Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

Let’s Have Lunch

New York City

1973

Dena had managed to resist telling everyone at work what had happened when she met Howard Kingsley and now she was glad. It had been two weeks and she had not heard from him.

Maybe he had forgotten or maybe he said, “Let’s have lunch” to everybody, and why not, she thought. I must tell ten people a day let’s have lunch. And she rarely meant it unless she thought it could do her some good. What a fool she had been, what an egotistical fool, to think he would actually waste time with her. She was nothing but a no-talent jerk with no news experience trying to break into the big time. The phone rang.

“Miss Nordstrom?”

“Yes?”

“This is Howard Kingsley. I was calling to see if you might be free this Thursday for lunch.”

“Oh, ah, um … Thursday. Let me check.…” She pretended to look at her date book and to flip through imaginary pages. “Let’s see, Thursday, Thursday.”

She suddenly stopped the charade. “Oh, who am I kidding, of course I’m free, Mr. Kingsley, and I would love to meet you for lunch.”

Kingsley laughed. “Good. I usually like the Carlyle dining room. It’s quiet and the food’s good. Is that all right with you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, then, Thursday at, say, twelve-thirty?”

“Fine, I’ll be there.”

“Good, looking forward to it.”

“Yes, sir.”

She put down the phone and winced. Why had she said, “Yes, sir”? He’s going to think I’m an idiot. Remember, he’s just a man, flesh and blood like anybody else. She noticed her hands were a little wet as she took an aspirin. She didn’t know why she was taking one except that she needed something to do. Then she thought she’d better check and see if she really was free. As if she would not have canceled anyone that day, including the queen of England, or Paul Newman. Well, she would have hated to cancel Paul Newman, but thank heavens she didn’t have to make that choice. She was free.

Thursday finally rolled around eight years later, or so it seemed, and she was talking to herself all the way to the Carlyle. “You have been in this business almost seven years, you’re not an amateur, you’re a grown woman. You are not a child. He is not going to bite you. If you seem nervous you will make him nervous. You look wonderful. You have a peppermint Life Savers in your mouth to ensure wonderful breath, you have no pimples, no blemishes. Your nails are clean, you won’t have a drink unless, of course, he does, then you can order a Bloody Mary … no, that gives you tomato breath. What would be good? Something light but not too wimpy.” Just as she was deciding, the cab jerked to a stop. She was there. She overtipped the driver, finished chewing the last of her Life Savers, took a deep breath, and walked in. The maître d’ saw her at once. “Ah, yes, Miss Nordstrom, Mr. Kingsley is expecting you. Right this way.” He led her all the way to the back corner. The roomful of ladies-who-lunch and businessmen all glanced up and tried not to stare at the great-looking blonde with the great legs. All except a table of six Spanish businessmen, who made absolutely no attempt to be subtle and turned and looked. As she approached, Kingsley stood up and took her hand. “So glad you could make it. I know you must be a busy lady.”

“Well, thank you,” Dena said. “I’m flattered but believe me, I’m not as busy as you may think.”

He smiled. “Enjoy it while you can; you will be soon enough. May I order you a drink?”

She looked to see if he had a drink. He did. She tried to sound casual. “Sure. I’ll take a martini as well.”

“Fine.” He motioned the waiter over. “Jason, bring Miss Nordstrom one of the same.” Then he turned back to her. “I can tell all these men are jealous and all the women whispering because I have such a lovely young lady at my table. It happens every time I take my daughter out, and I must say I enjoy it.”

Dena relaxed as she realized she did not have to worry that he was on the make. He was a gentleman to let her know in such a nice way.

“Mr. Kingsley, I saw your daughter the other night at the dinner and she is a beautiful girl.”

“Thank you. We’re lucky she didn’t take after me and got all her mother’s good looks.”

The waiter brought her martini and she took a big sip before she realized it was gin and not vodka. But she kept smiling pleasantly so that he wouldn’t notice that her eyes were tearing. She had always been a little nearsighted but after one sip she could have read the small print on the menu across the room. He asked her how she had gotten started and where she had worked before. She gave him a short account of the long history of the years and the jobs she had had before New York. They ordered lunch and when they had finished, he ordered coffee for each of them. “I think I mentioned the Hamilton piece to you the other night.”

“Yes, you did.”

He looked straight ahead. Then he cleared his throat. “I understand you sort of went your own way on that piece … broke ranks with the network, so to speak.”

Dena panicked. How did he know?

“Well, I, uh …”

“Charles and Peggy Hamilton are friends of mine.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You realize of course you could have lost your job pulling a stunt like that.”

“I know.”

“It was a foolhardy thing to do at the beginning of your career.”

Dena’s heart sank. She felt ten years old. “Yes, I guess it was.”

“But, personally, I thought it was a damn decent thing to do.”

“You did? I mean, you do?”

He smiled. “Yes. I do.”

“Well, thank you. But to tell you the truth, I really don’t know how decent it was. I think I was just trying to save my own skin without losing my job.”

“You may have been trying to save your own skin, but give yourself credit; you went out of your way to save somebody else’s as well. It was not an easy decision. I’ve been there myself. Whatever your reason, your instincts were correct. You took the high road and it worked.”

“Just barely,” Dena said. “My boss was pretty mad at me. I thought I might get fired there for a while. I can tell you that … he’s pretty tough.”

“Ira Wallace?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

He nodded and said with a weary look on his face, “Oh, yes, I know him.”

Kingsley sat back and seemed to be deciding something. “You know, Miss Nordstrom, I like you, I like what I see. You’ve got style, presence, and you’ve got class. You’re just what they want—but, by God, I just hate to see those bastards get a hold of you.” He grimaced. “But be that as it may, my advice for you is to get every red cent out of them you can because they are going to try and suck the very soul out of you. You gave my friends fair warning, so I’m giving you fair warning. You think you had trouble with the Hamilton piece? That’s just the tip of the iceberg, child’s play to what’s coming. I can smell it, I can feel it, and it makes me sick.” He looked directly at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I believe in freedom of the press. That’s what we’re here for, to get the truth out there to the public. But as soon as someone like Wallace gets in the door, they start to pollute the entire industry and I see it happening more and more every day. They don’t want news, they want audience, and to get it they want ratings and they don’t care how they get them. But I’m sure you are aware of that.”

“Yes,” said Dena, “I am.”

“I’ve covered three wars and have seen a lot of killing in my time. But this new bunch taking over are the coldest, meanest bastards I’ve seen and frankly, they scare the hell out of me. Mark my words, as soon as they can get rid of all of us old guys they’re going to replace us with as many pretty young men and women, like yourself, to do their dirty work. To push their garbage and trash down everyone’s throats while they hide behind their office doors making millions, laughing at us, while the whole damn country falls apart!”

People in the restaurant were looking over as Kingsley’s voice got louder. When he realized what was happening, he was embarrassed and said softly, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I subjected you to all my rantings. Hell, I’m probably just a senile old fool thinking the worst.”

“Mr. Kingsley, you mustn’t say that. You’re not old or a fool and you have a right to be upset.”

He caught the waiter’s eye and motioned for the check and laughed. “Call me Howard, please. You know, my wife says I should retire. Maybe I should, but I don’t want to hand this medium or this network or this country over to those bastards, not yet anyway. Oh, they’ll get it sooner or later, but until then, somebody has got to keep reminding people we aren’t all the scum they are trying to turn us into.”

“All the more reason why you can never retire. We need you. They sure won’t listen to me.”

He smiled while signing the check. “Miss Nordstrom, I guess what I was trying to say to you is—try not to let them use you too much. Fight back when you can.” He paused. “And don’t hesitate—call me if you need me.”

“Oh, I will. And it’s Dena, please.”

As they walked out, she said, “You know, I really appreciate your talking to me. Truth is, I don’t think I’m going to be offered a new contract. I think I might not have what it takes.”

Howard opened the glass door leading to the street. “Oh, you are going to get offered a contract, all right. Julian Amsley’s smart enough to know what he’s got and he’s not about to lose you.”

Dena looked at him, dumbfounded.

He laughed. “No, I’m not a psychic. I play poker with Amsley every Friday and he likes to talk.”

As he hailed a cab for her, he said, “By the way, you don’t like to sail, by any chance, do you?”

“Sail? Oh, yes, I love to sail.” She caught herself again. “Well, actually, I’d love to try it.”

“Good, when the weather gets better, we’ll give you a call. We have a little place in Sag Harbor, maybe we can get you out for a weekend.” A cab stopped and he helped her in before he shut the door. “Oh, listen. On that contract thing. They’ve got two hundred thousand a year budgeted. Don’t let your agent settle for less. They won’t tell you but your popularity rating is through the roof. They’ll offer one. Hold out for four and settle for three. Amsley loves it when he thinks he might lose something, and when he hears we had lunch together, that ought to scare him at least a hundred thousand.”

He closed the door and handed the driver a ten-dollar bill. “Take this young lady where she wants to go for me, will you? And be careful, she’s valuable property.”

The driver beamed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Kingsley.”

As he drove off, he said, “Howard Kingsley, well, I’ll be damned.” He looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Last week I had Polly Bergen from What’s My Line? back there.”

“Really?”

He glanced at her in the mirror. “Yeah. And you look familiar; aren’t you somebody?”

“No, I’m just a friend of Mr. Kingsley’s.”

The driver shook his head. “Pretty nice friend to have.”

“You’re right.”

Dena sat back and thought about lunch. It was still hard for her to believe she had actually been with him and that he had talked to her and really cared. She was so glad that Howard had approved of what she had done. But there was a part of her deep down that wondered if she really would have quit if it had meant her job.

She could not be sure. She could never be sure of how she really felt about anything. All she knew was that she had been lucky this time.

A week later Sandy called, excited. “Guess what, you got the contract!”

“Wow, great, Sandy.”

“I knew we could do it. And wait until you hear this—I had to work like the devil—but I finally got them up to two hundred a year and you should have heard what they started out with. Isn’t that great news?”

“Sandy, tell them I won’t do it for less than four hundred thousand.”

There was a long pause. “You are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Two weeks later, a battle-weary Sandy called. “All I could get them up to was three.”

“Fine,” Dena said. “I’ll take it.”

“Dena, I swear to God that if I die from heart failure, Bea and the kids are moving in with you.”