CHIMAYO
MONDAY EVENING
"IT'S RUBIN," ANNE SAID, HOLDING JOSH'S CELL PHONE OUT TO HER HUSBAND.
"He won't take no for an answer."
"I was expecting it," Josh said, taking the cell phone. "Hello, Mark."
"You sound like a frog."
"I told you I needed downtime. Now I've got a cold."
"Flu," Rubin corrected instantly. "Only plebes get colds."
"What couldn't wait until Wednesday?" Josh asked, then covered the phone and sneezed. "Sorry, what was that again?"
"Dykstra," Rubin said. "She's on the air every ten minutes pumping the blood test thing. The networks have picked it up. Even the New York Times is looking interested."
"Slow news week." He sneezed again.
"Yeah. So let's put our spin on this. I want you to do a sit-down with Jansen Worthy."
Josh looked surprised. "Going right to the top, aren't you? He's been anchoring a major news show longer than most people have been alive."
"It's called clout and credibility. He has enough of both to bury Dykstra. So go on his show and tell the voters about your personal and recent losses, that sort of thing."
"You want me to play the sympathy card."
"Hell, yes. You've lost a father, a mother, and a beloved aunt-"
Josh's sneeze sounded more like a laugh of disbelief.
"-and now this wannabe news bitch is doing the vulture thing with your life. Not satisfied with intruding on your grief, she's demanding that you prove what everybody already knows, and she's only doing it to hype up her flat ratings. She hasn't even waited for the test results to begin baying after you. Why? Because there won't be a story afterward. Now you know that elected officials are legitimate targets of interest to the media yada yada yada, but this is too much. If you can't make the interview good for a huge sympathy vote, you're no politician, and we both know you're a hell of a pol."
"How soon?"
"Tomorrow. Jansen is in Arizona on his ranch. He's agreed to fly with you to the ranch for an interview. The satellite relay stuff will be in place by noon."
"The ranch? Why not the governor's mansion?"
"Because this is personal," Rubin said patiently. "You're a grieving son, yada yada yada. Wear a dark sport jacket, plain cowboy boots, and jeans. Pale blue shirt, not western, just a shirt. When you're asked questions about your parents and aunt, pause a little, keep a stiff upper lip, and face the camera with manly emotional restraint. You know the drill. Any questions?"
"Just one."
"What?"
"I could have the blood results as soon as tomorrow. Is this charade really necessary?"
"I get you a freebie on the evening news with a powerful, sympathetic national institution, and you ask me if it's necessary}"
The governor sighed. "Sorry. Must be the fever."
"Take something for it. This is too important to blow. If you have the DNA results before the interview, give them to Jansen and let him shove them up Dykstra's ass. Then we can get on with something that matters, like winning votes."
Josh hung up and went to look for aspirin.