Do You Want to Know a Secret? (8 page)

She hurried up the staircase, wanting to escape Win, the campaign and gossipy Nate Heller. Though Joy didn’t think that most people would want to admit it, Nate bragged that he read
The Mole
faithfully, along with
The Star, The Enquirer
and
Spy
. Nate said that a lot of the dirt had an element of truth somewhere.

Joy closed the bedroom door and locked it. Surrounded by the calming sea of textured off-white silk which padded the walls of the bedroom, she walked over to her dressing table, sat down on the tufted chair in front of it and looked into the mirror. The keen blue eyes assessed the face. A straight nose, a shapely mouth, a long, graceful neck. The kind of physical package which had learned early on its power to get what its owner wanted. As a child, a face adults had difficulty saying no to. As an adolescent, a face that teenage boys were attracted to. An animated face which the high school and college cheerleading squads had recruited. A face that had been selected as college homecoming queen. That face had worked in attracting the promising Haines Malcolm Wingard Jr. And, according to Nate Heller, that face was still working for her, this time in attracting the American voting public.

Tonight, the eyes were very sad.

The brass clock on the fireplace mantel read 9:15. The special would be on at 11:30. Joy undressed and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower full blast. She stood there and let the hot water rush over her. It always made her feel better.

How am I going to get through this?

She dried herself, carefully patting a spot on her upper thigh where she had recently had a mole removed. She wrapped herself in a silk robe and twisted a monogrammed towel around her hair. Another look in the mirror and she applied a creamy moisturizer to her face. Only 9:40.

Joy pulled back the heavy coverlet on the king-size bed and climbed in. Two thick folders were on the bedside table. The first was labeled CRIME. Ugh, she thought. Although an extremely important subject, influencing in one way or another almost every man, woman and child in the United States, crime and violence in America was debated ad nauseam and Joy was not in the mood to grapple with it tonight.

The other folder was marked AIDS. Nate Heller had come up with a plan which Win was going to announce in New York during the primary campaign there. Something called the
AIDS Parade for Dollars
. Joy scanned the papers.

Not tonight, I can’t deal with this tonight, she thought. Instead, she got out of bed and went over to her closet, which was the size of a small bedroom. Inside, grouped according to color, were dozens of blouses, skirts and slacks. There was a separate rack of suits, beginning with a white wool Valentino and, traveling through the color spectrum, a camel-colored Calvin Klein, a yellow Sarah Phillips, a red Bill Blass, all the way to several black Donna Karans. Joy had been sticking to the American designers lately, not choosing to wear any of the foreign ones at campaign appearances.

Daytime dresses were another sizable grouping. A collection of short and long evening frocks had a wall to themselves.

If we don’t win, I can always open a clothing consignment shop, Joy thought, shaking her head. She loved beautiful, well-made clothing. It provided her with confidence derived from the knowledge that she was cared for. Yet tonight, as she looked at the rows of neatly arranged leather shoes and tried to decide what she would pack for the trip next week, Joy couldn’t concentrate. None of it seemed to matter.

Bill Kendall. That last time she had seen him was three months ago. Win had just finished out front in the New Hampshire primary. The press coverage intensified unbelievably when Wingard distinguished himself from the rest of the pack. It was then that Joy had realized that Win had a very good chance of becoming the next president of the United States.

The morning after the primary, Win was interviewed by each of the network morning programs. The KEY location had been in front of a covered bridge. She remembered Win complaining before the interview about being outside. It was freezing. Nate Heller reminded Win of the importance of KEY coverage. “Just be glad you’re the guy they want to talk to out in the snow this morning,” Nate had remarked.

Eliza Blake had conducted the interview for
KEY to America
. Bill Kendall arrived at the bridge location while Win was on the air.

Joy remembered Bill coming up behind her and saying softly, “Looks like you’re in the big leagues now.”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

“How does it feel?”

“It changes some things. And other things have to end.”

Joy didn’t get a chance to say more. Win’s interview was over and he and Nate Heller were walking toward them. Bill had smiled and congratulated Win. There had been some small talk and mild laughter and then Nate reminded the Wingards they had a plane to catch. Hands were shaken all around.

The rest had been done on the phone.

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Joy, it’s me.”

She unlocked the door. Win stood there smiling. “How’s the homework coming?”

Joy shrugged. “Not too well, I’m afraid. I just couldn’t get into it tonight.”

Win took off his tie and started to unbutton his shirt, still crisp at the end of a long day. Joy watched the man and wondered, How does he do it? The long hours, the media attention, the pressure of always being on. Win was unfailingly even tempered, steady and calm. He never lost his cool, even when they were alone. Joy reflected on those qualities—ones that would probably make for a good chief executive.

She thought of the last miscarriage. She had been a wreck. Win had been a rock. He’d carried on with his schedule, making all the meetings, giving the speeches to which he was committed, dutifully making a point of spending some time each evening with Joy. She had cried and Win had told her it would be all right. He’d leave her tearfully falling asleep, eager to get downstairs and prepare for the next day’s senatorial work.

That had been two years ago. After that, they stopped trying to have a baby. Joy had come to accept finally that she would not have a child of her own. But it still stung when she encountered other people’s babies and small children.

“How did you and Nate do?”

Win carefully lined up the creases of his pinstriped trousers. “More of the same, just sticking to it. I feel good about the way it’s going, but God, I’m tired.”

“No wonder. You never stop. You’ve got to pace yourself.”

The senator went into the bathroom. “Are you planning to watch the Bill Kendall special?” he called over the running water.

“I was, but I can watch it in the den, if you want to get right to sleep.”

“No, that’s okay. Let’s watch it together. Gives us a chance to spend some time with each other.”

But halfway through the Washington local news, Win was sound asleep. Joy watched the
KEY News
special report anchored by Pete Carlson with the presidential candidate breathing evenly beside her.

Joy viewed the highlights of Bill Kendall’s career and listened to his colleagues’ reactions and observations on the man. The final piece on the show had no narration. It was a montage of short pieces of video showing Kendall walking with different world leaders and then shots of him volunteering with kids at the Special Olympics all set to the theme music of the
Evening Headlines
. The last shot showed Bill with his arm around the shoulders of his son, William, both of them smiling happily. A touching piece of work.

Joy got out of bed, careful not to wake her sleeping husband. She walked down the carpeted stairway, through the living room and out to the veranda and the cool night air. Joy pulled her robe close around her, sat down on a heavy wrought iron bench, looked up at the stars and sobbed.

Chapter 12

Judge Quinn sat
in his paneled den drinking a third glass of chardonnay when he heard Eliza Blake’s announcement of Bill Kendall’s death. At the close of the show, Dennis switched off the set, stretched out on the plaid sofa, closed his eyes and smiled.

He was off the hook!

The nightmare that had begun when Kendall started demanding those damned payments was over. Now Dennis would not have to worry about Kendall making any sort of waves when the federal judgeship came up, and he’d have $5,000 extra in his pocket each month. How nice that would be.

It had been tough putting the money together each month—it really cramped his style. After all, a Superior Court judge only made about a hundred twenty grand a year, and after taxes took away a large chunk and he paid Kendall $60,000, there wasn’t much left.

A guy had to live—and a judge had appearances to keep up. Of course, there was the money he’d told Kendall was gone, the money he’d stashed away. But he tried never to touch that. That had to be saved—for the bigger goal. After all, half a million didn’t go as far as it used to. He’d already used $100,000 to contribute to the county political chairman, leading to Quinn’s appointment to the Superior Court bench. Before that, contributions had gone to the president of the town council to insure Dennis’s appointment to the Westvale Municipal Court. All money well spent.

There was still some left, a lot of it. And it had been gathering interest. It couldn’t be used to pay back the debt; it was earmarked for Nate Heller and the Wingard campaign. Then after the election, the federal appointment was going to come through. He’d have the respectability he deserved. His mother was going to be so proud!

And now he didn’t have to worry. When the federal appointment came through, Kendall wouldn’t be around to get all patriotic. The FBI vetting was going to be a breeze now. No one who’d taken the payoffs would be volunteering any information to the feds.

Dennis lifted himself from the couch and surveyed the room.

Now he’d be able to afford to get some things done around here. The place had become tired-looking. He’d call in a painter right away, maybe order some new wall-to-wall carpeting. On second thought, oriental rugs. Yes, orientals would be more fitting for a federal judge.

Having Bill Kendall out of the picture was going to make life a lot more pleasant.

Chapter 13