LITMIR.BIZ

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looking at a million plus.”

      Latimer interjected, “I ride my people hard but those who make it earn top dollar.”

      I swallowed hard. Better than triple my salary even with the overseas increase. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check. If you’re offering one, that is.”

      Latimer smiled, this time cold and hard – the real Latimer, the one you read about in the tabloids. All but his, that is. “I make no guarantees, but who knows, a few years as a foreign correspondent may make you an even more attractive commodity.”

      I paused for a moment, sipped some coffee. “May I ask you a question?”

      “Certainly.”

      “Every time the Gazette gets into financial trouble your name comes up. Are you interested in acquiring us? Off the record, between us.”

      Latimer sat back. “What do you think?”

      “Where there’s smoke there’s usually fire.”

      “A lot of smoke ends up nothing but smoke. But no, it’s no secret I’ve wanted a New York print presence for some time. I’d have to get around the FCC, of course, which is not impossible. The Gazette is a fine paper. Frank has done admirably in a terrible economic climate, so draw your own conclusions. I will say, that would be a way to get Paul Bernard on the cheap.”

      I laughed. “That crossed my mind, too.”

      He lit a cigarette. “Let’s get one thing out in the open. Everybody knows where I stand on issues. A couple of op-ed pieces Harry showed me make me think you have liberal leanings – then there is Berkeley, of course. But from everything I’ve seen you’re a pro, you don’t wear your positions on your sleeve.”

      I raised my eyebrows. “At Berkeley I was probably as conservative as you on some issues.” I wondered where that ATTILA sign was... like to have a look before I leave.

      “That I doubt,” Latimer said, taking a deep drag on the cigarette.

      “Tell the truth, so do I. I’ve asked myself what kind of a fit it would be.”

      “We don’t require a loyalty oath, if that’s what you’re driving at. Officially the network maintains a neutral posture, though that’s not easy with all the liberal crap flying around these days. I find it advantageous to hire people with a variety of positions. As long as they don’t get sideways with our basic thrust, that is.”

      “Sounds like you have me pegged as the token liberal.”

      “Actually, let me amend what I said. Berkeley isn’t all bad. They field some excellent rugby teams. You follow rugby?”

      “Baseball’s more my speed.”

      “But you know the All Blacks.”

      “Of course. One of the best.”

      We chatted a while longer, then Latimer looked at his watch and stood up. “Paul,” he said, shaking my hands firmly, “good of you to come by. I admire loyalty, fine quality in a young man – rare, these days, very rare. Stay in touch. Meantime I’m sure you’ll do a bang-up job for Frank in Europe. Sooner or later you’ll be looking around and who knows, something may work out between us.” He winked, “or you might find yourself part of a package deal.”

      I walked out with Harry. I was disappointed Melanie wasn’t at her desk. As we passed it, Harry started in. “Between us, uncle’s memory is selective when it serves his purposes. The day after I called you I sent him a memo. Let’s have Paul in for a chat kind of thing, consider making him an offer. Not a word. I called, left messages, finally confronted him personally. Good idea, he said, I’ll get back to you. Here we are, four months later, and guess who missed the deadline.” He shrugged. “Way it goes, I guess, working for a hard charger. Some people have their own drum, Rudolph Latimer has his own rhythm section.”

      IN EARLY MAY ANOTHER SAD, MADDENING DAY, John Paul II shot and seriously wounded in St. Peter’s Square. The crowd overpowered the gunman, a professional assassin wanted for the murder of a Turkish editor. It took five hours of surgery to stem the massive blood loss and repair abdominal wounds. Like Reagan, John Paul came closer to death than we were told. Speculation had the Soviet Union behind the attempt, as payback for his support of the Solidarity movement. Ever since his 1979 pilgrimage to his native land the Pope had been a nightmare for its Communist leaders, an outspoken, eloquent witness. “Be not afraid!” His words and his presence inspired Poles and gave hope to other Eastern European peoples. I was tremendously relieved to see him recover so well, for his sake of course, but mine as well. I hoped to report on his doings, possibly meet him at some point.

      One afternoon in July, Lucie called. She was in New York for a few days, had just finished a meeting with her Met counterparts and wondered if Diane and I were free for dinner. “Sorry for the late notice – I didn’t know how long my meeting would run.”

      “I’m on deadline tonight, won’t get out of here until ten or eleven.”

      There was a pause on the line. “How about tomorrow? I’ll be at the Cloisters but I should finish by mid-afternoon. Perhaps the two of you could come up and I’ll show you around. You can give me the New York tour another time.”

      “Diane won’t be able to make it,” I replied, sounding more definitive than I meant to, “but I’d love to. And plan on dinner afterward.”

      “Then I will meet you aux tapisseries Licorne. Three o’clock, would that suit you?”

      “Three is fine.”

      “If I’m late, enjoy those wonderful works. I’ll arrange a pass for you au guichet.”

      After an easy drive up the Henry Hudson to Fort Tryon with only one wrong turn, I found Lucie’s tapestries. The Hunt of the Unicorn, six in all plus two fragments. Slowly circling the room I stopped in front of The Unicorn in Captivity. Here, enclosed by a low wooden fence, the mythical beast rests in a grassy, flowered area, leashed to a tree bearing what look like oranges. After a few minutes I sensed someone beside me. “Allo, Paul.”

      I stood. “Lucie! Bonjour! How good to see you!”

      We embraced lightly. As we kissed each other on the cheeks, I remembered... in this very place I gave Diane that friendship ring, the one that matched her eyes.

      “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

      “Just a few minutes. As instructed, I’ve been enjoying your tapisseries.”

      “Oh, if only they were mine! I see you found my favorite, the unicorn in the castle garden, under the pomegranate tree.”

      “Pomegranate. How about that.” I looked at the red marks on his side. “Give him credit, the little beast put up quite a struggle, but something doesn’t make sense.” I looked around the room. “In the far panel he’s attacked, then he’s dead, lying across that horse, full of stab marks, his horn’s even broken off, but here,” I pointed to the unicorn in his pen, “here he is full of life. How do you explain that?”

      Lucie shook her head. “The easy answer, they are from tapisseries made at different times and simply collected here. The more romantic answer, legend has the unicorn as a Christ symbol and these tapisseries represent his suffering and death. On that assumption, here the animal represents the risen Christ.”

      I laughed. “Whatever... I’ll take alive over dead any day. But it’s a bittersweet ending for the unicorn, isn’t it? He survives but he loses his freedom.”

      “Most scholars interpret this unicorn as joyful, not sad.”

      “How can they tell?”

      “His tether, it is loose, and the fence quite low. A unicorn could jump it easily, don’t you think?”

      “I stand corrected.” I pointed at the greenery behind the unicorn.

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