Page 32 of Prime Time

“Um-huh.”

Water sloshed out of her glass when she slammed it down onto the linen-covered table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“That ‘um-huh’ that drips with implication.”

“I meant to imply nothing,” he said, with so much feigned sincerity she wanted to scream. “If you read anything into my ‘um-huh,’ then it’s your guilty conscience that’s doing it.”

“I don’t have a guilty conscience!”

“Then why are you shouting?” he asked with a serenity that infuriated her.

“Tell Gracie I’ll skip dessert tonight,” she said, shoving her chair away from the table.

At the door his lilting voice reached her. “Sweet dreams, Andy.”

The mocking repetition of what he had heard her say to Les released the anger raging inside her. She spun around. “Go to hell, Lyon,” she said in a sugary voice. Then she stormed from the room.

The next day went smoothly, with only minor crises cropping up that were quickly dealt with. The crew was suffering from hangovers brought on by too many longneck bottles of Lone Star beer, but Andy was unsympathetic and unconcerned. She’d seen them do some of their best work after a night of revelry.

General Ratliff was as relaxed and loquacious as he’d been the day before. This time the interview took place in the garden room where she’d first met him. Jeff taped it using the natural sunlight, asking Tony to fill in with light only where absolutely necessary. He even left the ceiling fan on, to gently stir Andy’s hair and the leafy plants behind her and the general.

It was only midmorning when Jeff switched off his camera. “Gee, that was flawless. It’s a shame this segment couldn’t have been longer. You both just seemed to be getting wound up.”

“I’m willing to go on if you are, Andy,” the general surprised her by saying.

“I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Dad, you’d better stop before you get too tired.”

“I’m fine, Lyon. Truly,” the old man said, turning slightly in his chair to speak to his son, who was standing sentinel across the room. “Let’s go on.”

“Jeff?” Andy asked.

“I’m ready. I love this setting.”

They did another session and were finished before lunch.

Lyon had seen his father to his bedroom, where they were going to eat their lunch off a tray. Gracie served Andy and the crew in the dining room. They were sitting over glasses of iced tea, discussing the next day’s schedule and the tapes that were already done.

“He’s sharper than I expected,” Jeff said, spitting out an olive pit. “When Les told me the old guy was ninety, I thought, Jeez, what are we going to do with him if he nods off or something?”

Andy bristled. “He’s anything but senile, Jeff.”

“Don’t get all hot and bothered, Andy. I didn’t mean anything.”

“His sense of humor’s something I didn’t expect. Like yesterday when he admitted he wasn’t a very good shot,” Gil said diplomatically.

“It’s hotter than hell down here,” Tony grumbled. His complaint was ignored.

“I just wonder what the old man’s hiding,” Jeff said offhandedly.

The words could have been a bomb, judging by the impact they had on Andy. “What do you mean?” she said, turning to him with a swift jerking motion. “Why would you think he’s hiding something?”

Jeff shrugged. “Les said he wouldn’t talk about the war, that he might have some secret that he didn’t want anyone to know about.”

“Les is crazy. You know he gets these wild notions.”

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