As the saying among real-estate brokers went, when it came to the closings, you went to the money. So Louise Kendall, Larson Richards and two lawyers showed up at the KEY News Broadcast Center at nine-thirty Friday morning to complete the final paperwork to transfer ownership of the house on Saddle Ridge Road. The lawyers were members of the bar in both New Jersey and New York, so there was no problem conducting the closing of a Garden State house in the Empire State office.
Louise had risen especially early, walking through the house one last time before driving into the city. Eliza had entrusted Louise with the task most homebuyers insisted on doing themselves: inspecting the home, room by room, one last time, before the final checks were handed over to the seller. The house was broom-clean and everything looked in order. The Realtor prayed that there would be no surprises once Eliza moved in.
Paige escorted the group from the lobby up the elevator to Eliza’s office. Ms. Blake was running just a few minutes behind, her assistant explained, but would be there soon.
While the others took seats, Larson Richards walked around the office, browsing at the books and inspecting the four Emmy statuettes that sat on the shelves. He looked at the picture of the little girl in the silver frame on Eliza’s desk. He noted the hand-knotted Turkish rug, in tones of blues and reds, that lay atop the standard-issue office wall-to-wall, lending an air of elegance to the room. The tufted leather sofa was strewn with attractive kilim pillows. Framed awards dotted the walls. But the best part of the office was the view through the windowed wall looking out at the news studio below.
The floor beneath buzzed with energy as dozens of men and women sat at their modern desks, typing busily on their computer keyboards, reading the wires and talking on the phones.
The anchor desk Richards had seen so often on television was located in the middle of the large studio, lit with dozens of bright lights suspended from the ceiling. Large television cameras were trained on the anchor chair. There was a glass office at the side of room where four men and one woman sat around an oblong table. He could see television screens in front of all of them, along with an additional half dozen television sets affixed to the walls.
“What goes on in there?” asked Richards, gesturing out the window to the glass office as Paige approached him with one of the cups of coffee that she was offering to everyone in the room.
Paige held out a paper napkin to Richards. “We call that ‘the Fishbowl.’ All the senior producers sit in there. It’s the command post for all the planning and coordinating of the Evening Headlines.”
Richards nodded nonchalantly, determined not to show any enthusiasm. He was impressed, all right, but he wasn’t about to act it. He was thrilled Eliza Blake was buying his parents’ house. He had been certain the deal would go through. There would be no problem with her coming up with the money. And maybe, if he played his cards right, he might be able to interest her in doing some investing with him.
Right now he just wanted Eliza to show up. He wanted to get this house closed and get the check in the bank before it shut its doors this afternoon. With the long Labor Day weekend ahead, he didn’t want to have to wait until Tuesday to make the deposit. He had to start drawing against the house money immediately.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. Please, excuse me.” Dressed in a stunning magenta suit, Eliza entered briskly, shaking her attorney’s hand and kissing Louise on the cheek. Eliza was sensitive to the fact that this once had been Louise’s husband’s office, and she guessed it might be somewhat difficult for her to be here.
But if it bothered Louise, she was courageous enough not to show it. The Realtor graciously introduced Eliza to the seller and his lawyer.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Richards. Your parents had a beautiful home and I’m so glad to be able to buy it.”
“I hope you’ll be very happy there, Ms. Blake,” said Richards, with his most charming smile. “We had great times in that house.”
He’s smooth, Eliza found herself thinking. Too smooth.
“Should we get to it?” suggested Eliza’s attorney. “I know Ms. Blake is very busy.”
One by one, the papers were signed. The homeowners’ insurance, the title insurance, the RESPA form so Uncle Sam would know who paid what to whom, and the Realtor’s commission statement. When Louise was handed her commission check, always paid by the seller, Eliza saw Larson Richards wince.
Finally the title was transferred, the deed was presented to the new owner of the home and the seller had his money. Richards rose quickly and extended his hand to Eliza.
“Well, good luck, Eliza, if I may call you that, seeing as I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around.”
Eliza didn’t look forward to it.
As Richards and his lawyer headed toward the door, Louise called out.
“Oh, Mr. Richards, we need to get the combination for the safe in the master bedroom. Eliza may want to change it, of course, but in the meantime, with all the workmen in the house, she might have some things she wants to lock up.
A look of annoyance crossed Richards’ face.
Too bad if he’s bugged, thought Louise. With two million dollars in his pocket, it was little enough to cough up the combination. Larson damned well better come up with it.
Before leaving the Broadcast Center, Louise took the back staircase from the hallway outside Eliza’s office down to the Fishbowl on the floor below. Knowing that she would be in the building for Eliza’s closing, Range had told her to stop by and say hello.
Louise had known Range Bullock for years, in his role as her former husband’s producer. But it was only after Bill had died last spring that Louise and Range had become close.
“Died” is the nice way of saying it, Louise thought as she approached the Fishbowl doorway. Bill Kendall, world-renowned anchor of KEY Evening Headlines, had committed suicide. And devastated though she was that Bill had felt desperate enough to do the unthinkable, part of her still couldn’t forgive him for it, and for what he had done to their son, William. She would never understand how Bill could have left their child behind. She had had many dark days herself since the time they had found out that William had Fragile X syndrome, yet any thoughts she had had of checking out—and there had been a few of them—she had resolutely pushed out of her mind. William needed her. He needed both his parents.
In fairness to Bill, for nineteen years he had been a great father. He loved their boy. And William adored his dad. It had been almost six months since his father had died, but William still looked into the car expectantly when she came to pick him up at his group home. It broke her heart every time she saw the puzzlement in his face when she explained to him again that Daddy was gone now and wasn’t coming back.
“Daddy’s in heaven, right, Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart, Dad’s in heaven, watching over you and still loving you every single day.”
Damn Bill.
Range, a telephone cradled against his shoulder, was busily tapping at his computer keyboard. Sensing the presence of someone watching him, he looked up and smiled when he saw her. Come in, he mouthed.
The Fishbowl was empty save for the two of them, but Louise knew that the office wouldn’t remain that way for long. The digital clock on the wall read 11:06. Nine minutes until Range would preside over the morning meeting in which the senior producers and writers would take their seats in the glass office and report on the dozens of stories developing around the world. By the end of the day only seven or eight would make the final lineup as pieces on the broadcast.
“All right, we’ll talk later. Let me know what you hear from the Hurricane Center.”
Range hung up the phone and groaned. “Each year it’s the same damned thing. From August to October we have to gear up with every freakin’ hurricane alert. Most of ’em peter out to be no big deal, but there’s always the chance that the whopper will hit.”
“Tell me about it,” said Louise, “I remember Bill going off to cover those nightmares and worrying myself sick over him.” She walked behind Range’s chair and reached out to massage the muscles at the base of his neck. “A little tight today, are we?”
“Yeah, and I don’t want this hurricane to interrupt our plans for the long weekend.”
After twenty years of being involved with men who worked in the news business, Louise had never really gotten used to the fact that breaking stories that had nothing to do with her life could very often force her to cancel her long-anticipated plans. But she had learned to be philosophical. There was nothing she could do about it if she was to be involved with the two men who had excited her the most.
“Look. If it turns out we can’t drive up to the Cape, it’s not the end of the world. The traffic will be horrendous anyway. The weather up here is supposed to be glorious. We’ll spend the weekend out at my place and relax out there. We’ll barbecue and swim and do whatever our little hearts desire. Then, if you have to come into the office, you can.”
Range reached behind and pulled her hand from his neck and kissed the inside of her palm. “God, what a relief you understand this lunacy.”
For the tingle that ran through her at the touch of his lips, Louise was willing to be understanding.