Page 295 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

There was one more room. George crossed the living room and opened the door to the bedroom.

Maria cried: "George! Don't go in there!"

She was too late.

George stood in the doorway, looking around the bedroom in amazement. "Oh, my God," he said. Now he saw why she was not dating.

Maria turned away, mortified with embarrassment.

The cop went past George into the bedroom. "Wow," he said. "You must have a hundred pictures of President Kennedy in here! I guess you were a fan of his, right?"

Maria struggled to speak. "Yes," she said, sounding choked up. "A fan."

"I mean, with the candles, and flowers, and like that, it's amazing."

George turned away from the sight. "Maria, I'm sorry I looked," he said quietly.

She shook her head, meaning he had no need to apologize: it had been an accident. But George knew he had violated a secret, sacred place. He wanted to kick himself.

The cop was still talking. "It's almost like a, what do you call it, in a Catholic church? A shrine, is the word."

"That's right," said Maria. "It's a shrine."

*

The program This Day was part of a network of television and radio stations and studios, some of which were housed in a downtown skyscraper. In the personnel department was an attractive middle-aged woman called Mrs. Salzman who fell victim to Jasper Murray's charm. She crossed her shapely legs and looked at him archly over the top of her blue-framed spectacles and called him Mr. Murray. He lit her cigarettes and called her Blue Eyes.

She felt sorry for him. He had come all the way from Britain in the hope of being interviewed for a job that did not exist. This Day never hired beginners: all its staff were experienced television reporters, producers, cameramen, and researchers. Several of them were distinguished in their profession. Even the secretaries were news veterans. In vain Jasper protested that he was not a beginner: he had been editor of his own paper. The student press did not count, Mrs. Salzman told him, oozing compassion.

He could not go back to London: it would be too humiliating. He would do anything to stay in the USA. His job on the Western Mail would have been filled by someone else by now.

He begged Mrs. Salzman to find him a job, any job, no matter how menial, somewhere in the network of which This Day was a part. He showed her his green card, obtained from the American embassy in London, which meant he had permission to seek employment in the States. She told him to come back in a week.

He was staying at an international student hostel on the Lower East Side, paying a dollar a night. He spent a week exploring New York, walking everywhere to save cash. Then he went back to see Mrs. Salzman, taking with him a single rose. And she gave him a job.

It was very menial. He was a clerk-typist on a local radio station, his task to listen to the radio all day and log everything that happened: which advertisements were aired, which records were played, who was interviewed, the length of the news bulletins and the weather forecasts and the traffic reports. Jasper did not care. He had got a foot in the door. He was working in America.

The personnel office, the radio station, and the This Day studio were all in the same skyscraper, and Jasper hoped he might get to know the people on This Day socially, but it never happened. They were an elite group who kept themselves separate.

One morning Jasper found himself in the elevator with Herb Gould, editor of This Day, a man of about forty with the permanent shadow of a blue-black beard. Jasper introduced himself and said: "I'm a great admirer of your show."

"Thank you," Gould said politely.

"It's my ambition to work for you," Jasper went on.

"We don't need anyone right now," Gould said.

"One day if you have time I'd like to show you my articles for British national newspapers." The elevator came to a halt. Desperately, Jasper kept going. "I've written--"

Gould held up a hand to silence him and stepped out of the lift. "Thanks all the same," he said, and he walked away.

A few days later, Jasper was at his typewriter with his headphones on and heard the mellifluous voice of Chris Gardner, the host of the midmorning show, say: "The British group Plum Nellie are in the city today for a show tonight with the All-Star Touring Beat Revue." Jasper pricked up his ears. "We were hoping to bring you an interview with these guys, who are being called the new Beatles, but the promoter said they wouldn't have time. Here instead is their latest hit, written by Dave and Walli: 'Good-bye London Town.'"

As the record began, Jasper tore off his headphones, jumped up from his desk--in a little booth in the corridor--and went into the studio. "I can get an interview with Plum Nellie," he said.

On air, Gardner sounded like the kind of movie star who always played the romantic lead, but in fact he was a homely-looking man with dandruff on the shoulders of his cardigan. "How would you manage that, Jasper?" he said with mild skepticism.

"I know the group. I grew up with Dave Williams. My mother and his are best friends."

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