Seems Like Old Times Page 27

  "I suppose everyone's going to be there," Lee said.

  "Everyone who's anyone, as they say. Oh, before I forget, try to make it here early tomorrow. The Egyptian ambassador will be giving a talk at the Plaza, and he's agreed to let us interview him afterward. Because of the stink with Archer, I don’t want to send anyone but our best interviewer to see him. That's you. Okay?"

  Mentally juggling her schedule, Lee stood. "And what's Archer doing?"

  "He's miffed about the way he's being treated. He'll be back next week."

  "So I run around and fill in for him while he sulks?"

  "You’re the greatest, Lee."

  "Since I’ll be doing that, you can do something for me."

  "Anything."

  "Take the Lofton interview I did today and set it up for my show tomorrow night."

  "Tomorrow? There isn’t time."

  "Sure there is. You’ve got all night. Also, you know how fussy the senator is. Make sure you don’t let anything go on the air that will upset him--but at the same time, Jake wants controversy. You get to please them both. Heaven forbid either complain. I would have done it myself, but no time now." She breezed out the door. "I’ll give my best to Sissy for you."

  o0o

  The following week, Lee watched Rick Archer come back to work like the prodigal son.

  "I saw your interview with the Egyptian ambassador," Archer told her as they passed in the hallway.

  "Oh?"

  "You really shouldn't let them have you do grunt work like that, Lee. It lessens the value of the anchor position. I'd never allow myself to be used that way."

  The world flashed red before her, but she kept her poised reserve. "Thank you for that observation, Rick. I'll be sure to let my friends, Jane Pauley and Katie Couric, know that Rick Archer advises them to stop their interviews. I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

  His face turned a bright purple, then he turned and duck-waddled away.

  She returned to her office, sat at her desk and looked at the pile of papers around her. Turning toward the window, she spent a moment just looking outside, even though her main view was of the fifth, sixth and seventh floor offices of the high rise next door. Just then her phone buzzed. She jumped at the sound.

  "Yes?"

  "It’s a Mr. Abdullah Ibn Akbar," Xantha said.

  "You’re kidding. Thanks."

  Xantha clicked the phone to the caller. "Hello, Mr. Ambassador," Lee said. "How’s Egypt?"

  The man chuckled. "Much better than I, Miss Reynolds. I’m sitting here with an extra ticket to the New York Philharmonic program tomorrow night, an all Stravinsky program. I was wondering if you would do me the honor of accompanying me?"

  Lee hesitated. He was a handsome, wealthy, powerful man, intelligent, sophisticated and single. She had no romantic feelings toward the man, but why not go with him? She loved Stravinsky. An evening out would be fun--and she deserved some fun.

  "That sounds quite lovely."

  Chapter 27

  It snowed on her birthday, February 9. Miriam called before Lee left for work to wish her a happy birthday. They had a cake for her at work, and after the news show, she went out to dinner with the weatherman. They had dated three times now. He was a gentle, kind, intelligent man, and she liked him. Everyone said he was a wonderful weatherman, attractive in a meteorological sort of way. Unfortunately, his precipitation didn’t supply the chemical reaction she wanted in a lover, so they were friends and nothing more.

  After dinner, he brought her home. She gave him a friendly kiss and didn't invite him into her apartment.

  Alone, she showered and put on a warm, fluffy robe, and made herself a cup of coffee. The thick slice of birthday cake she hadn't eaten earlier now sat on a plate, and she planned to enjoy it.

  Three weeks had gone by since Vic told her Tony needed her help, but she still hadn’t come up with a way to approach him. Maybe she never would. Tony wouldn't want her to interfere anyway, she was sure.

  It was probably safest to do nothing, because if she did get involved with Tony again, she didn't want any holding back or reservations between them although, in truth, she didn’t know what that meant with her here and him there.

  Damn, but she wished Vic hadn’t called her. She wanted Tony out of her mind, but instead, Vic’s words made her dwell on him, and worry, and wonder how he was doing.

  The telephone rang. She saw the called I.D. and her heart nearly stopped. "Hello."

  There was a pause, then, "Happy birthday, Lisa."

  She was breathless. "Tony." Silence hung a moment before she said, "A belated happy birthday to you, too."

  "Thanks for remembering! Listen, I want to apologize for what I said the last time--”

  “No need, Tony. Please, don’t! Don’t…” She couldn’t go on.

  He hesitated, then asked, “How are you doing? I've watched your new show. You're terrific on it. Better than ever." His words came quickly, nervously, as if he half-expected her to hang up on him.

  "Thank you. I enjoy it a lot. I really do."

  "That's great." A pause, again.

  "Where are you?" she asked.

  "Tucson. I, uh, I was offered a job as a scout for a Double A team."

  "You were? Congratulations. Tell me all about it. Did you accept the job?"

  "I’m thinking about it! Baseball is my life. You know that."

  "I know it once was." Her voice dropped. "I thought ranching was your life now."

  His voice, too, grew softer, his words more from the heart. "Yeah, well...it got kind of quiet after Ben left. What can I say? Anyway, this job has potential for big money. It’s not as much as a player makes, but if I do okay, and can move up to Triple A, or particularly if I can scout or coach in the majors I...I might even be able to get Ben back sometime."

  "All of this...it must be so hard for you."

  "An appeal is coming up soon. If I get a Triple A job, even a nibble, it could help big-time." The quiver in his voice was slight, and those that didn't know him well probably wouldn't even have noticed. But she did.

  The many hours she’d spent thinking about Tony’s predicament and ways to help suddenly gelled, and without analyzing it any further she said, "I've been thinking of doing a segment about Little League on my show. I'd like to feature Ben in it. He's a great little guy, and epitomizes a lot of what sports and children are all about. I wouldn't do anything to hurt him, trust me. But would you be willing to give me a release to talk with him and film him?"

  "I guess it's okay with me. I don't know if Catherine will agree, though."

  "I'm sure she wouldn't even listen to anything I have to say. I'll get the network to work with her. We've got people who can talk Santa Claus into coming out against Christmas."

  "I don’t know..."

  "I need you, too."

  "Me?"

  "You had a career in baseball, and now you’ve gone back to it as a means to get your son once more."

  "No way, Lisa. I’d be a laughingstock!"

  The concept quickly grew clearer in her mind. "People will see this, Tony. Our ratings are good. People will see how much you care. They’ll talk--they’ll apply their own kind of pressure on the case, maybe even on the judge. I’ve seen it happen before."

  "You want to put my custody fight on TV? No way!" His decision was firm.

  "I thought you said you’d do anything to get Ben back? Was that true, or is your pride more important?"

  "No, of course not, but still..."

  Excitement over the idea bubbled up within her. "Listen to me, Tony. My perception of what I can do to help you is a valid one. I’ve been in this industry for over thirteen years, I do have some insight on public opinion. You’ve got to understand, though, that this won’t be a hit piece against Catherine either. It can’t be. It’ll be about Ben and Little League, but the audience will learn about you, too, and that Catherine also wants her son. But this way, everyone will know how much you want him and how hard you’re trying.
Trust me, Tony, please. Trust me...in this at least."

  His breath seemed to catch. "I do trust you."

  "I can give it a try, then?" she asked, her voice filled with hope.

  "Yeah. Give it a try." He gave her information on how to contact him, Catherine and Ben.

  When he was finished, she expelled a breath of relief. "Thank you. After"--she hesitated to bring it up but left unspoken made it even worse--"after the way we parted, I’m surprised you phoned."

  "The way I talked to you was uncalled for," he said. "I was expecting you to hang up soon as you heard my voice. You’ve got every right to hate me, but I was upset and--"

  "Stop. You don't have to explain to me, Tony. I'm the one who owed you an explanation. And...and perhaps there was truth in what you said, as much as it hurts to admit it."

  "I shouldn’t have been so hard, so critical of you. You were still a kid. After you left, I thought a lot about what you said. I'm sorry, Lisa. I never wanted to hurt you."

  "I know. Memories of you were the only bright spot for me during that time. It’s hard to imagine we were ever so young," she said with a lilt, needing to lighten their emotions. She had had years of grieving, but for Tony this was all new and shocking and, she realized, also painful. "At least you had your time in baseball just like you wanted, and I’ve got the career I wanted." Her voice sounded a little too bright.

  There was a long silence. She clutched the phone tight.

  "You’re right," he said finally. "It all turned out." His voice rang hollow and empty. "No regrets," he added.

  "No regrets," she whispered.

  There was more silence. The awkwardness of unspoken emotions, of words they dared not say, stretched out between them.

  He spoke first. "Well...like I said, I called to wish you a happy birthday."

  "Thank you."

  "Take care, Lisa."

  "You too, Tony."

  With that, they said good-byes and hung up. She sat a long while. They hurt, these feelings about him, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

  She stood and paced. At least she could do her damnedest to help him with Ben. She had no idea where her concept of a TV special on Ben and Little League had come from, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew it was perfect. Her gut reaction, honed by years of TV reporting and observing public opinion, told her it was good.

  Painted against a background of a small, all-American town, she'd show a cameo of Little League, zeroing in on one boy. She needed to bring Tony and Catherine into the story as well--her producers would earn their pay to get the two of them to agree, or at least to make sure lawyers went over the piece so that, without agreements, the show didn’t get sued.

  She needed to be fair. Catherine wouldn't be all evil and Tony wouldn't be all good, but they would be two people who both had faults and positive qualities, and who both loved and wanted their child. At the same time, she wanted a tribute to the love of a divorced father for his son, to show that it’s wrong to simply dismiss fathers out of hand as custodians of their children in divorces, and that the mother or the one with the most money isn’t automatically the best custodian.

  She'd show a custody fight’s effect on that child and on his team and friends, but also, she’d be giving a message of love.

  She envisioned the entire segment, including the ending. Maybe it was a little corny, but she wanted an uplifting ending that would show Ben’s strength of character, and that he would do fine. As in baseball, there was always a new season, and with it comes new beginnings, a chance to right wrongs, or simply to learn from mistakes of the past, and to go forward a better, stronger person. Springtime, baseball, a clean slate, and hope. That was Ben’s story. That was what she wanted to show.

  She kicked her shoes off and stretched out on the sofa, lost in thought. She remembered that some parents had video camcorders at the games. If any of the films were halfway decent, she'd borrow or buy them, clean them up and use them to show actual footage of Ben playing.

  The piece should be heavy on nostalgia--field of dreams and all that. Something to tug at the heart. She hadn't done a segment like that yet for the show. It'd make a nice contrast to the celebrity paeans or gory murder-related stories they usually had.

  Yes, nostalgia. That was good. She shut her eyes to try to visualize how she wanted the Little League piece to begin.

  Chapter 28

  She called Vic Santos the next morning for two bits of information. The first was about Miwok’s Little League organization--the coaches, the main office, all the people whose permission would be needed before a project such as the one she proposed could happen.

  The second was the date of Tony's appeal on the custody decision. It was February 28, only eighteen days away.

  "I want to do a piece on Little League," she told One Hour Report's honcho, Jake Metcalf, a half-hour later.

  "It's been done." He didn't even look up from his desk.

  "Not the way I want to approach it. Kids are big business, and team sports are becoming more and more important in their lives. Even girls play on organized teams, and Little League's the biggest of them all."

  "No way. All that nostalgia, fresh air and sunshine crap. Nobody cares anymore."

  "I care. You people owe me, if you recall. This will be a great piece, and I want it. I've already talked to people about it. I want it on the February 26th broadcast."

  He straightened and caught her eye. "The 26th? Impossible."

  "No, it isn't. It’ll be a small piece. I need the legal team to get all the clearances and a production crew to get out there and do some filming! I'll help edit it myself. I've got a good idea of what I want it to look like."

  Jake looked at her shrewdly. "Why does this piece mean so much to you?"

  "Spring's coming. A time for renewal. Didn't you ever hear that 'life begins with spring training'?"

  "I was a Tiddly Winks man, myself. Forget it."

  "I won’t forget it. I want this segment."

  "It’s a bad idea."

  "I don’t care!"

  "I do! I’m not showing any crap on this program!"

  "Then you’re not showing me either! You told me I could go with my own ideas. Well, this is my idea. I want it."

  He stared at her hard, his jaw muscle twitching. "If it bombs, it’s your neck in the noose, you hear?"

  "Fine."

  "And it’s the last story of the night. We don't want people switching channels until the show is almost over."

  She folded her arms. "My, but it's nice to have your confidence, Jake."

  "You got my okay. My confidence is my business."

  o0o

  With her busy schedule, Lee had no time to travel to Tucson to see Tony, or to Miwok to pick up Little League tapes of Ben’s games, or to Los Angeles to film Ben or Catherine. Catherine refused any contact, and refused to allow the reporters to speak to Ben. Lee sent her crews to film and interview Tony, and to Miwok to talk to coaches and parents. She got Gene and Miriam to talk to parents who had videotaped Little League games into lending their tapes to the TV crews to be copied for TV viewing. Lee couldn’t actually pay for the tapes, but she sent new, top-of-the-line digital camcorders and blank tapes as gifts to everyone who helped.

  Finally, since shots of Catherine, Ben, and the Durelle estate in Beverly Hills were taken, Lee had the network’s attorneys go over every camera shot and scripted word to be sure no one was liable for a lawsuit. She was going to do this right--for everyone else, if not herself.

  It was ironic that she’d built a career on the image of cool, classy intellect and geo-political sophistication. If Metcalf was right, she was going to nosedive it with all-American nostalgia. Knives were out for any new show, and this one was on the receiving end of constant protological examination. Strangely, that didn’t bother her half as much as did her fear that her concept for the show might backfire on Tony, or that he’d hate her for the realism with which she would be forced to portra
y his attempt at getting back into baseball.

  Although Tony was looking for a job coaching, the film crew made tapes of him playing ball with the team as well as giving the players direction. Watching Tony playing baseball with men who were, for the most part, between nineteen and twenty-five, was painful. Watching it over and over in the studio, analyzing his plays and emotional ups and downs as the game progressed, hurt even more.

  Through most of the game he played first base. The remarkable agility and speed that made Tony Santos special before, when he played shortstop and second base, were gone now. As Lee watched a ball get past him "through the gap" between first and second base and into the outfield, she knew that, in days past, Tony would have fielded it. In the fifth inning he moved to right field. A ball was hit deep, over his head, and although he ran back, gloved hand outstretched to catch the ball, he couldn't quite reach it, and it landed at the foot of the fence for a double. Lee's heart sank. She couldn't remember ever seeing a ball get past him that way.

  At the plate, he wasn't much better. He was seventh in the line-up. Lee could tell, by his stance and swing, that he was one of the few players never surprised by the pitch thrown. He could anticipate a curve, a slider, a fastball; inside, outside, or straight down the middle--which would make him an excellent coach. The one thing he couldn't do, though, was catch up to a good fast ball. The opposing pitchers soon realized it was foolish to try to finesse a pitch. They could simply blow a fast one down the middle of the plate, and Tony Santos didn't have the bat speed anymore to get it out of foul territory.

  How much of this could she, or should she, show? To show him playing the way she saw it, to show the misses and the slowness--even if they helped get Ben back--might be devastating. She couldn't strip Tony of his pride.

  She began the film again, steepled her fingers and watched again. She could all but hear him railing against himself, disgusted over what he'd surely say was a pathetic performance.