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Authors: Dorothy Uhnak
Tags: USA
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morning, directly as a result of that clip of you last night, in fact.”
“Oh? And ... ?”
“Seems she’s been putting together a documentary featuring three women who are succeeding in occupations generally dominated by men. So far, she’s been filming a woman commercial pilot and a woman who is one of three top financial advisors in a Wall Street brokerage house. And ... she seems to feel you’d be a good third subject.”
He took off his glasses and thoughtfully tapped them in the palm of his hand. There was something more on his mind; I knew Mr. Jameson Whitney Hale. I waited. He sighed. He motioned me into a leather wing chair, then leaned against the edge of his desk, his face close to mine.
“Lynne. This is strictly confidential: file it and forget it. For now.”
“Right.”
“I’ve been given a definite offer by the Republicans; they can almost guarantee conservative party backing. And strange as it may seem, they feel fairly certain they can count on a large portion of the liberal vote. That would pretty well tie it up in a neat package.”
“U.S. Senate.”
He sighed and smiled tightly. “U.S. Senate. And that leaves us with you. I think we should begin preliminary work to get you known. Your public work for the ERA and nonpartisan backing by various statewide women’s groups is all to the good, but what we’ve got to do is concentrate on this one small tight overpopulated island of Manhattan. This Nichols woman informs me that her documentary has the backing of a major network; it is tentatively scheduled for early fall airing. The timing could be extremely fortunate for you. You would by then be in place”—he leaned back and nodded to the chair behind his desk—“and your name could become at least familiar to the less sophisticated voter before he encounters it on the ballot in November. This could be the kind of publicity it would be impossible to purchase.
“And if by some fortunate set of circumstances you can resolve this Sanderalee Dawson matter favorably with an arrest and an indictment during the filming of this documentary, why I think it would be a foregone conclusion that you’d be the first of your sex to sit on this chair: the first woman District Attorney of New York County.” He stepped back and with a sweep of his hand indicated the ornate, expensive antique chair.
“I thought all this furniture was yours, Mr. Hale. You will take it with you when you resettle in Washington, won’t you?”
He walked behind the desk chair and rested his large and competent-looking hands on the intricate carving. “This will be my gift to you, my dear.”
We held that for a moment, he reaching for his dream and I for mine. Simultaneously, since we are both hardheaded realists, we exhaled and got on with the business of the day.
I brought him up to date as far as our investigation was concerned. Just before I left his office, he reminded me to get in touch with this Ms. Glori Nichols.
CHAPTER 9
S ANDERALEE DAWSON LAY DEEPLY comatose and the doctors would not commit themselves as to her condition should she regain consciousness. Her injuries were deep and severe. There was as yet no way of measuring or evaluating possible brain damage; her emotional wounds were speculative.
The three-man microsurgery team was headed by Dr. David Cohen, a tall, slender, low-key personality of surprising good humor. He was comfortable in front of the cameras and easily fielded the questions tossed at him by the medical reporters assigned by the news media. Dr. Cohen had come to international fame a few years ago while he was attending a medical conference in London. As a leading practitioner of the new microsurgery techniques, it was a lucky coincidence that he was nearby when one of the “royals” (one of the endless persons in line for the throne should an unimaginable catastrophe overtake and eliminate most of the immediate royal family of Great Britain) had an extremely unfortunate accident
“Oh? And ... ?”
“Seems she’s been putting together a documentary featuring three women who are succeeding in occupations generally dominated by men. So far, she’s been filming a woman commercial pilot and a woman who is one of three top financial advisors in a Wall Street brokerage house. And ... she seems to feel you’d be a good third subject.”
He took off his glasses and thoughtfully tapped them in the palm of his hand. There was something more on his mind; I knew Mr. Jameson Whitney Hale. I waited. He sighed. He motioned me into a leather wing chair, then leaned against the edge of his desk, his face close to mine.
“Lynne. This is strictly confidential: file it and forget it. For now.”
“Right.”
“I’ve been given a definite offer by the Republicans; they can almost guarantee conservative party backing. And strange as it may seem, they feel fairly certain they can count on a large portion of the liberal vote. That would pretty well tie it up in a neat package.”
“U.S. Senate.”
He sighed and smiled tightly. “U.S. Senate. And that leaves us with you. I think we should begin preliminary work to get you known. Your public work for the ERA and nonpartisan backing by various statewide women’s groups is all to the good, but what we’ve got to do is concentrate on this one small tight overpopulated island of Manhattan. This Nichols woman informs me that her documentary has the backing of a major network; it is tentatively scheduled for early fall airing. The timing could be extremely fortunate for you. You would by then be in place”—he leaned back and nodded to the chair behind his desk—“and your name could become at least familiar to the less sophisticated voter before he encounters it on the ballot in November. This could be the kind of publicity it would be impossible to purchase.
“And if by some fortunate set of circumstances you can resolve this Sanderalee Dawson matter favorably with an arrest and an indictment during the filming of this documentary, why I think it would be a foregone conclusion that you’d be the first of your sex to sit on this chair: the first woman District Attorney of New York County.” He stepped back and with a sweep of his hand indicated the ornate, expensive antique chair.
“I thought all this furniture was yours, Mr. Hale. You will take it with you when you resettle in Washington, won’t you?”
He walked behind the desk chair and rested his large and competent-looking hands on the intricate carving. “This will be my gift to you, my dear.”
We held that for a moment, he reaching for his dream and I for mine. Simultaneously, since we are both hardheaded realists, we exhaled and got on with the business of the day.
I brought him up to date as far as our investigation was concerned. Just before I left his office, he reminded me to get in touch with this Ms. Glori Nichols.
CHAPTER 9
S ANDERALEE DAWSON LAY DEEPLY comatose and the doctors would not commit themselves as to her condition should she regain consciousness. Her injuries were deep and severe. There was as yet no way of measuring or evaluating possible brain damage; her emotional wounds were speculative.
The three-man microsurgery team was headed by Dr. David Cohen, a tall, slender, low-key personality of surprising good humor. He was comfortable in front of the cameras and easily fielded the questions tossed at him by the medical reporters assigned by the news media. Dr. Cohen had come to international fame a few years ago while he was attending a medical conference in London. As a leading practitioner of the new microsurgery techniques, it was a lucky coincidence that he was nearby when one of the “royals” (one of the endless persons in line for the throne should an unimaginable catastrophe overtake and eliminate most of the immediate royal family of Great Britain) had an extremely unfortunate accident
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