Chapter 36
Wednesday was the Fourth of July, but the news cycle didn’t seem to care about barbecues or lying by the local pool, so we weren’t allowed those luxuries either.
Which was just as well—we had a story to break.
Jack brought me a story on the vice president on that afternoon.
I read the lead, then looked back up at him, questioningly.
He shrugged with a smile. “I may have requested to follow him this week.”
But I didn’t smile back. “Doesn’t that make it harder for me to get in with him?
His Secret Service agents saw us together last night.
” I pushed the context they had seen us in out of my head.
All I needed was red cheeks while talking to Jack.
It wasn’t lost on me that half of the typing pool was pretending not to watch us and that we would be the subject of plenty of postwork gossip later on.
“I’m already a known entity at both the hotel and the White House,” he said. “For all they know, you’re a barfly.”
“A what?”
“A—uh—girl who spends a lot of time at Off the Record.”
I got the distinct impression that he didn’t mean spent time there to drink. “I’ll have you know—”
“I know,” he said, cutting me off. “You’re a respectable girl. And last night was just—”
“A mistake,” I finished at the same time as he said, “adrenaline.”
For a few seconds neither of us said anything.
Then we both realized the typing pool was awfully quiet. We looked around at the sea of eyes that all looked away at the same time. I cringed. Carol sat closest to me and had likely heard that. They were all going to think that we had done a lot more than play gin rummy on a stakeout.
“Anyway, the president is in Philadelphia for the Fourth of July, so . . . the junior White House correspondent got stuck covering the vice president,” he said loudly. Then quieter: “Why don’t I drive you home today? We can talk in the car.”
I nodded and he left.
But as I typed the article he had brought me, I began to see the value in covering the vice president. We now knew that he would be flying to Atlanta on Friday to try to smooth over an airline strike that the president hadn’t been able to fix. Access to his schedule was helpful.
I walked the article to the finished bins, picking up another from the board, when I saw Carol and Gladys at Patricia’s desk. All three of them were looking at me, then they glanced away in unison as soon as I looked at them.
Great.
Patricia waited until Miss Kelly was in the elevator before she approached me. She put a piece of paper on my desk with a phone number but didn’t say anything. “What’s that?” I asked.
“That doctor I told you about,” she said. “I’m not saying don’t have your fun—if that’s what Fields is—but I wouldn’t expect him to marry you if . . . if you get in trouble.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen too many girls go that way.”
“I appreciate the concern,” I said. “But nothing ha—” I looked at her more carefully. “Say. What’s going on with your congressman anyway?”
She grinned. “Don’t tell anyone—but he’s taking me to Nassau this weekend!”
“As in New York?”
“No! The Bahamas! You’re going to be so jealous of my tan on Monday.”
I tended to burn. But—
“Are you sure that’s smart?” I asked. Her expression darkened. “I just—that other girl . . .”
“He had nothing to do with that,” she said confidently. “Be happy for me. I’m excited.”
I put a hand on hers. “Okay. I can do that.” She smiled again. “Can I take you to lunch tomorrow? I need some advice.”
“About Fields?” she asked.
If anyone knew about being a girl who picked men up at bars, it was her. And I was woefully lacking experience in that area. “Um . . . I might . . . have a bigger fish in mind.”
Patricia shook her head, then wrapped me in a hug.
“My baby is growing up,” she said proudly.
I struggled indignantly to get out of her grip, but I was laughing.
“Call the doctor,” she said, tapping a polished nail on the paper on my desk as she released me.
“He may be able to get you in this week. He was willing to prescribe the pill, but no pharmacy will fill it if you’re not married, so he’ll do diaphragms.”
I had heard about the birth control pill, of course—Betty was unequivocal that she wanted a prescription after this baby was born.
But it was surprising that Patricia’s doctor was willing to prescribe it to an unmarried woman.
My mind traveled back to the night before, the feel of Jack’s lips, his hand at my zipper.
Absolutely not. If I called that doctor, it was a recipe for disaster.
But I told Patricia I would, then resumed typing, all while waiting for the day to end so Jack and I could figure out our plan.
“It’s his secretary usually,” Jack said, eyes on the road.
I was glad he couldn’t look at me for this conversation, truth be told.
It was the first time I was grateful for the insanity of DC traffic—and with tourists in town to watch the fireworks on the National Mall, it was worse than a normal rush hour.
“And he just . . . asks a pretty girl if she wants to meet the vice president?”
“Not in those words. But he’ll ask if she wants to go to a private party. Upstairs.”
“And they just . . . know what that means?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes they find out upstairs.”
He glanced at me, and I looked out the window. “And what happens if they don’t want to be there?”
A sigh. “That’s why I don’t like this plan.”
I looked back at him. “You’re telling me the vice president—”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if anyone has refused him. I don’t know if they’ve just been allowed to leave. I don’t know what happens when the door to that room closes.”
Neither of us spoke as the light changed, and the old Plymouth lurched forward. “So maybe I tell him I work for The Digest if he . . . if saying no doesn’t work.”
Jack looked over at me, narrowly missing hitting the car that stopped short in front of us to make a left turn. “I’ll create some kind of an emergency if you’re in there too long.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” he said angrily. “I’ll light the damn hotel on fire.
” He wrenched the wheel suddenly, pulling the car onto a side street and putting it in park, then turning toward me.
“I don’t want you doing this.” His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to steady his breathing. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t. We need to get in that room. We don’t have enough to write if we don’t. And I need this if I’m ever going to get out of the typing pool. The fact that he’s seeing a Cuban isn’t enough.” He didn’t reply immediately. “You know I’m right.”
“Then I’ll be the one to do it. I’ll say I need to interview him about the airline strike. You can come with me to take notes.”
I shook my head. “We need an idea of what kind of information the blonde could be getting from him. You can’t get that from a reporter interview. I need to flirt and flatter him and see what I can get him to share.”
“Judy, this is crazy. I agree there’s something going on, but we don’t have any idea what. And I’m not letting you put yourself in a dangerous situation.”
“I’ll bring a hatpin.”
“And what? Assault the vice president?”
He had a point. “Horizontal stripes would make me look even shorter.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
I wondered if the fervor in his expression right now was because he cared about me or if he was worried about his job.
“I’ll scream fire,” I said. “Loud enough for Secret Service to come in. And run out in the commotion.”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds. “You are the most aggravating and headstrong—”
“Charming woman you’ve ever met?” I finished.
“You’re something all right,” he grumbled, but he put the car back into gear.
“You agree that’ll work, then?”
“Yes,” he said. “I still don’t like it. But I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”
“No. So tomorrow night?”
He agreed tersely. “What are you going to ask him?”
I hesitated. “Well, I think I have to mention Cuba and gauge his reaction.”
Jack shook his head. “Oh, hi, Mr. Vice President,” he said in a falsetto. “How’s your Cuban revolutionary mistress?”
I smacked his arm lightly. “Give me a little credit here. I’m going to work it into the conversation and see if he flinches at all.”
“And when he doesn’t?”
“Then he’s either a good actor or he doesn’t know who his mistress actually is.”
“And then what? Say he flinches. What did we learn?”
“I don’t know exactly. I get a feel for whether he’s willing to talk about Cuba at all.
If he’s not, maybe it’s because he knows something.
Maybe he tells me not to worry because they have a plan in place and that’s what she’s here to stop.
But whatever happens, it’ll still be more than we know now.
Would you be telling Nellie Bly not to go into that asylum because it was too dangerous? ”
He swerved around a jaywalking pedestrian. “If I cared about her, yes,” he said through gritted teeth.
Something felt warm and bubbly in my chest. “So you’re saying you care about me?”
“I—what I meant—I thought I wasn’t allowed to use Nellie Bly as an example?” His eyes were straight ahead on the road, and I couldn’t keep myself from grinning.
“I’m a big girl, Jack. I mean, not in height, but I can do this.
” Did I actually know I could do it? No.
But I was willing to risk more than he was because I had more to gain if we succeeded.
And more to lose if we didn’t. So I had to find out enough to break this story.
“I promise.” When he didn’t reply, I flipped the radio on, eventually landing on the Isley Brothers singing “Twist & Shout.” I sang along, badly, until I got a smile back on Jack’s face.
He pulled into my driveway and cut the engine. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, then?”
“Bring the black dress,” I said. “The one with the low back.”
“The one you wore the first night at Off the Record?”
He remembered. “That one.”
“Okay,” he said, still clearly not happy about it.
“Look at you two lovebirds,” my mother’s voice said suddenly at Jack’s open window. We both jumped. Where had she come from? “How sweet of you to drive Judy home. That must be so far out of your way.”
“Uh, no—I was going to go see my mother,” Jack stammered.
“Such a good boy,” she said. “Listen, you should come Friday night for Shabbat dinner.”
“Mom, I’m sure Jack—”
“I would love to,” he said.
“No, you really don’t have—”
“Judith!” my mother said. “Don’t be rude.”
I glared at her, and Jack laughed. “Unless you don’t want me to.”
“Of course she wants you to come! Don’t be ridiculous. Now come on. Your father is grilling, and we don’t want to keep Jack from his mother, do we?”
I sighed, defeated. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I opened my door and climbed out of the car. My mother, satisfied, was already halfway up the front steps. I leaned back in the open window. “I’d say I’ll get you back for this, but that dinner is going to be punishment enough.”
“I can’t wait,” he said with a devilish grin.