“I didn’t.”
“And twenty-four percent believe that you raped her. Consider this for a moment, dear: If these numbers reflect the opinions of the board members-”
“I’m the chairman of the damn board!”
“Perhaps not for long, dear,” Candy said calmly. “If these numbers don’t turn around, Peter Hathaway might be chairman of the board soon. He’s already bought up forty-three per-”
“I know, I know!” Jack yelled. “What are you, Miss Percentage today? So what are we supposed to do?”
Candy answered, “What we really need is for Miss Paget to come forward and publicly admit that she lied.”
“Maybe you want to bring her on the show,” Jack said.
“If that’s what it takes,” Candy said, then added, “dear.”
Jack Landis stared down at the Alamo. Christ, he thought, I know how those poor bastards must have felt. And what if it ain’t Hathaway who has Polly? What if it’s the Justice Department? Or worse, “60 Minutes.” Goddamn, that ancient capon Mike Wallace would just love to spend a few of those sixty minutes with Polly Paget.
And so would I, Jack thought. Speaking of low dogs, so would I.
He missed going to bed with Polly. Polly was wild in bed, just wild. She would do things… just do things without thought or calculation that just made him crazy. That red hair whipping around, and those crazy green eyes sparkling…
Not like Canned-Ice, who tried hard, Lord knows. But that was just it. Everything Candy ever did in the bedroom, you thought she read in some magazine or book or something. You could almost hear her thinking about “technique.” She brought all the spontaneity of a metronome into the bedroom.
Candice Hermione Landis looked at her husband and knew what he was thinking.
Jackson Hood Landis had grown up in poverty in East Texas and was scared to death of going back to either one. Candice herself had grown up in middle-class Beaumont, where her minister father made just enough money to send her to SMU before he died of a heart attack. Her mama thought that she was definitely marrying down when Candice took the vows with a salesman like Jack Landis, but Candice loved him, so that was that.
She and Jack saved and worked hard and bought a little restaurant in San Antonio, then another, and then another, and then Jackson heard the magic word: franchise. It didn’t seem like it was very long at all before there were Jack’s Family Diners (“A Lot of Good Food for a Little of Your Money”) all over the country, and suddenly Jack and Candice were rich-very rich, oil money-rich, so rich that they didn’t know what to do with the money.
So they bought the television station. (“Two things Americans are always going to do,” Jack said, “eat and watch TV.”) Of course, Jack wasn’t content with one little station in San Antonio. He had to franchise that, too, and pretty soon they had a network. And because Jack figured that since they were a family restaurant, they ought to be a family television network, too, that’s what they did. They started the Family Cable Network, television the whole family could watch.
They sold America good wholesome food and good wholesome entertainment. And then came that fateful day when they decided to host an on-the-air Christmas party to thank all the employees and the viewers. Jack and Candice appeared together and the viewing public just loved it.
Who would have thought it? All they did was host a little party together, just like they did at home. They had guests and made conversation, and Candy played “The Old Family Bible” on the piano and everyone sang, and then Jack carved the turkey and Candy served, and the letters came pouring in. So they did a Fourth of July on-the-air barbecue, and then Thanksgiving… and another Christmas, and they had advertisers lining up to buy airtime.
“The Jack and Candy Family Hour” was born. At first it appeared weekly, but by popular demand, it became a daily show-five afternoons a week, plus the holiday specials, constant reruns morning and night.
Jack was wonderful on the show. He was a great performer… so handsome… and the audiences loved him, but Candy had the brains; it became her life’s work.
She programmed the guests, bringing on good family entertainers, people with inspiring stories, and experts with some useful knowledge to share. (She really liked to find some good family entertainer who had an inspirational story or some expert knowledge. She had yet to find anyone who had all three.) She especially liked singers who had once been alcoholics and got cured by God, or comedians who’d had a gambling problem but got cured by God, or just plain folks who had had something horribly wrong with them and got cured by God. Not that the show was overtly religious; they were always very careful about not specifying which particular God did all this curing-it could be either a Christian or a Jewish God. She also liked to have women ex-convicts on the show-especially the ones who had had kids while in prison-and then have an expert on at the same time to teach them money management and how to stay within a budget instead of stealing things.
Candy planned the menus for the kitchen segment, making sure that each and every meal was both wholesome and economical, although she did splurge a little bit on her annual “Romantic Dinner for Two When the Kids Are Spending the Night at Grandma’s” segment. Mostly she specialized in “stretcher meals”-making that Sunday roast last through Tuesday, or the chili that you could eat as just chili, or chili over spaghetti, or chili on a baked potato-not, as Jack had once joked on the air, meals that you ate before you got carried out on a stretcher.
Candy gave makeup tips (she noticed that women ex-convicts either wore too much makeup, which was unattractive to men, or no makeup at all, which was also unattractive to men, although she suspected that some of these women weren’t interested in attracting men at all), and weight-loss tips (a can of Budweiser and a chocolate doughnut do not a breakfast make), and even tips on how to keep the passion alive in your marriage (a filmy negligee behind a locked door doesn’t necessarily make you a prostitute).
While Candy knew that some people-perhaps thousands of people-made fun of her, she also knew that her work did some good for thousands of others. There were people out there who had sought help because a show had set an example for them, there were families who had made it through the week on her tuna casserole, and there were marriages that were better off just for the fact of having sent the kids to Grandma’s for the night.
“You have to find her, Chuck,” Candy said. “Find Polly Paget and persuade her to come forward and tell the truth.”
Chuck Whiting met her eyes and saw the pain in them. Chuck Whiting, former FBI agent, dedicated Mormon, devoted husband and father of nine, was a true believer. He believed in God, country, family, and Jack and Candy-especially Candy. Looking at Candy’s blue eyes, at her firm jaw and silky skin, at the golden hair that shone like a temple, at the shimmering purity that was Candice Landis, Chuck Whiting-had he not been a true believer in God, country, and family-would have thought he was in love.
“I’ll find her, Mrs. Landis,” he said. He felt a lump in his throat.
“Well, you kids have a good time playing detective,” Jack said. “I got a meeting to go to.”
He nodded to Whiting, gave Candy a peck on the cheek, and walked out.
Charles Whiting could barely breathe. His chest was tight and he was afraid he was blushing, because Candy Landis was looking at him in a very personal way. Charles Whiting wasn’t comfortable with emotional intimacy and would have been the first person to tell you so.
“Yes, Mrs. Landis?”
“He had sex with her, didn’t he, Chuck?”
Charles felt dizzy. He took a deep breath and answered, “Yes ma’am. The evidence would seem to indicate that he might have.”
Charles watched helplessly as Mrs. Landis lowered her eyes, looked down at the desk, and nodded. He felt even worse when she looked back up, her eyes moist.