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Authors: Ann Ripley
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she had told him this. But when she saw him as he came and went from die house, he would mention leaving next Friday: He was obvious not only to time, but also to her personal timetable. Was she about to have an embarrassing confrontation with her dear old friend?
What was most disconcerting to Louise were Jay’s evening prowls, although Bill had urged her to ignore these nocturnal wanderings. They could hear him foraging around through the woods, bumping into bushes and trees. Once, Louise was convinced she heard him poking around in the toolshed, and Bill teased her that she was afraid he was putting her tools out of order. Probably he was just an insomniac. He drank coffee at a heavy rate, and brought home big containers of it from fast-food places.
But what hurt the most was the way he had cleverly barricaded his room, so that any attempts she might have made to snoop into his possessions or into his writing were thwarted. It was embarrassing to know he thought of her as a sneak: On the other side of his door, he had piled a heap of clothes, probably dirty ones, for he never requested the use of the washer or dryer, and she would have had to shove the whole bunch out of position to open the door. Even so, in the crack that was available to her, she could see discarded food wrappers and paper cups strewn on the desk alongside a slim black computer.
What a frustrating man! To think she might have married him!
“Hi, folks,” he said now, looking sheepish. Hoping, Louise suspected, that the charming, Irish, crooked smile he sent her way would assuage her feelings. For try as she might to feel otherwise, she felt … neglected.
Louise introduced him to Chris. In an effort to explain his absences, Jay said, “I’ve been writing, as you know, and going off to spend all the time I can with Melissa. Trying to keep things on track.”
“No need to explain to us, Jay,” said Bill good-naturedly, then zeroed in on the program. It was hosted by Jack Lederle. Louise knew Lederle, because his independent PBS news show was produced in one of the studios at WTBA-TV. Though his news staff operated in a separate studio and a rarified and separate world, she and Lederle sometimes met in the halls, at which times he would quippishly ask her, “And how does your garden grow?” She would reply just as quippishly, “Great, with the aid of blood meal and green sand.”
Tonight’s program was an in-depth look at the two presidential campaigns. Lederle tagged the campaign as “one of the most scurrilous in the history of American politics.” He profiled the principal players, including the President’s campaign chief and Tom Paschen. Louise was bemused to hear about some of the chief of staffs more famous political stunts, which had become public lore.
“Bill,” she whispered to her husband, “isn’t it ironic that Tom Paschen used to be considered the bete noire of politics, and now these people are doing him one better.”
He looked at her sagely. “The difference is, Tom has a line he won’t step across; these characters don’t.”
The focus shifted to Franklin Rawlings and Willie lip-church and Ted French. There was taped footage showing thethree men clustered together like the proverbial insiders, in the confines of Goodrich’s campaign office in Washington. Louise couldn’t help thinking of the trio of Watergate figures, Ehrlichman, Haldeman, and Mitchell. Innuendos and charges against the President were touched on briefly, including a tabloid piece purporting to tell of the peccadillos of the popular Mrs. Fairchild.
Chris, sitting forward now in rapt attention, said, “They’ve even gone low enough to smear the President’s wife: what creeps.” Then came the mention of the most serious charge of all, Fairchild’s alleged responsibility for the murder of a file clerk back in the early 1960s, to cover up his part in the assassination of the president of South Vietnam. The word cover-up electrified Louise,
What was most disconcerting to Louise were Jay’s evening prowls, although Bill had urged her to ignore these nocturnal wanderings. They could hear him foraging around through the woods, bumping into bushes and trees. Once, Louise was convinced she heard him poking around in the toolshed, and Bill teased her that she was afraid he was putting her tools out of order. Probably he was just an insomniac. He drank coffee at a heavy rate, and brought home big containers of it from fast-food places.
But what hurt the most was the way he had cleverly barricaded his room, so that any attempts she might have made to snoop into his possessions or into his writing were thwarted. It was embarrassing to know he thought of her as a sneak: On the other side of his door, he had piled a heap of clothes, probably dirty ones, for he never requested the use of the washer or dryer, and she would have had to shove the whole bunch out of position to open the door. Even so, in the crack that was available to her, she could see discarded food wrappers and paper cups strewn on the desk alongside a slim black computer.
What a frustrating man! To think she might have married him!
“Hi, folks,” he said now, looking sheepish. Hoping, Louise suspected, that the charming, Irish, crooked smile he sent her way would assuage her feelings. For try as she might to feel otherwise, she felt … neglected.
Louise introduced him to Chris. In an effort to explain his absences, Jay said, “I’ve been writing, as you know, and going off to spend all the time I can with Melissa. Trying to keep things on track.”
“No need to explain to us, Jay,” said Bill good-naturedly, then zeroed in on the program. It was hosted by Jack Lederle. Louise knew Lederle, because his independent PBS news show was produced in one of the studios at WTBA-TV. Though his news staff operated in a separate studio and a rarified and separate world, she and Lederle sometimes met in the halls, at which times he would quippishly ask her, “And how does your garden grow?” She would reply just as quippishly, “Great, with the aid of blood meal and green sand.”
Tonight’s program was an in-depth look at the two presidential campaigns. Lederle tagged the campaign as “one of the most scurrilous in the history of American politics.” He profiled the principal players, including the President’s campaign chief and Tom Paschen. Louise was bemused to hear about some of the chief of staffs more famous political stunts, which had become public lore.
“Bill,” she whispered to her husband, “isn’t it ironic that Tom Paschen used to be considered the bete noire of politics, and now these people are doing him one better.”
He looked at her sagely. “The difference is, Tom has a line he won’t step across; these characters don’t.”
The focus shifted to Franklin Rawlings and Willie lip-church and Ted French. There was taped footage showing thethree men clustered together like the proverbial insiders, in the confines of Goodrich’s campaign office in Washington. Louise couldn’t help thinking of the trio of Watergate figures, Ehrlichman, Haldeman, and Mitchell. Innuendos and charges against the President were touched on briefly, including a tabloid piece purporting to tell of the peccadillos of the popular Mrs. Fairchild.
Chris, sitting forward now in rapt attention, said, “They’ve even gone low enough to smear the President’s wife: what creeps.” Then came the mention of the most serious charge of all, Fairchild’s alleged responsibility for the murder of a file clerk back in the early 1960s, to cover up his part in the assassination of the president of South Vietnam. The word cover-up electrified Louise,
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