LITMIR.BIZ

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career.”

      “What about your father?”

      “He reminded me, it was he who pushed to send Penny and me abroad. He said some time in international banking would be a big plus.”

      I needed to bring Fred into the loop fast. He was out so I got on his calendar his first day back. If he liked the idea he would help sell it to Harlan Kenny. The daily grind was becoming more difficult, but I told myself, snap out of it. Oil was my idea and it was working out well. I was television more, twice as a guest panelist on Meet the Press, and interviewed several times as an oil expert. I owed oil, for sure, but it was time to move on.

      In mid-February, I heard from LTN and Harry Firth. “You’ve been spreading your wings. I liked that globalization piece. Somewhat broader than your usual work, no?”

      “Not by oil alone doth man live. I’ve been following international for a while.”

      “You’ve been on TV more, too. You come across well.”

      “It’s a nice break from reporting.”

      “I’m thinking it’s time I put you and Mr. Latimer together. What do you say?”

      “That’d be fine. Do you have something in mind?”

      “I think you might be TV news material. You’d need a lot of polishing, of course, but we may have something to talk about. Let me speak with him about that.”

      We left it that he’d get back to me in a few days. When I told Diane it immediately prompted a fit of misgiving about Europe, but I said Harry’s call was speculative, nothing to count on.

      The weeks went by with no follow-up, and I put it out of mind. To complicate matters, whenever I ran into Charlie Stebbins he invariably prodded me about Washington. Still on the middle burner I’d tell him. Not that Washington would have been bad. The national scene was going to be fascinating, considering the uproar Reagan and his gang were bound to foment. But I had Europe on the brain.

      I was a little embarrassed that Fred had already heard from Didier, but I needn’t have been. “This could be a very good move,” Fred said over lunch, in a nice place for a change and my treat. “Sometimes sideways is the best way up, though that’s not fair to Foreign, a lot of people have made a fine career of it. Now a personal question – am I wrong or are you getting antsy?”

      “It doesn’t show in my work, I hope.”

      “Not at all, but a certain kind of person can stay with one thing only so long. That’s you.” I didn’t disagree. He ordered another bottle of wine. “I have an unusually slow afternoon, don’t know how that happened. I hope you don’t have too much on your plate.”

      “I’d better not after this,” I said, lifting my nearly empty glass.

      “So. Harlan will tell Didier we’ve talked. As far as management’s concerned it’s a go. We’ve already cleared it with Tom. You and Didier better set up a timetable.”

      I was surprised he’d taken it so far. “How much time will you need to find a replacement?”

      “No offense but we already have somebody in mind. A month at most. The limiting factor is you. It’s a big job, moving a family – overseas is that much more complicated.”

      “I’m not looking forward to that part of it.”

      “Get yourselves settled by the start of school. If I’m not mistaken French schools start earlier than ours. Get to know Monique Desjardins, she’s Didier’s right hand. She’ll help you find a place, schools – she’s very good.” The waiter appeared with the second bottle. “Well, here’s to your new adventure. We’re going to miss you.”

      “You make it sound like a fait accompli,” I laughed.

      “I wish I had your way with languages. You keeping up the Arabic? That’ll come in handy for France. A big immigrant population and not all of them happy campers. By the way, how’s your wife feel about the move?”

      “A lot better than I expected, thankfully.”

      Didier and I agreed to target the third week of August. “Everything shuts down in August so we need to set it all up ahead.”

      It helped that Fred had picked Linda Dobbins to replace me. She had good instincts, plenty of experience, and knew the players. When I was settled she’d come over and I’d give her the tour, introduce her to the European scene she didn’t already know.

      A BUZZ DEVELOPED IN THE CITY ROOM one morning in late March, people crowding around the TVs. “It’s Reagan! He’s been shot!”

      We watched the scene outside the Washington Hilton – all the majors were carrying it plus the new all-news cable channel, CNN. Spokesmen were downplaying it but fact is, the President was in George Washington University Hospital undergoing emergency surgery. He’d been hit in the chest and that’s never good. Jim Brady, his well-liked press secretary, was critical, shot in the head by the young gunman who also wounded a District police officer and a Secret Service agent. My first reaction – this can’t be happening. But it was. One of the channels cobbled together a review of assassination attempts – Gerald Ford the last, actually two for him in a seventeen-day period in 1975. Both times he escaped injury.

      It was seventy-nine days into Ronald Reagan’s presidency.

      As the day unrolled, we learned a bullet traveled through Reagan’s lung and lodged an inch from his heart. In the ordeal his body lost half its blood. The surgery was successful but there was fear of infection. Brady was paralyzed, possibly for life, but there was optimism Reagan would make a complete recovery. His spirit was incredible. “Honey, I forgot to duck” – that’s what he told his wife in the ER. And just before he went under the knife he remarked to the surgical team, “please tell me you’re all Republicans.”

      An attending doctor who turned out to be a liberal Democrat, got it right. “We’re all Republicans today.”

      Despite my animosity, I couldn’t help feeling compassion for the man, as my own near-miss came back in focus. I called Gus, remarking that we had shared one of these before and telling him of my reaction. “It’s entirely understandable,” he said, “don’t be ashamed of it.”

      I laughed. “Hey, I didn’t call you for counseling. Don’t worry, this is not going to change my opinion about the man’s policies.”

      “Nor mine.” Then, as usual, he offered a twist. “But for a lot of people it will.”

      “What are you saying?”

      “I’ll bet you a sixpack this gives his legislative program a tremendous boost. For the next six, nine months, the man can do no wrong.”

      And that’s exactly what happened. Who knows whether Reagan’s budget slashes and tax cuts would have sailed through Congress without John Hinkley’s revolver, but they did.

      DIANE AND I POUNDED THE LATIN QUARTER PAVEMENT the first week in April in the company of a real estate agent Monique had directed us to. We would start out renting, see how it went. We quickly found a third-floor walk-up appartement, large by Paris standards, in the 5ème arrondisement on a quiet street off Rue Monge, downhill from the Pantheon and Place de Contrascarp. They didn’t even mind Max – that would have been a deal killer. Available August 1, time to move our furniture from the condo, about the same size, plus children’s essentials and as many treasures as we could fit. We also interviewed several women to help out with the children and settled on one, Mme. Colbert – Fernande – who seemed suitable.

      Diane took a day to visit Goldman’s Paris office. “These days so many deals have foreign players, this will be very good for me,” she said, adding that she already knew some of her new colleagues. This trip we did get together with Pat and, though Michel was unavailable, Lucie made a foursome for dinner. Pat still hadn’t found a publisher for his thesis, and he had other bad news.

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