49
A week went by. An agonizingly slow week in which I heard nothing from Larry, nor saw anything in the newspaper, despite combing the Post daily.
Stuart came back from lunch the following Thursday spewing profanities and clutching two newspapers. My stomach dropped.
“Michael,” he bellowed, barely glancing at me.
Michael came out of his office, saw the newspapers in Stuart’s hand, and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “How bad?”
“Front page of both the Sentinel and the Gazette . I haven’t seen the other county weeklies, but I’m sure they’re there too.”
Michael took the papers from Stuart and put them down on a desk, which the three of us crowded around. The picture of us kissing was on the front of both papers, above the fold. The articles were different, but the gist was the same, with information clearly supplied by Sam and Larry.
Michael put a finger down at a line toward the end. “It says we declined to comment. But they didn’t call us.”
“They did, actually,” Stuart said quietly. We both looked at him. “I said we had no comment.”
Michael’s shoulders sagged.
“What?” Stuart asked. “We don’t comment on gossip.”
“This wasn’t gossip,” I said weakly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We talked to the Washington Post ,” Michael said.
“You—what?”
“Bev thought—”
“If Bev was thinking anything, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Hey!” I said, but Michael cut me off.
“I kissed her. Blame me,” he said. “But she was right. We commented to the Post , and they didn’t run their story. There’s not a lot we can do once this is out there.”
No one replied immediately, and I was sure Stuart was going to blow his top. But he didn’t. “Next time, maybe fill me in on your strategy meetings,” he said. “Sorry I blamed you, Bev.”
“It’s okay.” I looked down at the newspapers again, hating that this was getting delivered across the state as we spoke. “But what do we do now?”
“Press conference,” Stuart said. “Michael gets out ahead of it, apologizes, says it hasn’t happened since and won’t happen again.”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t going to speak to the reporter, but Michael insisted,” I said slowly. “And he was right. But a press conference is too visible. A quote in the Post is one thing, but it won’t even matter what he says in a press conference. Voters will just remember that there was a scandal.”
“Then what?” Stuart asked.
“Give me a minute,” I said. “I’m thinking.” There was no way I could do a press conference in Michael’s place. And no one knew who I was, other than the adulteress the articles painted me as. “I’m going to write a letter to the editor,” I said finally, thinking out loud.
“To both papers?”
I inclined my head, still working out the details in my mind. “Only if the Post won’t run it.”
“Why would you write it to the Post ?”
“Because they didn’t run their story yet, which means they’re either investigating what I said about Tom Stanton, or they’re sympathetic to us and scrapped it. But either way, they can run it sooner because they’re daily. They’ve got a wider readership. And they’ll like running a scoop that the locals didn’t have.” I thought again. “I’ll send it to the Baltimore Sun too.”
Michael and Stuart were both looking at me. “And you think that’ll be enough?” Stuart asked.
I nodded, but Michael shook his head. “I don’t want you falling on your sword for me.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said. “But I think you’ve got the metaphor backward. You’re not the knight here. I am.” He started to reply, but I cut him off. “You go call Helen and tell her the Sun is likely going to run something too, so she’ll know how to reply if people ask her. I’m going to call Anna.”
The phone started ringing, and Stuart moved to his desk. “Wait,” I said as he put his hand on the receiver. He raised his eyes. “Say we’re working on a full statement now, but there is not and never was a relationship between us, and this is part of a smear campaign by Sam Gibson and his team.”
Our gazes were locked for a full two rings before Stuart picked up the phone. “Landau campaign. He’s not available right now. Yes, we’ve seen the story. We’re working on our full statement now, but Mr. Landau and Mrs. Diamond are not now and have never been involved with each other. Mrs. Diamond’s husband hired a private eye and caught a moment that they both agreed was a mistake and used that as part of a smear campaign to help his candidate win. Yes. No. That’s all I have to say because that’s all that happened. Yes. Stuart, S-T-U-A-R-T Friedman. F-R-I-E-D-M-A-N. Mr. Landau’s campaign manager. Yes, there are two of us ...”
I slipped out of the office and went down the street to a pay phone. I didn’t want Stuart yelling into a phone in the background when I called Anna. I put my dime in and asked the operator to connect me. Anna’s housekeeper answered. I gave her my name and waited while she got Mrs. Wainwright.
“Beverly, darling, how are you?”
There was no emphasis on are , so she clearly didn’t know. Then again, she lived in the District, so she likely didn’t get the Maryland newspapers. And I wasn’t sure anything other than the Post was allowed to cross her doorstep.
“I’ve been better,” I said, and explained the dilemma we found ourselves in.
“How dreadful,” she said. “Although I could tell there was chemistry between the two of you.”
I shook my head. No wonder she and my mother were friends. “Listen, Anna, I want to write a response.”
“I wouldn’t,” she said. “No one puts any stock in the local weeklies.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why I want to write it for the Post .”
There was a long silence. “I think you’re calling the wrong person for that.”
I knew that wasn’t even a little bit true. She chose to have no say in the business. “You know everyone in that newsroom—”
“Socially,” she reminded me. “Not professionally.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m going to write a letter to the editor anyway. I’d love it if you would maybe just mention to editorial that it’s worth running.”
Another long pause. “Henry would be furious,” she said, and I felt my shoulders drop. “But ...” I perked back up. “I suppose I could take a couple of wives to lunch.”
“You’re amazing,” I told her. “Truly.”
“That’ll only get you so far,” she warned. “Make sure it’s worth running.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“And just so you know—although I didn’t tell you this—they’re following the lead you gave them now. So if you have anything solid on that whole situation six years ago ...”
“I don’t,” I said. “But I will let you know if I find anything.”
“Heavens, not me ,” she said. “Call the newsroom if so.”
“Of course.”
“Give my love to your mother,” Anna said. I promised I would, and she hung up.