“I’m all set,” she said as she put on her coat and smiled at him. He was as detail-oriented as she was, which was why they got along. He didn’t find her annoying, he thought she was brilliant. It was six o’clock. It had been a long day, the usual twelve hours, which seemed normal to her. Mark worked overtime every day, and was happy to do so. “See you in three days,” she said, smiling at him. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.” They were using a British cameraman for the interview with the prime minister, and he was flying to Dubai with her, with a soundman and crew, for the interview there.
“Try to sleep on the plane,” Mark said with a solicitous look. He worried about her. She pushed herself too hard, harder than anyone he knew, but she seemed to thrive on it. The more she worked, the more energy she had. She had noticed it too. It was one of the secrets of her success, that and the fact that she didn’t need much sleep. When people scolded her for how little sleep she got, she always reminded them that Margaret Thatcher had slept three hours a night, which shut them up. She loved doing what she wanted and staying up late at night, which was one of the reasons she liked living alone, and said she was “single by choice.” And by now, she was convinced that was true. She was lonely at times, but she didn’t want a relationship anymore. Occasionally, she missed having someone to talk to at night, particularly if something good happened at the office, or something very bad. But other than that, she was fine.
“I always sleep on the plane,” she reminded Mark. “In fact, it’s harder to stay awake.” The flight from New York to London was seven hours, and she had to be fresh the next day so she would be sure to sleep for most of the flight. She was meeting with the prime minister three hours after she landed, just enough time to go to the hotel, bathe and dress, and be at 10 Downing Street for the interview. There wasn’t a minute to spare.
“Don’t forget to eat,” he admonished her, knowing that she often did. Blaise ate and slept little when she was excited about a project.
She waved at Mark as she headed for the elevator, grateful for all his help before she left. He was incredibly efficient. Traffic was heavy, and it took her forty-five minutes to get home, unlike the morning. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat, as Tully expertly threaded his way through the other cars, and she thanked him when she got home. “See you at eight-thirty,” she reminded him. She had to be at the airport at nine-thirty, for an eleven-thirty international flight.
“I’ll be here,” he promised, and she went upstairs to the silent apartment, turned on the lights, and glanced at the park. It was nearly seven, and she wanted to shower and change, and have something to eat. She wanted to call Salima before she left, but she knew Salima would be having dinner then, so she waited till after her bath. Salima answered the phone on the first ring. An electronic ID system told her who was calling by voice, so she could hear it anywhere in the room and know who was on the line. She beamed the moment she heard it was her mother, and bounded across the room to pick up the phone.
“Hi, Mom,” Salima said, sounding happy. Much to Blaise’s amazement, there was never a tone of reproach in her voice for the many times her mother hadn’t called, only pleasure when she did.
“Hi, sweetheart. What have you been up to?” Blaise said, smiling when she heard her.
“Just school,” Salima said, sounding even younger than she was. And the timbre of her voice was very much like her mother’s. People often got them confused on the phone when she was home for vacation. “Are you going to L.A.?” She was hoping her mother would do more on the UCLA story, but Blaise still felt it wasn’t ripe for her. It wasn’t time for an on-location editorial, only news. She had an unfailing instinct for that, for doing a story at the right time. And she knew this was premature for her.
“No, I’m going to London tonight, to interview the new prime minister.”
“That’s cool.” She sounded disappointed. She thought that the UCLA piece was better, and the piece on the prime minister seemed dull to her.
“And I’m going to Dubai tomorrow night, to interview a Saudi prince who is a major oil company executive. He’s supposed to be a very interesting guy. There’s a rumor that his brother is a terrorist, but no one knows for sure.”
“Are you going to ask him?” Salima loved the idea and laughed at the thought.
“Probably. I’ll see how it goes. I’ll be back after that. I’ll just be gone for three days.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Salima reassured her. It was she who always reassured Blaise, not the reverse.
“I’ll come see you when I get back. How’s school?”
“Boring. I’m trying to get all my required classes out of the way. They’re awful. I only have one elective this term.”
“What is it?”
“History of Italian Renaissance music,” she said, sounding delighted, and her mother groaned.
“Oh my God, now that sounds awful. I’d rather take math,” Blaise said with feeling, and Salima laughed.
“I love it. And the music is gorgeous. I keep humming it when I get home.”