She followed, noticing an elephant's foot in the corner; inside were a half-dozen umbrellas and canes. Several of them ended in carved faces: a lion, an old man (Rune thought he was a wizard), some kind of bird.
Maisel had been doing dishes. He was wearing a blue denim apron, water-stained with Rorschach patterns and taut over his belly.
"When I called… Well, I hope I didn't interrupt anything."
"I'd have told you I didn't want to be interrupted." Maisel returned to the cumulonimbus of suds. "The bar's over there." He nodded. "Food?"
"Uhm, I just ate."
Maisel dove into the dishwater again. Surrounded by implements – scrapers, sponges, metallic scrubbers like tiny steel wigs. A typhoon crashed over the granite countertop. A pan surfaced and beached itself on the Rubbermaid, and he examined it carefully. His face was pure contentment. She envied him; cooking and cleaning were loves that Rune knew she would never cultivate.
In the living room, a projection TV set was showing an old movie, the sound low. Bette Davis. Who was the dude? Tyrone Power maybe. What a name, what a face! Whoa, men looked good back then. She could watch him for hours.
Finally Maisel wiped his hands and said, "Come on."
They walked into the living room.
Rune paused, looking at a framed newspaper article on the wall. From theTimes. The headline was: "TV Correspondent Wins Pulitzer."
"Excellent," Rune said. "What was it for?"
"A story in Beirut a few years ago."
She asked, "ACurrent Events segment?"
"No. It was before we developed the show." He looked at the article slowly. "What a beautiful city that used to be. That's one of the crimes of the century, what happened there."
Rune skimmed the article. "It says you got an exclusive."
But he was troubled. "It was a mixed victory," he said. "We did what journalists should do – we looked under the surface and reported the truth. But some people died because of that."
Rune recalled the incident from the information Bradford had brought her. Remembered too that Lance Hopper had stood up to the criticism and defended his news team.
"Come here," Maisel said, his face brightening. He led Rune down a long corridor, lit by overhead spotlights. It was like an art gallery.
"Hey, this is pretty cool."
There were dozens of framed maps, most of them antique. Maisel paused at each one, told her where he'd found it, how he'd dickered with the booksellers and vendors how he'd been taken by some and gypped others. She liked the New York maps best. Maisel pointed to a couple of them, describing what buildings were now on the spots that the maps showed as just fields or hills.
Her favorite was a map of Greenwich Village in the 1700s. "That is fantastic. I love old New York. Doesn't it just do something to you? Okay, you're out on the street eating a Nedick's with onions – I really love those pickled onions – and you suddenly think, Wow, maybe I'm standing right on the very spot where they rubbed out a gangster or where two hundred years ago there was an Indian war or something."
"I don't eat hot dogs," Maisel said absently and she caught him glancing at his watch. They walked into a lowlit den, filled with leather furniture and more maps and framed photos of Maisel on assignment. They sat. He asked, "So what's up?"
Rune said, "I got an offer for something and I don't know what to do about it."
"Publishers Clearing House?" he asked wryly.
"Better than that." She told him what Piper Sutton had said.
Maisel listened. She got almost all the way through before she realized that his face was growing a frown. "So she offeredyou the Brit spot, huh?"
"I was kind of surprised."
She could see in his face that he was surprised too. "Rune, I want to be honest. No reflection on you but it's a tough assignment. I had a couple people more senior in mind. I'm not saying you couldn't get up to speed but your experience is…"
"Like pretty much not there."
Maisel didn't agree or disagree. He said, "You're a good cameraman and you're learning a lot with the Hopper story. But producing involves a lot more than that." He shrugged. "But I asked Piper to fill the spot. It's her call. If she wants you in the job it's yours." He looked across the room. More antique maps. She wondered what country he was focusing on.
"I'm pretty tempted," she said.
"Wonder why," he said wryly. "Couldn't be more than ten, fifteen thousand reporters in the country that'd kill to have that assignment." Maisel stretched his feet out straight then curled one up under himself. He was wearing bright yellow socks.
"But," he said, "you're worried about the Boggs story."
She nodded."That's the problem."
"How's it coming?"
"Slow. I don't really have any leads. Nothing solid."
"But you still think he's innocent?"
"Yeah, I guess I do. The story'd still get done. Piper said she'd assign someone local to finish it."
"Did she?"
"Yeah, she promised me."
Maisel nodded.
After a moment Rune said, "She doesn't want me to do this story, does she?"
"She's afraid."
"Afraid? Piper Sutton?"
"It's not as funny as it seems. Her job is her whole life. She's had three disastrous marriages. There's nothing else she can do professionally; nothing she wants to do. If this story goes south she and I, and Dan Semple to some extent, will take the flak. You know how fickle audiences are. Dan and I are worried about news. Piper is too but she's an anchor – she's also got public image to sweat."
"I can't imagine her being afraid of anything. I mean, I'm terrified of her."
"She's not going to have you rubbed out if you tell her you're going to stay and do the story."
"But she's my boss…"
Maisel laughed. "You're too young to know that bosses, like wives, aren't necessarily matched to us in heaven."
"Okay, but sheis Piper Sutton."
"That's a different issue and I don't envy you having to call her up and tell her that you're declining her offer. But, so what? You're an adult."
More or less Rune thought. She said, "I don't know what to do, Lee. What's your totally, totally honest opinion about my story?"
Maisel was considering. A gold clock began pinging off the hours to tenp.m. When it hit eight he said, "I'm not going to do you any favors by being delicate. The Boggs story? You take it way too personally. And that's unprofessional. I get the impression that you're on some kind of holy quest. You-"
"But he's innocent, and nobody else-"
"Rune," he said harshly. "You asked my opinion. Let me finish."
"Sorry."
"You're not looking at the whole picture. You've got to understand that journalism has a responsibility to be totally unbiased. You're not. With Boggs you're one of the most goddamn biased reporters I've ever worked with."
"True," she said.
"That makes for a noble person maybe but it's not journalism."
"That's sort of what Piper told me too."
"There's government corruption and incompetence everywhere, there're human rights violations in
America, Africa and China, there's homelessness, there's child abuse in day-care centers… There are so many important issues that media has to choose from and so few minutes to broadcast news or newspaper columns to talk about them in. What you've done is pick a very small story. It's not a bad story; it's just an insignificant one."
She looked off, scanning Maisel's wall absently. She wondered if she'd find an omen – an old map of England, maybe. She didn't.