Free Slice and Dice by Ellen Hart

recorder between us.
     
    Boland looked like a retired marine. Gray crew cut. Ramrod-straight posture. An expression that was pure concrete. Initially, I felt his suspicion quite keenly. He made it clear that heti been a friend to all the Buckridges and wasn’t going to participate in any character assassinations. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy getting the information I wanted. If nothing else, I hoped Boland would provide me with a framework on which to place the rest of my research. In actuality, he gave me much more than that. I now feel I’ve narrowed down the areas that will yield the most potent results.
     
    Boland started the discussion by asking me about my background. I knew he wanted to check me out, make sure I was on the level about being a published author and biographer. I told him Id been writing since I was twenty-three. Seven biographies to date, all still in print. I mentioned that I had earned a great deal of money during the lastfifteen years but that I did the work because I loved it.
     
    He wanted more. I told him that as a child growing up in a large southern household, I tripped over lots of nasty secrets. I spent a great part of my youth trying to untie the Gordian knot that was my family. It turned out to be good practice for my future profession. I explained that I despised secrets and that I didn’t believe in heroes. Heroes were unreal, deeply dangerous constructs, mainly because they allowed us a false concept of what it was to be human. I don’t know whether he understood any of what I said, but he sat politely and listened.
     
    After I gave him a copy of my last book — a biography of Gore Vidal — and he checked out my photo on the back cover, he seemed impressed. I told him he could keep the book so he asked me to sign it. I wrote: “To my friend Oscar Boland. Thanks for the highly informative interview. Best wishes, Marie Damontraville.” I thought the “highly informative interview “part might spur some cooperation. His reaction was far more positive than I could have imagined. There was a sudden sea change in his demeanor. He seemed both flustered andflattered — well, as flustered andflattered as an ex-marine type with a stone face can get. We ordered drinks, I turned on the recorder, and we were off.
     
    INTERVIEW: OSCAR BOLAND, THE LYME HOUSE, MINNEAPOLIS, MAY 8
     
    M:
How did you first meet Wayne Buckridge?
     
    Boland:
I never talked about this to anyone before, but I guess it’s okay to tell you. I mean, you want the truth, right? That’s what you ‘re telling me is important, and I agree that it is. I just don’t want to hurt anybody. I want to make that perfectly clear up front. Okay, so I’ve been thinking about all this since you called, trying to get it straight in my mind. It must have been about 52, the year before Wayne married Pepper. He was probably thirty-four or so. I was twenty-two. I’d taken my parents ‘speedboat out on the lake one afternoon. What lake? Oh, Minnetonka, where we had a summer home. It was a beautiful day, so I thought I’d just stop somewhere out in the middle and catch some sun. It was a weekday, pretty quiet on the water. I cruised around for a while, looking for just the right spot, when I spied this guy in a rowboat. He was standing up, holding what looked like a gun. I watched him for a few seconds. He was just staring at the waves. Before I realized what was happening, he pointed the thing at his head, I heard a blast, and he fell headfirst into the water. I throttled up and shot across the water, then cut the motor and dove in. I was a pretty strong swimmer in those days. I found him all right. About twenty feet down and sinking fast. The bullet had barely grazed his temple, but he was out cold, probably from shock He would have drowned for sure if I hadn’t come along.
     
    M:
It was a suicide attempt?
     
    Boland:
He never actually admitted it, but yeah, I think so. From what I could piece together later, I