“It’s like a Greek tragedy…”
“Unbelievable…”
“An ironic twist of fate…”
“The world has sustained a terrible loss…”
“The brightest and the best, and they’re all gone…”
Gary Winthrop’s murder seemed to be all that anyone was talking about. A wave of sadness swept over the country. Gary Winthrop’s death had brought back the memory of the other tragic deaths in his family.
“It’s unreal,” Dana told Jeff. “The whole family must have been so wonderful.”
“They were. Gary was a real sports fan and a big supporter.” Jeff shook his head. “It’s hard to believe that some two-bit thieves wiped out such a wonderful person.”
Driving to the studio the next morning, Jeff said, “By the way, Rachel’s in town.”
By the way? How casual. Much too casual, Dana thought.
Jeff had been married to Rachel Stevens, a top model. Dana had seen her picture in television ads and on magazine covers. It was hard to believe how beautiful she was. But she probably doesn’t have a working brain cell in her head, Dana decided. On the other hand, with that face and body, she doesn’t need any brains.
Dana had discussed Rachel with Jeff. “What happened to the marriage?”
“It was great in the beginning,” Jeff told her. “Rachel was so supportive. Even though she hated baseball, she used to come to the games to watch me play. Besides that, we had a lot in common.”
I’ll bet you did.
“She’s really a wonderful woman, completely un-spoiled. She loved to cook. When she was on a shoot, Rachel would cook for the other models.”
Great way to get rid of the competition. They were probably dropping like flies.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Anyway, we were married for five years.”
“And then?”
“Rachel was very successful. She was always booked, and her work took her all over the world. Italy…England…Jamaica…Thailand…Japan…You name it. Meanwhile, I was playing ball around the country. We didn’t get together very often. Little by little the magic faded.”
The next question seemed logical because Jeff loved children. “Why no children?”
Jeff smiled wryly. “Not good for a model’s figure. Then one day Roderick Marshall, one of Hollywood’s ace directors, sent for her. Rachel went to Hollywood.” He hesitated. “She called me a week later to tell me she wanted a divorce. She felt we had drifted too far apart. I had to agree. I gave her the divorce. Shortly after that I broke my arm.”
“And you became a sportscaster. What about Rachel? She didn’t make it in movies?”
Jeff shook his head. “She wasn’t really interested. But she’s doing just fine.”
“And you’re still friendly?” A loaded question.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, when she called me, I told her about us. She wants to meet you.”
Dana frowned. “Jeff, I don’t think—”
“She’s really very nice, honey. Let’s all have lunch tomorrow. You’ll like her.”
“I’m sure I will,” Dana agreed. Snowball in hell, Dana thought. But I don’t get to talk to many airheads.
The airhead turned out to be even more beautiful than Dana had feared. Rachel Stevens was tall and slender, with lustrous, long blond hair, flawless tanned skin, and striking facial features. Dana hated her on sight.
“Dana Evans, this is Rachel Stevens.”
Dana thought, Shouldn’t it have been “Rachel Stevens, this is Dana Evans”?
Rachel Stevens was saying, “…your broadcasts from Sarajevo whenever I could. They were incredible. We could all feel your heartbreak and share it.”
How do you respond to a sincere compliment? “Thank you,” Dana said lamely.
“Where would you like to have lunch?” Jeff asked.
Rachel suggested, “There’s a marvelous restaurant called the Straits of Malaya. It’s just two blocks off Dupont Circle.” She turned to Dana and asked, “Do you like Thai food?”
As if she really cares. “Yes.”
Jeff smiled. “Fine. Let’s try it.”
Rachel said, “It’s only a few blocks from here. Shall we walk?”
In this freezing weather? “Sure,” Dana said gamely. She probably walks naked in the snow.
They headed for Dupont Circle. Dana felt uglier by the second. She was bitterly sorry she had accepted the invitation.
The restaurant turned out to be packed, with a dozen people at the bar, waiting for tables. The maître d’ came bustling up.