Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

Rumors

New York City

May 1976

As the months went by, Dena was getting better and better interviews. Her agent, Sandy, even heard serious rumblings. They were considering moving her to a coanchor spot on the six o’clock news. But in the meantime, Ira Wallace was happy with her work. The ratings were still climbing and upstairs was pleased, too. Production costs were small compared with the budget for an hour-long drama. News shows were suddenly big business.

Competition was heating up, too, and Dena’s interviews were getting rougher and rougher. It made her uneasy, particularly when she remembered that Howard Kingsley might be watching her.

Pete Koski had been elected governor of his state mostly because he had been a championship football star, but after twelve years in politics he had turned out to be a respected member of his party and now there was a lot of talk about him being asked to run for president in the upcoming campaign. Ira briefed her for the interview. As soon as she sat down and saw that look on Ira’s face, she knew something was coming, and prepared herself for the worst.

“Your Mr. Macho, hall of famer, Super Governor, has a son that’s as queer as a three-dollar bill. Got his little fairy butt kicked out of the army for playing house with some other fairy, but Koski had it fixed so it wouldn’t show up on his record. How’s that for a nice little cherry bomb to throw in?”

“Oh, God, Ira, why won’t you let me just have one interview without trying to turn it into an ambush?”

“It’s the truth!” Wallace yelled defensively. “Capello got the goddamn report out of the goddamn military files and he’s got a statement from one of his boyfriends.”

Dena stared at him.

“Ira, I told you before I wouldn’t work with Capello. You lied. You didn’t fire him, did you?”

“You think I would quit working with the best son of a bitch in the business just because you don’t like him? Whata’ya think, I’m stupid? I got him outta your face, what else do you want from me? Now I’m not asking you, I’m telling you—you work for me, not Howard Kingsley, me! You ask the questions that I tell you to.”

“What does Howard Kingsley have to do with this?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. Everybody knows what’s been going on with you two. Who do you think you’re kidding?”

“Ira, I hope you’re not serious. You know that’s not true.”

“Hey, what you do is your own business. Just don’t try and con me.”

“Ira, you are disgusting, do you know that, a disgusting pig.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m terrible. Meanwhile, your sainted governor just got caught abusing his power. He bribed the United States Army, for Christ sakes. That’s a crime, kid, so don’t get all high and mighty with me. Sit down!”

Dena realized for the first time how utterly ruthless Ira Wallace could be. “You can’t be insulted, can you? You really don’t care what people think of you, not even me.”

“I see people for what they are; you see them for what you wish they were but they ain’t. And I’m warning you: if you want to stay on top in this business, you better get over this Doris Day phase you’re in or these new broads are gonna kick your ass. Here, read this.” He pushed a copy of a medical discharge toward her and an army psychiatrist’s private notes.

“See … he admits it. What more do you want?”

Dena looked at him in disbelief. “Ira, we can’t use this. This is illegal.”

“Oh, I know that, for Christ sakes. I just wanted you to see it, you’re always screaming about backup. So there it is—your goddamn backup.”

“How did Capello get this?”

“I don’t ask. I don’t care. He got it. Just ask the question.”

“Ira, this guy should be in jail—and that’s where you are going to wind up if you’re not careful. And I’d be going with you. I’m not doing it.”

“That’s final?”

“Yes,” said Dena, and she meant it. She had already ruined one man’s political life, she wasn’t going to do it again.

Wallace sat back and sadly shook his head. “I don’t understand you. I bring you into the bosom of my family, move your career along, and you have no loyalty, none at all.” He reached in his top drawer and pulled out a cigar cutter and clipped the end off a new cigar. “You know, kid, you are beginning to worry me. And I don’t like that. ’Cause when I worry I start looking around.”

“What does that mean?”

“You figure it out.”

“I see. That’s a threat. If I don’t do your on-air dirty work, you’ll find somebody who will, is that it?”

“No, no threat. You don’t want to do the story, what am I gonna do, force you? I’ll give it to Larry, he ain’t so particular.”

As Dena was leaving, Wallace said, “By the way, I hear your friend Kingsley is retiring.”

“What?”

“He’s retiring, all right. He’s getting his ass fired.”

“How—?”

“What is it they say? Old newsmen never die, their ratings just fade away.”

“Ira, don’t say stuff like that, not even joking. You know that’s a lie.”

“I hate to break your heart about your boyfriend but he’s getting canned. I got it on good authority. I make it my business to know what’s going on everywhere in the business.”

“Who told you that?”

“Never mind who. They are giving him an ultimatum. Either he retires or gets canned officially.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. Do you know what that self-righteous son of a bitch was doing? He was redlining stories, leaving whole segments out. That senile old alligator was trying to control the news.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, they’ll miss him. About a week or two at most. The man is a joke, and everybody in town knows it. About time somebody knocked him on his holier-than-thou, sanctimonious butt.”

Dena went back to her office, sick at what Wallace had said about Howard, and particularly about their relationship. Was he just trying to shake her up and knock her off balance or did everybody else think that, too? She thought about it, then buzzed Arnie, an editor at the network she liked, and asked him to have a drink with her after work.

Arnie was a lanky, slender guy with a bobbing Adam’s apple, who wore thick, black-framed glasses and could hardly believe his good fortune to find himself sitting with this goddess in a bar high above Fifth Avenue. They had finished their second drink when Dena asked him if he had ever heard any rumors about her and Howard Kingsley.

Arnie became visibly uneasy.

“Tell me. I need to know.”

Arnie hemmed and hawed. “Yeah … I guess … Well, I guess there was some talk.”

“What do you mean some talk? About …?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “You know how things get around; you know, the usual jokes.”

“What jokes?”

“Silly stuff, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Dena said. “Tell me.”

Arnie stammered and turned red. “No, I really don’t think I should.”

“Arnie, you have to tell me.”

He squirmed in his seat and glanced around the room. “Well, things like … and I didn’t say it, but …” He lowered his voice and said almost apologetically, “There was one … uh, what’s old and wrinkled, has great boobs, and gets laid on Fridays? But, hey, nobody blamed him. Hell, every guy around here would have taken a shot at you if we thought we would have a chance.”

Dena sat back in the booth, bewildered, humiliated, and disgusted. Is that what everybody thought? Was that all her friendship with Howard was made out to be? Just somebody’s dirty little office joke, some twelve-year-old’s bathroom humor?

Arnie saw the look on her face and panicked. “Hey, Dena, you’re not gonna be mad at me, now, are you—you asked.”

“No, I’m not mad at you, Arnie. And Ira is right. I guess I don’t know what people are really like.”