Page 6 of Prime Time

The old man laughed a loud, short, barking laugh that set off a fit of coughing. She jumped up, alarmed, and leaned over him, ready to help. She had no idea what to do and didn’t even want to consider the repercussions should anything happen to him while they were alone. The spasm finally subsided, and he waved her back into her chair. After taking several deep breaths he said, “No, Lyon failed to mention his rudeness, but it sounds like him.”

He wiped his streaming eyes with a white linen handkerchief. When he was done, Andy could have sworn there was mischief lurking in them. “He told me that another leech from the press was nosing around town asking questions. He called you … let’s see … a nosy bitch. Yes, I think those were his exact words. He went on to say that no doubt you thought you could use your face and body to get a story out of a corpse. Then he described you in great detail.”

Hot color flooded her cheeks, and she gnashed her teeth in anger. That wretch! Leech. Bitch. And to think he’d accuse her of something so despicable.

She wanted to wallow in her anger, to savor it, but realized that the general was weighing her reaction to his son’s account of their meeting with interest. “General Ratliff, I want you to know that your son is wrong about me. True, I was asking questions about you and your life here at the ranch, but only because I want—”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, Mrs. Malone. I’m only telling you how you impressed Lyon. So that I may form my own unbiased opinion, let me get the facts straight. You work for a cable network, and you want to interview me for your television program. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. We, that is I, want to do a series of interviews that could be run on consecutive nights for a week. The programs would be a half-hour each.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she echoed, not understanding his question.

“Why do you want to interview me?”

She stared at him in perplexity, shook her head slightly and said, “General Ratliff, surely you can guess that. You’re a part of American history. Your name will be in every textbook written about World War II. For years you’ve kept yourself sequestered on this ranch. The American public is curious to know why. They want to know what you’re doing.”

“I can answer that in one word: nothing. I sit here day after day, getting older, deteriorating, waiting to die.” He held his palm up when he saw her about to protest. “Now, Mrs. Malone, if we’re ever going to work together, we must be honest with each other. I am about to die. I’ve waited a long time for it, and I’m rather looking forward to it. I’m tired of being old and useless.”

There was nothing for her to say, so she kept silent as they stared at each other. It was the general who spoke first. “Hypothetically let’s say that I agree to let you interview me. Could I lay down the terms of my capitulation, so to speak?”

Her heart began to pound. He was going to agree. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well. You may have your interviews, Mrs. Malone, though why you would rather interview me than some much more dashing figure is beyond me.”

“I think you’re quite dashing,” she said and meant it.

He laughed, much less violently this time. “In my youth perhaps. Now, as to my terms. You may ask anything about my childhood, my schooling, my military training, my career before and since the war. I was a foot soldier in World War I. Did you know that?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “You may question me about the war as a whole, but I will not discuss individual battles.”

“Very well,” she said slowly.

“I will be quite blunt in refusing to answer should you ask a question about a specific battle.”

“I understand.” She didn’t, but she’d agree to anything at this point just for the chance to get the interviews.

“When do we start? Today?”

She grinned at his enthusiasm. “No. I’ll notify my crew tonight, and they’ll arrive with the equipment in a day or so.”

“Will the interviews be on film?”

“Video tape.”

“Video tape,” he said musingly, as though he couldn’t quite grasp the concept.

“It does the same thing as film, but doesn’t have to be processed. It’s like tape in an

audio tape recorder, except with the video, too.” He nodded solemnly. “I can use the time until the crew gets here to select settings. I don’t want all the interviews to be recorded in the same place.”

“And we’ll have a chance to get to know one another,” he said, winking at her. “How long will it take?”

“We’ll work every day only as long as you feel well. I think if we recorded one complete program a day, that would be acceptable to everyone. We should be finished—”

“You’re already finished.”

The harsh words burst into the room from the doorway through which Andy had come in. She whipped her head around to see Lyon as a menacing silhouette against the bright landscape outside. His hands were planted on his hips. He was dressed in jeans, a western shirt, and dusty cowboy boots. His hair was windblown. His expression was ferocious.

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