CHAPTER FIVE
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SAN FRANCISCO 1907
Outside the San Francisco Chronicle the largest blocks of debris remained exposed. The newspaper building had taken the violent tremor in its stride. It now stood defiantly intact as a sentinel. Inside, the Chronicle publisher, M. H. De Young, sat in his favorite leather chair preening his mustache with scented wax. Presently a young newspaper reporter appeared in the doorway. He cleared his throat meekly. “Sir . . . Mr. De Young, sir? She’s here—shall I bring her in?”
The 57-year old man looked up with a mischievous grin on his weathered face. “Never keep a rich and beautiful lady waiting. Yes—bring her in immediately.”
“Welcome, Miss Boyd! Come in and find a comfortable chair or couch.”
Louise Boyd greeted De Young then seated herself. She sat upright with perfect posture, gazing evenly into the older man’s rather pasty face. She radiated poise, composure, and affluence. Above all, she never suffered fools.
“You already know everything about me, you’ve written a hundred stories about my family.”
She smiled disarmingly and tugged at the hem of her dress. The publisher blushed and fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for the notes he had scribbled earlier. It was the only way to focus properly around this woman.
“Yes, yes—but you must admit you are the most newsworthy woman in our state. Not only have you accompanied an expedition to Mars, but you returned to warn of an upheaval on the very eve of our earthquake last year!”
“I was delirious with fever. Earthquake and fire were the farthest things from my mind. My entire journey to Mars was . . . “Her thought would not come.
De Young wasn’t listening anyway. He squinted down at his notes and moved his lips as he read. “Would you care to comment on rumors Jack Clayton spreads about being reared in the jungles of Africa as the son of a so-called Ape Man?”
Louise Boyd laughed heartily. “I can’t believe you haven’t offered me tea or biscuits yet. I’ve traveled here at my own expense for this ridiculous interview only to be treated off-handedly.”
De Young leaned in closer and their knees touched briefly.
“You’d refuse to drink what I have. Say—are you dodging my question?”
Boyd reached into her beaded clutch purse and withdrew a silver flask with ivory side-paneling. She poured a shot into the silver cap and tossed it back like a sailor then screwed the lid back in place, and sat back with a feline smile.
“French Cognac. “ Boyd flashed her perfect white teeth defiantly.
De Young’s eyes widened. “Louise Boyd; you’ve deflected my question again.”
“If Jack Clayton told me he carried the moon in his back pocket I’d get crackers for the green cheese. “Her eyes glinted afire.
“I think the two of you are the same breed: publicity seeking show-offs.” De Young inched forward again, but the young woman spied his purpose and shifted away, signaling her annoyance with his nonsense.
“You can’t goad me into blurting out a cheap headline.”
De Young leaned in conspiratorially, and grew serious.
“A scandal must be in the works—that’s what newspapers are for. If you don’t tell me I have to speculate out loud. Since you will have been seen entering and exiting my office before my article runs—it will naturally be assumed by the public you are the source of the story. I suspect the problem on Mars has much to do with a lover’s triangle between a certain Miss Boyd and two jealous men!”
Louise Boyd scowled in his face with poisonous regard. She reached into her clutch bag and withdrew three objects, placing them on her lap in front of the curious newspaper editor: a silver nail file, a piece of fruit and a gold coin.
“This gold coin is me. This tangerine is you and your newspaper. This silver nail file is my team of expensive lawyers.”
Straightaway, she plunged the nail file into the skin of the tangerine and removed it. Picking up the fruit which remained, she proceeded to bite, chew and swallow it piece by piece. She pocketed the coin and the file and tossed De Young the peel.
Then, she stood smiling in the manner of a crocodile and strolled out of the office leaving a frightened little man with a waxed mustache holding a tangerine skin in his trembling hand.
