Page 43 of Prime Time

She folded her napkin with perfect symmetry. It seemed very important that it be folded just right before she set it down beside her barely touched plate. She stood up.

“Andy—”

“Shut up, Les. I think you’ve said enough.”

For the scene outside she had planned to wear something soft and more casual than the outfits she’d worn for the other scenes. She had asked the general not to put on his coat and tie, as well. More than any of the other sessions she had been looking forward to this one. The riverbank was such a lovely setting.

Now, it was to be the farewell interview, too, and that added a nostalgic quality to it. She’d never given a thought to the time she’d have to leave. She’d known that the time would come, but she’d never dwelled on it.

“Admit it, Andy,” she said to herself in the mirror. “You hoped to go on seeing Lyon after you left.”

Now she saw the fallacy in such wishful thinking. He had his life. She had hers. The directions in which they were going would never run parallel. Perhaps it was better that she leave with him thinking the worst of her. She didn’t think she could have turned her back on him otherwise.

She dressed in toast-brown slacks and a yellow blouse. It was called a poet shirt because of its full, deeply cuffed sleeves, open throat, and blousy cut. She gathered her hair into a loose ponytail on the nape of her neck to add to the romantic look.

Everyone was waiting for her on the patio. General Ratliff was sitting in his wheelchair in the shade of the cabana. She diverted her eyes from the building. It brought back too many stirring memories. If she’d ever relied on professional detachment, she’d have to now. The tears were close to the surface. With the least amount of encouragement, she’d throw herself into Lyon’s arms as he stood remote and stony, watching everything, saying nothing.

“I thought I’d get some B roll as the two of you walk down the path. The scenery is so pretty,” Jeff said.

“That’s fine,” Andy said. “What do you want us to do?”

“Why don’t you just walk alongside General Ratliff’s chair and talk. I’ll do the rest.”

“All right.”

The general had heard Jeff’s directions and turned his chair onto the paved path. Andy fell into step beside him. She was going to mime the conversation, but the general surprised her by initiating it.

“Andy, you don’t look well.”

“I’m glad we’re not wired for sound,” she said lightly, hoping the camera couldn’t detect how insincere and shaky her smile was.

“I don’t mean in a physical sense,” Michael Ratliff continued. “You know I think you’re beautiful. You’re unhappy about something. Lyon tells me that you’re leaving this afternoon.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jeff thrashing through the trees as he followed their progress. Trained to know better, she didn’t look at the camera he was toting on his shoulder along with the recorder. This stroll through the woods was supposed to appear candid and unrehearsed. The conversation certainly was.

“Did he tell you he ordered us to leave?”

“I don’t think he likes this Mr. Trapper.”

“I’d say that’s an understatement. He doesn’t like any of us.”

“He likes you.” Andy caught herself from stumbling on the pathway just in time. The general went on, unaffected by either her stunned reaction or the camera. “Lyon’s been acting strange lately. We rarely see him during the daytime. He’s up and out at dawn and usually doesn’t come in until dinner. Often not even then. Since you’ve come, he’s been hanging around the house like a pup waiting for kitchen scraps.”

“He’s on

ly protecting you. He warned me about tiring you, prying into your personal affairs.”

“I think that’s what’s wrong with Lyon. He’s been dwelling too much on the state of my life and not enough on his. If you ask me, his is in worse shape than mine.”

They had reached the clearing, where Tony and Warren were standing by with Gil, who was hovering over his battery-powered microphones like a mother hen. A chair for Andy was positioned next to the wheelchair. As soon as the mike levels had been checked and the roar of the river water filtered out as well it as could be, Jeff began to record the last interview on video tape.

Tony fell asleep against a tree, since he didn’t have lights to worry about. Warren hastily scratched Andy’s questions on a tablet. They would be needed when she was ready to do reverse questions. Gil sat cross-legged on the ground, listening to the interview through his headset. Les hunkered down behind Jeff, tapping his thumbnail against his teeth as he listened. Lyon, leaning against a cypress with his ankles and arms crossed, glowered at all of them.

At what point in the interview Andy lost control, she never could pinpoint. One minute she was asking questions about the war, keeping them nonspecific as the general had requested, and the next she was laughing over a story he was telling about a French farmer and his wife who had hidden a whole platoon of GIs in their hayrick.

From there on General Michael Ratliff related story after story. His recital was peppered with “Ike said,” and “George decided.” Tony awakened from his nap to listen. Soon all of them were laughing. Gil didn’t even try to filter the laughter out. Andy even saw Lyon smiling at one of the more colorful stories.

The general was laughing and animated, thoroughly enjoying himself. When Andy got a frantic time cue from Warren, she gracefully deterred the general from embarking on another story and ended the interview.

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