by our side as negotiating points were being accepted, almost without discussion. Of course, some of the union members smelled a rat and began nosing around. Don’t you know about this? Walter did his best to keep it quiet. I guess he succeeded. It was discovered that Junior had invested in a large bar-restaurant with the president of the labor union. Well, he had advanced the man the down payment and had accepted a first and second mortage on the place. Obviously, the union president hadn’t contributed a damn thing. Junior thought it was all right, because he had done it out of personal money, not company funds. There was hell to pay, of course. The National Labor Relations Board got involved. There was talk of sending both Junior and the union man to jail. We lost one newspaper because of it—the one in Baltimore. There was no question Walter could leave under such circumstances. And, of course, a thing like that takes years to settle down.”
Fletch’s inner ear heard Lydia say, He’s every bit the man his father was, of course, even better, in many ways.…
“We’re all entitled to one mistake,” Lydia said. “Junior’s was a beaut. You see, Fletch, it was really the fault of the board of directors, for doubting Junior so. He felt he had to prove something. You do understand that, don’t you, Fletch? You see, I think Junior needs a special kind of help.…”
Again, Lydia was sitting back on the divan, staring at the floor, clearly a very troubled person.
“Mrs. March, I think you and I should talk again, in a day or two.…”
“Yes, of course.” With dignity, she stood up and put out her hand. “Of course, it is now when Junior most needs the help.…”
“Yes,” Fletch said.
“And in reference to what you said”—Lydia continued to hold his hand—“Junior and I did speak about you tonight, at dinner. He agrees with me. He would like to see you involved in March Newspapers. I wish you’d talk with him more about it. When you can.”
“Okay.”
At the door, she said, “Thanks for coming up, Fletch. I’m sure you didn’t mind missing Oscar Perlman’s after-dinner speech. Think of the people down there in the dining room, laughing at that dreadful man.…”
Twenty-six
10:00 P.M.
WOMEN IN JOURNALISM: Face It, Fellas—
Few Stories Take Nine Months to Finish
Group Discussion
Aunt Sally Hendricks Sewing Room
From TAPE
Station 4
Suite 9 (Eleanor Earles)
Eleanor Earles was saying, “… Thought I’d go to bed.”
“I brought champagne.”
“That’s nice of you, Rolly, but really, it is late.”
“Since when is ten o’clock late?” asked Rolly Wisham. “You’re showing your age, Eleanor.”
“You know I just got back from Pakistan Sunday.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“I did.”
“How are things in Pakistan?”
“Just dreadful.”
“Things are always dreadful in Pakistan.”
“Rolly, what do you want?”
“What do you think I want? When a man comes calling at ten o’clock at night, bearing a bottle of champagne.…”
“A very young man.”
“Eleanor, darling, ‘This is Rolly Wisham, with love.…’”
“Very funny, you phony.”
“Eleanor. You’re forgetting Vienna.”
“I’m not forgetting Vienna, Rolly. That was very nice.”
“It was raining.”
“Rain somehow turns me on.”
“Shall I run the shower?”
“Honestly, Rolly! Look, I’m tired, and I’m upset about Walter.…”
“Big, great Walter March. Sprung you for bail once, in Albania. And what have you been doing for him ever since?”
“Knock it off, twerp.”
“How come everyone in the world is a twerp? Except one old bastard named Walter March?”
“Okay, Rolly, I know you’ve got all kinds of resentments against Walter because of what happened to your dad’s newspaper, and all.”
“Not resentment, Eleanor. He killed my father. Can you understand? Killed him. He didn’t make the rest of my mother’s life any string symphony, either. Or mine. The word ‘resentment’ is an insult, Eleanor.”
“It all happened a long time ago, in Oklahoma.…”
“Colorado.”
“… And you know only your side of the story.…”
“I have the facts, Eleanor.”
“If you have facts, Rolly, why didn’t you ever go to court with them? Why haven’t you ever printed the facts?”
“I was a kid, Eleanor.”
“You’ve had plenty of time.”
“I’ll print the facts. One day. You’d better believe it. Shall I open the champagne?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on, Eleanor. The old bastard’s dead.”
“Did you kill him, Rolly?”
“Did I murder Walter March?”
“That’s the question. If you want to be intimate with me, you can answer an intimate question.”
“The question you asked was: Did I murder Walter March?”
“That’s the question. What’s the answer?”
“The answer is: maybe.” There was the pop of the champagne bottle cork, and the immediate sound of it’s being poured.
“Really, Rolly.”
“Here’s to your continued health, Eleanor, your success, and your love