Twin jets of smoke streamed downward from his nostrils, then drifted toward the ceiling.
"Things go okay yesterday?" he asked.
Stephanie nodded. "I got off to kind of a rocky start, but it couldn't have turned out any better. I even managed to schedule the first interview for this afternoon."
"Great." Hal leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. "You know, Steph, this is getting bigger than either of us imagined."
"What do you mean? I've barely begun."
Hal took a deep drag on his cigarette. "I had another meeting with Mr. Z yesterday afternoon. Lance Melrose was there, too. This stays between us, Steph. You know, I always thought that Mr. Z kept Melrose around just because Lance is his nephew, but I don't think so anymore. Ever since the reorganization, Melrose has been acquiring more and more power. Yesterday I found out why. The Trib's in a real bind, Steph. Circulation's been dropping for seven straight months. Some of the big advertisers are starting to grumble. It's not critical yet, but it's a trend Mr. Z wants to stop. Immediately."
"What's that have to do with Melrose?" Stephanie asked.
"Well, a couple of things. First, despite the fact that little Lance partied the entire six years it took him to get through Stetson, Mr. Z still thinks he's the financial wizard who can turn things around for the Trib."
"I'll have to see that. What's the other?"
Hal sat up in his chair. "This is just a hunch, but I think Melrose will be the big cheese around here someday."
Stephanie's eyes widened. "You can't be serious."
"I know it sounds crazy and, like I said, it's just a hunch. Mr. Z's a tough old bird, but with his health going downhill the last few years, the responsibility of running the paper has really taken its toll on him. I think he wants out, but only if the Trib stays in the family. Melrose is his closest living relative. It looks like he's heir apparent."
"You mean error apparent, don't you?"
Hal smiled. "Whatever. Anyway, it's only speculation, but it would explain why Melrose is so tight in Fiscal. He's watching over what one day might be his own money. And I also learned yesterday that as a consequence of all this, he's in charge of a new program to boost circulation."
"And the series on The Family is the key?"
Hal nodded and put out his cigarette. "Exactly." He arched his eyebrows. "This just might be the big break you've been looking for. I told you that Mr. Z loved the idea. Well, he's got Melrose convinced, too. That's why we had the meeting. The Trib plans to go all out on this one, Steph."
"All out?"
"How does front page sound, for a start?"
"You're kidding." Stephanie moved forward in her chair and studied Hal's face. "No, you're not kidding, are you?"
"They hope the series is what turns the paper around--new subscribers, new advertisers. They're even talking about radio and TV promos to kick it off."
"I don't get it, Hal. Melrose doesn't give me the time of day anymore. Mr. Zollinger has always been friendly, but I doubt he even knows who I am. And they're both so damn chauvinistic. If they feel this is so important to the Trib, why haven't they pulled me and put Adrian on it?"
"Mr. Z knows it's your story and he's confident you can handle it. We did discuss having someone help you with it, though, because of what all is involved. You might be surprised to hear that Melrose insisted that you be the only one covering this. He thinks, and I agree, that it would be better if everything is written from just one person's point of view. If we write it through your eyes alone, not only would the continuity be there, but the whole thing would take on your personality. The readers will learn quite a bit about The Family and about Stephanie Kenyon."
"How about the reunion? Have you brought it up?"
"The time isn't right yet. Besides, I want you to be with me for that one. I think you should personally make the pitch to Mr. Z. After yesterday I feel it's something he might go for, especially if he thinks it'll boost circulation. We just need to decide when and how."
"What about my interview this afternoon? Should I bring up the possibility of a reunion? You know, just say it's something we're considering?"
Hal thought for a moment. "I say we wait until we talk with Mr. Z. Besides, that might be a bit much to lay on someone at this point. You'll have plenty of chances to discuss a reunion later on. Who's your interview with?"
"Barbara Moran. I scheduled just one interview today to warm up. Tomorrow I hit the road."
"What time's your appointment?"
"Three. Before I leave I'll give you my schedule for the rest of the week."
"Good. You also need to go upstairs so you can sign for the credit cards and get the finances worked out. And Steph, what we talked about can't go beyond this room. I don't have to tell you that this could work out very well for you. Do your best."
Stephanie rose from the chair. "You know I always do."
Stephanie sat at her desk, putting together her schedule for Hal. She was almost finished when her phone rang.
"This is Stephanie Kenyon."
"Lieutenant Frank Satterfield, LAPD. I'd like to talk to you about a story yo
u're doing on Mother Earth's Family."
"Just a moment." Satterfield...Stephanie thought of Xeno's book and the entry on Sheila Satterfield. Quickly she pulled the book from her briefcase and thumbed through to the right page. It listed both Sheila's maiden name of James and her married name, Satterfield, but nothing about a Frank Satterfield. Could it be her husband? "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" she asked.
"Well, you contacted my ex-wife Sheila about an interview. We're both concerned about how this could affect our son. And she has her business to think of, too."
"But, Lieutenant, as I told her, she will not be involved in any way. I called her only to see if she would consent to an interview, and she said no. That's the end of it as far as I'm concerned."
"May I ask what it is you'll be writing about?"
"I'm sorry," Stephanie replied. "I can't tell you right now."
"Well, just be sure to leave Sheila out of it."
Chapter 17
The cool air inside the lobby of Harrington Plaza brought welcome relief from the afternoon sun. Stephanie spotted the elevators to her left and joined the flow of people headed that way.
Terrell and Associates occupied the entire sixth floor. Stephanie checked in with the receptionist and took a seat in a waiting area appointed with fig trees and comfortable contemporary furniture. She recognized a water color by Cyril Leke, a talented young Bostonian she had met when his work was on exhibit in L.A.
A woman walked over to where Stephanie was sitting. The beige challis suit and French-braided hair made her both businesslike and elegant. Her smile seemed warm and genuine.
"Miss Kenyon? I'm Barbara Moran. Won't you come on back?"
Stephanie followed her down a long hallway to the last office on the right. Barbara Moran swung open a mahogany door bearing a brass plate inscribed with her name. Inside were other original works of art and several orchid plants potted in brass urns. Plaques and certificates of recognition covered the upper part of one wall.
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