The phone rang, and Ann picked it up. “Ann Keaton.”
“Hi there, it’s Kate,” a cheerful voice said.
“Good morning. How’s it going in New Jersey?”
“Everyone has been just wonderful out here,” Kate replied. “I’ve only got a second. I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Set up a press conference for tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. I want it in a small theater, like the one at the Museum of Modern Art — no more than five hundred seats, smaller if possible. Bill it as a major press conference, okay? And tell Jim I want that cell phone blocker thing.”
“Okay. What’s the subject?”
But Kate had already hung up. Ann made some calls: the MoMA auditorium wasn’t available, but she came up with an ideal venue on East Sixtieth Street. She typed up the release and took it to the press secretary, who sat next door to her.
He looked at the release. “What’s this about?” he asked. “Nobody consulted me.”
“I don’t know. She just called and instructed me to do that. And she wants the cell phone blocker.”
“I’m going to call her and find out what’s going on. I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
“Jim,” she said, “you’re aware that I know Kate a lot better than you do, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Then trust me when I tell you that she’s not going to like it if her cell starts ringing for what she considers no reason. Put out the release. And if anybody asks you what it’s about, tell them you’re not going to tell them. That will ensure added interest. Everybody will be there because they’ll be afraid they’ll miss something important if they aren’t.”
“Whatever you say, Ann.” He started typing the e-mail.
Ann went back to her desk feeling a little queasy. Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning was a strange time to call a press conference. The P word raised its ugly head. Ann knew Kate well enough that she wouldn’t call a press conference to announce something like that. What she would call a press conference for was to announce that she was pregnant and leaving the race. Ann knew she wouldn’t be seeing Kate tonight, so she wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk her out of it.
She thought about it for a while and decided there was one other person who might know what was going on. She made the call to Governor Richard Collins’s cell phone.
“Dick Collins.”
“Dick, it’s Ann Keaton. How are you?”
“I’m just great, getting ready to make a speech in Vermont to a convention of the Benevolent Order of the Moose. I’m not staying for the luncheon because I’m afraid of what they might be serving.”
“I can’t blame you. Listen, tell me what the press conference tomorrow morning is about.”
“I have a press conference on a Sunday morning?”
“Not you, Kate. Surely she’s talked with you about it.”
“Not a word,” Collins replied. “That’s funny, she sends us a daily schedule, and there’s nothing on it for tomorrow morning. What time?”
“Nine A.M.”
“At a church?”
“No, she asked for a small auditorium in New York. She’s in New Jersey and Long Island today.”
“That is odd,” he said. “Should I call her and ask about it?”
“I have a feeling that if she hasn’t told you about it, she doesn’t want you to know. The only reason she told me is that somebody had to find an auditorium and put out a release.”
Collins was silent for a long moment. “Ann,” he said, “if Kate had decided to drop out of the race for some reason, she would have given me a heads-up, wouldn’t she?”
“Sure she would, Dick,” Ann half lied. “And listen, don’t tell anybody about this — only you, me, and Jim Marks, our press secretary, know about it. Something’s up, I’ll grant you, but Kate clearly doesn’t want anyone to know what.”
“I understand.”
“So please don’t start trying to line up support for the nomination, just in case. If she doesn’t drop out, you’d look like an ass.”
“I get the picture, Ann. Let me know if there are further developments, will you?”
“I will let you know if there are further developments.” Ann hung up.
There were no further developments.
58
Stone was very hungry by the time Ann got home. She came into the study and kissed him, then flopped on the sofa next to him.
“I thought we’d order a pizza,” he said.
“Fine.”
“The usual?”
“Fine.”
Stone made the call.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Something is clearly wrong. I’ve never seen you so clenched before.”
“That doesn’t mean something’s wrong,” she said.
“Then what does it mean?”
“It means that if something is wrong, I don’t know what it is.”
“I thought you knew everything. Why don’t you know?”
“Because she won’t tell me.”
“Who won’t tell you?”
“Kate.”
“Kate thinks there’s something wrong, but she won’t tell you?”
“Exactly. I think so anyway.”
“Ann, are you developing a paranoid streak?”
“I’ve always had a paranoid streak,” she said. “I just won’t admit it.”
“But you just did.”
“Then take that as a compliment. You are now the only one who knows. Besides my father and mother, of course. And a few college friends. And Kate.”
“But besides all of them, I’m the only one who knows?”
“Right.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Is there any way I can help you figure this out?”
“No. You know even less than I do about what’s wrong.”
“When did you first get the feeling that something was wrong?”
“When Kate called me and asked me to call a press conference for tomorrow morning at nine.”
“On a Sunday morning?”
“Yes.”
“Something’s wrong,” he said.
“I knew it!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. “You’ve just confirmed it!”
“But I don’t know anything.”
“Welcome to the club! You see how it feels?”
“I’m beginning to,” he admitted. “I’m beginning to think that paranoia is contagious.”
“Maybe so. I’m starving. When is the pizza coming?”
“It won’t be long, they’re right around the corner.” The doorbell rang; Stone ran to the front door and came back with a pizza. He got a bottle of wine from the cooler in the bar, opened it, and came back with two glasses and some napkins.
Ann had already dug into the pizza and was halfway through her first slice. She made a grateful noise when he handed her a glass of wine, then took a huge gulp. “Better,” she said.
The following morning Stone and Ann had an early breakfast. She kept looking at her watch.
“What time do you want to be there?” he asked.
“Eight-thirty,” Ann said. “There’s nothing for me to do until then. The press secretary is dealing with the lighting and sound system.”
“I want to come with you,” Stone said.
“Okay.”
“You think she’s pregnant?” he asked.
“No, but I don’t know anything anymore. If she is pregnant, then she’ll be leaving the race.”
“Really?”
“No, not really, that’s just my best guess.”
“Have you ever noticed that when the president or somebody important has a press conference, everybody in the media already knows what it’s about before it starts? I mean, they’re telling you on TV what it’s going to be about and what questions are going to be asked and what the answers will be.”