Close to You (17 page)

Larson had his assistant screen his calls carefully. There were very few he wanted to take these days because most of them were from disgruntled investors. But when the secretary buzzed to say that Eliza Blake was on the line, Larson picked up immediately.

“Eliza! How nice to hear from you. How is Janie liking her puppy?”

“She's crazy about her, Larson.”

“Great. I thought she would be.”

“I'd be more enthusiastic if you'd checked with me first.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I should have, but I thought it would be all right with you.”

“Larson, you don't know me well enough to assess whether it would be all right or not.”

Bitch. Two hundred dollars on that damned dog . . . But go easy, fella. You can't afford to alienate Eliza Blake.

“Gee, I'm sorry, Eliza. I thought I was doing a good thing. Forgive me.”

She ignored his request. “Actually, I'm calling because Mrs. Garcia told me that you came to our home yesterday.”

“Yeah, I wanted to see how Janie was doing with the dog. Is that a problem?”

“To tell you the truth, Larson, it is. I would prefer it if you didn't do that again. Mrs. Garcia is just starting with us and I want to keep things as controlled and peaceful as I can.”

“Eliza, it was really no big deal,” Larson protested. “And if you want my opinion, I think you should be glad to have someone stopping by once in a while to check on things when you are at the office. You know there is a big colony of those Guatemalans living around here and most of us think they're pretty skeevy. I see the Guats waiting on street corners for landscapers to pick them up for day work and there is a crew of them working at the car wash. Filthy. You may like your Mrs. Garcia, but you don't know what her friends are like. And you certainly wouldn't want them
stopping by to visit when you're not home.”

Eliza could not contain her contempt for the man. “The Guatemalans are lovely people, Larson. Their culture, maybe because it is so poor, values cleanliness, dignity and politeness. We could all learn a lot from them.”

“You're saying
I
could learn a lot from them, aren't you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I am. Please don't stop by unannounced at my home again.”

As she hung up the phone, repulsed by his bigotry, Eliza remembered the safe. Larson still hadn't gotten the combination to her.

To hell with it.
There was no way she was going to call him back.

Cornelius watched out the bus window as the soot-covered tiled walls of the Lincoln Tunnel passed by. Once he got to the Port Authority terminal, he would take a quick subway ride uptown to the KEY Broadcast Center. He could do what he had to do and get back to Moonachie in time for his shift at the bar.

Meat was tired of watching her on TV. It wasn't enough anymore. He needed to get a glimpse of Eliza in the flesh. He was prepared to come into the city every day until he got what he wanted.

He had to get a handle on her schedule. When did Eliza arrive in the morning? Did she go out to lunch? The best time to get her had to be after the
Evening Headlines,
as she left the Broadcast Center. But at seven o'clock Meat had to be at work and he wasn't ready to give up his hours at the bar. At least not yet.

Dressed in jeans and a blue New York Giants sweatshirt, Meat waited for the A train on the subway platform, looking with disdain at the other straphangers standing around him. Some of the women, dressed in tight pants and short skirts, particularly disgusted him.
Sluts.

The train dropped him off at Columbus Circle and he
trudged up the steps with the masses to the sunlight above. He bought a hot, salted pretzel and a Coke from a vendor's steel cart and wolfed it down as he headed west. He glanced at his watch. It was after eleven o'clock. He had gotten a later start than he should have. Eliza was probably already in the office by now.

But as he reached the long brick building that housed the Broadcast Center, he had hopes of spotting Eliza as she went out to lunch. He stationed himself across the street, where he had a clear view of the entrance. He watched carefully as dozens of people went in and left through the heavy revolving door. After half an hour, he walked forty feet up the block to a pizza parlor, went inside and ordered a slice with sausage and pepperoni, keeping his eyes trained out the plate-glass window while he waited for the pizza to heat. He paid for the slice and a can of cream soda and took a seat in one of the white plastic chairs at a bistro table out on the sidewalk.

More people were coming out of the Broadcast Center now.

 

“You are a miracle worker! I can't believe you got this organized so quickly.”

Keith smiled sheepishly. “I can't take all the credit on this one, Eliza. I mentioned the story to my wife and she happens to have a girlfriend who is a literary agent and feels she has to stay in New York while her husband has an opportunity in Dallas he didn't want to pass up. He left six months ago. It's been wreaking havoc on their relationship, but they are determined to work things out.”

“You've talked to them, of course.”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, and they're willing for us to do their story. In fact, she's flying to Texas this weekend. We can accompany her on the plane and then shoot them together in Dallas. I was thinking it would be cool for you to interview her on the plane ride Friday night, get her feelings of anticipation and then get the letdown as she flies back on Sunday.”

He watched Eliza's face for reaction.

Eliza knew Keith was right. This would be a good way to do the story. She didn't want to be away for the weekend, though. Yet after killing the New York-to-London idea, she couldn't be a prima donna now and say no to this plan. That wouldn't be fair.

Eliza glanced at her watch. “Are you hungry? Let's go out and grab some lunch and talk about it.”

 

Meat was accustomed to waiting.

In fact, he enjoyed the anticipation—and the reward for his patience. He waited for his bats to emerge. Now he waited for Eliza.

There she was, coming through the revolving door! A man followed behind her and together they walked onto the street. The man raised his arm to hail a cab

It took awhile for an empty taxi to come. Time for Meat to fume. Eliza still wasn't listening.

Her brown hair gleamed in the midday sunlight. Her navy business suit, if it could be called that, showed way too much thigh.

She laughed at something the man said as they got into the cab.

Whore.

When she got home from work, Eliza announced that she was going to have to go away for the weekend. Janie didn't seem to mind at all if her mother went out of town when presented with the option of going into the city to stay with KayKay and Poppie for two nights. She knew that meant a trip to see the monkeys at the Central Park Zoo, a movie and, maybe, if she was good, a visit to FAO Schwarz for the toy of her choice.

“How do you feel about driving Janie into New York after school on Friday afternoon?” Eliza asked Mrs. Garcia. “Janie's grandparents live right off the Harlem River Drive.”

“Whatever you want me to do is fine, señora. I know how to get into the city. I have relatives who live in Washington Heights and I see signs for Harlem River Drive. It is very easy.”

“Good, then. It's settled. I'll leave for work Friday morning and after the broadcast I'll be flying to Texas. I'll be back Sunday night. Janie's grandparents will bring her home then.”

The logistics of balancing her career and child care were relentless. Yet Eliza knew she was one of the lucky ones.
Most people didn't have the means of support, both financial and personal, that she did.

Knowing that Janie would be with Katharine and Paul made it easier for her to go and do her job. She hadn't even wanted to broach the subject of the housekeeper staying through this, her first weekend with them. It would be too much for Mrs. Garcia and too much for Janie. They were getting along splendidly, but Eliza didn't want to rock the boat. It would be better if they had the weekend break from one another.

And with the uneasy feeling left by the continuing threats that were coming into the Broadcast Center, Eliza did not want to leave her daughter and the housekeeper alone in the house for the weekend.

Carmen Garcia picked Janie up from school, took her charge for a Happy Meal at McDonald's and headed toward the George Washington Bridge. The signs for the Harlem River Drive were clearly marked, and by one-thirty Janie was safely in the care of her grandparents. By two-thirty, Carmen was back in HoHoKus.

She glanced at the gas gauge and noted that there was still over half a tank. She could leave it as it was and just put the car in the garage and call her daughter to pick her up early and knock off for the day. But Carmen felt she owed Senora Eliza a full day's work. She would change the linens on the beds and finish the laundry before she went home. She wanted her boss to come home to an orderly house and a car with a full tank of gas.

She turned into the service station. The man who came out to pump the gasoline looked at her skeptically.
He doesn't think someone like me can be driving a new car like this.

“Please, fill it up.”

“What kind?” the man asked gruffly.

Carmen looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

“What kind of gas? Regular or high-test?”

She wasn't sure quite what to say. No one had ever asked her before when she bought gas for the old car she sometimes borrowed from her daughter. She realized that the gas-station man must have just assumed that she would want the cheaper gasoline. But Carmen caught on quickly.

“High-test.”

Holding her head erect, she sat in the driver's seat and stared straight in front of her as the gas surged into the new Volvo.

“Twelve dollars.”

Carmen handed the man the credit card Eliza had given her. The man looked at it suspiciously.

“You're not Eliza Blake.”

“I know this, sir. I work for her and she give me this card to use.”

“How do I know that you are telling me the truth? How do I know you didn't steal it from her? For that matter, how do I know you didn't steal this car?”

Carmen was speechless, a stricken look on her face.

“I know Ms. Blake,” said the man. “I think I'll go right in and call her and check out your story.”

“Please, sir, you cannot reach her now. She is at work.” Carmen was clearly flustered.

“All right, I'll give you a pass this time,” the man said, sliding the card through the scanner. “But I am going to call Ms. Blake tonight and make sure you're not ripping her off.”

“She won't be home tonight. She will be gone all weekend,” said the intimidated woman.

Bingo!
thought the man in the tight overalls.

Eliza, Keith and B.J. inched behind the other passengers down the portable tunnel that led to the airplane. The Friday-evening New York-to-Dallas flight was fully booked.

B.J. D'Elia was saddled with camera gear slung over his shoulder and strapped to a wheeled cart that he pulled behind him. Keith carried the camera itself because B.J. couldn't handle one more thing. By rights they should have had a soundman with them, but Keith hadn't been able to get another plane ticket on the flight on such short notice. It was just as well. Keith was always being nagged about keeping expenses down on his stories. Without the extra crew guy, he saved on travel expenses, hotel room and salary. B.J., God love him, was able to do both the camera and audio work well.

Keith and B.J. took their seats next to each other in the row in front of Eliza and Lauren Houghton, the subject of the commuter-relationships piece. The plan was for B.J. to point the camera over the back of his seat, recording Eliza's interview. The airline had been happy to accommodate the seating arrangements when told that the story was not about air-travel safety. With standing orders from their sponsors
at KEY News that any scheduled airline commercial should be pulled from running in a broadcast featuring a plane crash, Keith was well aware that the air carriers were extremely sensitive to their images. A story emphasizing that air flight was integral to keeping personal relationships strong, was right up the airline's PR alley. The press-information people were eager to accommodate the news crew and very apologetic that they couldn't guarantee the fourth seat for the soundman.

Keith was glad he had been able to get this shoot together so quickly. At the very end of Cindy's pregnancy, he should limit his time away from home, so it was good to do all the out-of-town work he could now. And, truth be known, he was relieved to be getting away from his wife for the weekend.

He had turned a deaf ear to Cindy's latest round of hysterics this morning when she vented her resentment that he was leaving her alone. Keith was getting very good at appearing to be listening sympathetically while actually not letting her words affect him. He was tired of Cindy's exhausting tirades, losing patience with her endless complaints and nagging. If things didn't improve once the baby was born, he didn't know what he was going to do.

This weekend would provide a respite from the miserable situation at home, and Keith welcomed it. At least at work he knew what he had to do, and accomplished it. No one questioned his motives or whined about his coming up short in pleasing them. He didn't have to make anyone happy.

Of course, there was the care and feeding of the anchorwoman to consider. But Eliza was basically low maintenance, as on-air types went She was a pro, expecting her producer to set up the story and coordinate the elements. She was not going to expect Keith to research the finest restaurant in town and make sure they had reservations in place, or book a spa visit for her to squeeze in a facial and massage while they were on the road. Eliza wanted to get the job done, and at the end of the day was just as happy
to go back to her hotel and order room service. Any personal needs she had, she scheduled herself.