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"Johnny?" In the silence that preceded the question, Tully heard a baby start to cry.
"Edna Guber is sending me to Nicaragua. I want to ask him some background questions. "
"Just a second. " Kate handed the phone off; there was a sound like wax paper being balled up and a flurry of whispers, then Johnny came on the line.
"Hey, Tully, good for you. Ednas a legend. "
"This is my big break, Johnny, and I dont want to screw up. I thought Id start by picking your brain. "
"I havent slept in a month, so I dont know how much good Ill be, but Ill do what I can. " He paused. "You know its dangerous down there. A real powder keg. People are dying. "
"You sound worried about me. "
"Of course I am. Now, lets start with the relevant history. In 1960 or 61, the Sandinista National Liberation Front, or FSLN, was founded . . . "
Tully wrote as fast as she could.
For just under two weeks Tully worked her ass off. Eighteen, twenty hours a day she was reading, writing, making phone calls, setting up meetings. In the few rare hours when she wasnt working or trying to sleep, she went to the kind of stores shed never frequented before—camping stores, military supply outlets, and the like. She bought pocketknives and netted safari hats and hiking boots. Everything and anything she could think of. If they were in the jungle and Edna wanted a damn fly swatter, Tully was going to produce it.
By the time they actually left, she was nervous. At the airport, Edna, wearing a pair of razor-pressed linen pants and a white cotton blouse, took one look at Tullys multipocketed khaki jungle attire and burst out laughing.
For the endless hours of their flights, through Dallas and Mexico City and finally onto a small plane in Managua, Edna fired questions at Tully.
The plane landed in what looked to Tully like a backyard. Men—boys, really—in camouflaged clothing stood on the perimeter, holding rifles. Children came out of the jungle to play in the air kicked up by the propellers. The dichotomy of the image was something Tully knew shed always remember, but from the moment she got out of the plane until she reboarded the flight for home five days later, she had precious little time to think about imagery.
Edna was a mover.
They hiked through guerrilla-infested jungles, listening to the shrieking of howler monkeys, swatting mosquitoes, and floating up alligator-lined rivers. Sometimes they were blindfolded, sometimes they could see. Deep in the jungle, while Edna taped her interview with el jefe, the general in charge, Tully talked to the troops.
The trip opened her eyes to a world shed never seen before; more than that, it showed her who she was. The fear, the adrenaline rush, the story; it turned her on like nothing ever had before.
Later, when the story was done and she and Edna were back in their hotel in Mexico City sitting on the balcony outside Ednas room, having straight shots of tequila, Tully said, "I cant thank you enough, Edna. "
Edna took another straight shot and leaned back in her chair. The night was quiet. It was the first time they hadnt heard gunfire in days.
"You did well, kid. "
Tullys pride welled to almost painful proportions. "Thank you. I learned more from you in the past few weeks than I learned in four years of college. "
"So, maybe you want to go on my next assignment. "
"Anywhere, anytime. "
"Im interviewing Nelson Mandela. "
"Count me in. "
Edna turned to her. The sticky-looking orange glow from the bare outdoor bulb highlighted her wrinkles, caused bags under her eyes. In this light she looked ten years older than usual, and tired; maybe a little drunk. "Have you got a boyfriend?"
"With my work schedule?" Tully laughed and poured herself another shot. "Hardly. "
"Yeah," Edna said. "The story of my life. "
"Do you regret it?" Tully asked. If they hadnt been drinking she never would have asked such a personal question, but tequila had blurred the lines between them for just this moment in time. Tully could pretend they were colleagues instead of icon/newbie. "Making this your life, I mean?"
"Theres a price, thats for sure. For my generation, at least, you couldnt do this job and be married. You could get married—I did; three times—but you couldnt stay married. And forget about kids. When a story broke, I needed to be there, period. It could have been my kids wedding day and Id have left. So Ive lived by myself. " She looked at Tully. "And Ive loved it. Every damn second. If I end up dying in a nursing home alone, who gives a shit? I was where I wanted to be every second of my life, and I did something that mattered. "
Tully felt as if she were being baptized into the religion shed always believed in. "Amen to that. "
