The Manny. Holly Peterson

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      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘That is sooo great.’ I sounded like I was praising a three-year-old. I could feel my face flush. ‘And on Fridays, he has cello, but not until five. At a great music school on 95th Street. Did you have any idea it’s been proven that kids who took music as young children do 40 per cent better in medical school.’

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘Yes. Something about integrating all the notes in their heads. The address is in the folder. On Wednesday, it’s woodworking – which really gives him a jump-start on geometrics and is great for sharpening fine motor skills and really focusing on seeing a project through from beginning to end. Then on Tuesdays and Thursdays, from three thirty to five thirty, or even six, that’s completely fine with me, you two …’

      ‘Whoa.’ He looked concerned.

      ‘Whoa? Excuse me?’

      ‘Yeah. Whoa. Let’s not even revisit that geometrics idea. But you’ve got, like, every day totally planned out?’

      ‘Yes, I do.’

      ‘May I ask why?’

      ‘Well. I work. We live in New York, that’s just the way things are.’ He gave me a disapproving look which I took as overstepping some bounds. But I forged ahead, needing to show him who was in charge after all. ‘So, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, you just do what you want. You could just take him somewhere. Like there’s a Mars place in Times Square with video …’

      ‘I have lots of places in mind.’

      ‘You do? Like what?’ I spoke as if I didn’t trust him, as if he was going to take my son to a crack house.

      ‘I’d like to take him to the park at first, maybe shoot some hoops …’

      ‘He’s really freaked out about the basketball.’

      ‘I know. I know.’

      ‘Well, then you’ll have to tread lightly on the basketball …’

      ‘And you’re going to have to trust me. I told you, I’m not good at strict hierarchy.’

      Oh, Jesus. Not only was this guy not going to be a star in the service industry, but also he couldn’t follow direction? ‘We’re talking about my son here.’

      ‘And I’m going to do whatever you want. Just try to trust me a little. Remember, I’m good with kids and I drive.’ He smiled.

      My mobile phone rang for the second time from deep inside my bag. I had ignored another call, but I had been waiting a week for this one. On the caller ID it signalled Leon Rosenberg’s law firm.

      ‘Peter, just give me a second.’

      I flipped open my cell. ‘Yes, Leon?’

      ‘I’ve now triple-checked with her,’ he was yelling into the phone. I pictured him leaning back in his leather chair chomping on his omnipresent cigar. Like a mafia don, he would be flicking some cigar ash off one of his hideous suits with a bold white stripe and too much sheen. At this point the networks were in an all-Theresa-all-the-time, full-on media feeding frenzy. The talk shows dissected the ramifications for Hartley’s political future, the prime-time magazine shows did profiles of her background – though they weren’t able to get anywhere near her – and the syndicated entertainment news shows just tried to blow as much steam into the story as they could. However, none of them advanced the story at all because the two principal players weren’t talking. ‘Most importantly, she knows you know what’s on the tapes and she’s going to confirm that while your cameras are rolling. Meaning the whole ass thing.’

      Goodman and I had been negotiating the exact parameters of the interview with Leon Rosenberg: where it would be held, how much of the telephone tapes we could use, and, most importantly, that she understood she would need to verbally detail the sex – which Leon had just confirmed. Goodman would be so psyched. I punched my fist in the air.

      ‘And on the other details,’ said Leon, ‘Theresa’s ready this week to go ahead …’

      At this moment, Peter opened the HOUSEHOLD EMERGENCY MEDICINE Tupperware box and pulled out three huge plastic bags: a lifetime’s supply of potassium iodide, Cipro and Tamiflu. He began reading the laminated card I had put inside for Yvette and Carolina about what to do in case of a dirty bomb explosion, anthrax attack or avian flu outbreak.

      ‘That’s great, Leon.’

      ‘Although she was hoping for a big-city extravaganza, she understands you will pay only for the hotel room and eighty-five dollars per diem for the two days she is in the city. But she needs to look good. She wants a spa day, facial, pedicure, manicure and other stuff.’

      I pulled the other Tupperware box away from Peter and put it on the floor next to my feet. It was filled with EpiPens for peanut allergies and asthma inhalers and Benadryl – all for play date guests, not my kids. It seemed like half my kids’ friends had life-threatening nut allergies, and some of their moms were totally blasé about it. Sometimes they even forgot to remind us about it. I could see Peter thinking I was completely neurotic. Not that I wasn’t.

      ‘Leon, again please make clear to her this is not some syndicated entertainment show or a British tabloid. This is a top news division of a major network. We will pay for hair and make-up, period. We can’t pay cash for interviews or appear as if we’re delivering favours, like facials, to interview subjects. We have news policy standards to uphold.’

      Leon guffawed and slammed something down hard on his desk. ‘Get off your high horse for a second and listen to yourself, sweetheart.’ He laughed again. ‘Oooooo weeeee. All high and mighty like Walter fucking Cronkite and you and I know the only thing you’re interested in is the ass-fuck thing.’

      I winked at Peter to let him know this call was going to take a few moments. He stood up and leaned against the windowsill looking down on Park Avenue, then headed towards the other end of my living room, which opened up with pocket doors into Phillip’s study. Reaching into one of the bookcases on either side of the doorway, he pulled out How to Raise Children in an Affluent Environment, a book Phillip had read while I was pregnant with Dylan. I was horrified, but he was all the way across the room, so I couldn’t grab it from him.

      ‘All right, Leon. We’re talking about a guy who used to run a Christian television network, a guy with four children who’s been married for thirty years to a June Cleaver lookalike, a guy who’s in bed with Focus on the Family, the Christian Coalition, and even the Promise Keepers. So there’s a little bit of hypocrisy here that is the main thing. But you are right, the, uh, exact sexual manifestations of this hypocrisy are quite interesting to us. Especially with the irony involving the anti-sodomy laws. That is kind of delicious. I won’t deny that. But, remember, we cared a lot about this story before we had that little item.’

      ‘That’s a twenty-five-million-dollar item, baby.’

      ‘It is. And let’s just leave it at that.’

      ‘OK, sweetheart, while you’re leaving it at that, one more thing.’ I breathed deeply and deliberately into the phone while awaiting his umpteenth request. I mouthed, ‘So sorry!’ to Peter. He shook his head and mouthed, ‘Don’t worry.’ He closed СКАЧАТЬ