Copyright 1994(c) 
 
                               EGO 
                         By B. J. Higgs 
 
     Bobby Lee was as familiar to Americans as the oft-touted Mom's
apple pie.  
     His image had been projected into American homes with every
crisis across the globe, and he had often been instrumental in 
efforts to alleviate suffering in such far-away locales as Bosnia
and Rwanda. He never went to report on the situation without 
somehow initiating relief efforts, food drops, adoption programs
for the homesless infants of that distant land. He was far more 
than a news anchorman. America loved him. 
     They loved him so much, in fact, that when the news of his 
loss broke, he was inundated with expressions of sympathy. The 
high-fashion model known throughout Europe as simply Amanda was 
dead, found brutally pistol-whipped to death in the couple's New
York apartment. Bobby Lee secluded himself among close friends at
Martha's Vineyard while America watched clips from the morning 
broadcast wherein he proposed long-distance marriage to his live-
in lover.       
     Viewers stared repeatedly at the ring he had proposed to put
on her finger, and bemoaned the fact that he had received no 
response within their hearing. Everyone wondered if she had 
returned from Europe to say no, or yes, or, perhaps, nothing at all
before her killer was upon her. There was wild speculation as to
whom she had been telephoning when her killer struck, leaving her
battered body with its right hand still clutching the receiver. 
     Late-night television replayed the proposal and patched in 
every existing clip of air time wherein the couple had appeared 
together at this or that glittering affair; replayed every sound
bite wherein Bobby referred to his would-be wife in loving terms.
Bobby Lee emerged from Martha's Vineyard to make a solitary, 
despondent visit to the funeral parlor; stood with bowed head in
a light rain as the closed casket was lowered into the ground. 
     America mourned with him and for him. 
     And America was outraged when he was arrested for the crime.
                               *** 
     "How do you do, Mr. Lee," she greeted him, thinking he was 
even more gorgeous in person than on screen. "My name is Lisa 
Pellens. I'm a junior assistant with the firm of Ryman and Croft.
I'd like to go over what you remember about the night of August 
4th." 
     He seemed subdued. Who wouldn't? Surely this man belonged 
anywhere but in a jail cell. He'd socialized with the most high and
mighty of the land, traveled the globe, and been as much a staple
in the homes of television viewers as early-morning coffee for the
past decade. It was difficult to see him garbed in prison gray. 
     She saw immediately what would win his freedom. Bobby Lee was
lovable and America knew it. It was inconceivable that he could 
commit such a crime, particularly such a stupid crime. For, if 
Bobby Lee had indeed murdered his intended, he'd left himself wide
open for conviction. Those who had watched the articulate and 
erudite newscaster over the past ten years (and they were 
literally all of America) could not imagine that he would have 
done something so completely stupid. 
     Evidence mounted, however, against him. Lisa worked under the
direction of a battery of powerful legal minds in an effort to 
extricate him from the dilemma. Strategy dictated that a speedy 
trial be sought and she spent hour after hour following leads, 
examining evidence, searching, searching. 
     Mere weeks before the trial was to begin, she listened to a
growingly despondent Bobby Lee describe his impoverished childhood.
She found it difficult to direct him back to the issues, and 
watched his face as he bared his soul to her. It seemed impossible
that he could even be here, accused. As he spoke, she went back 
over the events of August 4th. 
     Bobby Lee ahd been at the studio at 7:00 p.m. He'd been live
on camera, so there was no dispute of his whereabouts. He'd left
immediately after the broadcast to catch a flight to Ireland for
a scheduled retrospective on the Kennedy family. No one disputed
that Bobby Lee had been on the plane which left LaGuardia at 8:23
p.m. Allowing for travel time, there was only a 20 minute window
during which he could have committed the crime, but the prosecution
was working diligently to narrow the time of death to fit that 
window. That it had been almost 24 hours before the body was 
discovered worked in the favor of the defense, but not sufficiently
to rule out Bobby Lee's participation in the crime. They needed 
more, and so far she hadn't found it. 
     Bobby Lee had driven himself to the airport and if anyone saw
him on the way, they hadn't come forward. He'd arrived early and
gone to the VIP lounge where he'd read over his notes for the 
upcoming production. A bartender and a waitress remembered seeing
him in the lounge just minutes before the flight left, but neither
had seen him come in and couldn't say how long he'd been there. 
     "You get conditioned to notoriety," Bobby Lee explained, "and
you think you're lucky when you can go somewhere and not be 
recognized. I remember thinking myself fortunte to have these few
quiet moments," he said, shaking his head. "If I'd known, I guess
I'd have called attention to myself, but how could I expect 
anything like that?" 
     It made sense. Lisa just hoped it would be enough to solidify
Bobby Lee's credibility with the public. If they could present him
as he was -- the logical, rational, intelligent being Americans had
relied on to bring them the factual events of their daily lives for
years, they might pull off a not guilty verdict. A witness, of 
course, would cinch it. 
     Three days before the trial began, Bobby Lee remembered seeing
someone who had recognized him at the airport. He'd been 
preoccupied with thoughts of the retrospective when someone had 
shoved an autograph book into his hands, he said. He'd signed it
unthinkingly, remembered only that it had been a blond woman with
a teenage son. 
     A massive record search was initiated to find a woman and 
child who'd flown into or out of LaGuardia that night. Eight such
possible witnesses had been tracked down. The woman in question had
been next to the last. She had, in fact, been a passenger on the
very flight Bobby Lee had taken to Ireland. Miraculously, she not
only had the autograph and remembered the encounter, but her son
had been videotaping their departure from America and had tape of
Bobby Lee quietly seated in the lounge, the time stamp clearly 
establishing it had been 8:02 p.m. It wasn't a sure thing, but it
further narrowed the window of opportunity. Lisa was elated. Bobby
Lee was reservedly optimistic. 
     Jury selection finally wound to a close and both sides called
out their big guns. The trial was televised, and America watched
spellbound. Bobby Lee, who'd fluctuated between depression and an
almost manic cheer throughout the trial, was stunningly effective
on the stand. 
     He flatly denied any involvement in the crime. He did not 
break down when shown photos of his former lover, but all of 
America ached with the pain he obviously felt. His most compelling
moment came when the prosecution suggested that, in fact, he had
been rebuffed and had reacted in the heat of passion. 
     "It makes no sense," he'd responded sincerely. "It's a stupid,
senseless crime." He shook his head, clearly at a loss to explain
it. The narrowed window of opportunity, the videotape of Bobby Lee
sitting calmly in the lounge studying a file of papers seemed to
support his contention. How could anyone have done such a thing and
quietly gone to the airport and behaved in such a normal fashion
-- particularly someone as logical as Bobby Lee, who'd never shown
a ruffled feather in any telecast at any time? It was 
inconceivable. 
     And so said the jury.  
     Bobby Lee hosted a party to celebrate his freedom. Lisa 
Pellens was more than gratified when he invited her to remain after
the last guest. The two sipped champagne and discussed his narrow
escape. 
     "America wanted to believe in you," she said. "They wanted to
think that they knew the truth before we showed it to them." 
     His fingers played lightly over her face, and then her body.
He smiled slightly.  
     "What?" she asked, playfully. "It's funny now that it's over?"
     "No funnier than it ever was," he told her. "Of course you 
know I killed her." 
     It was so casually admitted that she automatically laughed in
disbelief. 
     He looked steadily at her. 
     "But... the videotape," she said. 
     "And the Irish woman whose son will go to Eton?" he responded.
     "I don't believe you," she said. 
     "Why not?" he asked. "No, let me tell you why not," he added
as her mouth opened to answer. "You don't believe me because the
crime made no sense. I'm far too good a tactician to do something
so sloppy. You're right, -- I am. But that's just why I got away
with it, don't you see? My audience sees me the same way. It really
was inconceivable that I would do something so utterly stupid. For
that reason alone, I was destined to be cleared." 
     She couldn't believe it. He was saying that his image was such
that America would not have accepted even a smoking gun laden with
his fingerprints. 
     "Why?" 
     "Obvious, isn't it? I couldn't very well tell my viewers that
she turned me down, now could I? It would have ruined me. Can you
imagine? She thought she was going to pack up and walk away. Just
like that. Stupid broad," he judged. "She was going to call a cab."
     Lisa wondered if she'd known all along without knowing. Of 
course, attorney-client privilege would prohibit her revealing what
he'd told her and, besides, ... he couldn't be tried for the same
crime again, even if he announced his guilt on television.  
     Of course, he'd never do that. His ego would prohibit such a
move. It was over and he'd won. And he knew it. 
     And she would mind her own business and keep her mouth shut.
Bobby Lee's ego had directed him to a heinous crime and one that
he'd known he would commit without redress, because he believed so
completely in his own image. An image that told the world that he
could not, would not, do something stupid. He'd been telling the
world what to think and believe about matters of the greatest 
import for years, and America believed it. And America believed 
him; evidence be damned. 
     Lisa Pellens smiled back, and followed Bobby Lee into the 
bedroom, not wishing to be the second victim of Bobby Lee's ego. 
                               END