Arthur Hailey - Overload

"One moment, please."

Not only moments passed, but several minutes. Eventually a cool female voice inquired, "Yes?"

Nancy identified herself.

"What is it you want?"

"Mrs. Quinn, when the Sequoia Club executive committee, of which you are a member, met last August and decided to team up with Davey Birdsong's power & light for people, what was . . . ?"

Priscilla Quinn said sharply, "That committee meeting, and the entire arrangement, are supposed to be confidential."

Bingo! Unlike lawyer Saunders, Quinn was not a wily fish. Nancy now had the confirmation she had sought, a confirmation she would never have obtained by asking direct questions.

"Well," Nancy said, "word seems to be around. Maybe Birdsong talked."

She heard what sounded like a sniff. "Very likely. I would never trust that man in the slightest degree."

“Then may I ask why you agreed to support his .

"I did not agree. I was the one who voted against the whole idea. I was defeated by the others." A note of alarm entered Priscilla Quinn's voice.

"Are you planning to print any of this?"

"Naturally."

"Oh dear, I don't want to be quoted."

"Mrs. Quinn," Nancy pointed out, "when you came on the line I identified myself, but you said nothing about any of our conversation being off the record."

"Well, I do now."

'It's too late."

The other woman said indignantly, "I shall telephone your publisher."

"Who won't do a thing," Nancy shot back, "except tell me to go ahead and write the story." She paused, considering. "What I will do is make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"I have to use your name as a member of the Sequoia Club executive committee. There's no way I can avoid that. But I won't mention that I spoke to you if you'll tell me how much money was paid by the Sequoia Club to p & lfp."

"But that's blackmail!"

"Call it a trade-fair exchange."

There was a brief silence followed by, "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You can. Go on-take a chance."

A pause again. Then, very quietly: "Fifty thousand dollars."

Nancy's lips pursed in a silent whistle.

As she hung up, instinct told her she had spoiled Mrs. Dempster W. R. Quinn's lunch.

An hour or two later, having handled some other, routine news chores, Nancy sat at her desk thinking, calculating. So how much did she know?

Fact one: Davey Birdsong had cheated students and collected considerably more money than was needed to run p & Ifl.

Fact two : the Sequoia Club was backing Birdsong with money-a lot of it. That alone was a news scoop which would raise many eyebrows and almost certainly damage the club's reputation as a high-level, prestigious body.

Fact three: Birdsong was intervened in something he didn't want found out, hence his elaborate precautions when he visited that eastside house. Question one: What did he do there; did it relate to the large amounts of money he had accumulated; and what went on in the house? Nancy still hadn't the faintest idea.

Fact four : The girl from the house, Yvette, was scared shitless about something. Question two: What? Same answer as to question one.

Fact five: Number 117 Crocker Street was owned by the Redwood Realty Corporation. Nancy had found that out earlier today from the tax assessor's office. Later, posing as a credit bureau investigator, she had telephoned Redwood and learned the property had been rented for the past year to a Mr. G. Archambault, about whom nothing was known except that he paid the rent promptly. Question three: Who and what was Archambault? Go back to question one.

Conclusion : the jigsaw was incomplete, the story not ready to break. Nancy mused: She would have to wait and be patient until her meeting with Yvette six days from now. At this moment she was sorry she had agreed to delay that long, but having made the promise she would keep it.

Briefly Nancy wondered: Would she be in any danger, having tipped off Yvette about her interest, and then going back? She didn't think so. Anyway, fear of consequences seldom bothered her.

And yet . . . Nancy had an uncomfortable feeling she ought to share her knowledge with someone else, talk over what she had, and ask a second opinion about what to do next. Logically, she should go to the city editor. She might have done it, too, if the son-of-a-bitch hadn't handed her that coach-and-team crap earlier today. Now it would look as if she was sucking around him because of it. Screw you, Mr. Charlie!

For the time being, Nancy decided, she would continue to keep the whole ball of wax to herself.

It was a decision which later, looking back, she would bitterly regret.

In his office, Nim was going through the morning mail. His secretary, Victoria Davis, had already opened and sorted most of the letters and memos, putting them into two folders, one green, the other red-the latter reserved for urgent or important subjects. Today the red file was full to overflowing. There were also, placed separately, a few unopened letters marked "Personal." among these Nim recognized a familiar, pale blue envelope with a typewritten address. Karen Sloan's stationery.

Lately, Nim's conscience had troubled him about Karen-in two ways. On the one hand he cared about her very much indeed, and felt guilty because he had not visited her since the night they made love, even though they had talked by telephone. And on the other hand, there was Ruth. How did his love affair with Karen fit in with his reconciliation and new rapport with Ruth? the truth was: it didn't. Yet he could not suddenly toss Karen aside like a used Kleenex. If it had been some other woman he could, and would, have done it instantly. But Karen was different.

He had considered telling Ruth about Karen, then decided nothing would be gained by it. Besides, Ruth had enough problems without adding to them; also, he would be the one who would have to decide about Karen. He was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but for the time being he had put Karen on a mental shelf and, for that reason, delayed opening her letter now.

The thought of Ruth, though, reminded him of something else.

"Vicki," he called through the open office door, "did you get those hotel reservations?"

"Yesterday." She came in, pointing to the green folder. "I wrote you a note; it's in there. The Columbus had a cancellation, so you have a two-bedroom suite. They promised me it will be high and with a view."

"Good! How's that last revision of my speech coming?"

"If you'll stop asking questions to which I've already given you answers," Vicki told him, "I'll have it ready this afternoon."

He grinned. "Get out of here!"

In a week's time Nim was due to address the annual convention of the National Electric Institute. His paper, which had already gone through several drafts, would be about future power demands and was entitled "Overload."

The big national NEI convention, important to the public utility industry and its suppliers, was being held locally this year-in the Christopher Columbus Hotel. It would last four days. Because there were numerous social events, it occurred to Nim it would be an interesting change for his family if they moved with him into the hotel for the duration of the convention. He had put the suggestion to Ruth, Leah, and Benjy, who reacted enthusiastically.

The idea of getting a high room with a view was Nim's. He thought the children would enjoy it.

His promise to speak at the NEI convention had been made nearly a year ago, long before his removal from the role of company spokesman. When Nim mentioned the commitment recently to Eric Humphrey, the chairman told him, "Go ahead, but stay away from controversy." In fact, Nim's paper would be heavily technical, intended mainly for other power company planners like himself. Whether or not he would season it-despite the chairman's warning-with a soupcon of controversy, he had not yet decided.