“Edna, no, I can’t have you leaving me now.”
She met his eyes, which were genuinely anxious, and she felt a wave of relief. “George, that’s nice of you, but-”
“I mean it,” he said, almost desperately. “I’ve got no right to ask you to do anything for me. I realize that. But you know, I haven’t been able to-to sort of talk to you more seriously-about the future-because I’ve been trying to get myself set, better established.”
There could be a moment of truth, she knew, far from any bullfight. “George,” she said firmly, “as far as I’m concerned, you are well enough established. I mean, from my point of view.” She had never been more eloquent about her longings for their future, and she awaited his reply with trepidation.
He sighed. “Maybe,” he said. “I suppose I always set my sights too high. You know how I feel about you. Nothing is too good for you. Maybe I’ve wanted too much. Tonight, if things were the way they were yesterday, I-I might say more than I have up to now. But tonight I can’t, Edna. I got a one-two punch today, both on the button, and I’m shook up, I’m badly shook up.”
She turned fully toward him. She had known something was wrong. Why had she not penetrated his moodiness from the outset? “I suspected you were worried,” she said. “Tell me, George. Maybe I can help.”
“First off, I had a cable from Honolulu this morning. Uncle Victor, the senile bastard, he went and got himself married. Can you beat that? After twenty years a widower? Some island social dame nailed him. And him seventy-nine. I didn’t think the old bastard was that feebleminded. Well, that blew it-good-bye, nephew George. I bet they’re collaborating right now on the new will.”
“George, my God, you were depending on that pie in the sky? I never gave it a second thought.”
“Well, I don’t know if I counted on it or not. But somehow it was always there to think about. So that’s out.” He hesitated. “That’s not the important thing, though. Something worse happened in the mail.”
“What?”
He ran his fingertips across his pocked cheek. “Edna, I lost three newspapers today. They-they dropped me. Far as I can figure out, I’m not ‘in’ enough. They switched to the big wire services instead of keeping their own correspondent. They figure the big ones, exclusive or not, are closer to the inside.”
She felt weak, helpless, and faintly guilty because he was not inside. “You still have nine papers.”
“For the time,” he said, “and for now, less income.”
“I don’t understand, George. I know you’ll make less, but-”
George Murdock’s nails dug at the bench between his knees. “The whole tone of Weidner’s letter,” he said. “There’s a point of no return with Tri-State. If I lose another paper, I’m through. They’ll buy some other columnist. In fact, if they can’t sell my column to more outlets, I may be through anyway. I didn’t even have to read between the lines. He wrote, ‘If you don’t pep up that daily column, don’t come up with something hot, in place of those warmed-over handouts, we’ll have to reappraise the whole situation. I can’t understand why you’re not doing better.’ Then he said something dirty.” George Murdock glanced at Edna worriedly. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”
“Tell me, go ahead, tell me everything.”
“He wrote, ‘I can’t understand why you’re not doing better. After all, you are going steady with the personal secretary to two Presidents. Who has a better pipeline into the White House, especially today?’ Goddammit. Can you imagine?”
She felt sick. “Oh, George, how could he!”
“He did… I tell you, I’ve got a good mind to quit. Here you were talking about quitting, when that’s all I have on my mind. The effrontery of the bastard, thinking for one minute I’d risk the respect of the only decent woman I’ve ever known, for personal advancement.”
She wanted to hug him for his perception and gallantry. What held her back was a heavy anchor of failure, tied to a rope of guilt. “Maybe I have let you down, George-”
“Stop it, Edna. You’re not involved.”
“I mean, you’ve always been so wonderful, knowing my responsibilities, what my position entails, never even being curious. So maybe I am a little to blame, George. Maybe I’ve been leaning over backward to your detriment.”
“Forget it. I don’t want to even discuss it.”
“You’re so kind, George. There are story leaks, let’s face it. Every day it happens. That Blaser story we were just reading. Kemmler and the President did have a disagreement today about the kidnaping. But it was secret. How did Blaser find out? Someone must have leaked it to him.”
“You bet your life. Somebody over at Justice. Maybe even Kemmler himself. They want to look good, get on the record. All the big press correspondents have inside contacts whom they use, and who use them.”
“Except you, because of me!” cried Edna. The resolve came to her, and she gave voice to it “I won’t have you penalized any more, simply because you happen to be seeing me. I’m going to keep my eyes and ears open, and if there is something that-that doesn’t endanger security-that I know someone else will let out before-hand anyway-I’ll tell you first. I promise, George.”
“I told you-forget it,” he said gruffly. “Tri-State isn’t the only syndicate. I’ll look around. We’ll make it yet.” He stood up. “Come on, we’d better check in.”
She came to her feet slowly. “George,” she said, “I think I want to keep my seat at the bullfight.”
“Not for me,” he said. “Don’t do it for me.”
“For us,” she said. “I want to do it for us.”
His thin lips curled upward, and he pulled her arm through the crook of his elbow and propelled her toward Pennsylvania Avenue. “That’s different,” he said. “That makes me very happy. We’ll make out somehow, together.”
They crossed Pennsylvania Avenue in silence, and entered through the open driveway gate leading to the White House, both automatically flashing their passes and greeting the police guards, now doubled in number for this evening’s State Dinner.
As they walked in step to the West Wing lobby, they heard someone hurrying behind them. Edna glanced over her shoulder and grimaced. Reb Blaser, skipping on stubby legs, was alongside them, a grin on his frog face.
“Hiya, Edna-Georgie, old boy,” he drawled. “How are the love doves?” He did not wait for an answer, but gestured toward the front entrance of the White House, ablaze with light. “Looks like a big night, eh?”
“To paint the White House black,” said Edna indignantly.
“Aw, come now, Edna girl,” Blaser said, still grinning. “I got me a job to do, that’s all. Matter of fact, might be some truth to what I wrote, even though I admit to applying a trifle too much tar and feather. But that’s Zeke for you. Don’t blame you none for being loyal to your employer, though.”
Before Edna could speak again, George Murdock said hastily, “It was a little too rough, Reb, like you said, but that was quite a thing about Kemmler and Dilman disagreeing. Where’d you get it?”
One of Blaser’s warted eyelids winked. “Connections, George. Comes of being slavey for a big-time Congressman.” They had reached the door to the West Wing, and all three halted. “Incidentally, George, my Congressman brought up your name to me day before yesterday. Meant to tell you, but been too plumb beat out to remember.”
“Zeke Miller mentioned me?” asked George Murdock cautiously.
“Nobody else but you. Seems one of our stringers sent him a clip of the piece you did on Miller’s speech on farm subsidies. He liked it, liked it powerfully. ‘That’s a smart young man, that Murdock,’ he said to me. ‘Sharp nose for news. Let’s keep on eye on him.’ ”