The Sky is Falling

Kemal was an enigma to Dana. When they were together, he behaved beautifully. He was loving and thoughtful and endearing. On weekends, Dana and Jeff turned Washington into a playground for him. They went to the National Zoo, with its spectacular array of wild animals, starring the exotic giant panda. They visited the National Air and Space Museum, where Kemal saw the first Wright brothers plane dangling from the ceiling, and then walked through Skylab and touched moon rocks. They went to the Kennedy Center and the Arena Stage. They introduced Kemal to pizza at Tom Tom, tacos at Mextec, and southern fried chicken at Georgia Brown’s. Kemal loved every moment of it. He adored being with Dana and Jeff.

But … when Dana had to leave to go to work, Kemal turned into another person. He became hostile and confrontational. It was impossible for Dana to hold on to a housekeeper, and sitters told horror stories about evenings with Kemal.

Jeff and Dana tried reasoning with him, but it had no effect. Maybe he needs professional help, Dana thought. She had no idea of the terrible fears that plagued Kemal.

The WTN evening news was on the air. Richard Melton, Dana’s personable co-anchor, and Jeff Connors were seated beside her.

Dana Evans was saying, ‘… and in foreign news, France and England are still locking horns over mad cow disease. Here is René Linaud reporting from Rheims.’

In the control booth, the director, Anastasia Mann, ordered, ‘Go to remote.’

A scene in the French countryside flashed on the television screens.

The studio door opened and a group of men came in and approached the anchor desk.

Everyone looked up. Tom Hawkins, the ambitious young producer of the evening news, said, ‘Dana, you know Gary Winthrop.’

‘Of course.’

In person, Gary Winthrop was even more handsome than in photographs. He was in his forties, with bright blue eyes, a warm smile, and enormous charm.

‘We meet again, Dana. Thanks for inviting me.’

‘I appreciate your coming.’

Dana looked around. Half a dozen secretaries had suddenly found urgent reasons to be in the studio. Gary Winthrop must be used to that, Dana thought, amused.

‘Your segment is coming up in a few minutes. Why don’t you sit here next to me? This is Richard Melton.‘ The two men shook hands. ‘You know Jeff Connors, don’t you?’

‘You bet I do. You should be out there pitching, Jeff, instead of talking about the game.’

‘I wish I could,’ Jeff said ruefully.

The remote from France came to an end and they switched to a commercial. Gary Winthrop sat down and watched as the commercial ended.

From the control booth, Anastasia Mann said, ‘Stand by. We’re going to tape.’ She silently counted off with her index finger. Three … two … one …’

The scene on the monitor flashed to the exterior of the Georgetown Museum of Art. A commentator was holding a microphone in his hand, braving the cold wind.

‘We’re standing in front of the Georgetown Museum of Art, where Mr Gary Winthrop is inside at a ceremony marking his fifty-million-dollar gift to the museum. Let’s go inside now.’

The scene on the screen changed to the spacious interior of the art museum. Various city officials, dignitaries, and television crews were gathered around Gary Winthrop. The museum’s director, Morgan Ormond, was handing him a large plaque.

‘Mr Winthrop, on behalf of the museum, the many visitors who come here, and its trustees, we want to thank you for this most generous contribution.’

Camera lights flashed.

Gary Winthrop said, ‘I hope this will give young American painters a better chance not only to express themselves but to have their talents recognized around the world.’

There was applause from the group.

The announcer on tape was saying, ‘This is Bill Toland at the Georgetown Museum of Art. Back to the studio. Dana?’

The camera’s red light came on.

‘Thank you. Bill. We’re fortunate enough to have Mr Gary Winthrop with us to discuss the purpose of his enormous gift.’

The camera pulled back to a wider angle, revealing Gary Winthrop in the studio.

Dana said, ‘This fifty-million-dollar donation, Mr Winthrop, will it be used to buy paintings for the museum?’

‘No. It’s for a new wing that will be dedicated to young American artists who might not otherwise have a chance to show what they can do. A portion of the fund will be used for scholarships for gifted children in inner cities. Too many youngsters grow up without knowing anything about art. They may hear about the great French impressionists, but I want them to be aware of their own heritage, with American artists like Sargent, Homer, and Remington. This money will be used to encourage young artists to fulfill their talents and for all young people to take an interest in art.’

Dana said, ‘There’s a rumor that you’re planning to run for the Senate, Mr Winthrop. Is there any truth to it?’

Gary Winthrop smiled. ‘I’m testing the waters.’

‘They’re pretty inviting. In the straw polls we’ve seen, you’re way ahead.’

Gary Winthrop nodded. ‘My family has had a long record of government service. If I can be of any use to this country, I will do whatever I am called on to do.’

‘Thank you for being with us, Mr Winthrop.’

‘Thank you.’

During the commercial break, Gary Winthrop said good-bye and left the studio.

Jeff Connors, sitting next to Dana, said, ‘We need more like him in Congress.’

‘Amen.’

‘Maybe we could clone him. By the way – how is Kemal?’

Dana winced. ‘Jeff – please don’t mention Kemal and cloning in the same breath. I can’t handle it.’

‘Did the problem at school this morning work out?’

‘Yes, but that was today. Tomorrow is –’

Anastasia Mann said, ‘We’re back. Three … two … one …’

The red light flashed on. Dana looked at the Tele-PrompTer. ‘It’s time for sports now with Jeff Connors.’

Jeff looked into the camera. ‘Merlin the Magician was missing from the Washington Bullets tonight. Juwan Howard tried his magic and Gheorghe Muresan and Rasheed Wallace helped stir up the brew, but it was bitter, and they had finally to swallow it along with their pride …’

At 2:00 AM, in Gary Winthrop’s town house in the elite north-west section of Washington, two men were removing paintings from the walls of the drawing room. One man wore the mask of the Lone Ranger, the other the mask of Captain Midnite. They worked at a leisurely pace, cutting the pictures out of the frames and putting their loot into large burlap sacks.

The Lone Ranger asked, ‘What time does the patrol come by again?’