The Pearl Necklace

THE PEARL NECKLACE
Katry Rain
The Pearl Necklace
A novel by Katry Rain
Rain/ThePearlNecklace1
Prelude
The Three Shells
Three shells in the mariners pack. Which one holds the pearl? Youre a woman: dont you know? No, even he doesnt know. The pearl: all youve ever wanted, and more, but not without a fight. On this animal plane of existence, expect a measure of blood. The other two? One the signpost pointing to hell, you crouched unknowingly in the handcart. The third, a life devoid of meaning, save what your quick though sometimes obtuse mind can give it. Lifes a bitch, no doubt about it. You waylay the seamanblunt trauma via thick stick at handand now the prize is yours. Which one will you choose? The pearl, the signpost, the life devoid? Your eyes scan the shells, probing for a sign. That fleck of silver, the pearl? The crust of green, the signpost? That telltale crack, the life devoid? The seaman stirs, your foot on his neck. He wants his claim back, and will kill you for it. But you have claimed it for yourself, as you must, though you fear to kill. How have you come to this? And where the escape? Its you or him, he the Hun, the incorrigible Red, the mullah armed. And you have no choice but to live. You raise your makeshift cudgel skyward.
Chapter 1
Youve Been Here Before
Its a morning like any other. The curious bird on the sill, its head craning left and right to examine your room; the sound of the bank managers garage door, the electric motor awhirr; the paper thud of the rolled-up daily hitting your steps. Howd you get here? To this place? But now youve got the pearl. If only you could make the right choice! You craft your usual coffee and drink in silence. Your daughter comes into the kitchen, her hair a fright. Look in the mirror, you say, revisiting a well-worn groove. I need my caffeine jolt first, she says, but of course she doesnt say that. Shes only reflecting your thoughts. I will, she replies, heading for the fridge. Is Dad coming tonight? You know he is, you reply. Do I? She pours a chocolate milk. Still at it at fourteen. At least shes off quaffing from the carton. Your persistent but tender digs at the moustache must have
shamed her out of it. You hated to do it but she goads you. Her ratty boyfriend has a car and picks her up with the honk of a horn. You hate that, too. Bye, she says, out the door with neither look nor book. Tomorrow could be the beginning, you think, though today has hardly started. # Time to go. The clouds cakewalk across the sky, pure fluff in azure, you the devoted observer with no time to look. Birds cheep wildly in the yard, every one meticulously in key. You feel a breeze but this all too briefly. The mornings are best, you think, only if they belonged to us. You reluctantly start the carokay, so its elegant, like you, right?and ferry your exquisite self to work. Theres a space reserved for you, the new and immaculate Benz pulling in docilely. You turn off the CD player. Today Rachmaninoff; yesterday, vintage Allman Brothers. You command the worlds musicians with the touch of your fingerand who cares? Turning off the key, you get out, chirp it secure. Toting your black briefcase, you head for the fourteenth floor of Chicagos best address. Good morning, Jen, the receptionist says, and you nod and even smile, or try to. Once in your office, you transfer three shells to the top drawer of your desk. You dont dare open one. You havent made your decision yet. Then comes the reading of e-mails, each one a model of economy and precision, as legal correspondence should be. Why has the law become so dry? The ghost of William Jennings Bryan, fiery orator of the old estate, weeps silently in the corner but you dont hear him. In law school youd laughed with the others at his impassioned
defense of tradition at the Scopes trial, though your heart wasnt in it. Its just that passion was for another time, another place. Youre a partner in the firm now, and a respected one. They respect the restrained you that they see, which is all one can really hope for, right? Why jeopardize that? No, the thought didnt even occur to you. You buzz your assistant and ask him to bring you the transcript of yesterdays hearing and a cappuccino. Lately its been hard to start the fire in the morning. Two coffees usually do it, and a third with rare exceptions guarantees it. Stoking the furnace, one of the founding partners used to say. His fire finally went out, but not without a hot flash of coal gas blowing the door right offhe took down a U.S. senator, close friend and co-conspirator of the former vice-president, in a trial that made the headlines and lasted less than three months! Youd like such a swan song, no doubt, but youve still got half your life ahead of you. Your thoughts are interrupted by your assistant. Transcript and a cuppa chino, he says, trying to be cute at nine oclock in the morning. Thanks, Del. My wish is your command. This Brown graduate with two years of Cornell Law School under his belt does his quirky best to ingratiate himself to youhe probably goes for you, the brainy wiseacrebut of course hes not partner material in either respect and besides, hes only twenty-four. Not that youd consider anything with him. Or would you? Since Jack left, ones skin longs for human touch, though theres nothing worse
than the wrong hands doing the touching. You once said its better than nothing but have since rejected that position. One assumes youre going to stick to that. Get out of here, Del. As you wish, my lady, and he exits. Why do you play along? Is it his boldness that turns your head the slightest bit? The twinkle of the eye? Is it something that basic? You feel like a marionette on a string sometimes, though you have the power to crush. There are forces at work here a tad bigger than you are, kid; a world of desire that can inflame the imagination. Surely wed be better off without itor would we? Maybe, but what kind of savorless place would that be? Wheres the sugar, as they say. Is there no fourth dimension, or fifth, where pleasure could be had with neither pain nor humiliation? Youve thought this before, Jennifer, and you return to it now but only for a moment. Its Wednesday already and youve got a weeks work to finish before Friday. # You get home at seven-thirty, your daughter Sandra already out with her father somewhere. He spoils hernever did that with youand she comes home each time with her back a little more arched. If she were a cat she would probably hiss and scratch when you didnt let her get her way, but as your daughter and beneficiary of your largess, such as it is, she sheathes her claws. She no doubt longs for the day when she, too, is a woman and can do whatever she chooses. But shell find out soon enough, wont she?
You order a pizza like a plebe from Luigis, owned by an Armenian family now but every bit as good. Armenians, like Italians, seem to understand food. They appreciate the sacred triangle between the eye, the hand and the heart, while others are satisfied with the eye and the hand and not much else. Its just a living to them, after all. You have a drink. Baileys on the rocks. Sandras chocolate milk with a kick. It must run in the family. Angular thoughts becoming more curved now, you strip and put on a robe. The pizza boy knows you, so it wont matter. Hes of the age where any woman over thirty is old, so you dont really care and neither does he. Youre not old, dont feel old, but you have no desire to convince him of that. Youll save your seductions for those who count. Those who can produce. In due time the kid arrives, breathless and agog. Sixteen-fifty. Is Sandy here? You dont like it when people call her Sandy, like shes some pathetic beach creature. Her proper name is Sandra, which has some dignity to it. Christ, her boyfriend calls her Dee! And try as you have, you cant break him of it. Thats the problem with gifts, isnt it; once given, one doesnt have the right to say how theyll be used. And since parental respect nowadays is like an old man with a cane few pay attention to, you have little leverage to influence the choices. Your concern, of course, is guarding the access to her valley of paradiseso to speak. A Sandra would have a lot better chance of defending it than a Dee. You know that, she
doesnt, and yet shes the boss. As the cynic would say, whats wrong with this picture? Its Wednesday, Sandras out with her father, you say to pizza boy and give him a twenty. You see by his look of anticipation that hes hoping youll say thanks and close the door, but you hold your ground. He fishes change from his pocket and counts it out to you. You give him a dollar. Tell Sandy I said hi, he chirps like a bird suddenly startled by a sudden gust of wind, and hustles back to his paleozoic Toyota to continue his breathless run. For some reason you watch him drive offto pass a little time?then youre alone again. You shut the door, put a few hot slices on a china plate, crack open a microbrew and crash on the sofa. This is your Wednesday night, or any night, far too often. # Saturday morning finds you in the garden, on your knees, praying that the seeds you so eagerly planted and which now have sent up riotous thin green stalks will fructify and in the end reward your labors. This is Jacks weekend with Sandra so you can relax. You dont wear gloves in the garden, though your mother has chided you for it. As a girl you used to love the feel of the damp earth sifting through your fingers, and mens images of beauty shouldnt come between you and such a feeling. There were enough things youd had to give up as it is. You pull a weed, pluck a slug. Youre this big-city attorney now but youre really not, are you. Youre just a girl trying to make her way through a formidable forest, and every so often you want to
stop and play. You deserve that much, surely. You learned in law school that the law is no respecter of persons, and youve come to realize that that can be interpreted in two ways. So youll catch your respite when and where you can, and to hell with em! Hey, listen to you! The sun feels good on the back of your neckSandra would love it too but she wouldnt be caught dead within twenty feet of the garden. She takes one look at your hands, your dirty fingernails, and silently turns away. Your lives have been running approximately parallel for several years now, and the problem with that is that parallel lines dont intersect. You push the thought out of your mind as you use your trowel to dig out a massive dandelion, taproot and all. You toss it onto the wheelbarrow. Wouldnt the partners be astonished, seeing you on intimate terms with a wheelbarrow! You check to see if the wind has opened a chink in the fine mesh covering the barely adolescent carrots, only their leafy tops visible through the green-tinted mesh. Last year you didnt use it and what a disappointment it was to harvest carrots so distortedeaten alive, as the saying goesby the hungry larvae of little carefree carrot flies who shed their eggs without so much as a grunt and lifted off blithely in the breeze. You sense something sinister about the way all looked healthy and leafy and green to the eye but beneath the surface the worm was performing its grisly duty and no one the wiser until it was too late. You think life should be tidier than thatfairerand yes, youre human for thinking that. We all want fairness, Jen. We all want a life that makes sense. Thats what attracted you
to the law, isnt it. An arena where wrongs could be righted, the Christians slaying the lions for a change. Yet who will take the side of the lions? So here we are, back to the same place again. Justice is something of a dream. You hide your sometime disappointment inside but never really erase it. Say it isnt so. You examine the string strung between the bean poles, nudging one or two fragile shoots to take hold. Look at you: a husbandman! Just like you were as a child, talking to lilacs as you nuzzled the blossoms and sucked the fragrance deep into your lungs; chasing the boys away who burned ants with their magnifying glasses in the summer sun. Yet your father wanted you to be Diana of the hunt, or married to Nimrod, son of Cush, mighty with his bow. Isnt that why he paid for law school? Such nobly misguided expectationsalthough you became Diana after all. And thats why you leave Sandra alone, to discover for herself her shining light, her port in gale, though you worry about her sinking below the chaotic waves. You know you must guide her, though you cannot. Life is a paradox even lawyers cant fathom, and yet each day you get up with the semblance of a smile, or the hope of one, on your face. One must salute your courage, Jennifer. An hour or more goes by and you grow tired. What time is it? Ten? Eleven? You stand up and twist your body from left to right to relieve your back. You look at the garden and the wheelbarrow full of weeds. Time has stood still for a while, and maybe its this space occasionally punctuating the rush to get from here to there that gives us those scarce glimpses of who we might be. You almost know yourself, you think, but your mothers coming for lunch and its time to get back on the
merry-go-round. You put on your face again and head back inside. # What was his name, that buff-looking attorney from your office? your mother asks, sitting across from you at the dining room table. Nick Walker. Nick, thats right. Is anything happening with that? You look at your mother with hardly-concealed resignation. What do you mean, happening? When he stopped by our table at the club last week, I couldnt help but notice the way he was looking at you. You remember it well. He looked at you the way all men do, as if to ask, are you the one? Or if not, can I at least have my fun before moving on? Yes, you know that look well. You dont like it, but you also relish the power it gives you. Youre the gatekeeper and whatever you demand must be fulfilled before youll let them pass. If they cannot, or will not, they shall not pass. Who said men were the strong ones? So he was looking at me. Men do that. I mean the way he was looking at you. Like a chicken hawk in a henhouse? Thats not really a good start to a relationship. Your mother takes a sip of her pinot gris. Thats how they all start, dear. Dont be naive. Unlike you with Sandra, she seems to be saying that you should fling the
gate wide open and let trespass there who will, provided they have a pleasing face and a position in society. Nick had a strong hand in both departments, so apparently it was a matter of letting the honey catch the bee, as far as she was concerned. Can we change the subject? What other subject is there? She really is insufferable sometimes, but you know she just wants whats best for you. And whats best for you is a warm man for cold nights. What else could possibly matter? You try to pry her off the topic, like an abalone from a rock. You said Summer might come for a visit. Your aunts like the wind, Jennifer. If it blows this way, shell turn up. I wish shed come more often, though. And yet you never visit her. I dont understand it. What would I do in California? All those big trees, and me just two feet tall looking up. And those artsy people, doing god knows what to earn a living. I think youre just afraid youll open yourself up to something new. Why should I? All her long-haired friends, with acrylic paint all over their clothes, eating tomatoes out of the garden by wiping them on their sleevesart-inthe-woods isnt my style and you know it. You laugh, though she doesnt. She seems to take it as a call to defense. My sisters the smart one and look what shes done with it! A cabin in a
thicket and a black man in her bed! You said you liked Dwayne. I never said I liked himI said at least he was good to her. So whos to complain? You are. Youre complaining now. Im not. I just had high hopes for her. What hopes? Just like my mother used to say, rest her godforsaken soul: a woman could go to the stars if she wanted, and even if she only got halfway, still that was something. Summer never left the groundher feet are still in the dirt. Literally! I think shes happy. Thats not the point. Whats the point? Youve got to raise yourself up, Jennifer. A woman has to make something of herself in this world. Youre incorrigible, Mother. For the first time today, you see a look of self-awareness pass over her face. And I wont apologize for it, either. I love my sister. You know that. I just want her to fulfill her proper destiny. In whose terms? In the worlds terms, what else? Until something better comes along. You push the remaining paella around on your plate with your spoon. It
turned out pretty good this time. Her recipe! Anyway, let me know when shes coming, you say. I want to spend time with her, and so does Sandra. Small talk commences, wayward pieces of verbiage so light as to float around the room above your heads, marking the passage of time but not weighing it down. Your mother finally gets up to leave. You look at her, she looks at you. Youve been here before, many times. Sometimes you think a cautious truce is all that can be expected, and admit itit bothers you. When she leaves she gives you a peck. Its just a gesture, but you appreciate it. Shes affirming a link in the chain. Then she tightens up again and sweeps out the door. If you could open one of the three shells at this moment, you suddenly think it would be the one containing the life devoid of meaning. Then, at least, all these false edifices might disappear and you, like the brave existentialists of the past, would be free to build a new world more to your liking.
Chapter 2
True Beauty
If only you could have a tad more beauty in your life. Youre not sure what that means, but the feeling is there. Do you remember when you were a girl, sitting on the old wooden dock with your skinny legs hanging over the edge, looking out over the dancing waters of the tree-rimmed lake? Remember when that powerboat went by, leaving in its wake a series of expanding undulations that made their way toward you, their splashy movements glittering seductively in the sunlight, ever closer? And when they reached you, you heard them lapping lazily against the pilings beneath you, the rhythmic liquid sound lulling you, isolating you in a world of your own, no thought in your mind, only exquisite sensations that made clocks stop and strangers pause in their tracks to drink in the feelings, even for the briefest moment? Do you remember that? As you lie there in bed with the dim morning light just beginning to filter into your room, you look at the time. Five a.m. Youve been waking up early a lot lately. They say that early wakefulness is one of the signs of depression, but youre not depressed. Not really. Youre just filled with a sense of wonder, especially today when your girlish memories have come flooding back to inundate your bed and you with it. Youre floating in a sea of memories, and who can sleep?
Its too early to get up but you dont want to lie there with your thoughts. Maybe you fear youll compare those watery memories with the arid world around you now. Disappointment is the hardest emotion to take, harder than frustration, betrayal, even despair. Disappointment always evokes a sense of loss, magnified by imagining what might have been. Youve recoveredin the mainbut some people never do. Imagination then becomes their lifeblood, and no achievement in this world ever exceeds what can be imagined. So you get up. You go to your PC and wake it from its fitful slumber. Now what? Marbury vs Madison, you type with a chuckle, but dont hit Search. Deleting that, you enter beauty and click. Holy christ! Almost three billion entries. Where to start? Number one on the list is revealing: beauty products. Click there and you can buy your way to beauty. Game for that? Or are you already stocked up? You sigh, and a well-deserved one, too. How many pages would you have to scan to see what all these sites are on about? Wouldnt it be great if you could go to the last page, past all the cosmetic sites, the plastic surgery, beauty contests, Tinseltown princesses, milk baths, Greek vases, Faberg eggs, high-collared kimonos, de Beers feverish diamonds, flappers, Bauhaus glass boxes, teeth whiteners, stick models, all the way to the last page, with those few voices crying in the wilderness, those harlots, those iconoclasts, those heretics telling you that beauty is to be found within? And just as youre the gatekeeper holding the key to letting the man in, so too do you hold the key to letting beauty out. But you dont know how, do you? And theres no one to teach you. They only want you to buy
products or ideas, or modern sensibilities. Most of all, they want you to buy their products. You want to experience the feeling of the waves upon the water, undulating toward you and lapping at your feet, or even something that might approximate it. Wheres the website for that? You tap your thumb nervously on the edge of the keyboard. You know you have a better chance of being struck by lightning than finding it here. # Monday morning is a time of hope and misgiving for you. You invest heavily in hope. You put twenty on the red and spin the wheel. Fourteenth floor. Theres the firms massive door. Good morning, chirps Patty the receptionist with avian liveliness as you walk in. Twenty-three years old, she can afford to be cheerful. You stride down the corridor to your office, always the first partner in. Del is on you in a minute. Your ladyship. Del. Cuppa? Yes, and see if you can set up a time with Grant Morgan today or tomorrow for the deposition. Roger that. If we can claw him away from his shady ledgers long enough. He disappears with a wink, or at least it seems that way, and you fire up the desktop. Password: hope. A dozen e-mails stare you in the face. Brevity, economy of
emotion. You can answer them in half an hour, but not before another coffee. The first mail, just for a taste. Someone in town from a New York executive search firma headhunterwants to see you and could you spare fifteen minutes. Yes, you can. You will. Youll be available for fifteen minutes at two-thirty today. What does this characterthis Howard Turnerwant with you? You had your choice of New York years ago, and you turned it down. The ridiculous rents and the cost of the private schools, Jack said at the time, but it was different for you. Your law school days there, you rarely felt the sun on the back of your neck. The cave, somebody called it. You didnt want to live in a cave. And you didnt want to spend the next thirty years a commuter from Long Island, either. Sure, people write novels on the train that way, or sharpen their mental claws on crossword puzzles. Read the newspaper. Sleep. But that wasnt the life for you, any more than dragging your knuckles along Fifth Avenue or Lexington in the cave was. People do it. Good people. More power to em. Youre such a princess, Jack had said, but he meant the Jewish kind, not the one of the fairy tale. One cup of joe interrupts your train of thought and Del is off again, now to reel in Grant Morgan because the guy had the kind of dirt you needed to dish out in court to sway the jury your way. Justice, frontier-style. But Morgan didnt want to talk. Maybe his hands were in too many tainted pockets, and such men inevitably fear the light of day. Youll have to be at the top of your game to get anything out of him. If Del can even catch him. It might just take a subpoena, if you could get a judge to issue one. Morgan eats judges for breakfast.
Half your cappuccino gone, youre already thinking about another cup. You open the second e-mail. Its from the Minister of Education in Nigeria whos having trouble moving money from his country to Europe, and would you be willing to help him via your bank account for a measly ten percent of the forty million? You smile, involuntarily, for the first time today. You know its the first time because youre suddenly aware of the tightness of the muscles around your mouth. You delete the Yoruba clowns offer but hold back your click for the next mail. Hold back isnt the way to describe it, is it. Your hand cant seem to move. Only a serendipitous buzz from Patty breaks the spell. Yes? A Phil Benton is here to see you. He says he needs a lawyer. You dont have many walk-ins, but as a junior partner you can never turn away business. Ask him to wait in the conference room. You gather your thoughts, focus them. You finish off your cup, dab your lips with a Kleenex. You take a compact mirror out of your handbag and look at your face. Yes, Mr Benton will see you now. Im Jennifer Knox. Phil Benton. You sit across from him and give him the once-over. Hes about forty, dressed casual Ivy League, looks like he reads The Times. What can we do for you, Mr Benton?
Forgive me, its Dr Benton. And Im in big trouble. Were all in big trouble, Doctor. It just depends on what you mean by big. His elbows on the long walnut conference table, he takes a breath before speaking. Im in the history department at the universitymy specialization is Islamic history. Naturally, I have contacts in the Middle East. That hasnt been a problem until recently, when I started publishing some articles on the so-called War on Terror being the natural result of failed U.S. foreign policy. Why would you want to call attention to yourself like that? Truth is beauty, beauty is truth and all that. Im at the mercy of my sense of right and wrong. You look at him, maybe a shred more sympathetically now. I take it Homeland Security is all over you. Like bees on a wasp in the hive. And now that Im up for tenure, I have reason to believe theyre putting pressure on my department to deny it. I want to sue. You must know, Doctor, that you cant sue the government. Then they can crush me with impunity? Thats what the Patriot Acts for. He hangs his head. Hes at the end of his tether, by the look of him. Yet something he said sticks in your mind and gives you a glimmer of hope. You said that truth is beauty.
He stirs from his dismal reverie. Yes. You know, from Shelleys poem. Why does that touch you? It was only a straw, but for some reason youre willing to grasp it. All right, youll give it a shot. Your mind goes into overdrive, and in short order you come up with the outline of a plan. Okay, well try to do an end run. Well bypass the courts and palpate the power center, see where it bends. One of our senators is unsympathetic to Fortress America and I know him fairly well. Ill set up a meeting; maybe we can give him a cause he can campaign on. Hope for the first time flickers in his eyes. Clearly he wants to touch your hand, though his arm cant reach. # Bowling, that good clean sport of the working man, is easy. You send a ball rolling reasonably straight and you wont embarrass yourself. But to be a top bowler, you aim away from your target but give the ball enough spin that it curves round and hits the key pins from an unexpected angleand watch em fall! Being a good attorney was like being a good bowler. If you learn proper spin, you can bowl over juries and judges alike, though judges are good spinners themselvesthats how they got to be judges. And you need never go near a courtroom to make it work. You outline your plan of attack on the Benton case to Del, whos going to do much of the footwork for you. Oh, I like it, he says, and offers another angle or two you hadnt thought of.
His enthusiasm gives you a lift. Hes charming, in his way, though you still think hes just a kid. Youre sure he likes you, but he hasnt actually asked you outyet the question often seems just below the surface. Either hes shy, or hes a master of restraint. In any case, it doesnt matter. Youve already written him off. You finish answering your mail and dive into the paperwork. At ten you get a call from Summer, your aunt in Big Sur. She wants to come, but asks you if your mother really wants her to. You dont really know but you say yes. Yes, of course. You cant build a house without putting two boards together first. You cant even build a shack. Del flies in with enough information to keep you busy for the next hour or more. Your mind is awhirl and you wonder if it just might be possible to beat a system where even a respected professor at the University of Chicago is the little guy! Its fabulous, isnt it, Del says to you, handing you a few more documents but looking at something else. What is? Your bamboo palm. Its thriving. I hadnt really noticed. Well, look at it. Look at the delicacy of it. Its damned amazing. Cooped up in a room, yet look how beautiful it is. I havent had much time to Jesus, Jen! Theres grace everywhere. Just look around.
He exits with a mock frown and you sit there motionless, wondering what the hell he was talking about. # The headhunter wasnt at all what youd expected. No bone in the nose, no steel-sharp machete with which to sever his trophy from your handsome frame. He was more like a polished apple, slightly rosy in the cheek, and smooth. And urbane as hell, wasnt he. Hes got an interview for you. Spangler and Loeb, Rockefeller Center. Why you, you ask him. He says it was your work for U.S. Cellular, the Fortune 500 out of Chicago. You pulled them out of hot water when they stepped on some toes setting up their so-called 3G Data Roaming. The story made the business pages. And who walked them through their sticky lease renewal for corporate headquarters at Citicorp Plaza? Gave them some breathing room and saved em a bundle, too. Word spreads. You tell him youll think about it. He asks you to think about doubling your present salary, after profit-sharing is factored in. He leaves with a smile, fairly confident he has a new head to string on his belt, later to be hung on a hallowed mahogany wall at Spangler and Loeb. Youre thinking this when Patty buzzes you. Grant Morgan on line three. Now that was unexpected. You think to refer him to Del, but if Del had gotten the hook in, maybe its better that youre the one to reel him in. You dont want to lose the catch.
Jennifer Knox. Grant Morgan, Ms Knox. It seems theres something youd like to discuss with me. His voice was calm, even friendly. Its simply the matter of a deposition, you say. When you say simply, it makes me think of a dentist who tells a patient that getting rid of the pain is simply a question of yanking out wisdom teeth. Ever had a wisdom tooth removed, Ms Knox? His question catches you off guard, not something that happens often. Itll be painless, you say blandly. Painless; thats another word I distrust. Youre reciting the vocabulary of the damned here. I dont want to wind up bleeding. I think you know that Im a straight-shooter, Mr Morgan. Thats what troubles me, he says with a laugh. Tell me why I should cooperate. Because itll save both of us the trouble of a subpoena. Again he laughs. Good luck finding a judge. But look, I dont want to make trouble for you. Ill tell you what. Ill be your obedient boy, under one condition. Which is? That you have dinner with me tonight. I really cantit wouldnt be appropriate. Anyway, I have to work late.
Dont we all. Ill pick you up at the office, then. Youre silent for a moment. I know you from the club, you finally offer. Ive seen you there. I know your mother. She told me. Well? Pause. Okay, eight oclock. See you then. You hang up the phone slowly, having no idea what youve gotten yourself into. Strangely, theres a certain lightness to your mood. Your eyes are drawn to the bamboo palm on its polished teak stand, all verdant and frilly. Del was right. It was beautiful, kind of. And you feel almost pretty yourself. # The hour between seven and eight, though you were busy, dragged on. Most of the staff had gone home, but somethe duty-bound or those who had no home to go toclung to their desks like barnacles to old hulls, and not a peep out of them, either. Youve already called your mother and asked her to go over and look after Sandra. Shes used to it by now, though since Sandras been drifting youve tried to cut it down to once or twice a week.
Why dont you just stay over tonight, you suggest. Whats the occasion? Dinner. With who? Grant Morgan. That man? Dont worryits business. Just keep your knees together, she admonishes, but you never knowshe could very well mean the opposite. At five to eight you unlock the firms front door, sit on one of the black leather sofas and wait. Your hair looks great, your breath fresh as springtime. Youre a porcelain doll in repose as the great Grant Morgan sweeps down the hall and powers through the heavy door. He smiles, you smile back. He takes you downstairs to the street in a rush of floors. A limo? you ask as the driver opens the door for you. Dont hold my little pleasures against me, please. There are worse vices, as Im sure you know. Anyway, its only a Chrysler, and not stretched an inch. And this is Frank, my driver. Look, no uniform! Hi, Frank. Hello, Ms Knox. Dinner at the restaurant was a prelude, you assumed, flickering candles and crystal glasses of wine merely signposts pointing to a boudoir somewhere. Its the
times we live in, right? And Grant was charming enough to get a hand firmly on the key to the gate, you offering little resistance. Why dont you fight back? Because its been so long? Because hes a total mystery to you? Or is it because he holds power like a plutonium pellet in his hand and can unleash devastating consequences simply by opening it? Does that titillate you? Is it that the primitive, involuntary parts of your brainthe amygdala, the medulla oblongata, your pituitary gland, for chrissakeare strangely stimulated by his unadorned male potency? You have no idea, do you. And you expect to keep your knees together? Later, his penthouse is fabulous, as you expected, with artifacts from around the world, even a painting by Paul Klee, and theres a Brancusi on the shelf. Now for sure youll spread em. A brandy almost seals the bargain, his lips to your cheek and his hand hot on your breast. With the other he begins to unpeel your dress but something awkward yet strong in you cries out, stops him. We cant, you say. Hes insistent. We can. We will. You look in his eyes and see that hes trying to mesmerize you. He neednt botheryoure already in an altered state. Youre existing almost entirely on your nerve endings now, your body ready to dissolve into his in a liquid fusion too exciting for words. But words come to you. Im sorry, but its not going to happen.
Look at his surprise! Obviously hes unfamiliar with the phrase, not going to happen. Why not? Because I want it to be beautiful. It will be. It is. He tries to kiss you. No, Grant. I can only give you the part of me that wants to. Thats not enough. It can only be beautiful if I dont hold anything back. Ill make it beautiful; I promise. You see by his eyes that hes just a boy and he wants his piece of candy. You sympathize with him, you really do, but not enough to betray yourself. Im sorry, Grant. But only I can make it beautiful. Or at least know when it can be. Its clear that he doesnt understand. Was it because he was a man, or because of who he was? In any case, he was Grant Morgan and he wasnt going to beg for it. And just to show you his graciousness, he cools itwith some effortand says, Then I yield to your wisdom. And finally, Tomorrow youll have your deposition. On the quiet ride home, Frank at the wheel, you feel so strong. You feel so damned strong and alone.
Chapter 3
Summer
The Aztec king Montezuma was afraid of the dark. Afraid of the dark and afraid the world would stop turning without the endless human sacrifices atop the holy pyramid of Teotihuacan. The priestly caste saw to that. If the sacrifices stopped, the fearful Aztecs knewevery man and woman among themthat the world would cease to exist. The great god Quetzalcoatl, the plumed serpent, would return and a bloodless altar would fill him with rage. Youd read this with more than a passing interest. The ritual was simple. The victim, most likely a prisoner of war, would be led up the steep steps and forced to lie back across the bloody slab. Five priestly attendants would hold him down, one at each extremity and one holding his head down by way of a leather strap across his neck. Then the chief priest with a deft hand would slice open the victims chest with one stroke of a flint knife and rip the still-beating heart out, holding it upward as an offering. Then the attendants would lift the body and heave it over the side to tumble down the steps, perhaps still vaguely conscious, like the hapless French heads tasting the guillotine. There on the red-stained steps the acknowledged owner of that bodythe very warrior who made the capturewould reclaim his prize and take it home to be eaten.
These are some of the things people think they have to do to keep their world intact. Reality as we know it, we call it. When everybody believes it, it doesnt seem to be so wrong. Who dares say its wrong? # Summer arrived on a bus. The days traveling were hot, the nights muggy, but she wasnt all that keen on crossing the Rockies in winter. Your mother picked her up at the station, and the two sisters talked a lot but said little, according to her version on the phone. As the story went, it revolved around the familiar song-anddance: the smart one is expected to succeed. Tremendous pressure is applied in the hope that, like coal being compressed, the individual will one day turn into diamond. What some people fail to realize, probably your mother among them, is that such pressure can also squeeze the life out of a person. Thus Summers aim had been more nearly to understand the world, not to conquer it. Her sister either couldnt grasp that or could but wouldnt accept it. You chide her about it but she seems impervious. You end the call by asking them over for dinner, and are instead told to go over there to eat. Bring Sandra, she adds. As if youd forget. You leave work early (Grant Morgan never showed up for the deposition, did he); you pick up Sandraboyfriend Zack in towand motor elegantly over to your mothers in the Mercedes, feeling somewhat less than elegant. Thats okay, Aunt Summer is wearing jeans and a t-shirt that has Im With Stupid printed on it, the arrow inexplicably pointing to her own chin. The shirt is navy, and there are small but noticeable flecks of sky-blue paint on it, as if someone
had aimed a wet brush at her shoulder, pulled the bristles back and let fly. Strangely, it was a nice touch. Like you, Summer didnt mind getting dirty. She just didnt know when to stop, your mother was fond of saying, though always from a discreet distance. So, Jennifer, Summer says to you, taking both your hands in hers, still looking for a way to have the Christians get their due, and the lions, too? What lions? your mother asks her. The Christian lions, dear. What goods the law if it just turns the tables and lets the downtrodden get on top? Right, Jen? Why must anyone be on top at all? Their weight just pushes everyone else down. Your mother is used to her sisters unconventional offerings, comprehensible or not. Give the lions their due, she retorts, and whos to say they wont turn on you? Its like that old fable of the man who rescued the deadly viper, and when it regained its health it bit him, saying, You knew I was a snake when you took me in. You see Sandra hanging on the words of the two Titans, though her boyfriend Zack is less than impressed. Its pretty clear that hed rather be off eating burgers or sucking on Sandras neck somewhere in that turbocharged crate of his, though he was getting more and more skillful at hiding it. He was, after all, sixteen and becoming a man, and in order to get what he would want in the long run, which was money and women, in that order, he had to learn to project a persona imbued with
substantially higher motives. Youd like to talk to Sandra about that, to guide her through the minefield as it were, but as the explosive charges were buried and invisible, she doesnt believe you and avoids listening. What she wants to see, though, or imagine she sees, shell talk endlessly with you about that. Summer put on a proper blouse for dinner, and you see her at the table drinking her wine with a sparkling eye. Sandra asks about Dwayne and when were going to meet this (big black nigger of a) man of hers. You can almost hear the fear in her voice, just below the overwrought curiosity. Wha-a-a-ale, I wouldve brought him but hes giving some writing workshops in Sausalito and theyre actually paying him for it. Thats a little hard to turn down. Why dont you come out sometime? Weve got a spare room, you know. Bring your flute. Weve got friends who come over and jam, and youd fit right in. Sandra was interested in jazz of all things, though thank god for that or one would think she was an ordinary teenager with zero interests other than satisfying her endless whims, fanned endlessly by corporate marketing types with constant media access to her head. An interest like that might someday lead her to her own heart. Her soul, even. Mom probably wont let me. Of course Ill let you. Youd have to make a good plan, thats all. You cant just flutter off like it was nothing. Youve never even been out of Chicago. Maybe I can drive her, Zack offers, making it sound almost like gallantry, and you give him a skeptical look.
When shes eighteen, Zachary, you can drive her anywhere. Until then Mom, she says, breaking it into two syllables in complaint. How old are you now, Sandy? Summer asks. Fourteen, and she still treats me like a child. Summer smiles and winks at you. The little miss thinks shes all grown up now. In any case, Summer says, getting up, I come bearing gifts from the land of the redwoods. So saying, she retrieves a well-worn canvas bag and sets it on her chair. For my niece, she says, pulling out a package and handing it to you. Its beautifully wrapped, in the style of the Japanese, though you rip the lovely rice paper in a most un-Japanese fashion. Its a snow globe! you say in surprise with more than a hint of perplexity. Made it myself. Look at the figures inside. Is it Sandra and me? Hand in hand, cast in my kiln. It took me two weeks to get the effect I wanted. And how do you like the jar? Plum sauce, from the Twenties. Its the weirdest gift youve ever received and maybe for that reason, you take an instant liking to it. Im going to put it in my office, you say, shaking it to see the snow fly. And for Sandy, she says, proffering her heartfelt offering; hope you like it. You were eleven the last time I saw you, so I dont know if Ive kept up.
Sandra tears at the beautiful wrapping in the same barbarian style, as if form were so much less important than content, meaningless even. What is it? she had to ask. Its for the skin, dear. I distill it from pine needles and the bark of one of our local shrubs. Itll clear up anything on the face, and gets rid of the oil, too. Sandra looks genuinely pleased. How do I use it? Rub it on with a cotton ball. Wipe it off with a Kleenex. Do it gently, though. Let it do all the work. Sandra opens the bottle, sniffs and smiles. I can smell the pine. Now its Zacks turn to be surprised, as Summer reaches in the bag and pulls out something for him. He hadnt even heard of Summer til today. He opens it and marvels. Cool. Its a belt, ink-black, with an unsettlingly gothic design on it that a rock star might like. I hope it fits, Summer says. He pulls off his belt and begins sliding the new one through the loops. Did you make that, too? you ask. No, one of my neighbors made it for me, she says, folding the canvas bag neatly and putting it on a side table, sitting down again. I tried my hand at it but
my pattern came out mickey mouse so Dwayne says give it to him, then. Hes probably wearing it right now. So how does it fit, Zack? Perfect. Its just right. Good. You never know about stuff. You just go with a feeling. You look at your mother, as if to ask if she got anything. Oh, I already got mine. Its in my room. What is it? Its a pendant. Made from a pine cone, Summer says. You get a small green cone, cut it in half top to bottom, then cover it with gold leaf. Hang it from a chain. Ill get it, your mother says, looking embarrassed. Summer puts a hand on her shoulder. Dont bother. Lets have another glass of wine. From where I sit, the whole world is looking pretty good just now. And who knows what good things might come tomorrow? # Two days later youre kneeling in the garden again, you and Summer now. Youre never more a princess than when your fingers are dawdling in the dirt, glovelessthough you have no idea why this might be so. By rights you should be some ornate upmarket doll with not one hair amiss. You should be a model of delicacy, a glass figurine, not a trace of the animal visible save for savage secret moments in the bedroom and not a second otherwise. These are the teachings youve
been imbued with since puberty, so why must you break them? And if you choose to break them, why do you only dare do so in the garden? Youre thinking these thoughts now and whod blame you for feeling confusion? Its in your eyes; it seems about to spill from your lips but by habit you tighten your face and hold it in. You look at Summer. Her eyes are clear, her face serene. How good it must feel to relax and not give a damn, not just in the garden but all the time! Youre blessed, arent you, you say to her. She looks at you in surprise. Am I? You must know it. Youre so free. This is what I know, Jen: I dont want to be free. I want to be yoked with God, like the yogis, but instead I find myself paired with the exasperating modern woman, and she doesnt seem to like me all that much. Even in Big Sur? The worlds bigger than Big Sur, kid, and you cant get away from it. But you seem so free to me. Were all prisoners of the times, Jen. And yet were never freer than when we toe the line, though we lose something important when we do. Whats that? Ourselves. You consider the thought. Its always been your understanding that to be free was to be outside society, refusing to swim blithely or blindly along its many mad currents. Was Summer saying that these pliant swimmers are the free ones, though
less soulfully so? You yourself swim with them, obviously. Your profession, your marriagethough failedyour motherhood, all badges of belonging. Wheres the freedom in that? You turn to Summer again. So Im free? you ask her. Freedom can always be seen in the eyes of others. When theres acceptance, youre free. Do you feel acceptance out there? I guess I do. Generally. So theres times that you dont? When? In this garden, for one. I get that look, from my mother, from Sandra. And one doesnt talk about dirt in a law office. At least not this kind. Dont you see then? Youre freer out there, but the moment you come here, youre a prisoner. You lose your standing. Now tell me this: where do you feel more yourself? The truth of Summers point becomes clearer to you, not by reason but by feel. Because you feel almost completely yourself right here, now, though youre not allowed to feel this way all the time. As soon as you go back in the house you have to polish yourself up and become shiny again, your sparkling facets blending right in with the glittering world out there. And wheres the freedom in that? Well, for one thing, people leave you alone! I never thought I was the type to blend in, you say. I even thought law school was a step outside the square. Tell me youre kidding. In todays society, a lawyer is the quintessential
John Doe. He works the system. His lifeblood is the system. But Im not like that. In the garden youre not. She doesnt mean to hurt you. You know that. But she wont lie to you, and she wont let you lie to yourself. You wonder what her life must be like. She has interesting friends, she has loveyou presume she hasand she has creativity surging through so much of what she does. And she does what she likes! How can she not feel free? And yet you know yourself, now at least, that the jaws start to tighten the moment you begin to be yourself. So even youre not free? you ask. Im a prisoner of the first magnitude, Jennifer. But theres one saving grace. Im free among the other inmatesmy inner circle, you might say. Weve created a world where we can be ourselves and free at the same time. But its such a tiny world! You look at the two young sunflowers you planted a few weeks ago. One seems hardy, the other spindly and wan. What makes them different? Genetics? Minute variations in soil conditions? Desire? Do such simple beings have the capacity to want to become something, or do they grow blindly, senselessly? You pick a weed and toss it into a pile at the edge of the garden. Why cant we make society like your inner circle of friends? you ask. Why cant we make our whole culture more user-friendly?
Summer laughs. Thats been the dream of human beings from the beginning, I suspect. Why cant we do it? Thats a good question. When you look back in history, every person who tried a bit too hard to be himselfherselfgot into trouble. As if those societies were perfect and the ones who heard a different drummer were defective in some way. And yet many of those defectives led the way to the next stepin every field, from art to politics to religion. It doesnt make sense, does it. Youd think that people wouldve wised up. She puts her hand on your shoulder. Were living in Montezumas world today, she says. You know him, dont you? Were still making human sacrifices, only of a more subtle kind, and everybody believes in the rightness of it. They truly believe itll save society from the wrath of the gods. What do you believe? I believe in you, Jen. And I believe in me. Right now we may be among the more understanding beings on this planet. But only for this moment. Her hand feels hot and good on your shoulder, like the glowing touch of a healer.
Chapter 4
Paradise Lost
Some days pass. Summer has gone home. Grant Morgan has agreed to come in tomorrow for the deposition. The Mercedes needs a service. By these things we mark the passage of time. Sandra had glommed onto Summer like a hungry otter an enormous fish, trying to handle it adroitly with its paws. It was good seeing them together, Summer mentor-like and not spoiling her in the least. Maybe she could get through to her. Maybe she could teach her that part of the way of the world youre only just becoming aware of. Del romps into your office and lays a stack of files on your desk. Hes been unusually solicitous lately and you wonder why. Thanks, hon. And could you have the car sent to my mechanic today? Ive got some work scheduled for eleven oclock. He stands there looking at you, doesnt go away. Then: Have I moved up in the hierarchy? Or was it just a figure of speech? What do you mean? He smiles faintly, then its gone. Nothing. Let me have the keys.
You fish them out of your handbag. And no joyrider this time. That guys gone. Weve got a new Girl Friday now, a good little Winnetka girl, all peaches and cream. Thats right, you remember hearing about her at the staff meeting. I havent met her. Whats she like? Do you think shes your type? He looks surprised. You know better than that. Should I? Dont you? He pockets the keys and makes tracks with less of a spring than when he came in. Why? And you wonder about what he just said. It suddenly strikes you that he might not be interested in women. As such. That would explain his gentleness, his saying you should know better. You think of your own brother Robbie, whose behavior seems so similar, though he came out long ago. If Del was of like bent, that would make the minor puzzle that was him a little clearer. And all this time you thought he had the bed in mind for you! Or maybe he did. But what the hellit really doesnt matter, does it. Nick, your mothers carefully selected dreamboat future son-in-law, comes in and derails your train of thought. He asks you to lunch. Look at his tanned face, his manicured fingernails! You decline, though you wont necessarily tell your mother if she asks. Nick is undeterred, standing his ground and looking every bit like a god
surveying all that belonged to him. He was Apollo on the make, and you keep your fist tightly clenched on the key. Lets see what hurdles he was prepared to jump first, walls he was prepared to climb, before you might even consider unlocking the gate. He was gunning for partner and the senior staff liked him, so that might be a good first step, though you doubted youd ever let him past. Del had a better chance, and he had no chance at all! Theres a great place on Michigan AvenueI know the owner. Sorry, Nick. Maybe another time then, he says without the least hint of wounded pride. Hes either a rock or the worlds greatest actor. Or maybe he just knew what he was about and went with it. It was so hard to know these days. Without a proper tool, how do you crack a nut? Nick leaves with his head held high and you watch him go. What is it that men want from you? A goddess, a monument, a piece of something theyre loath to replicate with their own hand but do so with what must be much private anguish? A mother? A friend? God, it was complicated. And to compound the problem, the coin has two sides: what do you want from a man? You thought you knew once with Jack but you were so wrong, probably because you were blind, being in love with him and all. A difficult divorce and many psychology paperbacks later, you realize it was almost certainly a chemical addiction. Serotonin. Dopamine. Oxytocin. All produced by your own body to promote the bonding process in order to facilitate a durable coupling in which to raise offspring. Thats what one book said. Yet owing
to the seven-year itch, the drug supplies dwindled, the scales fell from your eyes, and you looked at him as if for the first time. This guy was your husband? You still remember the shock. Still, you hung in there waiting for a renaissance until his infidelity out of the blue finally broke the camels back. You glance at the files on your desk. You pick one up and, in your benign way, begin anew to work the system. Just like Summer said. # Grant Morgan was, what, ten, fifteen years older than you? And was nothing like Nick. He wasnt good-looking, and had plenty of rough edges, as if hed grown up on the South Side and clawed his way to where he was. He was a mans man, as they say, and looked as though hed kill you at racquetball and then put his arm cozily around you over a cold beer at the bar. He wasnt really a bad guy, or at least thats what it seemed to you. Its just that, one way or another, he always got what he wanted. Everybody said he was dangerousmaybe thats the reason. The deposition was at three, and he was only twenty minutes late. He blames it on having to drive himself; Frank, his driver, is sick. You sit across the conference table from him, yellow notepad and pen at hand. Mont Blanc. All the partners used a Mont Blanc. You got it when you made partner. You want to get right down to business but he wants to stroke you a little first. How have you been, would you forgive him for trying to rush you along and for missing the last deposition, and would you give him another shot? You whip out a trusty standby: Maybe.
Then you pull the candy away from his grasping fingers and get him back to the business at hand via turning on the recorder. He looks mildly amused, though youre not. You need information, you know hes got it, he knows you know, and you dont know if hell give it to you. Or will he try to work a little quid pro quo on you? That wasnt beneath him, certainly. You were no whore, though, even to win a case. You tried that once. You do a little sweet-talking and you see by the twinkle in his eye that hes not buying but he appreciates the skill of your performance nonetheless. You cant resort to threats because you dont threaten a man like him, who probably takes challenges like a flak jacket responds to .22 shells. There must be a way in. The damsel in distress? The smart woman as his equal? The dumb broad who wouldnt know an incriminating statement if it jumped across the table and bit her? No, ploys wouldnt work on him. No doubt hes encountered them all; maybe even some you havent thought of. Oddly, you suddenly feel like you could use Dels advice right now. Pride alone keeps you from buzzing him. So tell me, Grant. Whats it going to take to get a straight answer out of you? A bit of discretion on your part is all I ask. How can I, when your testimony is crucial to my case? How can I keep a lid on it? Easy. Just lift the lid enough so you get enough steam to use for your case, but not enough for people to see whats cooking inside, though youll certainly get a look.
Youd let me go that far? Only because I believe that its just the steam youre after and not the whole pot. Are you saying you trust me? My gut tells me I might have reason to. And youll tell me what I want to know? As much as I think you need. And how would you know how much I need? Dont underestimate me, Ms Knox. Jennifer. You read by his face that he knows exactly what hes talking about. You decide to trust him, and in thirty minutes you have enough information to win a sizable judgment for your client and even the skeleton of a case against Morgan himself, should it ever become necessary to pursue onethough you gave your word and up til now have never broken it. And it dawns on you what hes done: exposed himself to you and in doing so, binds you more closely to him. After all, youve just seen him naked. He apparently knows that some women find irresistible a strong man who showsto her alonetrue vulnerability. All right, you got what you wanted, and now he probably figures hell get his. As he leaves he turns to you one last time. So how about it? Will you give me a break? You smile coyly, and for sure hell pick up on that, regretfully. Subtlety isnt your strong suit.
Ill think about it. Good girl. He leaves the conference room the same way he came in: the world is his oyster, or is about to be. Good girl, indeed. But you dont really need to think about it, do you. Because youve already decided. To your surprise, youve put yourself in his hands. This brief meeting had convinced you. And youve already established your goal: to find out how he can be both free and be precisely himself out here. In the world. If he could teach you how to achieve that, theres no telling what you might do for him. Because youre thinking of the three shells now. And that his shell just might contain the pearl. # Yucatan. You look at Del. What? you ask. Yucatan. Your bamboo palm. Thats where they come from. No kidding? My Aunt Summer was just talking about that. Yucatan? She was talking about that king, Montezuma, and the human sacrifices. He was Aztec. Yucatan is where the Mayans lived. But not to worrythey had human sacrifice, too. Howd the deposition go? You thought it was a great success, and youre surprised to find a slight residue of doubt somewhere in the back of your brain. The veracity of it all, maybe?
Pretty good, considering. Want it transcribed? The doubt spreads its growing wings, plus the fact that you feared traces of intimacy might be detected in the tone of the interview. Does it show on your face? No, Ill take care of it. Hes about to commentit must seem strangebut he holds back. Let me know what you need, he says, and disappears. You pull your cell phone from your handbag and dig up a number youve never called before. You hit dial. Someone answers. Summer all year long. Aunt Summer? Sounds like my irrepressible niece. How are you, Jen? Im fine. Is that how you answer the phone? Youll just have to call more often and find out. Whats up? Are you busy now? Just livin, is all. Whats on your mind? I need to talk with you about something. About a man. Ill be like your faithful rag doll. Remember that one you had as a kid? You can tell me anything. Summer is one of the few people who, when they say something, you actually believe it. #
Youre on the land line now. Senator Klines office. Yes, this is Jennifer Knox. Id like to speak with the Senator. Im sorry, the Senators busy at the moment. May I take a message? Just tell the Senator its Jennifer Knox. Thank you, Ms Knox. Ill tell him you called. You dont understand. Tell the Senator now that Jennifer Knox is on the phone. She hesitates. You can sense apprehension in her silence. One moment, please. Then, Hello, Jennifer. Senator. I heard you were in town. I hope Im not disturbing you. Its always a pleasure, believe me. Senator, I have a problem that I think you might be interested in helping me with. In two hours youre sitting in Herb Klines Chicago office with Professor Phil Benton. Two men couldnt be farther apartone a thinker, one a doer, but youre banking on a golden strand that binds them together, makes them allies. To put it simply, you begin, Dr Benton thinks hes getting the shaft from Homeland Security. Its a growing club, Kline replies.
This isnt just a local case, either. Its national in every way. Freedom of speech, overreach by a federal agency, academic freedomits all there. I believe I could craft a pretty enough package to have Supreme Court written all over it. Im sure you know whats holding me back, Senator. Aside from governmental immunity, nobodys willing to come forward, am I right? Who dares? The professor warms to the topic. Whenever we think theres a threat to domestic tranquility, Senator, theres always an element that calls for the noose. Just look back at the targetsthe Indians, the Revolution-era Tories, uppity blacks after the Civil War, immigrant Italians, labor organizers, communists, and now Muslimsand all their sympathizers, real and imagined. He can talk! And you see hes caught the Senators ear. You hate to do this dog and pony show, trotting Benton out like this, but youve been around long enough to know what works. Yes, its a sad truth, Kline seconds. Every couple generations, it seems we hear the same rally crythe American way is under siege and somebodys got to be strung up. I take it that because they havent found a way to string you up, theyre going after your livelihood. Yes, my position at the university. Here we go again. No one speaks for a moment. The professor sighs, something neither you nor
the Senator let yourself do in public. Kline finally breaks the silence. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Jennifer, but its going to take some time, and not a word out of either of you for the duration, to the press or anyone else. And Professor, before I jump so jubilantly into the snake pit, I want to see copies of those articles you wrote. If theres a hint of treason, the deals off. Understood? On the way out, you stop and have a friendly chat with the receptionist who took your call today. In this business, every person and every little mouse has a role to play in the enterprise at hand, and you learned long ago not to take chances. When Atlas holds up the sky, the bite of the smallest creature in the wrong place can bring heaven down. You drive Phil Benton back to his office and head for yours. Pulling into your parking space, you turn off the motor but dont open the door. The solitude is luscious and youd like to sit awhilebut youve got a thousand things to do. Youve got to pin people to the wall. Still you dont move. Sup, girl? Getting cold feet just when youre feeling your power coming on? This isnt like you. Is it that you feel something holding you back? A little bare-legged girl on a dock at the lake, maybe? # As soon as youre back in the office, you pick up the phone and dial. Dont be rash, youre probably thinking, but what the hell. Hello? Grant, its Jennifer. The slightest pause betrays his surprise.
Jennifer. Are you okay? Im fine. I was just feeling sorry for poor little you and decided to give you a break. Great. I promise you wont regret it. Lets hope not. Dinner, then? Well have it at my place. Lasagna la Morgan. You cook? Sure. My ol ma used to tell me: if you can fight and cook, youll never be under anyones thumb. Thats something you probably dont have to worry about. Dont be so sure. Anyway, Ill send Frank over around eight. Ill be at home. Know where I live? I know where everyone lives. Thats handy. Its more than handy. See you later, Jen. Yes. See you later.
Chapter 5
Gimme That Thing
Frank arrives at eight and whisks you to the penthouse. Hes friendly and not the least bit polished. You suspect hes one of the boys from the old neighborhood. He wears a Rolex, so hes reaping the benefits. Are you a bodyguard, too, Frank? Me? No, GrantMr Morgandoesnt need one. All his affairs arehow can I put iton the quiet side, so nobody really knows what hes got. To put it bluntly. Hes always behind the scenes, never in the newspapers. Keeps a tight lip. Look what were riding ina Chrysler, for gods sake. See what I mean? He certainly volunteered more than you asked for. Maybe he figures that if Grant Morgan trusts you, he can trust you. Or maybe this is just part of a game Morgan is running, opening up a few doors, so to speak, to give you the impression hes not hiding anything. Frank runs you up in the elevator and takes his leave. You wonder if hes been instructed to wait downstairs or go home and go to bed. Grant is standing there with a drink in his hand, and one for you. Champagne? you ask. To me youre a champagne kind of lady.
You forget, Im a working girl. And Im a working guy. But I think you know that were both much more than we are. Cheers. Cheers. The penthouse has the comforting aroma of an Italian kitchen and its disarming. Should you just glide along with it? If you dont let your guard down a little, youre going to get nowhere with Grantand he with youfor sure. Youre not really thinking this, though, are you. More likely youre just trying to read the signs and take your cue from them. You hear Pavarotti belting away in the background. So youre a cook, eh? Youre more domestic than I imagined, you say. Some say its a weakness but I dont think so. Come on, lets sit and finish our drinks. He heads for the lounge suite, where you imagine he lies back sometimes and plots his mergers and takeovers. He has you sit before he does, and follows closely. Youve got quite a collection, you say, admiring the artwork like you did the last time you were, though hed given you precious little time to comment on it. My agent does all the buying. He narrows down the field and shows me pictures. I put my finger on the one I want. Its your taste then, not his. Youre being too kind. I just pick among what his taste already chose. You havent made a wrong pick, as far as I can see.
You notice his surprise at this remark, and you see now that hes looking at you carefully to see if you really meant it. Of course you did. You couldnt con Grant Morgan, even if you wanted to. But why would you want to? Many of your classmates had learned the con when they were in law school, but youd resisted. You thought it was beneath you. Admit it, you still do. Youre not above playing the odds, but youre not going to stoop to deception. Wiles, the euphemism is. Are you a woman without wiles? You think pretty highly of yourself, dont you! Your reverie is interrupted by Grant setting his empty glass on the coffee table with a crystalline clink. You do the same. Shall we? he asks, getting up. You probably see the word hungry written across my forehead. Is it? I thought that was the reflection from mine. He walks with you to the dining room. The table is attractively set. You sit here, he says, pulling out a chair, and Ill bring the masterwork from the oven. You sit and he retrieves the casserole. What, no butler? What the hell do I want with a butler, underfoot all the time? If I cant do it myself, it doesnt get donethats about the only philosophy I seem to be able to live with. You manage pretty well, it looks like. Again, his surprised look. What, hes not used to compliments? Or is it
because hes surprised that he believes them, coming from you? Dinner unfolds charmingly. Good food, a first-rate French red, Rodrigos Concierto on the CDis this headed where you think its headed? You still dont know your own mind, so youll have to wait and find out. Grant, can I ask you a personal question? I thought I told you everything at the deposition, he jokes. Im not talking about that. I want to ask you about you. Go ahead. Im an open book. Ill believe that when I see it. He puts down his glass and looks at you seriously. Jennifer, listen to me. I know what you think. Im the shark here, and it might be dangerous to swim around me. To tell you the truth, I have had to tear a few people up in my time who got in my way or tried to bring me down. I admit that. I do have teeth. But with you its different and I want you to try to see that. I have no intention of taking a bite; and until you understand that, this isnt going anywhere. Now its your turn to be surprised. Do you want it to go somewhere? Do you? Youd like to pin him down but you know thats not possible. You know by training how to elicit the specific answer you require but this is no courtroom and hes not under threat of perjury, so what can you do?
Id like some more wine, please, you say. Does that mean youre starting to go with the flow? he says with a little smile. I dont know what it means. If somethings pushing me along, maybe I shouldnt cross-examine myself. Sometimes I feel that Im too much lawyer and not enough woman. He leans forward with what seems like an intimate look. I dont think theres any danger of that. You let his comment wash over you like a cleansing waveyoure too easy! and watch him as he fills your glass. He puts the bottle down and looks at you. So wheres this personal question you were talking about? I want to feel free in asking, you say. Feel free. Okay. Are you seducing me? Am I? Give me a little more credit, would you? Then youre not? I can only give you my word. Do you? Give me your word? Yes, I do. Then Ill just have to believe you. You know what Im wondering? Im wondering if its not you whos seducing me.
You laugh. Would that be so bad? You laugh, but yes, it would. Why? Because it would mean that I could never trust you. And when people dont trust each other, they hold back. The tenor the conversation has taken is unexpected. It catches you off guard, even though you were instrumental in bringing it on. He seems so much more the earnest boy you wanted to find in him, the one that was so well hidden the last time you were with him. Only a boy like that had the power to touch the girl on the dock. The conversation fades into something more mundane, pulling you back from the precipice that you frankly find a little intimidating. Come on, let the wine smooth everything out, the music envelop you in its warm cocoon. The dinner finally concluded, he stands with a look of satisfaction on his face. He wasnt bad looking in this light. You stand with him. Shall I help you clean up? Let the butler do it, he says with a dorky smile and leads you to the living room. You settle lazily onto Italian leather. He leans back and knits his fingers behind his head, elbows out. You think to analyze his apparent reticence, but dont bother. Just ask him. Its fifty-five on the open road and youre doing forty tonight. He glances at you, then returns to his satisfied stare at the wall, or maybe
the Brancusi. You mean because the last time you were here I was doing eighty? More like ninety. He smiles briefly. Lets say I realize youre not a woman who comes cheap. And because I like that, Im more than willing to pay. You think about this a moment, of course filtered through the wine. Whats my price, then? Im waiting for you to tell me. What, youre in the catbird seat now? With Grant Morgan? Not likely. He must be the worlds greatest negotiator, because hes making you feel like you want to give him a little of what he wants because, poor wretched him, you hold all the cards. But hes not going to collect that easily. If you do have the cards, you should at least play them. But on the other hand, didnt you already make up your mind before you even came? If not, why are you here? You play it so smooth, Grant. He starts, sitting up and turning to you. Look, Im trying to be straight with you. Dont make it any harder than it already is. You see the boy again. Why me? Thats a question you dont ask a person.
Why not? Because theres no answer. When you think of the places that you or I could be, why are we here together? You cant explain it. It just is. That was an intriguing thoughtbut not entirely true. You wanted something from him, just as he wanted something from you. Might it not be possible that just as you had misgivings about his motives, he felt the same about you, and this was the unmentionable thing, the one that cant be explained? Unexplainable because neither of you wanted to reveal your doubts so completely, nor be so frank with your true desires, assuming you knew them? Is this why women are sometimes chaste and men reticent, or feign reticence? Im going to give you the benefit of the doubt, you say. You havent yet? You hesitate a long moment. Im willing to try. Then I will, too. His eyes have enough purity at this moment for you to allow him to kiss you. All too soon another force is at work, and in short order you find youre already kissing him back now, your fingertips with a life of their own starting to probe the sinews of his shoulders and back. That was quick. A little too quick, but whos measuring time? Youre beginning to feel light-headed as you succumb to his lips as they move to your neck. The moment seems to last forever but it couldnt have because youre suddenly aware that youre already in his bed now, unmasked,
undone, only you dont care. You havent been with anyone since Jack, and if theres going to be another man to take you to that place again, its going to be Grant Morgan. After much agonizing hesitation your hand moves fearfully to that towering affirmation of his manhood and as he covers your face with kisses you stifle a laugh of nervous surprise as you say, Give me that thing. # Morning comes in like a slow gray cloud and the room is somber. You get up to go to the bathroom, Grant still asleep in the silk. You feel a little sore. He must have really worked you last night. Yes, its coming back now. Jack was Ivy League, Grant from the other side of the tracks, and now you know the difference. One followed rules, the other, no. Jack was proper, Grant, well, reckless. You finish and go back to the bedroom. Five oclock. You could use another hour of sleep. As you sit on the bed, you have second thoughts about the whole thing. It might end up being too intense, if last night was any indication. It might upset the well-hewn donkey cart you carefully crafted to carry your pretty little ass through life. He was definitely an animal, maybe even a criminal. He stepped on people as if it were his birthright. You decide to leave but suddenly feel a strong hand on your arm, pulling you down. Hes all over you, and you clamp your knees together. You permit his kisses and caresses but youre determined to end it now. Yet you havent gotten what you came for. And he did, or at least you think he did. Now you feel regret. Regardless of what you feel, hes got other plans because his finger has found its way into the holy sepulcher and that sensation begins to purge all others.
No, you say. Come on, baby. Give me that thing. How can you resist? Now, maybe, but three minutes from now? Yet youve come here for something and you wont leave without it. Theres something I need, Grant. Name it. You think of how to put it. Youre free. And yet youre yourself all the time. So? I want you to teach me that. He stops kissing you, and even his hungry finger stops moving. No doubt hes been asked for many things, but youre sure he hasnt been asked that. Hes slow to answer. Maybe hes calculating the amount of commitment necessary. Maybe he thinks its a trap. His answer surprises you. Then thats your price? Yes. And like I said, Im willing to pay. You put your hands to his cheeks. I like you a lot, Grant. But Im not a child anymore. Just likings not enough. I want to be free. Cant I have both? And as if to show that you really do care, even before he answers you slide your legs apart.
Chapter 6
Jack
Sandra gets all squirrelly when her dad comes, but its subtle. She doesnt do handstands or anything, but you can see the signs. The concrete of her face seems to soften a bit, but you dont think its necessarily out of joy. More likely a bubbling of agitated emotion, like molten lava loosening up the hardened surface rock above, only in Sandras case it doesnt burst forth in violent eruption but gurgles there in dull but perceptible passion. You surmise this because she wouldnt talk to him for months when he left, and when she finally did, it just wasnt the same. I suppose you want me to forgive him, she had said. Hes your father, you replied. Have you? What, forgiven him? Yes. No. That was four years ago. Have you forgiven him now? Dads here, she calls from upstairs in her bedroom. She watches for him from her window, then makes him wait. You dont blame her. Shes both a child and a woman and shes acting out both. A moment later theres a knock on the door. You
open it and return to the kitchen. He follows you. Whats wrong? he asks. What do you mean? Youre walking like you just got off a horse. You blush, but your back is to him. Coffee? Thanks. You feel that hes watching you as you pour it. As he said so many times when you were married, youre something to look at. Staying out of trouble? You know me, he answers. What about you? Whatve you been up to? You consider before answering. Im thinking of taking on the Patriot Act. Now theres trouble for you. Care to fill me in? Just as you had done in your student days in moot court at Columbia Law, you still talked with each other about projects you were involved in. He may no longer be a husband and committed father, but he was a hell of a lawyer. A prof at the University of Chicago is up to his neck in Homeland Security, he claims because of articles that lay a little too much at the feet of Uncle Sam. Ive heard of that guy. There was something about him in the paper. Page six or something, but hey. So whats your plan? No courtll touch it. A certain senator might.
Kline? Youre talking about Kline, arent you. He packs a punch, but dont expect him to bring the walls down. Youll need Joshua and his holy trumpets for that. If Kline blows his, maybe itll set off a chain reaction. Youre a dreamer, girl. Always were. Thats what makes the world round. I thought it was love. Same thing, isnt it? You both sip your coffees. Hes wearing a college sweatshirt that has SIU Carbondale printed on it. Nice shirt. Paula gave it to me. That means I have to wear it sometimes. How is she? Running me ragged. But like I told you, once you get on her treadmill, its hard to get off. You remember the night you first caught him with Paula. Strangely, you didnt care much about her; it was him you wanted to kill. He had promised to give her up, but you didnt hold out much hope for that. After all, she was a lot younger than you, all girly and giggly, and more than that, she was, well, extremely wellendowed. Few men, it seems, think clearly under those circumstances. Does Sandy know Im here? Im sure she does. Youre timings always to the minute.
He looks uncomfortable. He was in his element talking about the lawhe was an absolute monster cross-examiner in the courtroombut anything else seemed to leave him cold, except maybe the Cubs. Youd literally had to train him to make small talk but he had hardly risen above apprenticeship. He tended to get by on his looks and reputation at parties and all. Look, theres Jack Knox, litigator extraordinaire He knew it, too, and so lacked motivation for change. More coffee? No thanks. You top up your cup. She had a fight with Zack, so watch out. What about? The usual. Hes sixteen with a car, shes fourteen and still under my wing. Im sure she feels caught between. Sometimes she takes it out on him, sometimes its me. Dont get sucked in. Shes looking for allies. Dont worry, Im neutral. Then, for good measure, when Im not taking your side. Thanks. If you mean it. He doesnt respond. The thing is, Jack, Im much too young to be a grandmother. You dont think theyre I dont know what theyre doing. Its out of our hands, really. Im just not going to make it easy for her. Do your part, okay?
United front is what youre saying. Thats what Im saying. A door slams upstairs and someone comes thumping down the steps. Hi, Dad, she says, trying hard but lacking enthusiasm. Hi, San. Is the top down? Sure. Can I drive? As soon as you can show me a drivers license. She latches onto rituals like this, repeated in endless variations, in spite of herself. Maybe its a way to make sure shes still connected. Are you ready? he asks her. I was ready hours agoI was waiting on you, she says, trying to be witty. If youre good, Ill let you steer. But just down to the corner. Then to you, I really think she likes me for my car. Theres an awkward moment where he seems to be struck by the idea that it just might be true, and gets moving before she has a chance to confirm it. Be careful with that car, both of you, you say. All that horsepowers nothing to play with. He had to go and buy the damn Jaguar, didnt he; the sports model, 0-60 in four seconds and all that. He probably thinks he can hold onto Paula that way. Maybe even Sandra.
# Where did it go wrong? Whats the process that turns lovers into wellwishers? Or was it an event? Hes faithful for ten years and one day hes not? Or was it something like a cancer, silently spreading its crab-like appendages while the host unwittingly carries it around, to meetings, barbecues, soccer games, until one becomes suddenly aware that its been there all along? Youve asked Jack but he cant answer. Maybe that was the worst part. The not knowing. Look, in the morning you were humming the Disney theme and in the evening you were clawing someones eyes out, blood all over your handsin your imagination at least. Jacks eyes. You were gouging out your husbands eyes for banging a twenty-year-old, yet who knew if she were even the cause? Men fall in love all the time like that, but it didnt mean she was anything more than a precipitating factor. Or a bit player in a larger drama. If he really had something going with you, he might have had his little adventure and moved on. Instead, he had to actually fall for her, like a field mouse mesmerized by a snake, unable to move, unable to escape, until he was consumed. Look at him now. Its as though he cant get away from her, though youre sure there are times when he doesnt even much care for her, silly little legal secretary with a brain the size of a walnut. Hes said as much. Law school was good. You met him in a tort class on a Monday morning and by Friday youre arguing wrongful injury and damage over pizza-by-the-slice at a stand-up joint on Amsterdam Avenue. By Sunday youre ready to bear his children if he promises to use protection. The next two-and-a-half years was heaven on
wheels, punctuated only by the mad three-ring circus of bar exam prep. You breathed the same air in those days. You were like two kids under a pile of leaves and to hell with everyone else. When Sandra came along, so much the better. It joined you at the hip. Did it take that little slut Paula ten years to usurp the marriage bed? Hardly, since shed have to have been ten years old when she started. No, there must have been something else. Something cold and insidious lurking all the while. Some mood, some force, some little imp on his shoulder pouring poison into his ear, one drop at a timeassuming the fault lay with him. You dont really care to consider that it was you who may have finally driven him away, though admittedly, youve entertained the thought a thousand times. Did you change? Did age dull your eye, blanch the red of your cheek? Did the allure fade from your walk, your smile? In his eyes, did you become a damn frump? Jesus, what a word! These are thoughts that youve had, and fought, for four years. Youve felt that you could never put them aside, but somethings different now. This very morning, in the arms of a boyish and ravenously hungry Grant Morgan, you finally let go of something, something youd held onto tightly for too long. And in the throes of that exquisite sensation within those silk sheets, you finally felt you were getting freeand what burst forth to your surprise but a blinding, all-consuming climax that shocked and thrilled and finally sated you, and now, sitting here in the kitchen with a coffee in your hand, the clock ticking on the wall, you realize that you no longer needed, or wanted, to get your old husband Jack back.
Chapter 7
Take a Chance, You Say?
Yes? Your mother on line two. Thanks, Patty. You hit the b-b-button. Hello, Mother. Robbies in town. Your brother Robbie blew in once a month or so from Miami. He was a slender, bronzed-up flight attendant, loved to endlessly shoot the breeze but usually didnt stay longsometimes overnight, occasionally a two- or three-day breather from work. You finish off with your mother and call his hotel. Hello, Bro, you say. Hey, dear. Whats up with you? he asks, raising the you and drawing it into two syllables. Same old. But I may just have something juicy in the pan. Spill it, girl. Its a tad torrid for the phone. How about lunch?
Youre talking my language. Ferdes? One oclock? Ferdes is a downmarket Filipino place youve been eating at for yearsyou reckon Ferdes wife, a Tagalog-speaking loudmouth from Manila, just might be the best cook in Chicago, and Robbie does, too. Youd both had an eye for her son, too, a thin, dark boy with flashing eyes, but he joined the army and never came back from Iraq. See you at one. Putting the phone down, you look at the stack of files on your desk. You fiddle with your Mont Blanc. Ah, Robbie. The twin you never had. You wonder what it must be like to be him. Go ahead, daydream a little. Imagine yourself being a man. Is that too strange? Youre an ordinary man on an elevator, say. Youre surrounded by people on their way to various floors. You feel someone close behind you. Someone is brushing against you. Thats not so unusual. But you feel them a little too keenly against your buttocks. Now a hand is groping them, yet it doesnt feel half bad. Theres not enough intimacy as it is in the world. Inexplicably, your pants are down now. Is that such a surprise? Yet no one noticeswhy is that? In a moment a finger is probing you, followed by an oiled glans, pushing tentatively in an effort to gain access. Dont be shocked, just go with it. Robbie does. Your sphincter relaxes, letting it pass. Oh! Soon you feel the whole smooth shaft inching up inside you, giving you a warm, full feeling. Youve never experienced anything like it, at least not from that side. Then it begins to withdraw, but not completely. It returns, a little deeper this time, the movement stimulating the excited nerve
endings of the entranceway. You try to relax completely, focusing all your attention on the sensation. You feel the insistent shaft sliding in and out; yes, thats it, gracefully, rhythmically. You think, Hey, Im getting it! Im a man but someone is doing me! And it must feel good, because its giving me an erection. Can that be? Yes, it does seem to be good, in its way. Once you get used to the strangeness of it, the newness. You know, Robbie, I believe it could actually be, wellemancipating? The buzz of the phone interrupts your reverie. Yes? Senator Kline on line one. # Ferdes is crowded. No! Robbie exclaims. Yes! Grant Morgan? None other. Ferde himself brings the wine. The place isnt licensed so the wine has been poured into a grape juice bottle, and now he pours from that into your glasses. One of the benefits of going way back. After a toast, Robbie picks up again. Morgans been sidestepping the law so long that nobodys sure which side hes on. Hes only working the system, Robbie, Chicago-style. You know how its done.
And youre not going to get hurt? He promised not to bite. He would, wouldnt he. But youre a better judge of character than I am, Sis. So anyway, howd it all happen? You talk about hearing rumors about him at the clubeven catching a glimpse of him there on occasionthen the deposition where he practically incriminated himself to help you prepare to bulldoze your case through a veritable stone wall. You say thats when your attitude about him started to change. Maybe he was just feeding you a line. If it stands up in court, then Ill know it wasnt. Until then? Until then Ive decided to put a little faith in him. Brave girl. Then you go into the details of your first dinner and its abortive aftermath. Good for you, Jen, for standing up. Youve never been a sucker for any man. Except Jack. Except Jack, he seconds. But I think thats over now. You tell him about the night you spent with Grant, Robbie straining forward over the table to catch every word. He swoons like a moth too close to a hot kerosene lamp when you tell him about your incredible climax in the morning, the first one in over four years.
Omigod, youre putting me on. Im not. I envy you, Jen. To be brought off on silk sheets by a ravishing brute whos just a little boy at heartisnt that anyones definition of heaven? So did he call? This morning. He wants to take me up to his cabin this weekend. Youll go, of course. Im thinking about it. Youre walking into the lions cage, you know, but by what you say, at least hes given you a whip. You may need a chair, too, though. Im working on the chair. Lunch comes. A plate of chicken adobo with rice and peanuts for you, and it smells sublime. Robbie digs into his omelet-thing, as he calls it, having long forgotten the name of it because he gets it every time and they dont have to ask anymore. Its torta, Robbie. You look at your brother. Hes handsomethe whole familys been blessed with reasonably good looksbut theres often an air of bewilderment about him. Its like he woke up one morning and peered into the mirror and said, Jesus H, Im gay, and then had to set about reorganizing his identity, his whole existence around that. It seems too much for him at times, and your father, bless his Yale redneck soul, didnt help matters much, your mother loyally backing her husband, at least in the early days. Most of Robbies friends are different; they made the transition from odd kid to man-loving adult with a minimum of convulsion. No one comes through that
unscathed, of course; you know that. But they dont wear it on their sleeve like Robbie does. He cries a lot, too, which is unnerving sometimes. So how about you, Brother? Anything new in the love department? It depends on how you define love, he laughs through his mouthful of food, though with a measure of delicacynear the end of his sentence he puts his hand in front of his mouth like those giggling Japanese schoolgirls. Then let me put it this wayanyone special? I wish. Theres some beautiful men out there, but they all seem to be straight. You laugh. Whats so funny? Did I say something funny? No, you reply. Its a familiar tune, thats all, only kind of upside-down. Or ass-backwards, as we in the brotherhood would say. Robbie! Let me laugh, lest I weepyou know the saying. Hows that adobo? Food of the gods. Likewise, he says, forking a good bit of omelet into his hungry mouth. And you, my niggah; is there love in the wind? With Grant? No, with Tommy the pizza boy. Cut it out. And the answers no. No or maybe. I dont think I could ever love a man like him. But then when I really look at him, the way he moves the world
with the stroke of his hand, though so earnest with me, I wonder if I could ever end up not loving him. It sounds like hes got your number, Jen, and you can bet hes going to be dialing it. So tell me, what do you think it is that he sees in younot that you or I dont know that theres plenty to see. Thanks for that. But I dont really know. Girl next door? Trophy head? Prostitute madonna? Who knows whats in the mind of a man? Isnt that the truth. But is he treating you good? If he starts bitch-slapping you like a Sicilian street hustler, its time to move on. And slap his burly ass with a lawsuit so thick hell feel like he stepped into quicksand. Robbie used to be such a prissy kid but living in South Beach has loosened him up considerably, which you think has been for the better. Your mother, on the other hand, long-suffering martyr that shes become over Robbie, thinks its a scandal. Yeah, in todays world, it doesnt hurt to be a lawyer. Even in Miami, Sis, people give me the benefit of the doubt when they find out Ive got a lawyer in the family. Come to think of it, maybe thats the chair to go along with your whip. When you mess with the law profession, there are consequences; especially somebody with your connections. Hes got to know that. Hes got connections, too, though to hear everyone talk, theyre not really connections but people he leans on. Even so, youre probably right. Even if he thinks he can step on me, he knows it wont be without a fight, and human nature being
what it is, whenever theres a scuffle, everybody wants to shine a light on it and gawk. Thats the last thing he wants, Im sure. Theres your dump insurance right there. I dont mind if he dumps me, Robbie. When two people get together, whats the guarantee? Maybe Ill give him the boot. No one knows whats going to happen. All I ask is that he play fair. Im not in the mood to be deceived again. I mean it. Oo, Little Sis got big fists. I dont think you have anything to worry about, kid. And if youre right about this little boy stuff, its all just academic. You may find hes nibbling out of your hand, no teeth at all. # Youre just falling asleep when the phone rings. Its after midnight. You pick it up. Hello? Sis? Its me. Theres that bewilderment again, so well masked by bravado this afternoon. He was fifteen again, you sixteen, he knocking on your door and hoping to come in and cozy up on the bed and chat away about every little thing, the city asleep but the two of you still in overdrive in face of the wonder of it all. Is everything okay? Im just getting ready for bed is all. Ive got that seven a.m. flight out tomorrow. How was your day?
Lunch was great, thanks to a little wine and a big sis. I swam laps in the hotel pool in the afternoon, and tonight I met up with a friend. Who? You dont know him. Oh, one of those friends. How was it? Not as good as yours recently, Im sure, but it gets one through the long evenings. It must be nice, to be free like that. It gets old, believe me. Its funny how you can feel so good and so bad at the same time. I wouldnt know about that. Still, being single, I suppose Ill find out someday. All the more reason to whip Morgan into shape. Then you dont have to. Ill keep that in mind. Hes silent for a while, but you know that theres something ticking away in that unsettled brain of his. Finally, you ask him. He says its nothing but after some sisterly cajoling he admits with embarrassment that hes falling for a married man. And he thinks he might actually have a chance because the guys been dropping a few hints, though he concedes it could just be banter, or even condescension. Does he have any children? No. Then why dont you just jump in and see what happens? you say, shocked at
your flippancy but more concerned at the moment with Robbies happiness. Thats just it. Im worried that something will happen, and then itll be too late for me to back out. See, he could just be one of those bi-curious dudes, a sweaty little romp and its over. On the other hand, stuff like that usually doesnt come to guys my age. If they want to savor the meat, its usually young lamb they want, not aged beef. You hear him sigh. Youd think that the world of men with men would be simple, if only because of the uncomplicated way men approach most things, but that wasnt the case. It was every bit as complicated as your world, if not more so because of all of societys mad strictures. Fortunately, he stops short of asking you what you should do. Its the throw of the dice, isnt it, you say. And Im not much of a gambler. I know that. Still, maybe youve got to take chances sometimes. Hurt is a given, you know. Just be confident. Thats the first line of defense. Whats the second? There is no second.
Chapter 8
Billy Budd
Robbie off to Miami via Nashville, youre dug into the garden fondling every manner of plant and not the least self-conscious about it. Here you can give love without a thought of where itll lead, and receive it, too, every time you partake of the fruits. No wonder they call the worlds heavenly spots Edens, though the modern mind with ever an eye for a buck is concreting them over as fast as it possibly can. If it was within your power youd rip up every parking lot, you Jeffersonian you, return them all to gardens, and return the gardens to the people. How many millions of acres would that be, you think. Its a recurrent thought, isnt it. And some people think the big-city attorney has lost her soul. But you know that youve only hidden it away so that it doesnt get trampled on. The warm sun feels good on your neck. Its early enough in the day to be without a hat, and you like it that way. There on your hands and knees, dog-like, you sniff the green fragrance of the tomato plants. In a couple of weeks youll be supping on the bright-red pommes damour, hopefully right here in the garden so you can let the sweet juice run down your chin and drip who the hell cares where. You remember reading about a woman in suburban Sydney who was in her garden reaching under her tomato plants to pick up a few dried leaves, and was bitten by a
deadly snake. She survived but lost the hand. Now she eats her tomatoes with her left hand. You examine the fine green mesh covering the row of carrots. You can pull it out in about a week, as the egg-laying season of the little brown carrot fly is nearly over. Funny how you compete not only with the big guns in the courtroom but the smallest of creatures as well. And, being human, you so desperately want to win. Your mind is so full of thoughts out here! Unbridled, uncensored. Try that in the courtroom. Or at the club! You get off your knees for a moment and sit, admiring the intensity of the two sunflowers in their reach skyward. The one is still on the spindly side but looks a little stronger than last week, as if it refused to be left behind by its hardier compatriot. If the first shall later be last, then maybe there is some justice at work here, but as with most theological assurances, proof is hard to come by. Youll keep your eye on both of them just the same. As usual, your heart is with the little guy. For some reason, youve been thinking of Melvilles young sailor Billy Budd this morning, and now that Sandra and Zack are gone and you have peace and quiet, and garden, your thoughts return to that. It was required reading in law school. Why? Because it made an important point, though you disagreed with it at the time, remember? When the good man Billy killed the evil Claggart, with good reason, you think he should have been forgivenbut he wasnt. Captain Vere, going against his heart but following the law, ordered Billy hanged. The law was, after all, what gave human beings the only justice in the world, or the closest thing to it. Without law
there was jungle. In the world, the weed chokes the flower, the coyote takes the innocent calf, the snake bites the hand. This was the immutable law of biology and we were forever trapped in its elaborate cage. Law was the only means to temper thatreligion having fallen on hard times. Its just about all weve got now, youre tempted to say. The jungle is in the law, too, of course, as vain and needy creatures twist it for their own ends, but thats to be expected, youre surebecause coming from the jungle as we do, the law can never rid itself completely of its creators temperament. Yet what else is there? Thats why Billy Budd had to die. He was pure goodness driven to an evil act by an evil man, but in doing that he broke the law. Which is more important, the law or the man? Starry Vere believed, not without regret in this case, that the law was. As do you, Jen, though at the time you had sided passionately with Billy. Now that youve seen more of the world and its treachery, the eclipse of the gods, the waning of morals public and private, the entire economy of the nation based on fanning the flames of desire, you realize that the law is the only tool we have for survival as civilized people. Thats why unjust laws must be challengedso that no individual is sacrificed for themand the integrity of the law upheld. You became a lawyer in order to seek justice where it was wanting, not by manipulating the law but by upholding it. In doing that, youre a small, almost voiceless minority among the wolves good and bad in your profession! In joining a mans gameas it was when you entered itdidnt you bring to it a feminine sensibility that youre proud of? You didnt just don jeans and a
baseball cap and with a manly curse proclaim your feminism. No, you fought your battles not by demanding the insipid trappings and foibles of men, but by demanding that the woman in you be heard. You felt, not without taking heat from friend and foe alike, that to be liberated was to demand to be a womaneven in a mans world. To your mind, to be feminine was to nurture otherseven as men should do but rarely botherand youve chosen the law to accomplish this. There, sitting on your rump in the damp, fragrant earth of the garden, you think these thoughts. Your mind is free to think them. When your mind is free, your heart rejoices. # Thats not all youre thinking. Just beneath the now-serene surface of your consciousness the image of Grant Morganor the awareness of ithas been simmering, motile and full of potential, but you dont really want to accept that its there. Its real enough, though, especially after talking about him with Robbie, but later, maybe you felt it was becoming too strong a presence, as if a ramrod battering the gate of a fortified town. You became that town when Jack left, and although you let Grant feel you briefly through a barred window in the wall, you werent entirely sure you wanted to fling open the gate and let him march in. Your reason, only one, really: which side of the law is he on? You take his calls and chat engagingly and sometimes even affectionately, but opted not to go to his cabin with him. Just your recent experience with him was enough to convince you that the emotion he could incite within you had the power to
overrule rational thought, at least for a time. You have no intention of allowing that to take hold until you knew better who he wasand what he might want from you. Thus youd decided to assay him in small doses until you were sure he wouldnt bring everything you believed in crashing down around you. # The weekend passed and now youre sitting in your office with a very nervous history professor. The look on his face leads you to think that hes shaking inside like a windblown aspen. So what did he say? Phil Benton asks, referring to the august Senator Kline. Is there any hope? You look at him. Since talking with the Senator a second time, youve come to see the Professor in a different light. Your job now is to explain that to him. You sit back in your chair. You feel like a doctor about to tell a dying man your diagnosis. You dont want to do it; he doesnt necessarily want to hear it. Its complicated. Its complicated? Whats that supposed to mean? Hes had a chance to read your articles. And? The Professor was clearly upset, but he would be, with his job and maybe his entire career on the line. He made some notes. Would you like me to read them? By all means.
You open a thin folder and look at the handwritten top page. You begin. Excellent scholarship; well-researched, cogent, but vitriolic. Likens the American government to a vampire feeding off the blood of the rest of the world. Calls for the scrapping of the Constitution and the creation of a new document removing executive power, with the President to serve as a figurehead. Demands that the military be curtailed and all political prisoners be released. You close the folder and look at the Professor. I should have read the articles before I had you forward them to Senator Kline. I assumed because of your position that they were published in refereed journals. Those were magazine articles. Why didnt you tell me that? I didnt think I needed to. I thought that as a lawyer believing in free speech, youd be more concerned with the belligerence of Homeland Security. I have no love for Homeland Security, Professor, and I also happen to believe as you do that government policy over the years has created the need for such an organization. But thats not the point. For an intelligent man, hes looking at you with lizard-like incomprehension. And the point is? Simply that its not necessarily the ends here that are in question but the means. You let him chew on that a moment.
But what I did wasnt illegal. Maybe not illegal, but judging by the Senators notes, apparently heading in the direction of the line separating it from legality. So if I didnt break the law, why cant I have recourse? Thats what youre saying, isnt it; that I have no recourse? Or that you dont want to help me get it? How to explain? We defended an artist once, a photographer, you begin, in a pornography case. He said he wanted to push the envelope, stretch peoples minds to the limit. Benton, still in lizard mode, stares at you. You continue. All the staff here was up in arms because the thought was that free expression was being curtailed. Not having seen the work in question at that point, I agreed. You know the story. If his expression is suppressed, then yours is next, and then mine. Soon were all living in a resurrected Soviet, running our tin cups along the bars in memory of the freedoms lost. Then I saw the photographs. The lizard continues looking at you but has warmed a bit to your story as comprehension is coming to him, and he looks slightly more mammalian now. You go on. They made Mapplethorpe look like an evangelist for Christ. But just being an associate at the firm at that time, I had to do my bit, though it went against the grain. See, when you approach the line, Professor, the line gets pushed further out, and soon what was once illegal and detrimental to the community becomes tolerable, then acceptable, then commonplace. So although I may believe in some of what you
sayour government has made grave errorsand more so in your right to say it, your method leads too close to a line I dont want to cross, nor even extend too much. Does this country have problems? Absolutely. Are there people with malicious intent, in and out of government? Yes, of course. Does ignorance sometimes masquerade as patriotism? All the time. But if you throw the baby out with the bathwater, as I now believe youre doing, you in effect advocate severing our great yet tenuous connection with Jefferson, Madison and all the rest who laid the foundation for whatever good we do have. Since I consider their ideas, their hopes for humanity irreplaceable, not only to us but to the world, I just cant support you. As a partner in the firm now, I can make that call, and Im making it. The Senator agrees with me, or should I say, were both in agreement. Yes, you should have academic freedom. You have the right, thanks to the sacrifices of the past, to speak freely. And youre right; youre not breaking the law. Youre not shouting Fire! in a crowded theater. But as I see it, you are shouting F! The next one to come along will shout Fi! then the next, Fir! and before you know it, the line I dont want to see crossed has been crossed. He sits silently, the distinguished Dr Benton of the University of Chicago, intelligent enough to understand your meaning but too much of an intellectual to challenge you without first thinking it through and considering the ramifications. If he was Joe Blow from the club with Italian shoes and an eight grand watch, hed be all over you like a hyena on fresh carcass. Before the Professor has the chance to contemplate trying it, you continue.
So like I said, I do believe in your right to speak; I really do. But I believe in the law more. Its imperfect, and its practice is infested with wolvesbut I believe its the best thing weve got going against the chaos out there. So we have to protect it, starting with the Constitution and those who gave it to us. Nice speech, Ms Knox, he says, having regained his full warm-blooded identity, but youre just throwing me to those same wolves. Im sorry. But the law, more than any individual, keeps us out of the jungle. Until were saints, Professor, Ill have to put the law first. But in your heart of hearts, you know Im right. Billy Budd was right, too, but what he did was wrong. Who the hell is Billy Budd?
Chapter 9
Oprahfication
Several days pass and you dont hear from Grant. Strange, because he checked in by cell at least once a day. He wasnt much for phone chat; just a few warm words and he was off. And youre playing it cool, arent you, maybe because you think hes just been calling to keep your lower chakras warmthe better to ignite them later. But since he hasnt called, you wonder. Maybe youll give him a call. This weekend is Sandras time with her father, so why not invite him over? Del sticks his head in the door. You rang? he asks. Get me a flight to New York for tomorrow, would you? Two nights hotel and a morning flight back. My wish is your command, he quips and exits. Five seconds later he comes back in. Is this what I think it is? That depends what you think it is. Does it have anything to do with Spangler and Loeb? Smart boy. His face darkens.
Youre not considering their offer, are you? They havent made an offer yet. You might just call this a fact-finding mission. If you leave, Im out of here, too. Ill go back to law school. You should do that anyway, Del. Ive told you that. He walks to your desk and looks at you like a rue-eyed doe. I would, but Im learning far too much right here. From you. Before you have a chance to respond, he turns and leaves, a drag in his step. You think hell make a great lawyer someday. He probably wouldnt exactly shine in the courtroom, at least not yet, but he knows the law and hes been the best in research and case prep that youve met in almost fourteen years of practice. Damn, he was good. If hed only stand a little taller, hed surely come into his own. You ring Grant. Grant, its Jennifer. Oh, I thought it was Princess Di, back from her sleep. Whats up, Jen? You havent forgotten me? Aw, jeez, whyd you say that? Now hell know youre missing him. Fat chance. Fact is, I was going to call you. About a cabin by a lake. I dont think were quite cabin material, Grant. Why dont you come by my place for a drink? Say Saturday afternoon? Im yours. You wish, you laugh.
What if I do? Anyway, I guess thisll give me a chance to meet your daughter. You doubt that very much, and not just because shell be away. Even she had heard about the notorious Grant Morgan, and it wouldnt do for her to know you were playing with fire until you were sure you wouldnt get burned. It was called setting an example. Shes with her father this weekend. Anyway, why dont you come around four? Not a minute later. After a few drinks, maybe youd haul him out to the garden and test him that way. # On the plane! On the plane! And wheres that blasted plane? Insane, insane! You werent mentally humming Spangler and Loeb but Lerner and Loewe, and yes, it was crazy to consider pulling yourself out by the roots to go live in a cave. Even a gilded one. Your friendly headhunter Howard Turner has sent a car to pick you up at the airport. Your appointment is tomorrow with Spangler himself, the man whose firms client list reads like Whos Who of Famous Americans and the Not So Famous But Incredibly Rich. The limo takes you to The PlazaDel thought you should make a good impressionand when you arrive at Reception they tell you that Turner has insisted on picking up the tab. And why shouldnt he? If he scores this head, he
pockets a cool thirty grand or so. He can afford a Third Avenue limo and two crummy nights at The Plaza. You arrive at your room and tip the bellhop. Hes looking at you intently, practically sniffing you to see if youre someone hes seen in the movies or maybe on TV. He leaves, closing the door noiselessly behind him. Youre in the middle of the worlds greatest city, the Imperial Capital, and you cant hear a sound. Its weird, this silence, but its delicious. Deathlike, thats the word. Sit down, take a load off your feet. Only you dont feel like sitting. Youve been sitting all day and you feel like walking. You had a light lunch on the plane but no doubt youre feeling a little hungry now. Maybe youll get a slice of pizza to tide you over til dinner. Just like in the old days. Before you go out, you make a phone call. Cheryl? Jennifer Knox. Jen! Its been too long. Cheryl was an old law school buddy whose shoulder was always there, not to mention a quick mind ever ready to debate some point of law or share a dream or two about the future. You tell her youre in New York for an interview. No kidding! With who? Spangler and Loeb. Unbe-cant-believable! I knew you were doing well, but not that well! Congrats, kid. I wanna hear all about it. How about dinner tonight? Lets make it tomorrow; then you can hear all the gory details.
Great. Where are you staying? The Plaza. Kudos for that, you bird! Ill pick you up at seven. Jesus! You freshen up a little and head downstairs. The weather outside is mild and sunnyas you like it. In minutes youre bustling with mobs of people, all shoulder to shoulder. Chicago is busy, too, but not like this. This was passion; this was electricity. If ever a city was a living organism, its New York, just as Rome was said to be, two thousand years ago. You cant write off D.C., but other than that, if it was happening, it was happening right here. And the city, so much cleaner and safer than when you lived here those many years ago, now feels seductive. You feel youre beyond seduction but youre really not, are you. You begin to imagine yourself here, among the giants, maybe becoming a giant yourself. Snap your fingers and people listen, things happen. You have a problem, you make it disappear. Then there are the long hot lazy weeks in the Hamptons every summer, with the beaches, the cafes, the parties You jerk back to attention when a turbaned taxi driver almost takes you out with his cab. This isnt Delhi! you want to shout, then laugh at your own carelessness. You have to shift gears when you go to New York, Del had said; Chicago spins around five thousand rpm, New York closer to eight. You look for a downmarket neighborhood where all the modest but tasty little delis and pizza joints are, but gentrification has spread its tentacles everywhere. Where are the Italians, the Puerto Ricans, the working-class Jews from Eastern
Europe with their homemade sausages? Youre in Cappuccinoland now. You settle on a little cafe, and with your slice of quiche you have to choose from sixteen different kinds of coffee. You pick an Arabica latte, in a half-hearted nod to the hapless history professor. After eating, you pay up and head back outside, feeling vaguely unsatisfied. On a whim, you hail a cab. Once inside, youre thinking where to go. The Cloisters, you say abruptly. The drivers not sure where that is so you point him uptown and settle back to take in the sights along the way. Youre such a tourist sometimes. Its a long ride from midtown, farther even than the island world of Columbia where youd kept a daily eye out for muggers on your way to class. Maybe even thats changed. Maybe people dont have twelve locks on their doors anymore. You arrive and pay a small fortune to the laconic Sikh whos been your driver. I wait for you, he says without emotion but you wave him on. Time stands still when youre at The Cloisters, and you dont want the ticking of his mind to enter your thoughts and move you along. Youre not here to look at the artwork, exquisite medieval artifacts that they are, so much as sit in one of the stained-glass chapels and be carried to a place only you can go. On a weekday, an empty cathedral couldnt offer more reverent solitude, and thats what you came for. As you sit alone in the sacred stone-deaf stillness, you begin to realize that the purity of spirit you used to bring here before now bears some tarnish. As a student you had always felt so clean, but now, this time around, youre aware of a
sooty hunger you hadnt noticed before. What was it? Ambition? Need for recognition? Is the cult of celebrity finally getting to you? What the blazing hell are you doing in New York? # The next day, John Spangler of Spangler and Loeb didnt keep you waiting. Nor did he meet you in a conference room, but instead had you shown directly to his office. You shake his hand; its warm and fleshy and slightly moist, like baked ham. You dont feel a bone. Before you have a chance to sit, he wants to give you a tour. The place is hugeyou may need a minibus. Spangler himself is a portly old duck, red in the nose and carefree as a cat as only a man on top of the pile can be. Cats just dont give a damn; that was their strong point and what gave them their inherent watchability. A dog will always come running, nose first; whatll a cat do next? Spanglers tour covers three floors and you get the impression of a hive, though a well-appointed one. You notice that nobodys smiling but him. He leads you back to his office. Sitting down, you look around and it makes you think of what the library or sitting room at the Harvard Club must look like. Only the best is the word of the day. So, Ms Knox, he says from behind his massive desk, what do you think? You struggle for a neutral word. Impressive. He looks pleased.
That it is, dear; that it is. Some of the biggest names in business, art, entertainment, have come to us, asking for assistance. My father was the first Spangler of Spangler and Loeb, and Im not ashamed to say that I wear the mantle proudly. And it hasnt been an easy road, I can tell you. Im sure you know the law well enough to know that every step is within a battle zone. We have no tools to detect danger; no scientific instruments. We have to rely on intuition alone. Do you have intuition, Ms Knox? That was a question youve never been asked before. Of course its your cultures folk wisdom that women in fact possess it, but that only to relegate them to a secondary position in the quasi-rational world of modernity. The fact that it could actually mean somethingand be usefulescaped most people. In a sense, then, Spangler was treating you with a measure of respect. Still, what could you answer? I listen to my gut, if thats what you mean. If thats true, then its served you well. You see, Ive looked into your background, and I know pretty much what youve done. And I flatter myself to say that I know what youre capable of doing in the future. Thats why youre here. And yet it looks like you dont need another associate here. The place seems packed. An associate? No, Jennifer; a partner. A partner! Now you flatter me. Tell me more, as they say. May I speak frankly?
Of course. He purses his lips in the manner that men once did when they gave thought to things. How shall I put it? Youre one of those rare animalsfemale animals, I might addwho knows the location of the jugular of a competitor, and yet resists the urge to go for itunless that competitor is bad. Or evil, if thats not too strong a word. You muse a moment. Isnt that how all of us are? We all go after the bad, dont we? Or presume to. You couldnt be more wrong, if you dont mind my saying so. Good gets trampled every day, and never more often than in the courtroom. Lawyers are magicians, and most practice black magic. All my lawyers know the law inside and out, Jennifer, but precious few really know right from wrong. You do, and thats why I want you here. Id like to leave our profession in better condition than I found it. I think you can help me do that. Im talking about a legacy here. You really are flattered, arent you, you sucker, but dont you see what hes doing? No, you only catch a glimmer of it. Hes putting you on a white horse, Joan of Arc, for what end? Yet sweet words are melting you. Who doesnt want to hear the voice from on high calling out, This is my beloved daughter, and in her I am well pleased? And then he starts in on the salary. And then the perks. The perks go on and on, like poignant pages of a Tolstoy novel, out the door, down the hall, down the
steps to the next floor, and the next, all the way down that dim stairwell to ground level and out the door into the street, where you have to walk a good hour in Central Park to clear your head. # Youre waiting in the lobby of The Plaza when Cheryl arrives. No fake kiss on the cheek for her; she offers you a bear hug and you give it right back to her. Shes looking fantastic in a black dress with dark stockings and cream jacket with matching sequins. You dont look bad yourself, apparently, as more than a few men gave you the eye while you were sitting there waitingand youre fairly sure they didnt care what you had on. She takes you downtown in a cabSoHo was barely SoHo when you were there lastand she stops the cabbie on a street of galleries and bistros. This place has changed, you say, getting out. From winos to wine bars, kid. All New York has changed. Know where Im living now? 103rd Street and First Avenue. That neighborhood? In a new building with a doorman! The old New York is gone, dear. It couldnt afford itself anymore. Dont you miss the intrigue, the romance of it all? Thats like saying, dont you miss that little creek by your house when you were a kidthe one thats a shopping mall now? Our Americas a sparkling future for everybody, dear, and though nobodys exactly clear about what that means, it
sure sounds good. You look at your once-idealistic friend as you walk together down the sidewalk. You say that as if your hearts not entirely in it. You put your heart in it because theres no place else to put it. You arrive at a small brick-faced restaurant. This is it, she says. It looks like Elaines. It probably started as a knock-offa certain kind of people think theres always room for more places that keep out the hoi polloi, so it just kinda took off on its own. The foods great, by the way. You get vetted at the door la Customs and Immigration and once your credentials are verified, are seated at a table. The floor is polished wood, the walls brick. A waiter whos dressed more like a concert violinist solicits your drink order. Cheryl asks for a bottle of Dom Perignon. Youre doing well, you say to her. Champagne is the new chardonnay, she replies girlishly. In Chicago we drink cab sav and think weve arrived, you laugh. So tell meI know youre dying to. How did it go today? Im dying to tell you, or youre dying to hear? Touch. Either way, spill your guts, babe. You gather your thoughts.
Im going to turn it down. Cheryl looks crestfallen. Her crest falls practically to the floor. Horsefeathers! I was hoping youd move here so we could hang out together again. I thought of that, too, Cher. But its just not the right move for me. I know youre not too fond of Gotham, but it does have its advantages. Im sure it does, but I just couldnt buy Spanglers proposal. You met with Spangler?! The same. And I think the guys got something up his sleeve. Cheryl leans forward in her chair, curiosity piqued. Do tell. You know, he talks a good line but at heart I think its all money and celebrity-worship with him, the same darn thing thats ruining the country, but he wants to gild it with a patina of morality, compassion, self-development, whatever you want to call it. Materialism with a human face. The Tony Robbins syndrome. Oprahficationthats the word. And he wants me to front up as one of his hucksters. You sound just like you did in law school. I do? Well, why not? Why do I feel like these people are leading us into hell, and with the best of intentions? When they lay out our pop culture with all its vices as the seductive venue we should realize all our dreams inthis is what the great American Revolution was fought for? Not freedom to be, but freedom to eternally
yearn? Eternally spend? Cheryl! Hoo-wee, youre a philosopher now. And youre not? Its time we took stock, while we still have eyes young enough to see whats there. The champagne comes, wheeled over by the waiter on a cart covered by a starched white cloth. Cheryl looks at you with embarrassment. Do you think Ive become one of the hucksters? she asks seriously. You laugh. This is a fitting accompaniment for when two old friends meet. And you havent dropped a name all evening. She lightens up. And I wont, either, after what you said! Then she winks at you. Though you wont believe who came in our office today! The waiter pops the cork with aplomb and pours out two flutes. You toast. Heres to friendship. She smiles and replies. And to Tiger Woods, Charlie Sheen, Bill Gates. Paris Hilton. Dick Cheney. Long may they be our shining heroes.
Chapter 10
What Is a Woman?
Chicago, City of the Big Shoulders, looked slightly less commanding when you got back, didnt it, but you search for an accommodating word. Comfortable? Manageable? Modest? You settle on comfortable, as thats the feeling you had. Thats how you feel now, in your quiet park-like backyard, covering a table with a linen cloth. Grant should be here any time. Face it, you felt a little guilty at the facile way you slid back into your prosaic Shy-town existenceyou dont actually call it a life, though it does border on one. Its a protracted gravy train ride and youre disappointed how satisfied you seem to be with it. The thought crosses your mind that maybe you want Grant Morgan to shake you up a little. Bitch-slap you into a little more focus. Figuratively, you quickly add. If things werent so fuzzy around the edges, why else would you have been tempted to have a look at John Spanglers sandbox? Whats wrong with yours? Something else is bothering you, isnt it. You cant rid yourself of the thought that after you ply Morgan with a few drinks, youre going to want him to drag you up to your room and with the curtains drawn so none can see, have him ravish you til you cry outwhy does this lawless act mean so much to you lately? It must mean something because its been clunking around your brain all week. At first you
ascribed it to hormones but youre beginning to feel that its become something deeper than that. Okay, the physical sensations were intense and all that but somehow your soul got implicated. He went a little further into you than your cervix, so to speak, didnt he. You, the Phoenician princess Europa, were getting carried off to Crete by Zeus. One doesnt just get transported to another place like that without yielding to some special power, and the continual replaying in your mind of your intoxicating experience with Grant suggests to you that he has that power. Youve never touched your own soul like he did, and that doesnt seem fair. Doesnt it throw you into than overflowing bin of women who need a man, cant feel complete without one? You are complete! But if youre so complete, how is he able to add so much? Youve struggled with this from the very moment your shuddering climax dissolved into a dull frictive ache from far too much activity, and to make matters worse, you long for more of it. You want Zeus to carry you off again! Is this weakness? Is this what a woman is? If so, you feel cheated. But maybe youre wrong about it all. And maybe the only way to know for sure is to climb back in the saddle and ride into that holy wilderness again, and keep riding until you figure it out. That thought humiliates you and excites you at the same time, doesnt it. The weathered backyard table now covered with a cloth, you put two wine glasses on it. You go back inside to retrieve a bottle of Napa Valley pinot noir from the fridge, placing it in a plastic bucket of ice. Youre not proud. You go back outside with the wine and sit at the table. What time is it? Grant said four. Its four-fifteen. You take a stroll over to the garden. That should be calming but it isnt. You note
with some satisfaction, though, that the spindly sunflower is looking a little more vibrant now, and you return to the table. At four-thirty you open the wine and pour a glass, downing half of it. The suspense is killing you, isnt it. A blue jay calls out and interrupts your thoughts. You finish your glass and pour another. Why hasnt he called? You turned off your cell phone at four-twenty, thats why, you childish thing. Or are you just standing up for yourself? If only the world were a courtroom, where you knew exactly what you were doing. Youd approach the bench and petition the judge to issue a summary judgment against the defendant. Half a bottle of wine later, Grant strolls in, letting himself in through the side gate under the fading wisteria. Hes looking confident and not the least bit apologetic. I see youve started without me, he says. You try to think of something clever, but your wit has been dulled by the wine so you say nothing. Instead you pour him a glass. Im sorry, he finally says, reading your mood. So am I, you reply with mild but unmistakable bitterness in your tone. Before you can hand him the wine, he takes your free hand and pulls you up to him. The next moment hes kissing you, no, youre kissing him, the two of you fusing together like molten glass. You suddenly realize this is what all the agonizing anticipation was about. And without saying a word, you drag him up to your room. Whos going to do the ravishing now?
# Fireworks rarely fail to impress. When the Chinese invented them, they were after something even the gods and spirits would take notice of. Chinese New Year is an orgy of human feeling so strong and cacophonous that even demons were advised to keep well away. Youre being introduced to fireworks on an intimate level and your head is being turned completely. In the aftermath of passion, the smell of gunpowder still heavy in the air, you pad bathrobed downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of cold water with lemon. Both oxytocin and endorphins have been released in your brain and its a feeling like no other. You have a sense of wholeness, of peace. Youre beginning to trust that man. Thats a gamble of the first magnitude, but your brain chemistry at this point softens it to something more like modest risk. You suddenly think he might be assuming the role of a drug dealer, and although this makes you smile through your lemon water, you realize its not funny because it just might be true. Now you have to assess whether you feel youre beyond addiction or not. What a woman, he had voiced to you in the depths you explored together, and it sounded involuntary, as if his mouth were beyond his control and working as an agent of his subconscious mind. And again he sounded like a boy. He sounded like a boy so overwhelmed at being entwined with a woman and receiving from her all the comforts and pleasures that only she could give. Was he subject to being hooked as well? Wouldnt it be strange if you both became addicted to each other, one depending on the other to so alter brain chemistry in ecstasy that coming back
for more wasnt an option but a commandment? Is that what falling in love meant? You once were in love with Jack, but that now seems like infatuation in comparison. You stroked Jacks tall, redheaded dick with an easy gaiety, while Grants dark manhood had all the power and mystery of Mesmers wand. In the beginning you were almost afraid to touch it, and when you finally did, it was with caution and a fearful sense of reverence. So strange! What did he mean, What a woman? Hadnt he known women before? Or had he, but found you beyond compare? Did you have something they lacked? Or he lacked? Did he need that woman in you to be a man? To feel complete? Youll probably never know. Dont expect him to tell you. Hes not a flowers and chocolates kind of guy. He seemed more like the type who might express love by once in a blue moon letting you win at tennis. But who said anything about love? Why is a womans mind inclined in that direction? Estrogen? Social mores? Parental brainwashing? All of them? Or none? And whats all this talk about love? Are you falling for the guy? What time is it now? Six oclock? You have an urge to take off your robe and go outside. You let it drop to the floor and head out the back door. The wine is still cold in the bucket and you pour yourself a glass and down a sizable draft. Then you walk barefoot to the garden. You stand there naked, your feet in the cool black soil. Why? Because you can. Because you must. You feel good. You feel like youve somehow been unveiled, and it has nothing to do with your nakedness. Youve allowed yourself to be opened, body and soul. You
were the gatekeeper, and when that mannot any man, but that manasked, you gave him the key. You gave him the key to the tightest of all locks, a womans socalled honor. And he didnt despoil it. He came in reverently, though his method was gangbusters. He supplicated at the tunnel of love, and you let him enter. He cried in your lap for a sup at the teat and you let him drink. You flung the door wide open for this man Grant Morgan, and you feel good. Standing naked in the garden is only a physical representation of that, a symbol. You see someone in the doorway. Its Grant in the altogether and hes motionless, watching you. Whats going through his thoughts? Appreciation? Lust? Piety? Fear? The mind of a man, so simple and yet so impenetrable! Finally he walks toward you, slowly, as if approaching royalty. As he nears, you hold out your hand. He takes it and you stand together. No need to embraceyoure already embracing. Here you are, the first man and woman, and it is good. And there isnt a snake to be seen in the garden. # Ima tella you, eetsa gooda spa-ghet, Grant quips with a saucy noodle still showing from the side of his mouth. We eye-talians oughta know. You laugh through your wine. The other diners are oblivious to your mirth. I thought you came from Welsh stock. I did. My grandfather came from a little village in south Wales called San Giovanni di Calabria. Youre beyond redemption, you know that?
Most likely. Care to join me? Im not sure I want to. Why not? Thats where all the fun is. Im having fun right where I am, thanks. You are having fun. Your stockinged foot is playing with his ankle under the table. Youre a schoolgirl again. And besides, you add, youre such an animal. He takes a drink of red. Whos the animal? he asks, mock-accusingly. Okay, who wanted to have his way with me today, right there in the garden? At least I was a gentleman about it. How so? I put you in the ascendant position, didnt I? So? See, I didnt want you to get dirty. Thats why it was you who had to spray me off with the garden hose and not the other way around. So chivalry is not dead, is that what youre saying? I guess thats it. Not here anyway. Not with us. You look at him thoughtfully, he still with the color of sauce around his mouth and not the least self-conscious about it; he with the strong hands and strong voice and still playing around like a kid. You get serious a moment. Why do we do it? you ask him.
Do what? Why do we talk like this? Why do we act like we do? Dont you know? No. Then let me put it simply: I like you and you like me. Thats all there is to know. You hazard a slight fishing expedition. Is it as wonderful for you as it is for me? Now its his turn to get serious. Look at his face. Is it I didnt know how much you felt, thats all. Isnt it obvious? A woman is never obvious. Except when shes trying to be. When shes trying to be, she usually means the opposite. Whether she knows it or not. You havent answered my question. Do I have to answer it? This is no jokehes perfectly serious. No. I guess I just wanted to tell you how I felt. Maybe I wanted you To tell you how I felt? I just did. Or at least I thought I did. Werent you listening? Dont try to pin him down, Jen. To catch a bird, you dont just grab for ityou
lay out food and let it come to eat. If it likes the food, itll keep coming back. But wait a minuteare you trying to catch him now? Two weeks ago you considered him persona non grata in civilized societyyour world, ostensiblyand now youre thinking to put out a trail of birdseed leading to your door? Wait a minute, foolish thing. Youve already opened the door and let him come in. So what do you want to do now, lock it behind him? Maybe. Youve heard all the stories about Grant Morgan and his womenhes run the gamut, as they say, and never a wife, never even a steady. You have an image of him playing women like a concert pianist plays a Steinway: with passionate abandon, but when the music is over, he closes the cover on the keyboard and walks away, the piano left forlorn on a darkened stage. Despite all the bravado of today, could you be nursing a fear of that happening to you? Jennifer Knox, taken in by a piano player with boyish charm. And now youre hoping hell fall in love with you? Why? Because every minute youre with him leads you closer to falling in love with him? And yet right now you havent a clue about what love is. God, you dont even know the guy! Is it like that stupid line Cheryl quoted you from Madame de Stal at the restaurant, that all love is self-love deux? Face it, youre confused. But that wont stop you, will it. Hows the carbonara? he asks. Thanks. For what? For not freaking out. Why should I freak out?
That. Thanks for that. Hes puzzled, but you give him a smile and it seems to set him at ease. Just look at him in the candlelight. Hes actually kind of cute. # Frank maneuvers the big Chrysler through the wordless streets, you in the back with Grant and your fingers intertwined with his. You feel good, even though beneath it you sense a slender layer of dread. Youve got your hand on something you wantmaybe even more than freedombut youre really not sure you want it. But then again, tonight when you crawl solo into your bed to sleep, will you feel something essential is missing? And yet youve already decided not to ask Grant to join you. Youre a hard case, Knox. Okay, you want to love him, you want to believe in him, but youre not sure you can. And yet those delicious chemicals he causes to be released in your brain are driving you toward him. What is a woman? Frank pulls smoothly into your drive. Grant looks at you seriously and gives your fingers a squeeze. Shall I stay tonight? he asks quietly. You surprise yourself by not missing a beat. Yes, you whisper to him.
Chapter 11
Free Sandra Dee
Your nether equipment is getting a considerable workout lately, isnt ithow much stimulation can a person take? And with Grant nursing at your breasts all the while and the oxytocinthe trust drugflowing so freely, youre starting to feel like a regular milch cow returning docilely to the barn every night. It doesnt suit you and you know it, and yet there you are, going back for more. Why? Because you plainly crave the feeling? Or is it because youve asked him to teach you how to be free and you remain the diligent student? Either way, it doesnt make sense, this sudden allegiance to desire, and yet youve all but accepted it. You make an appointment with your gynecologist and ask him if theres such a thing as too many encores. If you werent you but just some run-of-the-mill house bitch, hed probably laugh. But you dont think its funny and neither does he. And no, nothing is too muchto a point, naturally. Let your body tell you when enough is enough, the good doctor had said. On top of everything else, you get a call at the office from Sandra. Shes run off to Madison with Zack. Wisconsin? Were staying with Zacks cousin. Hes a grad student here.
When you say staying, what exactly do you mean? Were gonna look for jobs. Are you pregnant? No! Whats the cousins name? Kent. Kent what? Dont get any ideas, Mother. Were here to stay. Ill call you next week. A minute later youre on the phone with Jerry, the private investigator your firm has used for eighteen years. Hell go to Madison and find the address of a grad student named Kent. Youd be surprised if there was more than one. Tomorrow after work youd be on a commuter flight and get to the bottom of this. Who holds the cards, you or her? For her sake, you hope you do. # Less than twenty-four hours later youre at an address on University Avenue typical shabby student apartment complex, two bulbs out of five burnt out on the stairwell. Your footsteps echo. You arrive at the door, Jennifer Knox. The door opens. There stands a tired, surprised Sandra. Who is it, Dee? calls Zacks voice from inside. Its my mother. Zack is all solicitous like a proud father-to-be graciously admitting you to his
love bower but Sandra is subdued. Youre the monkey wrench in her plan here and you both know it. Still, the call of parental duty is stronger in you than the need to be liked. You envy those lucky mothers who have both! All sit. Im not going back, she says half-heartedly; then, at least not yet, as if to leave a door open that shes too young and afraid to close, in spite of her teen bravado. Maybe shes hoping youll say, Oh, yes you are so she gets her back up and can draw strength from your affront. But youre an attorney. You know all about which tactics not to use with hostile witnesses. If only you knew which one would work. You look around. A Che Guevara poster on the wall, a beer-can junk sculpture on the coffee table. The carpet is worn. You notice the stale odor of marijuana, though you guess its not from the air but residual in the drapes and fabric of the furniture you had enough experience, at one time, to know the difference. The danger, then, was not immediate but potential. You have nothing against marijuana, which threw the curtain back on many falsehoods during your own student days, but you were over eighteen then. Your brain was more completely formed, your emotions more stabilized. The weed helped you realize greater knowledge, deeper spiritual understanding. It would probably serve neither of those on a fourteen-year-old, more likely useful only for rebellion or recreation, neither of which it was meant for. So anyone facilitating the transfer of THC to your daughters brain would face the full force of the law and you were sitting pretty to be able to make it happen. To you, this was a more desirable perk than John Spanglers month in the Hamptons. Still, you hold your cards close. If you alienate Sandra now, you may never get her back.
What do you want, honey? you ask. She wants to be free, Zack answers. I want what you have, she mewls. Youre shocked. Who could be freer than a teenage girl from a gold-standard suburb, and with good looks to boot? She had everything, for gods sake. And why would she want to be like you, who only knew freedom when wearing an acceptable mask? Kids know nothing! Yet didnt you as a precocious teen know it all, or think you did? Why should she be any different? Dee envies you, Ms Knox, Zack says. You do what you want, go where you want, whenever. Too embarrassed to tell the whole truth, you offer a plausible alternative that was true enough. It took me twenty years to earn that, Zack. I had to fight for it. Im still fighting for it. This seems to come as a surprise to him, judging by his face. For all he knew, you were born in a state of grace. You were a princess from the house of Windsor with the silver spoon. You look at Sandra. Ive always given you whatever you wantedwithin reason. You were a good girl, so I trusted you. Every year, I gave you more rope because I thought you could handle it. I even give you a little more than I think you can cope with, hoping youll grow even stronger. You are free, Sandra. Im not! Youre still holding the rope! You answer to nobody, but I always
have to answer to you. Theres a big difference. She looks exasperated, though not angry. That was a good sign. Youd come here expecting to face her anger, though you hadnt a clue where it might come from. You thought Zack might have been goading her, but youve come to realize over the past months that hes not sophisticated enough for that, even though hes older. If anything, she leads him, which is why you dont want her to get pregnant and thus tied to him for the rest of her life. She needs a stronger man, someone she can respectlike Grant? Are you unconsciously holding her back from Zack and shes rebelling against that, and not necessarily because hes so great but because hes her choice and not yours? Youd better tread lightly here, for sure. Im sorry you feel that way. I really am. I tried to make a home for youfor usand I know Ive fallen short. But I want you to come back. I cant promise Ill do anything differently, but we could talk more. Ive wanted that anyway. We dont talk like we used to. Thats because when we talk, youre always telling me what I shouldnt do. Like I cant decide that for myself. Thats what mothers do! And theres a good reason for it. I can see around the corner because Ive been there; you cant. Youre not afraid of what you cant see, and I dont blame you for that. Just dont blame me for seeing whats there and being afraid for you on that account. If I didnt love you so much, I wouldnt care so much, would I. She seems touched by this remark, either because she hasnt heard it enough
from you or maybe because of the emotion emanating from her vulnerability from being on her own here in a strange city. Either way, it gives you hope. So what do you want? you ask her. I wanna get a job and make money, and do what I want. Nobody telling me what to do. You sigh inwardly. No sense in making a scene. Youve always given her rope, so just give her a little more now. Enough to go a bit farther, not enough to get entangled in it. I should go, you say. Youre leaving? I didnt come to fight with you. I just wanted to know the reason why. Youre not mad at me? You stand up. No, Im not mad. Maybe disappointed that I didnt understand you better so I could help you find what you want. You walk to the door. Sandra and Zack are both standing now, looking perplexed. You take care of her, Zack, you say. And Sandra, the door is always open. You know that. You leave while holding back a tear and begin organizing Plan B in your mind. # Madison is a great little place, not only the state capital but home of the
University of Wisconsin. As such it was no provincial backwater but a vibrant small city with all the alluring attractions of the various Big Smokes that made up Americas cultural lifeblood. As a college town it was more spirited than Ann Arbor, less pretentious than Santa Cruz, more sophisticated than Bouldernot a bad place at all to be stranded for the night. After making a few business calls, youd have dinner at Lombardinos and maybe catch a play, have a few long lazy cocktails in the hotel lounge, and then tuck into a warm bed and shoot the half-inebriated breeze under the covers with Grant via telephone. And tomorrow, thanks to the quick footwork of your resourceful investigator, youd pay a visit to the theater lab of the graduate student known as Kent. # Autumn mornings in Wisconsin are exhilarating. The air is bone-crisp and fresh, cleaner here than in Chicagoexcept when the wind blows off the lakeand the sky a shade deeper blue. Forgoing the hotel buffet, you have bacon and eggs at a rough-hewn cafe with a sunny courtyard. Its the all-American breakfast, though you know that its not reallyits a conthe result of a cunning advertising stunt in the Twenties by that scheming ad man extraordinaire, Edward Bernays. The guyd been hired by the pork industry to help peddle bacon, and had jockeyed a bunch of doctors into agreeing that a combination of meat and eggs was a hearty breakfast. Armed with this ammo, he fashioned it into a testimonial for bacon and eggs and pushed his glib campaign into every corner of American life til the whole country became convinced that it was the quintessential American breakfast. You take a sip of coffee
with whats probably a wry look on your face. Is it still a con if you know its a con and go along with it anyway? Regardless, you think, once in a while it cant hurt. As long as youre not a slave to the corporation, your mind hastens to add. Kent McCallum was studying for an M.F.A. in theater. According to Jerrys information, he was some hotshot young director from Milwaukee who was girding himself with a fine arts degree before making his assault on New York. He wouldnt be a pushover, but then, neither are you. Hed be proud, and thus have more to lose. Hopefully you could turn that to your advantage. Thats a lawyer, always thinking. You take a taxi to campus and head for the building housing the theater lab, a rabbit warren of corridors, stages, green rooms, dusty costume closets, and all the rest that goes with the arcane art of producing life from words through the mediation of a play script. You were in the theater club as an undergraduatethe sights and smells are familiar to youthough you were more a spectator passing through than a card-carrying member. Still, it helps you move through this world with authority and ease until you find the whereabouts of the young Mr McCallum. You open a door marked Theater C without knocking. Whos there? Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. Long live the king! Bernardo? He. Thats what you expected. Instead you hear:
A hippowhatamus? Hippopotamus. Long live the lion king! Fernando? You got it, baby. You see the director standing to the side, his face screwed up in thought. Hes figuring out the scene. Hes bringing his genius to bear. Hes Kent McCallum? He looks at you as if hed been sitting on a beach trying to grasp a knotted passage from Nietzsche and a head suddenly popped out of the sand to call his name. Yes? Im Jennifer Knox. Sandras mother. Pause, then recognition. Oh, the big-league lawyer. I actually expected to see her father. Do you have a few minutes? He looks at his watch. Take a break, he says to the breathless thespians. Well pick up again at ten. He steps back and plops into a seat in the dilapidated front row. You turn a folding chair and sit, facing him on an angle. I know what youre going to say, he starts. Turning and turning in a widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer.
Hes waiting for you to say something. Hes too self-assured. You admire confidence in a man, never over-confidence. Its demeaning. In any case, you want to sound him out before drawing a weapon. You may not need one. My daughters fourteen. A mature fourteen, Id say. Maturity and bravado are two different things, as Im sure youre aware. He feels trumped by that, apparently, and it annoys him. Times are different now; its a different generation, he says. We may just have to get out of the way. The times they are a-changing, right? Let me ask you this, Kent. Did you invite your cousin here, or did he just show up at your door? He seems to think its a trick question, and considers before answering. I invited him. Zacks a responsible kid and wouldnt just run off. Its all on the up-and-up. And you have no desire to send him back? And Sandra with him? Look, Ms Knox; I dont want to get involved in this. The kids want their freedom, thats all. Your daughter wont stop talking about it. She wants to be her own person. Can you blame her? No ones their own person at fourteen, Kent. Theyre not even quite sure who they are at that age. So freedoms not freedom for them, its license. Youre offering her license? He was getting antsy, maybe because he wasnt too keen on cooperating.
Young guy that he was, he probably had some noble fantasy of helping teen lovers escape the tyranny of their parents. On the other hand, young guy that he was, he might have less than noble designs on one of the lovers. Look at it this way, he says. In four years shes out of the house anyway. Shes just speeding up the process. In four years she might have three children and a drug habit. I think youre overreacting. Really? Look around, Kent. Half the countrys falling apart and if the kids arent leading the charge, theyre following it. Sandras a good girl and Im sure you dont want to see her knocked up, no education, slinging burgers for a livingor worse. Is that the freedom youre talking about? Its really the freedom of the streets, isnt it? The streets of America, Kent. Theres none colder or harder. He seems to be running out of steam, but still he wont give in. Theres all kinds of freedom. Maybe Dee wants freedom of the spirit. Shes a lot more pure than you take her for. Its not her impurity I worry about but the goldfish bowl shes swimming in, and I dont mean just Madison. Apparently you think she has some magical ability to keep her head above water, but Im telling you as a woman that even I have to keep my wits about me. More than once Ive had my face go under and had to use every bit of courage and the full clout of the law to get back up. And youre telling me to let a kid barely a year past her first period go out there and watch out for herself? Zackll watch out for her.
Zack? You laugh a bitter laugh. And what about you, Kent? Will you take responsibility for her? He looks like he wants to say a resounding Yes! but clearly he has doubts because you see him holding back. I thought not, you say. So heres how its going to be. Were going to let her wander around in her freedom so she gets a decent feel of it for a week or two. All the while youre going to urge them to go back to Chicago. Im giving you two weeks. If after that theyre not back, I want you to kick them out, send them back. Or what? What happens then? I report a kidnapping to the police. Since you invited them and put them up, were looking at conspiracy to kidnap, aiding and abetting, and accessory after the fact. I know the law, Kent, and I also know the Chicago district attorneyhes a friend of the familyso therell be no plea bargains, no watering down of charges. Were talking about hard time. She came voluntarily. Thats not kidnapping. Shes fourteen; she cant give legal consent. Thats kidnapping. Oh, and she was transported across a state line; that makes it a federal offense. You stand, then continue. Youre a director; you know how to read a situation and extract the truth from it. Im asking you to do that now. Direct them, lead them to the denouement Im sure youll realize once youve had the time to think about it. You have two weeks. You leave the same way you came in, with authority. Not the authority of a
lawyer, which is considerable in itself, but that of a woman who deeply loves someone. Whether she shows it or not.
Chapter 12
Nick Makes His Pitch
Look whos back, Del says when you come into your office. People are starting to forget your name. Thanks, Del. I need all the encouragement I can get. Not me, of course. Jennifer Knox, right? Must be nice, gallivanting whenever. Youre not in the mood for banter. These arent holiday jaunts and you know it. And even if they were, Im a partner, so drumming up business is always part of the scenario. Youll find when you become counsel for a firm, Del, that youre always working, even when youre not. To his credit, he seems unfazed by your tone. Well, excuse me, he says serenely. Apparently you dont know when someones giving you a welcome. Thats a welcome? Thats a Delmont welcome and Im surprised you dont recognize it. He leaves without another word. This is the first friction between you, and because hes no different than usual, it must be you, honey, that brought it on. You remember when he first came for an interview, a little more than a year ago. Usually an associate does the entry-level hiring, leaving the firing to the
partners, but you figured that any face youre going to see every day better have something behind it. A reasonable grasp of the law, at the very least, and hopefully, a conscience, a soul. The kid was apparently a whiz at Cornell Law but came back to Chicago when he found out his father had liver cancer. In three months the guy was gone. Del stayed on to help his mother hold things together, and you met him a couple of months into that. You saw behind his valiant faade that he wasnt in the best condition, but you soon found out that his knowledge of the law was encyclopedic rare for a punk kid with barely two years of classes under his belt and no courtroom experience to speak of. You snapped him up like a hungry grouper a wayward sardine and hes been nourishing you ever since. Nick sweeps into your office, the King of Siam in modern dress. Kline was here, he says, all handsome and toned, the rat. Looking for me? Looking for trouble. I told him you were out of the office. Ill give him a call. How longs he back for? I dont know. Hes speaking at that Republican fundraiser tomorrow night. How was Madison? You try to cover your emotion. A long story, hopefully with a happy ending. You sound optimistic. One tries.
So how about Saturday? What about it? Well go for a little boat ride. You knew I had a boat, didnt you? Not really. Its a cigarette boat. Thirty-eight feet, nine hundred horsepower. Shaped like I know what a cigarette boat is. My brother lives in Miami Beach, remember? I guarantee itll tickle your fancy. You think Im that easy to tickle? Prove me wrong. You look at him in his unabashed grandeur. An olive leaf crown might not look out of place. Wouldnt it be great to take him down a peg, make him rub shoulders with the mortals for a change? It would certainly make him easier to work with. Youre on, Nick. Thats what I wanted to hear. And Ill show you what massive, violent power is all aboutand control it with my fingertips. Arent you the modest one. One of my many virtues. With that he exits with a flourish. # Your mother pokes at her swordfish absentmindedly. When shes on a roll, word-wise, she rarely pays attention to what shes doing. You told her once that in
some Buddhist monasteries they eat in silence and chew each bite fifteen times, mindful of each. She had nodded without hearing you. So its Saturday, is it? she asks. What took you so long? She finishes off her gewrztraminer and motions for more. She had a favorite waiter at the club, and because for appearances sake she didnt like to keep a bottle at the table, he was forever attentive to her need of a refill. Since your father died, this had become one of the ways she had to feelworthy?again. There were others. Did you ever think, Mother, that your rush to couple me with a man might just be a projection of your own desirewhich you seem to be denying out of loyalty to Dads memory? Dont be perverse, dear; it doesnt become you. Then whats your hurry? You dont dare tell her about your tentative coalition with Grant Morgan, town bad boy. Shed find out soon enough, but hopefully youd have more time to suss him out beforehand. Still, the higher layers of Chicago society were thin and behavior sometimes uncomfortably transparent. Admit itone of the reasons you took Nick up on his offer was to throw the bloodhounds off the scent. The politics of it all! Whats my hurry? she replies. I say this as a doting mother and for no other reason: youre not getting any younger. Ouch. Take it as a prod, not a stab. Mothers had a wonderfully abrasive way of looking out for their daughters
interests. Yet are you any different with Sandra? The thought that you might not be horrifies you. Ill take it as a motherly prod, then, but I cant guarantee that itll move me. Youre beyond hope, you know that? Always have been. And Ill take that as a compliment, you say. She sighs and ventures a bite of her fish. Making a face, she hails the waiter. The swordfish is a little cold. Would you mind heating it up a bit? Hes used to her friendly but imperious tone and complies without hesitation. Shes a heavy tipper and doesnt forget Christmas, either. You think she uses money too much to smooth her way, where once she had a husband to do the honors. You dont blame her for thatfew of her generation were truly stand-alone women, in spite of their claims to the contrary. And because you felt that she was probably beyond reform, you said nothing. If take me as I am is a desideratum, it was only fair to apply it to her, too. Im only saying this, she says, because I saw the way he looked at you. Why do you keep going on about that? Because when a man looks at a woman like that, all shes got to do is snap her fingers. Im serious. Youve got the world in the palm of your hand and you dont even know it. The world is a little bigger than a lawyer named Nick, Mother. Its just a little bigger than that. Well see, wont we, dear.
Chapter 13
Massive Violent Power
Saturday finally dawdled its lazy ass around, and you were especially attentive to the weather report. Hazy sun, wind three knots, Lake Michigan with one-foot swells. A perfect day for bananafish. Nick will pick you up at eleven, you guysll bop around the lake for an hour or so, then have a picnic lunch on board. Hes having it catered, so you expect to be eating a little more than a tuna sandwich with a side of potato salad. At least therell be something good in store. Youve told Grant youre going and he seemed neutral about it. A little too neutral, didnt you think? Youre a big girl, he had said. You havent heard from Sandra, and youre hoping Kent will work his directorial magic on her and Zack. You trust that the guy doesnt want to antagonize you by spilling to Sandra that he was coachedgod knows how shed react to that, and it wouldnt make her very easy to live with when she got back. She was coming back, surely. Whatll you do if she doesnt? Pull out the big guns? Or let her go ahead and be free? No, that wouldnt do. Even you dont feel free, so how can she expect to? But just as you were emancipated from many of the constrictions of your mothers generation, could Sandra be so from yours? Damned scary thought, that. Nick rolls up in his sporty SL500, top down, Bose playing Wagner. Hes not the
operatic type, so you think hes probably trying to impress you. All women are Becky Thatcher to Toms balancing on the fence, arent they. You feed his ego by acknowledging his taste, not as a ploy but simply because youre polite. Its all in the upbringing. Traffic is light and in twenty minutes youre at the yacht basin. You have no trouble picking out his boat, the sleek white speedster painted with candy streaks amidst the tame bobbing masts of the sailboats. The caterer is waiting at the dock holding a picnic basket, which Nick takes, handing the guy several folded bills. A gallantly raised hand stops him from getting change from his pocket. Nick unlocks the gate to the gangway leading to a row of moored boats. His, though not the biggest, is surely the prettiest. The open cockpit is neat and compact and the nose long and elegant and glistening in the sun. The thing looks fast. Cool transport youve got here, you say. Ya think? he replies with obvious pride. Come on aboard, Ill show you around. He steps effortlessly over the transom and offers you a steadying hand. You feel sweat and strong sinews. He unlocks the cabin door and carries the basket below, setting it on a polished wooden table in the compact galley. Beyond, through a door latched open, you see a small but sumptuous stateroom with a queen-size bed as its centerpiece. Its like camping, only better, he says with a smile. So this is the kind of thing you spend your money on, you reply playfully.
Whats money for, anyway? When I spend it, I want it to take me as far away from judges and juries as possible. Right now Im about as far away as you can get. Wait, I take that back. After I crank up the twin Merc 450s and give the throttle a hit, then Ill be. And you will too, believe me. Cmon, lets shove off. With some attention to the bilge pump and the fan to disperse gasoline fumes, he turns on the ignition. The two Mercurys awaken with a noisy shudder and idle with the sound of about forty Harley Davidsons getting ready to pull away from a biker bar. The deck is pulsating beneath your feet. I like it, you call out over the sound with unexpected enthusiasm. Then youre in for a treat, baby, he calls back. Take that boat hook over there and unhitch the lines. You obey him excitedly, and soon the throbbing beast is lurching away from its moorage. Nick is restrained with the throttle inside the marina but you notice that every head thats able to turn is turned your way. I think people know you! you say. The words notorious! Standing next to himthe skippers chair is still folded against the gunwale you watch as the brute craft throbs past the jetty and into open water. You might want to hold onto that railing in front of you, he says. Both hands? Both hands. You get a good hold of the cold stainless steel. Ready? he asks.
You nod. He grins impishly at you, then pushes the throttle forward. As the saying goes, all hell breaks loosethe unleashed engines shriek with relief as theyre set free; youre pulled back by monstrous acceleration and only your grip on the rail has kept you standingthe boat is ripping, wailing, bouncingyour senses werent prepared for this frantic assault. You feel so giddily girlish all of a sudden, and you laugh uncontrollably. I cant believe it! you shout over the whine of the engines, the throaty roar of the exhaust, the banging of the hull against the waves. Youre too easy, he shouts back. Look, only one-third throttle. Tell me youre kidding, you say, but a quick glance confirms it. Are you ready for part two? Im not sure. Of course you are. I know you better than you think I do. He must have been paying more attention to you than you to him, if that were true. Only you dont have time to think about it because hes leaning on the throttle again and the engines really start screaming now, the boat pushing ever more madly forward and even into the air, the deck beneath you shaking convulsively with the might of nine hundred horsepower and youre just this side of being afraid. You hold on for your life, every fiber of your body vibrating with raw but exquisite intensity. You catch a spray of water in the face and it feels unexpectedly good. Hey, check out the controls. Half-throttle! You okay? Nick shouts over the din. Yes!
He nods in approval. This boat has a deep-V hull. And? Hold on. He turns the wheel and the boat tracks hard to the left and your shoulder bangs into his. He holds steady and the g-force is massiveyou cant move back but are pinned there. He smiles at you. Grips the water like an F-1 car around a chicane. Got a tight hold of that rail? Yes! Good. He turns the wheel in the other direction and youre flung away from him, your feet planted on the deck and your body leaning on a forty-five degree angle. Your arms feel like theyre being stretched, your knuckles small white clumps in a red field. He straightens out and you resume your upright stance as a human being again. Did you feel the gs? he asks, the mad vessel still screaming and slapping wildly against the cool gray waters of Lake Michigan. In spite of the tumult, or because of it, Nick was rightyouve been transported far from the world of law offices and courtrooms. Where, or to what plane, youre not sure, but its not reality as you know it. Lets face ityoure as high as a damned box kite in Marchyour brain is buzzing, your body tingling, something you least expected from a Saturday boat ride. Lets go for a ride on your boat, yes, but not
this! You stand closer to Nick, still holding the railing. He puts one arm around you and steers with the other, making easy turns now, holding you tight when you start to lean away from him. Soon you settle into a rhythm and almost feel as though youve become one flesh with the bounding, pulsating, electrifying boat. Time passes, although for you it has stood still, and at last Nick nudges you. Lets have some lunch. He eases back on the throttle until the monster craft slows to a surging drift, the hot engines merely burbling now. Nick shifts into neutral and shuts them down. The boat stops pulsating but you dont. And the silence is startling. Here? you ask, looking around and seeing nothing but the lonely silhouette of an ore ship on its slug-like crawl to Pittsburgh worlds away. You eat in the marina and some idiots blasting pop crap on the radio while hes stinking up the place varnishing his mast. No, right here is the best table in the house. He unlatches a side compartment and takes out a sea anchor, heaving it overboard. That should do it, he says with finality. You follow him below and when you reach the bottom step he suddenly turns and kisses you. Too surprised to resist, youre shocked to find yourself giving it back to him, maybe because it feels so right to you. Its just a continuation of the tingle, isnt it? Your unanticipated willingness must have encouraged him because you feel his hands on your body, and you have a strange wordless sense that thats exactly
where they should be! After allhes a man, isnt he, and youre a woman? Your mind is not entirely your own, hasnt been for the last thirty minutes or so, but youre in full awareness of your body and would like nothing more than to bring its overexcitation to some relieving conclusion. Nick takes your hand and leads you through to the bed, ripping the spread back with a vitality that startles you, and right there in the middle of the lake, the boat bobbing benignly on the waves, you blindly and breathlessly eager, he slowly and methodically disrobes you and steers you through unimagined steeps of bliss, higher and farther than youve ever gone before, plying his cruel trade with the utmost skill and precision until youre an alien creature of pure and perfect flesh pleading for him to stop but he doesnt stop, does he, but keeps leading you inexorably onward, onward still, finally plunging into you and battering away like a pent ram finally unleashed in the paddock, working his way into you for a timeless eternity until you can bear it no longerand that overwhelming wave rushes over you with thunderous power and you shudder and cry out in agonizing release. His chest is heaving as he bangs away, and he himself soon utters a muffled cry against your sweat-straggled hair and collapses into you, clearly spent. # With Grant you wanted it to be beautiful, and with a little time and care it almost came to be. But here, now, with Nick, it wasnt beautiful at all. It had all the tawdry ugliness of animals in the blind throes of carnal gratification. And shockingly, you liked it. You more than liked ityou gave yourself up to itonce you realized he
wasnt going to stop til he plumbed your depths to find what might be hidden there so completely that you didnt know who you were, nor him, and in that purblind state the feeling itself was the thing, the only thing, the thing indescribable. Who are you now? Do you even know? Did Grant Morgan open up a Pandoras box and now youre left to deal with the chaos unleashed?
Chapter 14
What is a Woman? Part the Second
You have no intention of telling Grant what happened out on the lake, and thats your prerogative. Surely youre not obligated to blab about your indiscretions, to him or anyone else. Isnt that right? But why are you calling it an indiscretion when how many women, upon bedding a Greek god, would think nothing of bragging from here to the mount at Delphi about it? And to be brought to climax on the very first outingthe whole thing seems more a cause for celebration than reproach. But heres the thing, Jen. You really dont like the guy much, do you. That didnt stop you from wolfing down lunch and half a bottle of wine from the picnic basket and jumping right back into the tender jaws of the beast, though, did it. You sit in your breakfast nook looking out over the backyard, sipping a frothy mochachino. Youll have to face Nick in the office today. What will you say to him? In your mind youve likened your experience on Saturday to something like a man visiting a downtown bathhouse: he goes in for his moment of ecstasy but doesnt know the other guys name nor does he care to have a relationship with himbut that doesnt mean he doesnt want to go back sometime for more. So what does that make you? Will you become an enthusiast of such coupling? Or have you already crossed that threshold? Youre disgusted with yourself and at the same time excited
by the possibilities, arent you, Jennifer. And yet its Grant you really want. Strange, whats happening to you. You hear the call of a jay through the window and look to see it drive another bird away from a morsel of food. The relentless law of the jungle, right there in your backyard. The thought strikes you that if you do see Nick again, and maybe even again, Grant just might chase him away like that jay is doing. He certainly has the power to do it. If so, how would you fit into that scenario? As an equal actor, with real lines to speak that someone will listen to? Or a mere morsel to be fought over by two hungry men with competing claims? That may be just as likely. And do you decide or do they? Do you watch from a neutral corner or do you jump in and cheer one on? Youre falling in love with Grantat least you wereso do you put your money on him? Or do you just luxuriate in the battle and take satisfaction in being so desired? And what of your desires? Can you pick and choose among those who wish to fulfill them? Must you choose? Can every house, every hotel room, every boat be a bathhouse where you take your pleasures without guilt, without reproach? Men do it, or at least some of them do, so why not you? Women are getting on that roller coaster too, grateful for the thrill it affords their weary lives. Should you join them? Wheres the morality in that? Or has morality nothing to do with it? A month ago you walked a straight path, and now youre in the labyrinth! # You sit at your desk, thinking aboutwell, its pretty obvious what youre thinking about, but get over it, would you? You shove it aside with some effort and
train your mind on your brief meeting last week with Senator Kline. Ahem. Okay, apparently the unfortunate fiasco with the Professor only whetted Klines appetite for more action on the Patriot Act. Hes probably the only Republican whos against it, but as an actual patriot he does pay homage to Jefferson and the audacious notion that in America a person really could be freeand not just free to toe the line, either. (Forget about Nick for a minute and stick with this, would you, Jen?) Since the Patriot Act was a cleverly conceived way to sidestep that hallowed ideal and allow a circumstance where anyone might be held accountable for anythingunder the aegis of national securityKline in principle was against it. As were you. It first grabbed your attention when that boy in Oregon was sentenced to twenty-five years for ecoterrorism for sneaking into a car lot one night and spray-painting streaks on some SUVs. Murderers get less! So this is the problem, babe. On the one hand youre suddenly feeling this weird need to service your newly-kindled desires and the primal emotions that bubble up through them, wondering what principles, if any, are attached to your decision as to who does the servicingand on the other hand, all this recent anarchy is not only interfering with your sober thinking about the law and where its going, but could possibly even cause you public embarrassment and jeopardize your chance to nurture that law along in the right direction. Known tramps seldom influence public policy. Is this the old Cartesian duality, the so-called split between mind and body that seems to keep our sorry race so confused? Confused because were not entirely
sure which half makes us more properly human? If its the mind, why do we worship the body and yield to its bidding so much? And if thats the boss, where does the mind fit in? And if both are to be accommodated, even respected, holy jesus!wheres the balance? And to make matters worse, gentle frulein, what if one believes, as you yourself suspect, that we also have a spiritual nature? Can this odd and uneasy triumvirate ever be reconciled? Where are you supposed to invest your energies, your dreams? Before, you knew. Now you dont. Into this holy mess of thought walks the conquering hero Nick, who stands there regally in front of your desk, looking down at you like you were his new car, his new boat. Your face suddenly grows hot; youre blushing, arent you. Jennifer. Nick. Hes looking like hes expecting you to say something complimentary, and when you dontyou dont say anything at allhe almost seems to lose courage. To cover his tracks, he winks at you, turns and waltzes out. What was that? # And yet youre still thinking about Kline, arent you. As well you should. Knowing you, youre hoping youre getting mixed up with him for the right reasons. Sea Monster: Boorah! Boorah! She Monster: Tea, Senator? You smile stupidly at your high school English class attempt to cast a light on the seductiveness of power, with hopes for a laugh while you were at it! Youd just
better be darned sure you werent falling into that trap yourself. You remember reading about the conspicuously bland Henry Kissinger being asked once why he was forever showing up at public functions with a beautiful woman on his arm. Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac, was his cool reply. No chance of that happening to you, though, is there Patty buzzes you from Reception, saying youve got a call from Grant Morgan. You suddenly feelwhat? Cant put your finger on it? Whatever it is, it feels heavier than it should. She puts him through. He wants to have lunchthats a first. You usually meet him at night, and at his place. When he did take you to a restaurant, it was in a part of town not frequented by the crowds that either of you ran with. You suspected that he was doing this to protect you from gossip, seeing as you were a respected attorney and he waswell, that remains to be seen. But now hes changing his tactics? Was he concerned about Nick, and thinking a more public display might serve as a warning? Was this a calculated first step in the classic male fight over territory? Or did the ol boy just want a bite? On the other hand, were you ready to go public? You had Sandra to think about, and the example you were setting for her. Shes at that age where shes obviously thinking about what a woman is and what she might do, and you owed it to her to make some sense of it in your own life before presenting it to her on a platter. And then there was your mother, who seemed not only unable to handle your unattached state, but had a fixed view of who might be employed to end it. No sense in letting her hit the roof til you had a plausible rationale for singling out Grant. And
lastly, creeping into your consciousness though you may want to shut it out, you remember your incomparable day of pleasure in the deft hands of Nick and wonder if youd have to close the door on that if you were seen with Grant, should you ever want such a day again. Silly slut, of course you do. Heres how its beginning to play in your mind: you wanted Grant, and you craved just a little more of Nick. Can you have your cake and eat it, too? What woman doesnt want that? You beg off on lunch and suggest dinner instead. Dinner would lead to other things and you might be able to discover what it is about one or the other of these two men that draws you. Of course, you dont tell him that. # Frank picks you up at home at eight oclock. Grant was having lamb korma and naan delivered to his place, so the scene would be played out there. Howve you been, Frank? Cant complain. Silence. Are you married? I was once. Twenty minutes later youre riding up the elevator to the penthouse, Frank at your side. The foods already here, you say. I can smell the curry. Grant is waiting at the door with champagne in his hand for you, just like the last time. Hes in blue jeans and a V-neck sweater with no undershirt. It makes him
look younger. You take the glass from his hand and clink it to his. Chin chin, you say. And many more to come. You sit together on the sofa. He doesnt seem the least bit dangerous, and for some reason theres a tinge of disappointment in that, though you like him better for it. Strange, that. You talk about Sandra and how youre worried about her being in Madison. Want me to get her back? he asks. How would you do that? He takes a drink of his champagne before answering, maybe to think of a delicate way of putting it. After all, he was a man who, like Mohammed, goes to the mountain if the mountain wont come to him, and that meant that anything was possible. I couldstage a play where the conclusion of the last act leads to your front door. Thats what Zacks cousin promised me hed do. Or at least I put him in a position to promise. You trust some punk? No, but I didnt have much else. Let me handle it. I dont want her to hate me, Grant. Hey, do you know who youre talking to? I do stuff like this in my sleep. All
things happen for a reason, Jen, and all you have to do is create the reason. You polish off your glass and lean back on the sofa. If only life were that simple. Hungry? he asks. I could eat an equine quadruped. I could, too. Whatever the f He stops in mid-sentence and stands up. The table was set and all that was left was to retrieve the food from the oven warmer and pour some cab sav or whatever. Dinner passes in a flash and youve got one thing on your mind: you want to give him another test drive. Sure, you genuinely like the guy. You want to be close to him. But lets face it, your breasts are hankering and below the waist youre all galvanic already. To your chagrin! Thanks a lot, Nick. You dont have to wait long, because not five minutes from the table hes on your neck like a mollusk. Look, now hes stroking you like an enthusiastic zoologist the stuffed pelt of a fur seal. In a moment, your clothes are fumblingly peeled off and the excited boys lapping you like a Labrador. Its him thats the animal, girl, while youre just so abundantly pure and righteous. That is, until you start unraveling. Yes, youre losing your rudder now and hes going to know that somethings up. Youre not a she-bitch in heat but thats exactly what youre acting like. Why? Do you love him? Or is there something stronger going on here than love? No, nothing was stronger than love. Right? But you dont love Nick, and look at the ride you gave him.
Now you notice something, while your wits are still about you, barely. Grant is rough, untutored. His hands, his lips, arent deft and deadly like Nicks. Theres no technique involved. Hes acting blindly on instinct, where Nick played you like a conductor building an orchestra to the inevitable climax. Grant doesnt know what the hell hes doing; hes just the kid in the candy shop, losing control and shoving all manner of sweets into his mouth as fast as he can. Who would have thought that being devoured like this could be so endearing? And feel so incredibly good? Consume me until I am no more, and in that state of pure and perfect nothingness I will feel what every woman yearns for, whether she realizes it or not: to be possessed, and yet to be free! # On the drive home, Frank is silent. He knows what youve been up to, of course. He must. Does the thought of it stimulate his own desire, or is this just another day at the office? Suddenly you wonder how many other women hes driven home, just like this, disheveled, smelling of wine and sex. Youre not going to ask him, for sure. But at this very moment youve decided that from now on, youre the only woman Frank is going to drive home. You were the sacred candy to be feasted on; no one else. # What to do about Nick? How much sugar can a person eat? Surely a little more wont hurt. Thats a dangerous line youre walking there, lady. You remember Aesops dog, dont you?
Chapter 15
Jethro Tull
A week has passed and you dont do anything to rock the boat, because Sandra is back. In fact, shes downstairs now with Zack, and hes playing his guitar and singing some doggerel roughly to the tune of The Man Who Never Returned: She was comin round the mountain bout ninety miles an hour When the chain on her bicycle broke; Well, they found her in the grass With a pedal up her ass, And her tit was playing Dixie on the spokes. If this is your future son-in-law, youd better call in the Army (or better yet, the SWAT team), but instead you tread lightly. One false step and she could be out of here for good and you know it. Shes at an impressionable agejust like you are. So thered be no hide tanning or anything even vaguely resembling it; youd leave it up to Sandra to fathom her own folly and get with the correct program. What else can you do? You were amazed when she walked back in the door, chattering contentedly about her adventure like shed never been away. This was exactly three days after
youd talked with Grant about it. Unable to control your curiosity, youd fished for a reason. They want me to play backup on a CD, shed replied. What CD? The guy who asked you where I was, the music guy, came all the way to Madison to see me. Oh, that guy, you said, lying through your teeth because you knew no such guy. Yeah, jazz flutes a rare commoditythats how he put it, and even though he said Im on the young side, hed heard about me and thought hed give me a shot. He said Chicago was big on jazz in the Thirties and even some of the greats started in their teens. You had tried to act happy for her, instead of completely taken aback. You were happy for her, for sure, once the surprise wore off. Apparently a small local label was putting out an album and she, of course, needed to be in town to work on it. The only place in town to stay was home, because Zack didnt have any cousins here. That worked out pretty well. Thanks, Grant. And Im going to get paid for it! she had giggled. What about Zacks cousin? What did he say about it? Him? Oh, I think he wanted us out anyway, because he started talking about needing his privacy, and how we had school to think about and all. You feel with some satisfaction that the combined effort of you on the cousin
and Grants front man on Sandra had at last done the trick. Your daughter was back! But tonight in bed, alone in the dark, youre overcome with misgivings, arent you. Didnt you go against everything you believed in? Underhandedly manipulating the situation in order to get the outcome you wantedthe very abuse you lamented the law was subject to in the courtroom! That wouldnt do and you know it. But what choice did you have? And now you see how enormous your problem is in revitalizing that lawbecause its personal, isnt it. For everyone! Everybody wants something! # So there they are, the dubious duo, Zack on his stringy guitar and Sandra snapping her little teenybopper fingers, singing the unworthy and the puerile downstairs while you sit in your room pondering. Wouldnt it be lovelytheres a word not often used but there may be none betterif you could give Grant a call and in three days Zack would be gone? Off on a Panamanian-flagged ship bound for Mombasa, or called to serve his country by filling a critical position at our research station at Antarctica? Before things get out of hand downstairs, you think to intervene. You march down the steps. Theyre in the den, he on the sofa plucking and she on the white plush rug, her feet up on the cushion next to him. He was crooning like that cat that sometimes visits your yard and plays havoc with your garden. You think to wring the kids neck but decide the better course is to offer them a snack. Anything to stop the corrupting drivel thats coming from his mouth and insinuating itself into her all too receptive consciousness.
When you had poured out your exasperation to Del in a weak moment at work, he had proposed a novel solution: Why dont you just do a Japanese Duck Pop on him? You remembered reading about the Duck Pop in college, a mystical procedure practiced by certain Zen masters in Edo-period Japan as a motivational tool for novices, much as yogic flying is used today by some yoga practitioners to wow and spur on the trainees. In the Duck Pop, the master inserts, with the greatest delicacy, his finger and then entire hand up a ducks behind until its all the way inside. Then, reaching that hand up, he grasps the duck around the neck and, in one quick motion, pulls the duck out through its own orifice, the duck disappearing with an audible pop! Del was suggesting you try that on Zack. Nurse, pass the latex gloves. You guys want some popcorn? you ask. Zack stops long enough to answer. Cool. You go into the kitchen. See, heres the thing. If you try to pull them apart, theyll only hold onto each other more tightly. You start badmouthing him and shell look for the good thingsthere must be some. But if you go on about the good things, shell get mad because shell think youre just being sarcastic. If you say nothing at all, shell interpret that as a tacit seal of approval. This is definitely a no-win situation and you know it. What would Grant do? Hed definitely have a creative solution, but you already asked his help once and though you were happy with the result, the means was unpalatableso that was out. What about Jack? Would her father be able to influence her? Probably not. She presumably had a love-hate
relationship with himshe never forgave him for walking out, but she gets off on the motorcycle and the fast car and all the luxurious pampering shes gotten since the divorce. So hes about as useless as you are in this situation. Hey, Jen, make the damn popcorn. The kids are waiting. # Thursday afternoon. Youre having lunch at the club with your mother. You pause between bites. Im meeting with Senator Kline next week. Hes flying in for a couple of days. I dont want you getting mixed up in politics, she says. Why not? It might be fun. Sure, itll be fun, and the next thing you know youll quit your job and run off to Washington to work on somebodys staff or something. Twice the work at half the pay, and when a new administration comes in, all that youve accomplished goes out the window. Nothing could be twice the work Im doing now. You know what I mean. Shes fooling around with her Caesar salad like someone doodling while talking on the phone. Anyway, if I do move, itll be after Sandra goes off to college. Then it hits you: better than a Grant plan, less crude than a Duck Pop, and no lasting recrimination from Sandraa move to D.C.! You work on the law from the power center, Sandra rubs noses with a higher caliber of friends, and no Zack with
his noisy car and foul guitar, pulling her down! And shell only hate you for a month or so. Your reverie is interrupted by two men passing by your table. One of them stops. Grant Morgan! Ladies, he says with a nod and a smile and moves on, taking a table with his associate in the corner. Your mother looks at you in surprise. What was that all about? she asks. I have no idea. The only reason they let him in the club is hes so damned charming. That and his money. I suppose his money is as good as ours. Dont kid yourself. Hes in it up to his ears. In what? You name it. If theres something with a dark backside You dont know what youre talking about, do you. Hes a businessman. All businessmen have their little dark corners. I never thought Id hear you stand up for him. Whos standing up for him? Someday soon youd have to tell her. Anyway, you go on, I promise Im not moving to Washington. And you mean it. The fantasy was sweet, but the reality could be a lot less so. It was a hard
city, like L.A. Everyone was your friend, and yet no one was. She looks at you, suddenly serious, almost teary. I dont want to lose you. Youre not going to lose me. # Sandra was up in her room, practicing her flute. She was trying to play along with Miles Davis, with only limited success. Theres a knock at the front door. Its Zack. Shes practicing. Is it okay to go on up? he asks tentatively, as if awkwardly aware of talking to the gatekeeper of her putative virginity. Okay, but let her finish. Ten seconds later, she stops. You grimace but theres no one there to see it. Five minutes pass and Zack bops down the stairs and out the door. The practicing doesnt start again and you wonder why. You go upstairs and knock on her door, which is ajar. Looking in, you see her sitting on her bed, crying. Whats the matter? you ask, going in. I dont want to see Zack anymore. Ive heard that before. What happened? He didnt want to hear me practice. He said jazz is like, just a bunch of notes with no beat. So I turned off the Miles Davis and told him Id put on something easier to understand, like Jethro Tull. He gets all bent out of shape and says Im a snobby
bitch, which is probably true but he didnt have to say it. You put your arm around her. I dont think youre a snobby bitch, dear. Youre just saying that because youre my mother. Yes, Im your mother, but Im saying it because Im trying, and Im going to try, to be honest with you. I may end up regretting it, but at least then you can believe what I say. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and looks at you. You dont like Zack, do you. You pause for a moment. No; no I dont. I dont like him at all.
Chapter 16
Land of the Free
Nick is all over you about going out on his boat again, as if he had finally found the key to your heart, or at least to your consent. You wonder if he doubted being able to get the same result from his bedroom, and frankly, so did you. Would you be as quick to unmask yourself to him and his desires if he didnt have the violent seismic power of nine hundred horses at his service? Or were the hot coals still present from that fire, only needing the proper stick to stir them to life again, regardless of venue? Youd have to put that to the test, wouldnt you. And admit it its not just curiosity, either. You agree to go with him, but not to his boat. You tell him youd rather go for lunch, maybe to a restaurant or to his house, knowing full well hell choose his house. Men are such predictable little kids sometimes. Look, hes jumping down like an excited puppy. But first theres business to take care of. Kline would be back in Chicago again tomorrow. He was meeting first with the chairman of the state Republican Committee, ostensibly to smooth the mans feathers about the Patriot Act stuff. Kline had a fairly safe seat, as his tad more right-brained interpretation of Republican politics meant that even some Democrats in the state voted for him and would
probably continue to vote for him, at least until some liberal young gun came riding in on a white horse, though people werent holding their breath. But Kline needed the continued support of his own party, as he really couldnt afford to be branded soft on terror the way some people not long ago were painted with a similar stripe on communism. In any case, after that meetingbarring a dogfight or assassination hed meet with you. You had no idea what he had in mind, but whatever it was, it would be a good first step in your march toward hammering the legal system into something more in line with what our nearly forgotten forefathers intended. It may not be perfect yet, Ms Knox, Tom Jefferson would say to you over a glass of Madeira as you stood with the men in the drawing room before dinner, but you did your part. # Herb Kline was no Jefferson but he did believe, as youve already realized, in the noble potential of human freedom. And he hated the idea of taking it away to protect it. It seemed to both of you that we were doing just that. Like that spray paint kid from Oregon. Twenty-five years? No, slap him damned hard on the wrist six months in jail to let him think of a better way to do itand by all means make him pay full restitutionto the pennybut dont ruin his life and turn him out into society a bitter man who hates his country and what it did to him! Meanwhile the frigging dragnet of terrorism keeps getting widerwho with an unpopular opinion, an uncivil act, was next? As far as you and Kline were concerned, this was the new face of McCarthyism, and who stands against it? Perilous times, these, in the land of the free. So saith Senator Kline, glass of Perrier in his hand!
Its after-hours in his Chicago office, and youve ordered in meatball sandwiches. Youre chowing down on them now. The conversation having lulled, you can hear the low hum of electrical machinery, maybe the buildings air circulation system. It almost feels like youre in a submarine. And the enemys out there, though unseen. Will you and Kline be able to fire a torpedo with any accuracy, or will depth charges dropped on your unknowing heads blow you out of the water? You dont mind dying, but everything in its time. You dont want to drown in what you see as a sea of faux-patriots and their credulous followers. Youve got important work to do. Kline polishes off his sandwich and cleans his hands thoroughly with a wet wipe. Youre still working on yours. Jen, Ive known you for a long time. I knew your father. I respected him. You dont know if this calls for a reply or not. He continues. I dont want this exercise in First Amendment rights to jeopardize your career, or mine either. We think were big, but were not. Were bugs easily stepped on and forgotten. Try to remember that. Even the President has his hands tied, in spite of all his bold words. The moment we go past a certain point, were gone. The key is to know where that point is. Thats the whole thing. To say and do what we have to say and do, without getting hanged for it. He suddenly leans forward and winces, a hand on one side of his abdomen. Are you all right? you ask. Ive been better. Have you seen a doctor?
He recovers slightly and leans back. Who has time? Anyway, most of the worlds work is done by men who dont feel well. Know who said that? The late Senator Everett Dirksen from the great state of Illinois. A good Republican, too, I heard. The best. Another lull, and you hear the hum again. Run silent, run deep. Ready that torpedo. And watch your stepone inch too far and youll be hanged, stepped on like a bug, or depth-charged to smithereens. Any way you look at it, itll be an unpleasant way to go. # Two days pass and youre sitting in the den reading Ayn Rand, hoping to understand Kline a little better. It occurs to you that you can never really know someone til you have to depend on them. And they you. Still, any bit of understanding you could glean in the meantime would be helpful, possibly even at some point critical. Upstairs you can hear Zack and his vile guitar. What does Sandra see in him? Or cant it be seen? What forces move a woman to her choices, good and bad, even at fourteen?! The phone rings. Its Kline, calling from Washington. He offers a few pleasantries and then gets down to business. So, he says, about that matter we discussed. Im going to have my staff
research casesarrests and prosecutions. Domestic only; whats out of the country is probably out of our control at this point. Ill send the material to you. I want you to see if you can find a pattern, a weakness. Hopefully both. Something we can hang our hat on. Can you do it? Sure. This requires the utmost discretion, you realize. Of course. Good. Give us a couple of weeks to organize our end. He mentions the trees beautifully changing colors in nearby Arlington and bids adieu. His voice had sounded strained. You remember him telling you when he was here not to say anything on the phone too revealing, or worse, incriminating due to the resurgence of federal wiretapping, legal or otherwise. Apparently its making a comeback. Do you know what youre getting yourself into? The point past which you dare not go seems awfully close to where your feet are right now. You dont have a lot of wriggle room there, kid. You try to get back into The Fountainheadan intelligent person bravely carving out his own destiny through individual initiativebut the book seems tedious. Wheres the esprit de corps? Wheres the rhythm of the tribe? Rand seems to be glorifying a detribalized world where atoms and not molecules reign, yet wheres the usefulness of atoms if not in combination? You sound like a socialist now, Jennifer. Next thing you know, youll be saying malcontent Muslims are people, just like us. Wont that get you in hot water with some people!
You put down your book, not marking the page, and go upstairs to Sandras room. The door is open a crack, as per your longstanding instructions when company is over. You knock and enter. Its eight-thirty. Youd better practice; your first rehearsal is on Saturday. I know, she says defensively from her position on the floor next to Zack, her back against the bed. Zack looks up at you stupidly. Youd better go, you say. Gotcha, he replies, starting to get up languidly, like a bear barely out of hibernation, guitar still in hand. Just ten more minutes, Sandra says, holding him back. Then Ill practice. I promise Ill practice for an hour. She should be promising herself, not you. Well, youve made your point, so theres no sense in antagonizing them. You go out, leaving the door wide open. Just a little reminder. Much later, as youre lying in bed with the lights out, you feel as though brutish, indiscriminate hands are reaching toward you out of the darkness. In the four years since Jack left, youve built a fortress around yourself out of your own indomitable will, and now its as though its crumbling, brick by painstakingly carved granite brick. Ft Knox, Del had once called you. Could he see that that description no longer fit? You try to change the stream of your thoughts to something less disturbing but even vivid and wanton images of Nick working his magic on you arent distracting enough. For some inexplicable reason, you turn on the table lamp and call
Grant Morgan. # Talking to someone, even the briefest insipid chitchat, has calmed you a bit, but as you lie in bed you still have the remains of a knot in your stomach. You worry about what youre becoming, and what kind of world youre going to leave to Sandra. Discussing the plan with Kline really drove the latter home to you. How shall America fulfill its destiny? What part will you play? Will you be crushed? Ignored? In the home of the brave, people shouldnt have to fear their own government. Not you or I, of course, but those shady individuals with foreign connections or everso-ardent principles about the environment or the protection of animals. These are some of the pointed thoughts that are haunting you, arent they, because you not only feel moved to advance the law of the landbold girl!but your task is magnified because of your own governments transgression of that law, and the true spirit of ithere and abroad. It just could be a problem bigger than you can handle. It must seem terribly daunting, Jen. The Aztecs performed human sacrifices because deep in their hearts they believed this would appease the gods and society would be protected. Yes, and it kept people in line. And you worry that thats what may be happening now. Yet you know from your reading that those proud and fearful sons and daughters of Quetzalcoatl honored, even revered those they sacrificedin gratitudeunlike our own sacrificial lambs who we consider deserving to be spat on in all the subtle ways we can devise. And you, Jen, maybe a patriot in your own right, might find yourself joining them!
Chapter 17
Fraternity Rush
Okay, so youre going to give Nick another run. Just to see whether its chemistry or actual human feeling that drew you to him, right? Hardly. Youre fairly certain it was unadulterated chemistry with its wicked array of neurotransmitters that caused you to open up like an oyster on the half shell, and to your mortification you want to know if its the boat that did it. To be aroused by twin Mercury marine engines is no credit to your dignity, though it could be construed as a sign of our flawed humanness. Awkward creatures, we. Saturday brought a change of weather: it was one of those steady deluges, so the boat would have been out anyway, save maybe for use as an ark. You arrive at Nicks house at one for lunch. He doesnt cook but he can order a fairly mean gnocchi, and thats where it all starts. From that point youre wondering where itll end, arent you. Witless girlyou already know the answer to that. You just dont know how youll feel when you get there. Also, before you go down that road, you just might want to know a little more about Nick. Working with someone and sitting on their living room floor rubbing toes with them with a dumpling fork in your hand are two different experiences. The guy you see now may be a little closer to the real thing. How close, you werent sure.
Better find out, before the serotonin et al kick in. If they havent already. Even now youre getting that giddy sensation, arent you. Tsk tsk. After we eat, I want a tour of the house, you say. You can learn a lot about a person by their house, you think, though his ex-wife probably did most of the decorating. He leers at you, thinking you had one particular room in mind. No, you correct him; I mean a proper tour. You want to see if there are socks on the bathroom floor, if my exs picture is on the nightstand by the bed. That sort of thing, yes. Do you want to see the photos in my wallet, too? Have any? No. Ill pass on those, then. He looks at you intently, as if he were surprised at your newfound interest in him. After all, at work you always treated him more or less with your arm extended and your open palm in front of his facein a manner of speakingand even last weekend you didnt have a whole lot to talk about. First because the boat was too noisy, and later, well, lets not go into that. So whats this something new from you, hes probably thinking. Another thing to consider, Jen. What if he really likes you? Ever think of that? Of course its not that you were preoccupied only with yourself and everything thats been happening latelythough, lets face it, thats probably part of it. Yet hes a
person too, and you know it. A human being. But the fact is that the Greek god impersonator sitting in front of you with the toned body, fab house, expensive sports car and pocketful of toys always seemed like a caricature to you. He was either too good to be true or he was an overgrown boy acting like Apollo because people around him would buy iteither way, you doubted there was any depth of feeling there. Isnt this why youd always resisted your mothers schemes to get the two of you together? You brought something to the table; he didnt. And this is why, even now, youre not too worried about breaking his heart when you cast him to the dogs, which youre fairly certain youre going to do. He doesnt run deep enough to be hurt badly. Or so you believe. I love this spicy sauce, you say. My tongue is tingling. Again he gives you a suggestive look. Thats it!hes a frat boy. Hes a Lambda Chi brat with an eye for a pretty girlyou flatter yourself hereand in his godlike way he just wants whats rightfully his. And most probably youre going to give it to him, just to see what its likewithout the boat. Are you a horrible bitch or is this a legitimate quest for knowledge? But he gets what he wants, so why should he care? But heres the thing: you care. You take a last swig of your local microbrew and it takes the piquant edge off your palate. Im ready for that tour. # You love the old Buddhist story of the monk who was traveling through the
mountains and lost his footing on a narrow ledge. Falling over the side, the jagged rocks a hundred feet below, he manages to grab hold of a scraggly bush and dangle there. As the earth slowly crumbles around it, the bush being pulled out by its roots, the monk spies a few wild strawberries growing in a crack in the rocky cliff face. As the bush is nearly ready to give way, he picks a strawberry and eats it. Mmm, he says, that berry is sweet. You had tried to cultivate this presence of mindto live fully in the present most often falling short. You were struggling with it now, on two accounts. First, as you saw it, you didnt want to think of what was going to happen when the tour of the house was over: if you did find yourself in flagrante, youd find that either you were a slut for the Mercury engines last Saturday or you were in fact attracted to Nick himself, even though you didnt actually like himand either result would be humiliating, though you had to find out. Second, you were trying not to think about Grant, who you had unwisely promised to see tonight. How could you face him after this inane expedition for carnal knowledge today? If only you could think just of this moment, as Nick guides you through the rooms, and nothing else. Sometimes you feel the past weighs you down too much, the future even more, so that the present seems like a shadow existence you dwell in with hope but at times only half a heart. This is the library, Nick says. I inherited the books from my father, and converted a bedroom to house them. Look, this ones a first-edition Walden Pond. Spend much time in here? I dont have much of a chance, really. Im saving it for my golden years.
I thought these were our golden years. He doesnt comment, but puts the book carefully back in its place on the shelf and leads on. This is the kitchen, obviously. Its huge. My ex thought wed do a lot of entertaining, until she tried it once. After that, it was dinner for two and when in need, a call to the caterer. Ive never heard you speak highly of her. Wasnt much to speak of, really. And yet you married her. Can I ask why? All the guys wanted her. But hey, I was young. Youre wiser now. Much. Next room. This iswell, you can see what it is. Exercycle, treadmill, barbells, bench press. Swiss ball, rowing machine. Yoga mats. Looks like the Athletic Club. No squash court? This is my home away from home, home being the office, of course. Next. Bath and sauna. Next.
Rec room. Next. Home office. Next. Guest bedroom. Next. Laundry. Next. Conservatory. You step inside to have a look around. Its warm and humid. I didnt know you were interested in orchids. Theyre rentals. The same company that supplies the firms plants. They come in twice a week to take care of em, talk to em, whatever they do. What do you like, Nick? What really interests you? I thought you knew. You. Here he makes his move, and of course you let him, if without real enthusiasm. Thats why youre here, isnt it? Hasnt this whole scenario already been planned, and youre just walking him through the steps? You know that. Does he? As you feel his lips touch yours, his body pressed against yours, youre surprised to find yourself warming to him. Or is it the sensual wet heat of the conservatory? In any case, when he reaches for your breast you offer it to him gladly, even with an involuntary whimper from your throat that tells him that his time has
come. Lunch was merely the appetizer, you the main course. Youll willingly give yourself up to immolation in the violent heat of his desire, for youll surely warm to your own rewards. Breaking off the prolonged kiss, he takes your hand and silently leads you upstairs to his room. What are you thinking now? Thats right, absolutely nothing. Your mind is Death Valley at high noon. Standing beside the bed, you peel off each others clothes, though not with the abandon you experienced the last time he stripped you bare. Maybe its because you know whats around the corner now and you can maintain your self-control in the knowledge that youll get every bit of whats coming to youin fact, youre banking on it. Theres no rush, then, is there. You intend to relish every titillating square inch of his unblemished flesh, placing your lips there if possible to drink it in. Youre pretty much running on instinct nowthat didnt take longand this time youre going to take this divine diversion at your leisure. And to extend your campaign a little, you just might practice a little dexterity on Nickgive him a taste of what hes been missing. You might even find out what youre capable of, given half a chance. Divested of all encumbrances now, you maneuver him onto the bed, he the willing student, the former novice now the brazen master. Youre a quick study. You revel in your power as you slowly take Nick to the breaking point but not beyond, and when youre sufficiently satisfied that he has been transported to that wanton cloud far beyond nine, you change your position over the course of a minute or so to where hes in the drivers seat and youre ready for your ride. He gets the message and starts putting his abundant skills to work til youre out of your world
and completely into his. Its a wicked and capricious carnival he runs, and step by excruciating step you find yourself drawn in and embracing it in its entirety. In due time within perfect timelessness, you flustered and excited beyond reason in this delirious funhouse of his, its then and only then that he gifts you with his wild and resourceful tumescence, not once but again and again and again until your release finally and fearfully comes. # Youve got one foot in this room and one in the other when you finally open your eyes. Youve traveled the length and breadth of synaptic space and its only slowly and with difficulty that you return to more ordinary consciousness. Your first thought is to say wow but you dont want him to think youre an amateur passenger on his streamlined conveyance to the stars. If anything was going to be said, let him say it. You take a deep breath and let it out languidly. Nick feels you stirring, props himself up and delivers a wet, grateful kiss. He withdraws himself from you, reluctantly it seems, gets up and goes into the bathroom. Look at that form! Its as though he were sculpted out of marble by a master, tanned to golden and then animated by a divine hand. Is he aware of his own beauty? Can he pass a mirror without staring? He leaves the bathroom door open and you can hear in precise rendering his sonorous act of drainage, and youre compelled to picture him performing it. Even the gods have immodest habits! A few seconds later comes the sound of the indecorous
flush and hes back next to you on the bed. He probably wants you to touch that faultless body again, adore it, but instead he takes your chin in his hand. He wants to say something. What is it? you ask. I dont know. I thought it was a little strange, thats all. What was? What you said. What did I say? I dont remember saying anything. You probably wouldnt. You werehow can I sayright on the verge, and you told me not to stop. Thats strange? No, its how you said it. What do you mean? How did I say it? You dont remember? No. You said, dont stop, frat boy, please dont stop.
Chapter 18
A Gift for the Undeserving
You were going to Grants place at eight. He said hed send Frank for you as usual, but you called and told him you wanted to drive over yourself. He probably thought that meant you didnt plan to drink much, but you had a different reason, though you werent sure what it was. He gave you the codes for the parking garage and the elevator to the penthouse, and told you to park next to the Chrysler. You hadnt made a total marathon of it today with Nick, unlike last Saturday on the boat where the two of you had hardly come up for air. Nick had the stamina of a horse, although possibly he had assistance. Today, however, you had one good long crack at that Greek-chiseled body and called it a day. Did you find out what youd gone there to find out? Maybe. Apparently you havent processed it all yet. One thing was certain: it wasnt only the boat. That had just been the means to take you to the level where anything was possible, and then Nick took over to make it possible. The initial hurdle overcome, today you hadnt needed nine hundred throbbing horsepower to get you there. Now you yourself knew the way, and how placing yourself in Nicks hands could be done without help from Mercury engines. Still, the first step in your seduction had been by machinethat much was
clear to you. There goes your pride, Jen, at least in part. You justify it on the grounds that, if it please the court, it delivered to you a greater goodan altered state of mind so foreign and exquisiteand now you could get to that place on your own, needing only Nick to pull the ineffable rabbit out of the hat. You learned something else, didnt you? In spite of your mothers deepest yearnings, you could never marry a man like Nick. To put it simply: when the fireworks were over, what else was there to talk about but it were wondrous good? Lets face it, you still dont care for the guy. Imagine facing a man like that across the table for a lifetime. Youd passed on the offer to have a sauna and shower over there. You wanted the leisure to go home and remove every trace of Nick Walker from your body and, if possible, your mind. The man with the magic touch would be history now, and you could step into your challenging future chastened but hopeful. After Nick, you see Grant in a new light, dont you. Not only a man of accomplishment, but of feeling. A skillful and deadly hunter in the world of men who could be an unrestrained but affectionate and respectful boy in your embrace. You see more clearly nowor at least it seemsthat the ravenous but tender way he eats you alive is expressive of a man so hungry for a woman to believe his own, to merge his soul with. That he was said to be dangerous only served to highlight how miraculous it was that he could even offer his soul. How do you know he was offering it? You felt it. Only it took the experience of the last two Saturdays with Nick to make you aware of it. It was Grants shell that held the pearl. You were certain of that now.
# The drive over was uneventful. Little traffic, no lunatics, and the Mercedes afforded a silent, secure capsule insulating you from anything beyond the reach of your hand. Just like Grants car. Nick drove a Mercedes, too, but his SL was lower to the ground, had a stiffer rideas sports cars doand the convertible top allowed all the world to come in and swirl around you, dust and all. Of course it was stimulating, making your body feel every element, every movement, but that was Nicks thing, not yours. If you were to focus on the road ahead, youd need peace and stability. You buzz yourself into the parking garage via a four-number code and nose in gracefully next to the Chrysler. Where was Frank when he wasnt behind the wheel? Sitting at home watching TV, a girlfriend and her two kids contentedly at his feet? Or out pounding the crap out of some unlucky punk who had tried to move in on Grant Morgans territory? Did Grant even have a territory? No, his crimes, if there were any, would all be on paper, buried in pages of accountants figures and international transfers of money. It was all a matter of interpretation, you were sure. After all, years of hard courtroom experience, servicing the best and the worst, had made you a fairly good judge of character. You knew decency and you knew slime. There was no way you were taking the elevator up to slime. Grant was waiting there with two glasses of the usual, and you think this endearing. The two of you toast and head for the lounge suite. An almost forgotten Aaron Neville is crooning in the background. So, Grant says to you, how was your day?
Is morality to be had in telling the truth under fire? Or in remaining chaste in the first place so that the truth would be as palatable as cake and just as sweet? How could you set an example for Sandra if you yourself werent surenowadays anywaywhat the different shades of right and wrong were? On the way over, you were thinking this very thing. There you were, acting as the gatekeeper to Sandras increasingly alluring happy valley as it were, at least until she had matured enough that you could pass the key along to herif she hadnt purloined it already and unlocked the gate herselfand yet you were suddenly a little too free with your own keythough not indiscriminately, you had hastened to add. Like your mother, always admonishing you to keep your knees together, you were now doing the same with Sandra, the exception being that you were spreading yours. Morality, or whatever one called it, has become problematic, hasnt it, Jen. Ethics. Doing the right thing. Living the just life. And yet as you cautiously tread this suddenly gray ground, you dont feel particularly bad when you fudge your answer to Grants question about your day. Not bad, you say with a noncommittal tone. Not bad, as if to say it were a day like any other. Unmemorable. Ordinary. After all, it was Grant you now fully realized you wanted, thereby rendering Nick more or less immaterial in the greater plan. Thus the day was relatively unimportant. Not bad tidily sums up such a day. Now you pray he doesnt follow up with What did you do? Youd never lie to him, of course, though in this case you couldnt tell him the truth. Ive got something for you, he says.
Me? you ask, as if no one could be more undeserving. He picks up a red velvet case from the coffee table and hands it to you. Here. Whats the occasion? You. Youre the occasion. You open the case. A pearl necklace. Oh my god. Mikimoto. How does it feel to be treated like this? Im speechless. Thats a first, he kids. Here, let me see how it looks on you. He takes the necklace from the case and puts it around your neck. Perfect fit, he says, as if it wouldnt be. You bound up from the sofa and go to a narrow wall mirror made from smoky gold-swirled glass. You look at it, and yourself, approvingly. Its Yes, it is, he says from over your shoulder, admiring the same view. You turn to kiss him but suddenly hesitate, fearing he might get a smell or taste of Nick, though youd scrubbed your body in its entirety. He must have caught your reluctance but says nothing. More than that, he doesnt pull you to him in that roughly tender way as he usually does. Instead, he returns to the sofa. Now you have another worry. What if this is to be a night of love? Could you switch the tenor of your response from one man to another in the course of several hours? At least the last time, youd had three or four days to return to equilibrium.
Right now you were probably still vibrating to Nicks frequencyhe had so skillfully dialed you thereand Grant was sure to notice. Your sounds, your movements, unconscious as they were to you at the time, must surely give you away. And if tonight Papa Bear says, Someones been sleeping in my bed, what will your response be? The lawyer in you tries to think up a plausible defense, to no avail. What judge would rule in your favor? So why did you even come here tonight? If it was to stake your claim, your timing is lousy, kid. You realize that now. Its dawning on you that not even you can pull it off, Miss So-Goddam-Smart-and-Good. You return to the sofa and pick up your glass, which Grant has topped up. You drink. Youre not saying much tonight, he comments. Like I said, Im speechless. Are you hungry? Im hungry and speechless. Thats okay, isnt it? He gets up and takes you to the dining room, you following along like some old prospectors weary burro, too heavily burdened to contemplate escape. # Each tick of the clock, though you cant hear it, propels you to a decision you dont want to make: should you yield to his advances tonight? But this merely conceals the more important issue: to tell or not. Dinner was Cornish game hen with garlic mashed potatoes and snow peas, rounded out with an excellent pinot noir.
I could get used to this, you say. Dont hold back, then, he replies, though youre not quite sure of his meaning. You drag your fork through dinner, hoping to buy yourself some time. Time to think, time to craft a plan. You come up with zip. Whats on your mind, Jen? Nothing. Im just not feeling myself tonight. Want to talk about it? Not really. You finish dinner with a few words of small talk, then its the sofa again. He hasnt touched you all evening. He pours a brandy; you decline one for yourself. So what now? Okay, just give it to him. Let him have it with both barrels. Tell him everythingget it out in the open. Well, not everything. But before you have a chance to spill it, he turns to you with intensity in his face, as if he, too, had been holding something inside that demanded out. This is it for us, then, he says coldly. What do you mean, this is it? You know exactly what I mean. For the first time, I thought I was falling for a classy woman and not just another worthless skirt who likes to play around. But I was wrong, wasnt I? Hes onto you! His words hit you like armor-piercing shells and raw emotion bleeds right out the holes. You know! How do you know?
Chicagos a small townI know everything that goes on here. You know that. You burst into tears, a most un-Jenniferlike thing, and it makes you panic. It was nothing. It was just a joyride, thats all. You have to believe me. Its you I want, Grant. You. Just listen to you. Youre blubbering. And hes unmoved. I put you above all the others. I like my ladiesIm sure youve heard about thatand I got more than my share, believe me. But I put all that behind me when I met you. I actually thought you were someone I could give myself over to, and you might do the same for me. And this is my payback. He gets up, apparently disgusted, and goes over to turn off the music. The room turns into a tomb, the stillness oppressive. So why dont you go, he says over his shoulder. Get the hell out of my sight. You stand, shaken. Why didnt you say something before? Why torture me? He turns around to face you across the room. Why should I have to? I was waiting for you to tell me. If you wouldve told me, well, at least there mightve been something to salvage. I was going to tell you. When? Just now. Just now is a little late, dont you think? No, something broke and I dont think it can be fixed.
You want to go to him, span the vast distance between you and him across the room, grasp him with tenacious arms, console him, console yourself, but thats not you. Even in misery you want to stand on your own. You push back fresh sobs you feel rising in your throat, and pick up your bag. Ill go, then. Ill call Frank. He can drive you. No, Ill be all right. In the cold empty luxury of the elevator down, the tears come again but you dont care. Maybe its not so bad to release the appalling stress of the days events, purge yourself of their poison. Poor dog crossing the bridge, sees another bone in the water below. The stupid cur ends up with nothing. On top of that, the unexpected call today from Klines office. Hes out of the picture! For good!
Chapter 19
Indian Summer
The next morning is chilly as you stand in the garden. Autumn wants to get into full swing, so youd better pick the last of the vegetables before the frost comes. As you kneel down and listlessly tear the ripe fruity issue from the stalks and vines, your hand stops in mid-pull, your fingers still around a blood-red tomato. You let it go and head for the house, wiping your hands on your jeans as you stride. Once inside, you make a call to Big Sur, California. # The weather is balmy in San Francisco as you cross the car rental lot and climb into your Buick. Its going to be an easy couple-hour drive down the coast, beside a sea you havent seen since you were twelve. You remember the sea lions at Monterey, and the redwoods in the hills, but thats about it. This time youre seeing nothing at all, except for the road ahead. Big Surwhat was it like? From what youd gleaned from conversations with Summer, it wasnt even a town so much as a rustic community of hippies, disaffected intellectuals and artists, all wanting to get away from the mad machinations of the society at largethough creeping wealth had driven out many of the true artists and others with the power to actually think an original thought. Well, something like
that. You finally arrive at the turnoff and follow it four miles, as per Summers instructions. Some of the trees were gigantic! You envisage their roots being so massive and extensive that they literally cradled the ground and everything that walked on itimagine living with so much life all around you: above you, surrounding you, and even beneath your feet. For all of Chicagos airy, glassy beauty, it could hardly compare with this. And the inhabitants of this towering Eden breathed ozone-charged air every day! Fresh air with every breath! You arrive at a gravel road marked with a handmade sign which reads, Dreamland and you turn into it. Following it about a mile, you pass homes and cabins of various sizes and states of repair, and even a tepee. You go by an orangedappled field of ripening pumpkins. Finally you come to a rutted driveway lined entirely with maples in torrid reds, yellows and purples. It seems youve arrived at Dreamland. # Aunt Summer is on her dungareed knees in a garden in front of the house as you pull up. Her t-shirt has Kick Butt printed on it in large letters. Youre early, she calls to you through your open window. I wasnt in a sightseeing mood. Maybe you will be on the way back, she says with a knowing confidence. You pull next to a yellow Fifties-era pickup truck that has Chevrolet painted in embossed letters on the tailgate, only the T has faded or been painted over.
Getting out of the car, you pause to take in the feeling of the place. Its too much and too varied to describe, so you find yourself dumbing down to Its warm here. Its California, she says, standing up and brushing herself off. Itll get chilly at night soon enough, though. Thats when we like to build a fire out back and have friends over. Mother said you liked your campfires. Theyre enchanting, no doubt about it. You take a deep breath. The trees. The fragrance is incredible. I remember it now. Name me a French perfume that smells better. She walks over to embrace you. Dont mind my dirt. Real dirt is about the only thing I trust anymore. Youre a big girl, but somehow the warmth of her body, her arms, is comforting, always has been. Your mother sometimes hugged you, but never like this. This was soexpressive. Cmon inside, child. Ill make you some coffee. The weathered wood of the house blends in with the surroundings, you think as you walk up the sturdy steps. Whats that smell? you ask. Cedar shake. Our roof comes from Oregon.
You go inside. The rustic decor seems to be a cross between Mexican and Native American, like the pictures of Santa Fe homes youve seen in magazines. Dwayne built this place. Friends helped, of course, like one of those Amish barn-raisings. Took all of six days. Course the planning and prep work took a couple months before that, and the finishing work inside a couple more. How do you like your coffee? Any way, as long as its strong. Thats what I like to hear. Ill make us some to curl your hair. Already you were feeling the beginnings of decompression. There was something of a relief just being in Summers presence, though you dont know why. To touch the hem of her garment seemed the first step in being healed. But whats this about being healed, Jennifer? You hope its just a temporarily troubled psyche, but you cant shake the feeling that its more than that. You have a beautiful soul, Summer, you say abruptly. Why cant I? She stops what shes doing and looks at you thoughtfully. Its yours for the asking. Ive been asking all along but I feel like Im getting nowhere sometimes. She muses. Ive always found that its in the priorities we set for ourselves. Whatevers most important, well, that leads you to where you are. You sit down at the table. I want to change the world. I want love. I want never-ending orgasmic
delightI just found that out. And in spite of myself, I want to be pretty; I dont want to lose my looks. Ah, the plague of the modern woman. But that just means youre human. Humans are I want machines, kidits how were built. It seems to me that the only way to survive it is to turn the wants for me into wants for other people. I want my country to be happy. I want my partner to be happy. I want my longsuffering parents to be happy. The more of these youre able to transform, the happier youll be. I know, women of today dont want to give like thatits a legacy of being taken from all these years, and were talking millennia here. But youll find that theres a big difference between giving and being taken from. Most women today dont see the distinction. Do you? You think a moment. No. Maybe thats part of the problem, then. She finishes making the coffee and pours two cups. Smells great. I hope the taste lives up to it. Cheers. You toast with a cup for the first time and drink in silence. The coffees good. Wheres Dwayne? you finally ask. He went to get some special wood for the sweat lodge. Youre kidding. No; we built an Indian sweat lodge out back a couple of years ago. Judging by
what you said on the phone, I thought you might be in need of a little purging. Is it safe? The stronger your mind, the safer it is. It can be a little daunting physically, but its the mind it really works on. Ill try it, you say with sudden and bold finality. I knew you would. # After lunch, Summer asks if youd like to take a walk. Why not see the giant trees up close, even touch them, like you did as a twelve-year-old? Sure, you were game. While Summer clears the table, you retrieve your suitcase from the car and put on your space-age waterproof suede hiking shoes. Summer slips on the same worn work boots she had on in the garden, straps a water bottle around her waist, and leads you out the back door, across the deck and down the steps into the yard. Is that it? you ask, seeing the roughly-constructed, igloo-like structure at the side of the yard. The sweat lodge? Thats it. Not much to look at, but its guaranteed to take you there. Where is there? The place you need to go. Its different for everybody. Approaching the lodge, you stop to have a look. It must be dark in there. Thats to make it easier to see what youre going to see.
Youve got my curiosity up now. You always were a curious girl. Caused no end of trouble for your mother when you started to crawl. Seems more likely you got that from me than her. Walking again, you reach the limit of the semi-grassy backyard where the trees started in earnest. There, a narrow but well-worn path begins. Summer stops a moment. Where does this go? you ask. Who knows? Its got a lot of branches. I followed one once and five hours later I came out on the highway halfway to Carmel. But today well do a short one and be back in an hour. First, a little instruction. Rattlesnakes. Stay on the trail; dont step over anything you cant see both sides of. And watch out for poison oak. Know what that looks like? No. I only know poison ivy. Its a three-leaf formation like that, only they look like little oak leaves. Finally, cougars. We dont see em but theyre there. If we do run into one, stop; dont make eye contact. Put your arms out so you look bigger. Talk in a loud voice as you slowly back away. Do not scream, and whatever you do, dont run. Okay? Got it. It seems like your Eden has its share of thorns. Paradise for humans always has thornsthats just the nature of things. One more thought: you might experience the place a little more deeply if we practice mauna, or silence, the way some devotees do in India. If you cant hack it, just say so, anytime. Its difficult for some people.
So saying, she sets out, you right with her. Soon the lush mix of maple, laurel and live oak gives way almost totally to redwoods, their silent floor carpeted with foliage of green and dun. Sage is heavy in the warm afternoon air. You open your mouth to say how good it smells but then remember. Summer looks at you and smiles. She knows what youre thinking, doesnt she. The trail reaches upward, and at one point you climb steps provided by a willing trees roots. At the top Summer stops and motions to a few small plants with shiny green leaves near the trail, some of them speckled with red. Good. Now you know what to look out for. You nod to your aunt. The path continues its gradual climb. You pass through a swarm of gnats, which follow your head for three or four paces and disperse. Theres a tree ahead close enough to touch without wading through the underbrush. Summer stops and puts two hands to it. You reach out with curious fingers and feel the rough, deeplyriven bark. Strangely, its soft, almost fuzzy, to the touch. Your eyes are drawn upward and the sight almost makes you dizzy. It must be two hundred, two hundred fifty feet tall. And above that, the noiseless passing of clouds in the blue stratosphere. You give the tree a little rub. Can it feel that? People think plants are insensate but youve read that theyre a lot more sentient than we give them credit for, even able to communicate with each other through the release of airborne chemicals. Suddenly you wonder why the epithet tree-hugger is used as a pejorative. Humbled, you move along. Summer is kneeling up ahead, and you join her. Shes looking at a nurse log, the fallen trunk of a small tree so-called because
various plants, fungi and lichens have taken root on its nourishing surface. You look carefully and its as if youre beholding a spectacular miniature forest, its beauty made all the more poignant by the silence enveloping you, and it. How much better this is than if you were to chirp out loud, Oh, isnt this pretty, and youre beginning to see the wisdom of your aunts suggestion of mauna. Where did she learn these things that her sister had little or no knowledge of? You make a steep climb to a ridge. Looking down the other side, you see a wooded valley with a pool-dotted stream meandering through it. Summer hands you the water bottle shes carrying. You drink, then she. She looks at you. Then, deliberately it seems, she looks at the trail ahead, then the trail back, and looks at you again. Shes asking if you want to go ahead or go back! You answer her by striding down the trail into the valley. Nothing holds you back, does it, exceptthat snake curled up by the side of the trail. Its rattle gives away its identity, and now you wish you hadnt taken point. You look at Summer, expecting her to step forward and put her arm across your chest to hold you back while she devises a strategy. After all, this is no doubt commonplace for her. But she doesnt move. Youre four or five feet from the irritable reptile so you think she might be afraid, but shes not. Look at her face. She wants you to devise a strategy. Okay, now that thats settled, what do you do? Though its coiled, you guess the snake to be about three feet long, maybe four. Knowing that snakes can generally strike at half the length of their body, you figure youre in no immediate danger. But the damned thing looks dangerous. The beady eyes, the evil-looking triangular head, the flickering tongue, the lipless
mouth you knew to be full of poisonno wonder people have little compunction about killing them, better yet by blowing their heads off with a gun or severing them with the nearest shovel. Your mind suddenly flashes to that poem by D.H. Lawrence, lover of all things natural, describing how hed once come upon a snake, and as it disappeared into its dark hole he was shocked and humiliated to find himself throwing a rock at it! You felt that same urge nowa rock, a gun, a shovel, a pound of C-4even though you knew this normally shy creature would like nothing more than for you to go your way and it its. All right, lets see. You figure the best plan should follow that simple dictum: when confronted with danger, always coordinate your movements away from it, never toward it. The easiest solution would be to turn around and go back the way you came. Aha! Thats why Summer has left you in charge. She wants you to learn if youre the type to retreat or find a way to press onward. If it were your mother, shed be grabbing you by the arm and pulling you back, but not Summer. She wants you to face yourself and then make a decision based on what you see. But you already know what you see before you even look. Youre going onward. Using the trail meant putting yourself nearer to danger, so that was out. Okay, youd make a wide sweep through the underbrush. Watch out for the poison oak, girl. It was a lesser poison, but harmful just the same. If God had created such a world of human suffering, no wonder so many had turned away. And for sure, God couldnt have been female. The second consideration was another snake. Where one was, could a second be far away? Here your rough knowledge of these fangy creaturesthanks to a
zoology class you hadnt even wanted to takeagain comes into play. Theyre basically territorial because of the natural spacing of the food supply, only congregating in pairs to mate in the spring or in groups to hibernate in late autumn. So the chance of there being another rattlesnake in the path youve already mentally carved through the bushes is minimal, if non-existent. Armed with this freshlyaccessed information, you take a step or two into the sagey undergrowth, following the arc youve mapped out. You keep one eye on the rattler, one eye out for poison oak, Summer right behind you as you make your way along. You know shes right behind you because you feel her occasional touch on your back or shoulder, seemingly to both confirm your leadership and to urge you onward. Soon, youre back to the trail, the snake fifteen feet behind you, quiet now. You sigh deeply. Summer faces you and exaggeratedly shakes your hand. A spontaneous laugh escapes both your mouths. Another day, another minor battle won, you think with self-admiration, eliciting a further little chuckle as your aunt extends her arm forward, inviting you to resume your lead. As you do you look back to see her laying a small stick across the path. Clever idea. No sense being smart in one direction and getting fanged royal going back in the other. You trudge ahead, wiping your wellearned sweat away with the back of your wrists. In fifteen minutes you stop as you reach the stream on the valley floor. The trail splits, one way leading to a log over the water and off through the trees, the other upstream a bit to two adjoining pools, each about eight feet or so across. Summer puts her hand on your shoulder, then walks along the path to the upper pool.
You follow. There, she starts to take off her clothes and lay them across one of the large rocks beside the pool. Youve never seen her naked before, as she looks at you with neither pride nor embarrassment before slipping into the water. You assume by her shudder that its cold. Well, youre hot, arent you? So you strip down yourself. You feel like Cleopatraimmutably woman, all womanas you bare your body and soul to the quiet majesty of this imposing and all-encompassing Nature. A twitter of bird nudges that thought aside and you step into the water. It is cold! As you feel for a flat stone and sit, sinking to your chin, you, too, shudder. It feels so bad and so good at the same time. You want to get out, but you wait for Summers lead. Suddenly she rises with a splash like a great whale from the sea. Youre no more than a second behind her. You look at her pale goose-pimpled skin, her fleshy red bottom as she slowly picks her way down the rocky two-foot waterfall to the lower pool. She settles into the water with a contented sigh. You follow, and one step into the second pool makes you realize its fed by a hot spring. Your cold skin thrills to the voluptuous sensation of the enveloping hot water. You want to say something and almost do, but strain to keep your chatty pie-hole shut. In a moment the urge is gone and relaxation descends, one luxurious degree at a time until youre under its spell. Even your thigh muscles, uncommonly worked by the steepness of the trail into the valley, are at peace. And youre sweating again, though this time not from exertion. In four or five minutes, Summer stands up, facing you. You cant help but admire her aging yet sensuous body in all its womanly glory. And look, shes steaming. You stand and are surprised when she embraces you. Youre relieved to
find that its in no way sexual, but simply the warm hug shes always given you over the years. You hug her back. Wait a minute, it is sexual, in its wayher arms around you, her belly to yours, your hips touching, your breasts pressed together, the warmth of each of your bodies radiating into the other. Yes, its exquisitely sexual, and yet theres no movement of the hands, the hips, the lips. Youre beginning to see what shes doing. Isnt she saying she loves you enough to share everything of herself with you, even her nakedness, her sensuality? Theres nothing erotic about it, is there, but instead a feeling of total openness. Its a feeling you never had with anyonenot even Jack. In a moment or so, you feel a maternal pat on the back and she releases you and starts to climb up the rocky steps and into the cold pool again, you right behind her. The cold water seems to burn your skin as you slip into it, but your body itself is still warm. Its a feeling like no other. In less than a minute, though, you shiver. Summer notices and stands up. You join her. Then she does something that totally takes you aback. She lifts her head upward and lets out a rich, expressive sound, like the call of a she-wolf. In spite of your surprise, it touches you deeply. Its a haunting sound, as if bringing back a memory you didnt know you had. It triggers something in yousome dormant yearning?and you find yourself letting out an emotive cry, as if proclaiming a longing deep within you. It was a cry from the past, the primeval plains, the ancient forests, and you couldnt control it; it must find its out. Just the two of you, now suddenly silent again, feet in the cold water, bodies naked and dripping in the sun. An eternity passes, though youre sure its just a minute.
Summer makes the first move. Not looking at you, she slowly splashes out of the water, wipes some of the excess from her skin with her hands, and dresses. You do the same. She gives you the water bottle and you drink. Damn good stuff when youre thirsty! She herself takes a drink, wipes her lips with the back of her hand, and smiles at you. You smile back at her with the certain knowledge that theres a bond between you that can never be broken. On the way back to the cabin, the snake is gone, but in the human world, danger is never far away.
Chapter 20
Who Holds the Cards?
As you enter the yard leading up to the house, you see a black man on the deck, smoking a pipe. He doesnt look much older than you. Dwaynes back, Summer says, the appearance of actual words seeming strange after just an hours silence. You think it must be the quality of the silence that produces this contrast. As you climb the steps of the deck, you get a better look at Dwayne. Hes thin and his face is marked with something resembling shaving bumps, but hes not unattractive. His eyes are warm, though not quick, as if he were looking out at life in a deliberate and world-weary way. And unlike the men in Chicago or New York, he doesnt stumble all over himself to stand up when you approach. This is my niece, Jen, Summer says to him. Sit yourself down, girl, he says with Southern friendliness. Ive heard nothin but good and better about you. The about you sounds like boutchoo. He doesnt shake hands. You sit. Summer says shes going inside for lemonade. Ive heard good things about you, too, Dwayne. Shes just bein kind. We all do what we can, even if theres nothin special about it.
Youre trying to place his accent. You think he lacks the fire and edge of an urban black, so youre guessing rural South. But hey, youre not an anthropologist doing field work, so lets cut the analysis. You should just stay open and take Dwayne on his own terms, and the fact that your mother couldnt do itor wouldntmakes you all the more resolved, doesnt it. But thats the lawyer in you talking, not the woman. Every time you return to civilization after a mental retreat somewhere, the damned attorney crashes out of the bushes, all bullish suppositions and counterarguments. It was a long way from this to cradling Dwayne in your arms like your aunt just did you, and were not even talking about being naked. Could you ever experience a moment like that with him? Or anyone? Yet there was a hunger inside you that wanted something like that with people. Now that you knew what it was. How was your walk? he asks, sounding genuinely interested. I can say for sure theres nothing like it in Illinois. You took to it, then? The place and all. Like a kid to a teat. And we did mauna, you add, suddenly the big expert now. The two of you sit in your own mauna, intentional or not, and Summer finally reappears with lemonade and some homemade something-or-other bars. Help yourself, she says, putting the tray on the table and sitting down. Dont eat too much; weve got dinner later. How soon, Dwayne? He takes a glass of lemonade from the tray and drinks thoughtfully. Id say maybe two, two-and-a-half hours.
Are you cooking? you ask him. Its already cooking, Summer says. See that little bit of smoke from the fire pit over by the sweat lodge? Were having a hangi. Whats a hangi? Polynesian slow cooking by hot rocks. Whatre you cooking there? you ask Dwayne. Wild boar, some yams, sweet onions, carrots, celery, whatever. He wraps it up together in cheesecloth dipped in sea water, Summer adds, and then corn husks around that. Whered you get the boar? Theyre all over the place up in the mountains. One of Dwaynes friends has a license to hunt them and he brings us one now and then. Whats it taste like? Well, it dont taste like chicken, Dwayne says with a quiet laugh. Pork, honey, only stronger and juicier, Summer says. At least the way we do it. I went to a hangi for the first time when I was in New Zealand; I stayed with a Maori family in Rotorua. Only theyd be shocked to find out we cut up all the pieces and eat them with chopsticksdipping them in Korean barbecue sauce! In response to this, again Dwayne emits a quiet laugh. Aunt Summer, you say, you inhabit a different world than I do. Completely different. Its the same world, dear. Different people see different parts of it, thats all.
# After a savory dinner on the deck accompanied by Harbin plum wine, half a dozen citronella candles keeping the mosquitoes at bay, the three of you decide to retire to the cabins living room for a change of pace. As Summer leaves some leftovers for the ring-tailed cat that apparently lives in the neighborhood, you go in with Dwayne. You see that he walks with a limp. After youve settled into one of the various pieces of eclectic furniture, Summer reaches over and puts her hand on Dwaynes arm. Would you? Now, dont start. Just one? She dont want to hear no caterwaulin. Your aunt turns to you. Hes got a wonderful voice and I think you should hear it. A couple times a month a bunch comes over with their instruments and we play bluegrass. Okay, so I sing up a storm sometimes, he says, but so does everybody else. If a man sings alone, he oughta have somethin more than what I got, for sure. Just one, honey. Do that one you sang for me the other night. Please, you say with a solicitous smile. He sighs. I can see Im outvoted, then. So saying, he gets up and gently retrieves a battered mandolin hanging from a
nail on the wall. Wheres my pick? he asks, looking around. Summer spies it on the table next to her and hands it to him, he taking it with a disapproving look. After a quick tuneup, he begins his strum. As he starts to sing, you hear the words to Silver Threads and Golden Needles, only hes singing it as a ballad, eyes closed, feeling pouring out like crying from his soul. The hair on your arms stands up. Maybe its the wine, but by the end you have tears in your eyes, and when you look at your aunt, she does, too. And such love! Later, as you lie under blankets in the loft bed theyve made up for you, you hear a soft, rhythmic murmuring coming from their room. Its the sound of pleasure given and received, slow and easy and deliberate, like Dwayne himself, its cadence unexpectedly sweet to your ears. And it seems to go on endlessly, velvetly, ceasing only when you finally fall asleep. # Breakfast was fresh clam fritters and marmalade toast, washed down with a mug of frothy chicory. Like the motley furniture of the cabin, the diverse tastes oddly went well together. Then Dwayne was off to help a friend repair a roof and you and Summer dressed for some garden work. Howd you meet Dwayne? you ask, your bluejeaned knees now planted in the cool morning dirt. One of my friends brothers was in prison with for protesting against the war in Iraqthe demonstration got a little out of hand, so to speak. A few of us decided to
form a support group for him. Dwayne was one of his friends. You stop what youre doing. Dwayne was in prison? Six years, Jen. He got a longer sentence because he had a record, even though that was a long time ago. I cant picture him in jail. He looks like such a puppy, doesnt he. But dont let that fool you. That man is strongmuch stronger than I amand as soon as I found that out, I started to wonder how a man could be so strong and still be so easy. So you might say that at first it was curiosity that attracted me to him. I know all about curiosity. Youre famous for it, like I told you yesterday. Did you get your answer? And then some. Six months later we were married. In prison? In prison. So whatd you find out? Well, its something like this, and bear with me. We more or less live in a yang cultureyou know yin and yang, dont you? So we expect all our men to be yang. Not like Japan or Greece where the men can be more sensitive and poetic and still be respected, because they live in yin cultures that encourage it. So when I first saw Dwayne in prison, I thought he was too yin to survive there. But I came to realize, or
he taught me, that yin and yang have nothing to do with strength. Yang is no stronger than yin, though were taught to believe it is. Why do you think Arabs veil their women or keep them locked up in the house? Not because the women are weak; its just the oppositethe men know just how strong they are, and theyre afraid if they unleash those women, theyll quickly lose the battle for control. You ponder this for a moment before resuming your weed-pulling. So how strong is he? you suddenly ask, the picture of his gentleness the night before still fresh in your mind. He lasted six years locked up in a cage, didnt he? And with the animals nipping at his feet every day of it, too. How did he do it? How does anyone do it? He told me once. He just said never back down. So I think hes got something that I dont. See, theres some things that I really wonder if Im able to stand up to. I truly believe Dwayne can face anything. You know that limp hes got? Know how he got it? How? He got jumped in the prison laundry; they wanted him to help them make weaponsthey knew he was clever with his handsand he refused. They got him down and two of em grabbed his leg and started twisting it and twisting it til it almost brokehe said he was cryingbut he wouldnt give in. So they twisted it some more. Something snapped and they kept twisting it, and still he refused. They kept at it and at it til the guards came, and they had to send him to San Francisco to
get his leg fixed. I guess what Im saying, Jennifer, is that at a certain point I think I can be moved, but he cant. Thats what I mean by strong. # For lunch one of Summers friends, Marlene, brings over a fresh salmon and you grill it out back. She still has six different colors of paint on her clothes and talks about her latest project with the same passion you do when hashing over the latest case. When she leaves, your aunt puts her arm around you. Still want to try that sweat lodge? Sure. Well, lets build a fire, then, and heat up the stones. She gets a pitchfork from a shed attached to the cabin and you go with her to the fire pit. She starts by digging out one of the stones that was used for yesterdays hangi and heaving it to the side. You dont use the same stones? you ask. No; once theyve been heated and cooled, theyre not as stable as before. We dont want them to shatter when we pour water on them inside the lodge. Some actually have a minute water content themselves, and if the rock shatters, that moisture immediately turns to steam and can send all the pieces flying, not a pleasant thought if youre sitting there naked. Youre naked? Thats the way we do it, kid. If youre wearing clothes, the sweat just makes them heavy and clingy, and were looking for a more liberated feeling. Why? You
want to keep your clothes on? Will Dwayne be there? Of course. Youve never had your clothes off in front of a man before? Yes, but Well, suit yourself. Theres no dress code out here, as you probably know. She digs out another stone and flings it aside. Youre strong, you comment. You get that way. Want to try it? She hands you the pitchfork. You find its not the lifting thats so hard as separating one stone from another so you can lift it. Summer had done it effortlessly. You feel heat emanating from the shallow pit. Its still warm. Kept covered, the coals down there can burn for days. We like to use oak and keep it going so we use a lot less wood. No sense in squandering Natures bounty. After a few more stones, she takes the pitchfork from you and finishes the job. You follow her to the side of the house where she loads five or six ten-pound stones from a small trailer into a waiting wheelbarrow. I thought theyd be round and gray, you say to her, looking at the rough, dark rocks. Those are for those manufactured saunas that people buy; they roll them in a tumbler all day to get that nice smooth shape. At the gym theyre much smaller, and they look like the ones you see on creek
bottoms or those rocky beaches. Do you ever use those rocks? Never. The water and sand action smoothes them out and makes them look pretty, but the moisture content can be way too high. Those babies can shatter like a Catholic schoolgirls dreams on her wedding night. No, basaltic ones are best, found well away from the water. Want to have some fun? Sure, why not. Here, you take one handle and Ill take the other, and well see if we can wheel this thing out back without spilling rocks all over the place. Youre on. It isnt as easy as you think, is it, as the grounds not level. Its not the weight thats the problem but the balance. The two of you nearly crumble cookies two or three times before reaching your destinationyakking all the whileand get a good laugh when Summer drops her end and the stones tumble to the grass next to the pit. You did that on purpose! you howl. Everything has a purpose, dear. Now for the wood. We saved the easiest for last. She wheels the barrow back to the trailer, where some slender oak logs are stacked. Thats all? you ask. Not only is that all, but were only going to use half. Economy is the heart of sustenance, dont you know. That said, she bends over to pick up a couple logs and toss them into the
wheelbarrow. You help her. Thatll do, she says. Feel like another balancing act? You each grab a handle and whiz away. In less than ten feet, the barrow overturns and the wood tumbles. She laughs. Overconfidencethe both of us! Picking up the wood pieces, you set out once again, this time with more success. The wood is delivered, the fire built, the stones placed on the fire. How long will it take? you ask. Two hours is a good number. Now what? Lets talk about what you want. Im not sure anymore. It may seem that way. But yesterday you said something different. You want love; you want sex; you want to change the world. And you want to stay pretty. Sounds childish, doesnt it. Lets have a cold drink. You go with her back to the house, and she brings two glasses of water out to the deck. You sit. I think Im in love with Grant Morgan, you say. The one from the club that your mother says is a criminal? The same. But he found out I was seeing someone else and gave me the boot. What attracted you to him?
I dont know. Maybe hes a little like Dwayne. Hes strong; hell stand up to anybody. Strong is one thing, but is he a brute? Your mother seems to think so. Some people say he is, but I can feel the boy in him. I really can. Dont tell mein the bedroom, right? Yes. Why? Its a power women have over men. Males of the species can be pure animals in the worldsometimes they feel theyre being forced to bebut if a woman is tender, men can revert back to the boys they were before they became hardened. Why in the bedroom? Look what theyre getting. Theyre stripped down and vulnerable, youre massaging them where they like it, at the same time telling them how wonderful they aretheyre so damned grateful for that. Some cant believe their luck. And youre letting them put that over-excited member right back toward where they came fromthe wombso no wonder they get all boyish on us. But that just might be a little dangerous, Jen. Why? Because this moment of vulnerability makes us feel like we can tame them. You did feel that, didnt you? I guess I did. But why is that dangerous? Because its a delusion. A man whos any kind of a man cant be tamed, so youve set an impossible task for yourself. And yet if you succeed in domesticating one, you, as the woman I think you are, wouldnt be satisfied with that kind of man.
We want to be loved by a wild man we cant controlIm afraid thats part of our makeup. If we manage to subdue a man, some part of us will always be unsatisfied. This is the irony of being a woman. We want to control our men, and yet when we succeed, we create a yearning we can never be rid of, though we try to ignore it or even forget about it. I should be happy, we say, and bite the bullet. You think about what she said. So youre saying that Grant cant be tamed? Thats right. Or if he can, youll have him where you want him and not be satisfied, though most women try to be. So what about Dwayne? Can I ask about him? I put him to the test once. Like you, I thought Id be happier, or more secure, if I could tether him a little. He was out the door in a flash. Gentle Dwayne who would do anything for me, lay down his life for me, wouldnt submit to having a ring put through his nose. The minute he saw the ring, he was gone. I had to crawl on my knees to get him back. You look surprised. Yes, I love him that much. And because hes wild that way, it makes me love him all the more. I know Ive got a man. You sigh. Its complicated. No, its not complicated at all. Its just a paradox thats scary to contemplate. The more rope you give him, the tighter the rope getsassuming he really loves you. They keep coming because they want to come, not because youve tamed them to eat out of your hand.
So youre never afraid that Dwayne will leave you? Im always afraid. Thats part of being a woman, isnt it?if you want to be loved right, the way you long to be. It seems that theyre holding all the cards, then. Just the opposite. Were the ones with the pussy, Jen, pardon my French, though we sometimes forget its power. Men will do almost anything to get itto them its the greatest thing in the world. You know that, dont you? Add to that the fact that were the child-bearers and they need us to carry on their name. And were the comforters, letting them actually travel up the passageway, like I said, toward the one conceivable paradise on earth. And if we can cook and make a good cup of coffee, toono wonder they keep coming back! No, were the ones holding all the cards. Theyre the ones out there in the arena, slugging it out with each other in order to prove their worth to us, so that they can get at what weve got. Were the lucky ones, not them.
Chapter 21
Hear the Sizzle, Feel the Burn
When Dwayne came home just before sunset, the first thing he did was walk out back to check on the heated stones, even before coming into the house. When he does come in, he asks you if youve eaten anything since lunch. Summer said not to. No eating or drinking, except water. Good. Summer comes out of her room. So how are the rocks? she asks Dwayne. Theyre ready. You did good. Of course I did. You taught me, remember? Thats a surprise, isnt it, as you no doubt thought Summer wouldve been the one behind the sweat lodge. Shall I change now? you ask them. Youre gonna wear somethin? he asks. Summer answers for you. Its her first time. Anyway, she says shes got shorts and a t-shirt. Thatll do. Dwayne nods as if its fine with him, and you go up to the loft to change. It takes you less than a minute. You leave your watch and ring behind, as per
Summers instructions. When you come back down, theyre sitting in the living room, still dressed. Are you ready? Summer asks you. I think so. Its going to be hot. Very hot. Youre going to feel faint. Your heart might pound, you might start seeing things. Dont be afraid. If you stay in there long enough, youll be going into something of an altered state. Your conscious mind will more or less shut down and your subconscious will take over. Thats why I asked you earlier what you wanted. At this point in your life, that might be the most important question. Since the answer has to come from inside you, this could be a good chance to let out whats lurking there. Butand I cant say this strongly enoughif at any time you feel too uncomfortablephysically or mentallygo outside immediately. If youre too weak, Ill help you. Remember, this is not a test you have to pass, an initiation ritual. Youre out there to cleanse your mind and body, not to prove your courage. Understood? Got it. Good. Shall we? She and Dwayne start to undress. You first see Dwaynes upper body. Hes thin and wiry, although he has a bit of a paunch. Summers upper body, and lower, youve already seen. Impulsively, you pull off your t-shirt, then slip out of your shorts. Dwayne glances in your direction, then holds his look. Go ahead, Summer says, get a good look. Then to you: Hes a man, isnt
he? Let him enjoy it. When his friends come over for a sweat, dont think I dont look. Its the little pleasures that make life rich, dont you think? Okay, Dwayne, thats enough. The three of you pad across the deck and out to the lodge. Summer pulls back the flap and Dwayne uses the pitchfork to place three large stones in the small hollow in the center of the lodge. You bend down to see a pitcher of water, and the floor is covered with leafy branches of some shrub. It smells like sage. Go on in, Summer says. # What oh what do I want is the little tune running through your brain, the notes hopping across excited synapses, leaving hot little neurons in their wake. Dwayne has been doling out little splashes of water to the stones and the temperature must be over a hundred. Just enough light comes in through a crack in the closed flap to reveal his shape, and Summers, though of course shes easier to see. Shes about three feet away from you, and had touched your arm when she sat down so youd know she was near. If you needed her. Dwayne puts down the pitcher and the three of you sit there in silence. Apparently hes going to do it in stages, maybe letting everyones body adjust before raising the temp another notch. So how do you feel, Jen? Naked and warm, close to people you trustprobably pretty goddam good. In a minute or two, you see movement again and hear the bubbly sizzle of cold water on hot rocks. Your sinuses start to tingle so you breathe through your mouth.
Sweat is already pouring off you now, and you wipe your forehead with the small terry cloth towel Summer gave you. Apparently she sees you do this, because you hear her muted voice. Drink, Jen. You pick up the water bottle thats been placed there for you and take a long sip. Putting it down, you wonder what you should be doing. Meditating? Praying? Repeating the what-do-you-want question, even chanting it in your mind? You forgot to ask Summer what you should actually be doing. Youre a little embarrassed to be asking her now. Anyway, although wet heat was the key to unlocking the door, she had said that silence would allow you to see what lies beyond. So no way were you going to raise your stupid hand and say, Teacher, what should I do now? Dwaynes arm is in motion again and you see the pitcher hover over the rocks and tilt. Sssss. Youre starting to feel uncomfortable. Your head is so hot, your shoulders warm, your hips cool. Your bare buttocks, pressing against the grass and sage floor of the lodge, feel almost cold. Youre beginning to feel like youre no longer whole but being divided up into sections, like one of those segmented insects. You decide that when this is over, youre going to suggest to Summer that they install a small electric fan to create better air circulation. Whats wrong with that? Its rational, isnt it? Youre a civilized being, you have every right to analyze a situation and prescribe technological improvements than will enhance your comfort and enjoyment. Wait a minuteare you getting delusional? Was your brain becoming feverish already? Youve only been in here five minutes. Or was it ten? Twenty?
Hes pouring more water on the rocks? Whats wrong with him? So thats the cause of your discomfortyoull show him! Summer says hes strong, but hes no match for the Jennifer. Youll take him on, skinny little fucker with a potbelly. Whoa, down girl, down. Look, youre swaying like a tower about to topple. You feel a hand on yours. Its Summers. She curves her fingers around yours. What does that mean? Okay, relax. Thats the key, isnt it? No sense getting all worked up. She said if you want to get out, just get out. Stop your tottering. Youve got nothing to worry about. If you cant crawl out, shell drag you. You trust her more than any person in the world, though living on the other side of it as she does, you wonder how much you really know heryet you do know youre in good hands. Perfectly good hands, girl. So sit up straight. Stop fidgeting. Try to enjoy the ride, or at least appreciate it. Okay, thats better. Just take it easy. There, thats right. Its cruise time, baby. Summer takes her hand from yours. She knows youre tough. Youre a lawyer, for gods sake! She knows what that means as well as you do. She just wants to let you know shes there if you need her. What, youre crying now? Dont be ridiculous. Just because she was there for you, even in spirit, when her sister wasnt? Is that it? Cmon, Dwayne, more steam. We need steam for this. Isnt the logical extension of that thought, the one you just had, one of the poisons deserving of being purged? Damn right. You reach for the pitcher yourself but you feel Summers hand on your arm, pulling you back. Okay, youre no expertlet ol Dwayne do it. He da boss. Ol Dwayne he da big honcho, Summie she he lootenna. Second looey. Okay Aunt Summie, Ill be good.
Summers hand lingers on your arm, then releases. This could be fun, if you werent so flippin hot. You take another drink of water. The others havent touched theirs yet. Real troupers, those two. Minutes pass, or facsimiles of them. Dwayne must feel youre okay now, because hes pouring more water on the rocks. Ssssizzle. Yeah, baby. Do dat. Youre getting a little concerned, though, arent you, because youre starting not to feel your body anymore. Youre not that segmented insect. Youre feeling more like a head without any body at all, like one of those Fifties horror films. Feed me nutrients, I can live forever. There, Summer finally drinks; so does Dwayne. Dwaynes the driver on this bus, Summers the conductor. Youre just the passenger. So what are they getting out of it? Do they have any poisons in their system that need to be purged? Or is this merely a pleasant late-afternoon sauna for them, just another uneventful day in Big Surprise, California? Time goes by and your mind is dancing from one thought to the next. Every third thought is Im so hot I feel like Im going to suffocate. You can cope with that, though, as long as it doesnt become every thought. You pick up your towel blindly and pat your head with both hands, like some of those devout Muslims do while praying. You bring it down to your cheeks, dab them and let it fall, to where you have no idea. Below your head is a bottomless abyss. Could go all the way to China. A Chinaman is bending over a hole in the ground and a terry cloth towel comes out and hits him in the face. This thought makes you laugh. Out loud or not, youre not sure.
A picture suddenly pops into your dizzy mind. A pearl necklace! And its around your neck like a collar. Youre looking at yourself as if in a mirror and you see Jennifer Knox with a collar around her neck, and theres Grant Morgan right behind her, just like he was the night he gave it to her and she admired herself in the smoky, gold-swirled mirror. Thats it, isnt it! Its a bond, its a contract, its a damned mystical connection, its a frigging collar! Its True love! De old boy he do luv me, dat artless jerk! you hoot, out loud for sure now because you see Dwayne and Summer jump. I seen it in de necklace! De poil necklace! Haw haw! Dwayne opens the flap and Summer pours water onto her towel and puts it to your head. Youve seen something, she says in a soothing voice as she pats your forehead. The pearl bloody necklace, Sum! I saw it! I belong I belong, dammit, and so does he! Cmon, honey; lets go out in the fresh air. # How long was I like that? A couple of minutes or so. Dont worry. Youre in the house now, half-reclined on an old couch, wearing a robe. Summer and Dwayne, also robed, are sitting nearby. Theres a water bottle in your hands. You drink.
I feel so cleansed. Dazed, maybe, butclean. Good. Its different for everybody. And only three rocks! What about the rest? Youre a cheap drunk, kid. We usually go through all of them. You guys are tough. Dwayne chuckles. Just used to it, more likely. Did you see anything? Do you guys see anything? I think we sweat most of the crap out already, Summer replies. Now its more like Im not sure how to describe itkind of getting centered again. Touchin base with the essentials, Dwayne adds. So, Jen, want a bite to eat? I dont know about you, but Im starving. Sounds good to me. And maybe after dinner, Dwaynell play a song for us. Dwayne stands up with a look of mock resignation on his face. He looks at you and sighs. Shes the boss.
Chapter 22
Now May Not Be the Time
The next day is rainy. The rain cleanses, or tries to, over the objections of the people. Fog huddles among the trees out back as you sit in the doorway with your aunt. The deck is soaked and shiny, but an overhanging eave keeps the two of you dry. The moist clean smell of the evergreens and the soft staccato plop of raindrops on wet wood add to the mesmerizing, otherworldly feel to the place. Dwaynes off fishing somewhere, probably getting wet. Its just you and Summer and the big moody world of the Sur. I have to go back soon, you say. She doesnt reply right away. Youre watching raindrops plashing the surface of a mini-puddle atop one of the glass-ensconced citronella candles when she finally answers. Why dont you come live with us? You seem to hear sadness in her voice and you look into her eyes. Yes, look, shes sad. She doesnt want you to leave. Neither do you. What can you say but the obvious? I cant. She sighs.
I know. Youve got promises to keep and all that. But just remember: the door will always be open. And I will be back, I promise. Sooner than you think, I hope. I dont know why I stayed away for so long. Just selfishness, I guess. As if my life was so important that I have to spend every waking moment attending to it. She muses a moment. Fog and rain. Thats an unusual combination. We get a lot of both in the winter, but usually not at the same time. Pause. Sometimes I Pause. Just be glad your life is important, Jen. Thats a rare quality. Most people would love to be able to acknowledge that their lives meant something. Theyd like nothing more than a reason to be selfish. # You spend most of the morning helping Summer make pear leathera mash of pured pear and honey, spread thin on trays and placed in a food dryer. Summer experiments with various additives: crushed blueberries, orange zest, vanilla extract. You try a combo of pear and banana and a ground clove, though you have no idea how itll turn out. If nothing else, Summer says, Dwaynell eat it. Are you familiar with the term omnivorous? He must be easy to cook for. When he isnt doing the cooking himself. He seems to be a man of many talents.
That he is. You told me he was arrested for protesting against the war. Is he still involved in that? It wasnt the protesting he was arrested for. It was when one of the Berkeley police started manhandling one of their group and Dwayne stepped inverbally, he swearsthen the cops were all over them and the guys are using their hands to fend them off, so now weve got assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and as far as the jury was concerned, high treason, coming a little too soon on the heels of 9-11. And to answer your question, yes, hes still involved, but hes way low-key about it. He thinks hes on a watch list, and with the Patriot Act and all, he can be picked up and held indefinitely and nobody can do bugger-all about it. Ill be calling you, by the way, if that ever happens. According to my sister, youre a pretty darned good lawyer. To tell you the truth, I was starting to get involved with taking on the Patriot Act myself but the senator I was working with up and died on me. Burst appendix in the middle of the night. Herb Kline? I heard about that on the radio. You were working with him? We were just getting started. Aunt Summer, this might sound self-serving, being a lawyer and all, but I think the law is about the only real hope we have. Yet its got to be law we can believe in. We hardly have religion anymore, or race, or even common language. Even love of country doesnt do it, seeing as were pretty much split down the middle about what it means to be patriotic. Red state, blue state.
So wheres the glue that holds everything together? To me its the law, if we can purify it enough to put our faith in it, follow it. My dream is to help do just that. No, not my dream. My plan! She has stopped what shes doing to listen to you. I had no idea you felt this way. I thought you were just back there lawyering. Is this what you meant the other day when you said one of the things you wanted was to change the world? Yes. Through the law? Its all I know. Shes thinking something; its obvious from her face. She puts the last fruit tray in the dryer and turns it on. How about another cup of coffee? she asks you. Twist my arm. She uses a hand grinder to prepare the beans while the water heats in the rickety cappuccino machine she said she picked up at a garage sale for ten bucks. When the coffees readyyou help her outthe two of you resume your scenic perch on the back step facing the glistening deck and the big, foggy, mysterious Santa Lucia Mountains beyond. I stuck a couple cloves in my coffee, you say. I can smell it. How does it taste? Not too bad. I wouldnt recommend it, though.
I might try it once. If I dont like it, I can always give it to Dwayne. You both laugh. Handy, that, you say. Like you said, hes a man of many talents. Silence. So whats on your mind, Summer? She stares off into the misty beyond. S desu, n Know what that means? I think its Japanese. Smart girl. I spent a year in Kyoto, just before you were born. It means something like lets see, now, or how shall I begin, or shall I begin at all? Silence. The rain has let up a little, making the drops that still do fall on the deck with a plop all the more prominent, fun even. I want you to take what I say, she continues, with a grain of salt. Its just one persons opinion, though I hope an informed one. I always take other peoples opinions with saltand tequila with lemon, if itll make em go down easier. But in your case I prefer to take it straight. She takes a sip of coffee. Lets see how I can put it without totally losing my credibility. Okay, here goes. I think there may bemay bea question lurking in some peoples minds as to whether we actually live in an empire or not. I happen to believe we do. If so, its certainly different from empires of the past, Jen. We dont colonize countries, we try
to colonize their economic systems. Were a land of immense wealth and power, while much of the world is poor and starving. To me thats unfair, though to some people its just a reflection of natural law. She brushes a large drop of water from her bare foot where it has just landed. She looks up. That might need some attention before winter, she says. Anyway. Until that essential factwe take, they giveis corrected, forget about trying to change the legal system at home. Theyre two sides of the same coin, though most people cant see it because were in the center of the universe and thats all they can see. So youre saying give it up? Accept the status quo, right or wrong? Im saying that now may not be the time to risk your career and maybe even your freedom on a project of doubtful success. If ol Washington and Jefferson had said and done what they did twenty years earlier, they could well have been ruined, if not hanged. Instead, they laid the groundwork and when the time was right, there was something solid to stand on. See what Im saying? Even Lincoln resisted freeing the slaves til he was sure most of the North was behind it. What does that say to you? Discretion? Discretion. You go fooling around with the Patriot Act and it might turn around and bite youits no longer just a law; its a living organism, and it has teeth. Its feeding off the fear of threat from abroad, a threat thats very real because of the inequalities of empire. Dont get caught in its maw. Do your work, lay out your bricks
for that road to the futurebut dont be a martyr for that future, because it may not come for another decade, or even a hundred years. Dont, Jen! You try to take in what shes saying. Ive never heard you talk like this, Summer. I keep it to myself. Better that Im just some crazy old broad living in the woods. That way, people will leave me alone and I can get on with the work. The work? You seem surprised. Yes, Ive got the same wild ideas you do, kid. Only I dont seem to have the same faith in the redeeming qualities of the law as you. Im writing about shoring up our nation with a rejuvenated spiritual foundation. The law is important because its a reflection of what the human heart considers just, but until theres a better recognition of our spiritual interconnection, the law can never match the reality of our existence. Thats how I see it: first an understanding of our deeper relationshipall of us, friend and foe alikethen a legal system that more nearly reflects it. She puts her hand on your shoulder. Whatever you do, Jen, Ill back you up. I think you know that. I just dont want you to take a wrong step and fall through the rotting floorboards. She has tears in her eyes. God, the crazy old broad loves you. And you love her! Dmo arigat, you say, hoping it doesnt sound ridiculously corny.
Chapter 23
Hes Your Bitch
The plane circles OHare and you look down at the sunny reds and golds of the Chicago autumn. You see the myriad glittering diamonds on Lake Michigan. Yet after California, beauty has never looked so plain. Your throat is dry, your head hurts. You dont enjoy flying, do you. The takeoffs are fun, but after thatthe tedium of sitting there, waiting, trying to pass the time. People so looked forward to a plastic glass of juice, a pre-heated dinner under foil. Even the polished informality of the flight attendants seemed oppressive. Ill bet you think a perfect definition of hell would be to be confined to a flying airplane forever, even though you as an accomplished citizen would be in first class. Youve missed Klines funeral, which was today. You couldve come back early, but you didnt, did you. He wasnt actually a friend. You liked the guy, even respected himrare for you!but there was no real feeling there. More like a professional relationship. But maybe youre feeling some regret now. Illinois has produced some extraordinary people, and he was surely one of them. How much richer your life would have been if youd latched onto his star a bit instead of brooding over your shattered life the last four years, only really feeling alive in the courtroom, the garden, or more recently, in the exquisite throes ofwell, enough about that.
In any case, no sense maundering on about it. It was time to get back to work. Youve been out of town three times in the past month, and partner or not, theyre going to pull your ticket if you dont rack up some billings. # Your mother is with Sandra when you get home, more as a chaperone than a babysitter. Sandra was just about old enough to take care of herself, but not old enough to take care of that. Wheres Sandra? you ask when you come through the door. Shes upstairs with Zack. How was your trip? How to describe it? And to your mother! It was good. She pauses before her next question. Hows Summer? Shes fine. Shesreally good. She seems happy out there. I take it you met Dwayne. Yes. Whatd you think? Of Dwayne? I think hes good for her. You dont think hes taking advantage of her? Why would you say that? Hes a little young, you know. So?
So she just lets him waltz right in, and him being a convict and all. Its his house on his land, Mother. He inherited the acreage from his father who bought it when land could still be bought there. So how did he waltz right in? You know what I mean. I dont think I do. Well, maybe you wouldnt, seeing as how you put her on a pedestal. Always have. I do not. Shes my only aunt, for gods sake. She doesnt like the direction of the conversation so she turns and goes back to whatever she was doing when you came in, apparently in the kitchen. Youre left standing in the living room, suitcase on the floor by your side. Sandra! you call out. In a moment shes coming down the stairs. Youre back, she says. She crosses the room and comes to embrace you, though not overjoyed, it seems. As she starts to release her tepid hold, you pull her back to you, pressing her to you fully in a Summer-like hug. In a moment, as if processing it, she tries to extricate herself. What are you doing? she asks nervously. I hope you didnt get weirded out, out there in California. You let her go. I just missed you, thats all, you say to her and look over her shoulder to see your mother standing there in the doorway, looking at you coolly.
You missed Senator Klines funeral, you know, she says. Everybody was there. # After a hot bath you get dressed again and sit on the bed, your back to two pillows against the headboard. Youve put on the necklace, too, havent you. Why? Well, why not? Grant gave it to you, didnt he? Yes, and about that necklace. Unable to rein in your curiosity, youd looked up the Mikimoto website on Summers computer. Your necklace wasnt shown there, but a comparable one was going for over a hundred thousand. So yours was no chain jewelry store model, but the real thing. Men dont lay out that kind of scratch on a woman unless they intend something. Your intention was to find out just what that was. You pick up the phone. Its me, you say when he answers. The prodigal daughter. Can she come home? He hesitates before answering. Let her come over and make her case. Now? Im in the car. One more stop and well swing by for you, say in an hour or so? Ill be here. You put down the phone. If you can get Grant squared away, you can finally go public about the two of you and get on with the work at handbecause you decided
on the plane to go ahead with your plan to challenge the powers-that-be, your conversation with Summer yesterday morning notwithstanding. It seems to you that the time is never rightpeople have to commit themselves in order to speed the timetable up. Pledge ones life, fortune, and sacred honor and all that. Summer had said to quietly lay the foundation, but if everyones quiet, that foundation may never have the chance to be trod. Of course, she was just looking out for you. She didnt want you sacrificed on the altar of Teotihuacan by the frenzied descendants of Quetzalcoatl, or by Quetzalcoatl himself, the god who swore to return and wreak vengeance on those who would dare heresy. But youre a clever lawyer and youve got friends, so who touches your bright flame without fear of getting burned? # Frank is at the door. Your mother is gone, and thankfully so is Zack, and you tell Sandra to order a pizza before heading out the door. She likes her pizza. Grants in the back seat of the car. Frank opens the door and you get in. You see he sees youre wearing the necklace. I dont want to take it off, you say. You want him to kiss you but he doesnt because hes a gentleman and wouldnt do it in front of Frank. Or maybe because hes still mad. Frank gets in and drives. I didnt see you at the funeral today, Grant says. You went? you ask, a little embarrassed at your surprise. I was in California visiting my aunt. I just got back this afternoon.
Youd think it was Abe Lincoln of Illinois, the way the speeches went. Everybody talked about the rarity of a moral man today. How about you, Grant; you say impulsively, are you a moral man? Frank turns around to say something but thinks better of it. What is it, Frank? Grant asks. Its not my place to say. Say it. Frank looks at you through the rearview mirror. Ill say this, then. The guys changed since hes met you, Ms Knox. I dont know what moral is supposed to mean; everybodys got their own idea. But it seems to me that you made a good man better. Grant looks at you. Franks been a compulsive liar since elementary school. He confuses loyalty with honesty. Why cant it be both? Frank asks, a little peevishly. Frank knows Im no saint, and I think you do, too. Nobody comes out of our part of town clean. You pay your dues if you want to get anywhere. I got somewhere. The finality of his voice makes you think the conversation is over, and you have no desire to extend it with gratuitous chatter. Finally arriving at Grants building, Frank pulls into the parking garage, leaving the motor running while he lets the two of you out. He presses the elevator button, gets back into the car and drives away. You go up to the penthouse in silence.
Inside, Grant opens a bottle of champagne and pours the usual two glasses. Thats a good sign. Hungry? he asks. Yes. You clink glasses and sip, then he goes into the kitchen. Lasagna from Antonios, he calls to you. You go into the kitchen, approach him and embrace him from behind. He stops what hes doing, turns and puts his arms around you. It feels good; almost as good as Summers loving embrace. Maybe someday itll surpass it. Im sorry, Grant. I really am. No more screwing around? Never. I promise. He strokes your hair for a moment, then returns to what he was doing. Shall I make a salad? you ask. The stuffs in the fridge. Once the salads made, you return to the lounge suite with him and he refills the glasses. The lasagna is reheating. Want some music? he asks. No, just like this. # Grant seems to be drinking more than usual, and after the wine at dinner hes into scotch. Youre gratified to think he may have suffered in your absence. Besides,
loosened up enough, he might just overcome his reticence and spill whats on his mind. His intentions, right? Ease your mind a little, so to speak. Youve had quite a lot to drink yourself, though well-deserved, you reckon. He finally drags you into the bedroom, known animal that he is, and you dont resist. After all, what did the rough old boy say to you just four or five days ago? He thought you were someonehow did he put ithe could give himself over to? That was an incredible sentiment coming from a man like Grant Morgan, and it would be worth endless treasure to know how far hed be willing to go with it. As he strips you down layer by layer until youre mere raw flesh full of now-familiar yearning splayed on the silken bed, you think to speak while youre still able. Tell me, Grant. Between alcohol and testosterone, his head must be swimming for sure. What can I tell you? The truth about us. You know the truth, he says and tries to climb on board. You hold him back with one hand and use the other to your best advantage. He groans, the poor boy. You know I love you, you say, kissing him. Okay, so I love you too, bitch, he replies, no doubt irritated at your tactics. Is that what you want to hear? I said it and I mean it. I mean every word of it. Youre his bitch now! And hes yours for sureyou believe that unequivocally by the strained earnestness of his voice. So instead of kneeing him in the groin for his presumptuous vulgarity, you pull him on top of you and he plows into you like a
drunk driver into an intersection full of cars, and you allow yourself to be laid to waste because you finally believe hell be there to pick up the pieces. That thoughts soon lost as pure feeling takes over and you abandon yourself to the frictive rhythm and the call of unknown birds silhouetted against a faraway planets ivory moon, until that, too, is blotted out.
Chapter 24
Nicks Declaration
Frank has you home by seven a.m. and you pry Sandra out of bed with the usual crowbar. Then its a shower and abbreviated make-up job and after getting dressed, to the kitchen to rustle up some coffee. Sandra stumbles downstairs in a haze. I was just like you at your age, you say to her as a small way of reconnecting after being out so much. My mother had to get me out of bed with a block and tackle. She goes for the fridge. What time did you get in? she asks, looking for a piece of something convenient. Late, you say, hedging and telling the truth at the same time. Whered you go? I was with Grant Morgan. I saw him at the club. Grandmother says hes a racketeer or something. Dont believe the stories. She cant find anything good so she decides to make toast. Do you like him? she asks. Yes.
You think this is enough information for now, at least til after youve had a chance to tell your mother, so you try to change tack. So. How did your rehearsal go on the weekend? Oh, that. Zack said theyre just going to use me and spit me out. He knows hes got an uncle in the music business in L.A. What are you talking about? This is a chance for youto improve your playing, meet new people, even make some money. Nobody really listens to jazz. Who says that, you or Zack? She shoots you one of those withering teenage looks. You press on. You did go, didnt you. I went, but But what? We were thinking of starting our own band. Me and Zack. The toast pops up. Outside a car horn sounds. She heads for the door. Gotta go. What about breakfast? Later. Before Jack sashayed out with pretty little Paula, Sandra actually used to be sweet. Is she so scarred now that youll never see her real face again? Or is it right there in front of you and you just dont recognize it? #
You motor the Benz to the office in a sour mood. Youre amazed at the speed that heaven can segue into hell, arent you. Dont be surprisedeven the lucky ones have their torments. Movie stars and such. You park and go up. Patty at Reception greets you with a chipper smile. How was your trip? I saw the promised land. California? Not exactly. Del is full of info about what you missed; the list seems to be getting longer. He asks if you want coffee and you say thick. The newspaper on your desk is plastered with pictures of Klines funeral and testimonials about his life. You think to curl up with it tonight over a brandy but decide against it. Itll probably make you sad, not just for his untimely death, but for opportunity lost. Now youd have to go it alone. So what else is new? You fold the paper and put it aside. In a few minutes Del trots back in with your coffee. Megachino, your ladyship, he says, a cup of his own in his hand, and sits down without asking. I see somethings on your mind, you say. He takes a sip, seeming embarrassed to even start. You can see hes kicking himself to open his mouth, which he finally does. Well, Ive learned a lot from you. Ive told you that. Not just about the law, but respect for the law. Its been an education I never expected to get, and Im
grateful for it. Your blood momentarily freezes. Youre leaving. Ive decided to go back to law school. Dont worry; the new term doesnt start til January. Ive still got a couple of months yet. This is what you wanted for him but now that its coming to pass, you feel regret. I take it your mother is doing better. Shes working now, and standing on her own feet again. The people at her church have helped her a lot, too. The people at church. What a quaint concept. Yet millions of Americans have exactly that to rely on. Must be nice. Youll take the bar exam in New York, of course, but I want you to take it in Illinois as well. Ill coach you. That way, you can come here and work as an associate and still dance off to New York when you get too big for us. Youre kind. No, I just want you back. Buoyed by this remark, he bounces out of your office like a kid fresh into ice cream. But youre really not his benefactor, are you, Jennifer. Its you whos reaped the rewards of his considerable skills, camouflaged as they are under his half-baked banter. You might even see what you could do to have the firm bankroll his last year of law school, with the proviso that upon graduation he give you the right of first
refusal. As if youd refuse. Del pops his head back in the door. Did I ever tell you how great you are? he says. No, but Im open to comments all and sundry. Wouldnt it be good to have someone like that who you could nurture along, have high hopes for? Then your mind turns guiltily to Sandra. # Nick is late coming inyou can usually feel his presence when hes around most of the women in the office probably couldand he arrives with unusual fanfare. Apparently hes hooked a big one, judging by the buzz. Just as its dying down, he comes into your office and closes the door. Hes obviously on the prowl and you steel yourself. Welcome back to civilization, he says. It may be rustic out there, but remarkably civilized in its way. Whatever. How about tonight? What about it? You know, wine, candlelight, all that happy horseshit. You eye him obliquely. You really know the way to a girls heart. Hes oblivious to your sarcasm. So, seven oclock, then? I dont think thats a good idea.
Why not? Sit down, Nick. He sits. Damn, that boy has pulling poweryou feel like a hot bar of iron near a mammoth horseshoe magnet. You brace your foot against your desk. Look, Nick, we have to be serious about this. Thats what I mean. Not like that. I mean that we work together. If we stop it now, nothing gets complicated. Hey, face itwe had heaven on a stick. Youre just going to toss that? You force yourself not to think about heaven for fear of intensifying the magnetic field. Lets remember it with pleasure and move on. Youre a hard woman, Jen. Am I? Theres no perfection in this miserable world, but for a short time we came close, two people together. How can you close the door on that? For a moment he almost sounds serious, even poetic, but you really dont think hes grown up enough to know what seriousness is. Why should he, when he knows theres another woman just around the corner? You know exactly what you are to him, or think you do, and as the gatekeeper you have every right to take back the key you gave him and lock the gate. After all, heaven on a stick isnt the most important thing in life, though it too often makes itself out to be. Even now you feel a
warmth in your groin where five minutes ago there was cool repose, ennui even. No doubt your pupils are dilated as well. This is the very reason you need to back off. Even heaven had a complement of trapdoors and you have no intention of falling through one of them again. You were just getting back on your feet with Grant as it was. Im sorry, Nick. Its got to stop. As good as it was, it has to be over. Completely. It was good, wasnt it. Yes. Now can we change the subject? What was all the noise about when you came in today? His face brightenstoo quickly, in your estimation. Ive caught us a live one. JM Fowler. The meatpacker? The same. Hes filing a suit against an ex-partner who he says has cheated him to the tune of five million. Nice little catch. Thats not all. He claims that theres murder involvedthats why he broke off the partnershipand he wants to take the guy down before all this gets out and his own reputation hits the skids. You know, guilt by association. Who knows maybe enough mud will be dredged on the guy during trial to get the DA interested. So whos the fall guy? Get this. Our very own Mr Grant Morgan.
# Eleven a.m. and you sit motionless at your desk. A different kind of trapdoor has opened and youre in freefall. Del comes in and asks if youre okay. Dear boy, he thinks its his talk about leaving thats upset you. You say its jet lagyour circadian rhythms are all out of whackand he leaves you alone. What are you supposed to do now? You think of all the people you could talk to about it and the grand total you come up with is zero. Well, theres Summer, but no doubt you feel youve presumed upon her enough. It looks like youd have to go straight to Grant. Youd leave work early. No, you wouldnt; youll go right now. But before you can call him, Patty buzzes. Its Robbie. He never calls you at work. Hello, Brother. Whats up? Im in trouble, Jen. Big trouble.
Chapter 25
Robbie Robbie Bo-Bobbie
You find Robbie collapsed in a heap in the Danish modern chair in your living room, having let himself in with his key. He looks like he hasnt slept. He lifts his head meekly when you walk in. Now is not the time for small talk and you jump right in. So what did you get yourself into? He sighs, looking like hes trying to gather strength. You remember that married man I told you about? The one where you said it was a throw of the dice so I should just take a chance? Uh oh. I feel a mnage trois coming, with me as the third party. No, its my responsibility. I only followed your advice because I thought there was a chance for true love. Im too old for public mens rooms, but thats just where Im being pushed. I want love, Jen. Thats all. So you went after the guy? I threw the dice and invited him over. He ended up gobbling me up like a hungry terrier. I had an empty spot too, and we fed each other all night. In the morning we took a shower together with a big round sponge and it took about an hour. It was that tender. If Id died right then, Id have been a happy man. Too bad I
didnt. You look at your brother fondly. Surely he deserved something good out of life, as do we all. If not happiness, at least peace of mind. So what happened? Was it just a one-night stand for him? No, thats the thing. He said his feelings were real; that he felt pressured to get married but beneath it all hed been left unsatisfied. He said he never fully realized it til he met me. Can you believe it? Im the one who helped him open the door to his truer self. Why not you? If there was ever a man who was honest with his feelings, its you. Who wouldnt want to be with a person like that? Its not that simple. In the age we live in, its the glitter, not truth, that people want. Its their loss, then. You can say that, Jen, but we still have to live with it. Thats why my life changed when I met Mark. Suddenly I was somebody. You dont say anything for a while. You didnt need to. Silence had always been a facile medium of communication between you. I wish I couldve found a man like you, you say suddenly. He rises from melancholy for a moment with a chuckle. Thats something only a sister would say. Maybe so, but its true. Again, silence, which he finally breaks.
So everythings going fine, Mark and I are carrying on like two teenagers in love, and we start to make plans together. Castles in the air, right? Because before he has a chance to break it to his wife, explain it truthfully and with due care for her feelings and all, she comes home early and catches us together. I hadnt intended to stay; I was just there to drop off a shirt I thought he might like, but you know how it goes. A thank you, a kiss, a caress, a sigh, and suddenly theres no one in the world but you two, and the love just pours out of you and your hands just instinctively go towell, after that your mind is no longer your own, or your soul for that matter. I love that man! And I think she doesnt love him so much as have her hooks in him, coming from the other side of the tracks and having snagged royalty, as it were. So she threatened to take away everything in the divorceif he was to want oneand shed also sue me for everything as well under a little clause in Florida law known as alienation of affection. I felt strong enough to stand up to itgive up everything for love, you might saybut he didnt, and it took him less than a week to cave. He called me last night and said he still loves me but has no choice but to stay with her. For the business. For the family honor. At this point tears come to his eyes, but hes trying not to cry. You go to his side. Let it out, Robbie. I wont. Sooner or later I have to stand up as a man, and it might as well be now. A man can cry.
Sure, in Italy maybe. Here, it makes you look like a flaming pansy. Struck by the irony of his words, he shakes his head with a wry smile. I do need you, Sis. And I need you. Were of the same blood, Robbie. Were bound together. The fact that we love each other makes it all the more wonderful. He looks at you with bursting emotion and only now does he lean into you and let the tears flow, his shoulders shuddering in both grief and gratitude. Help me, Sis. I will. I will. # You call Del at the office and tell him youre not coming back in today. Im going to confront the bitch, you hear Robbie call from the other room. You go back in. No, youre not. Its between her and him now. And if hes someone worthy of you, hell deal with the situation properly and come to you when its settled. If you have to get him by forcing his hand, or hers, youll never respect him. Youre not Paula, you know. He wipes his teary eyes. Why is life so difficult? Its not; its easy. Its the selection process thats difficult. Were slaves to biology, Robbie, as Im learning more every day. What moves me to do what I do? And look at Sandra; against all reason, shes
You dont finish your sentence, but switch your attention back to your brother. How much do you love this man? If he were to be suddenly rendered sexless, would you still be interested? Yes! Oh, yes. Its him I want! Then maybe thats real love. All you can do is let him know that, and tell him youll give him time. How much time, only you know. Then its out of your hands. What if it kills me? Youre not afraid Ill do myself in? I know you. I know that before you do anything rash, youll come to me. Well talk about it. Then if we both agree that theres no hope for you, nothing for you to live for, Ill give you my blessing. He manages a brief smile. I dont know whether to hug you or kick you. Ill take the hug, if you dont mind. He embraces you with all the hungry fervor of the child within the man, and you feel the same emotion that swept over you when a naked Summer embraced you in the hot pool in Big Sur. Suddenly it comes to you. Robbie, do you have any time off coming? Im a workaholic, remember? Ive got lots. Good. Im going to call Aunt Summer. Youre going to spend some time in California. But No buts. Go back and see Mark, and tell him exactly whats on your mind.
Leave it at that. Then get a flight to San Francisco. Stay there a couple of daysits your Disneyland, dont forgetthen head down the coast. Ill tell Summer youre coming. And watch out for the snake on the trailits deadly. But if you can keep your head, you can get around it no sweat. After that, Robbie, the path will be clear. I swear it will.
Chapter 26
The Truth Revealed
Okay, so whats next on the agenda? Oh, god. Nicks going after Grant. Playing fast and free with numbers in businessits often just a matter of who reads what into the ledgers. But murder? Admittedly, he may have a questionable past, but Robbie deadheads back to Miamiit must be a lark, flitting here and there for freeand after you get back from the airport you call Grant. He obviously knows somethings up from your voice, but says he cant just drop everything and come running. You tell him hes got thirty minutes to get to your house or his ass is proverbial grass. Christ, he says, you tell a woman you love her and look what happens. If you love a woman, you should believe her when she says its important. Do you believe me, Grant? Yes. Then get over here. Sandra will be home in an hour. Thats okay; youve already told her youre seeing the notorious Grant Morgan. You can send her upstairs to practice. Zacks working after school, so he probably wont drag over til six or so. Tactically, youre set. But whats the strategy to be? Your first thought is to try to plan a way to get Grant
out of Nicks clutches, but it dawns on you as an attorneyand as youthat first you needed to find out how deep the muck is that Grants standing in. Hes in some for sure; Nicks not stupid. And hes at least up to his knees, if even half the rumors are true. But hes changed! Frank said so. Yet you, lover of the law, believe that all must be held accountable. But as a lover of the man, you find your judgment tempered. No doubt thats part of your problem. Face itits killing you. How guilty was he? Could the boy in him who touched you so deeply transgress the very rules that you pledged your life to, the ones keeping us from trampling each other with our rampant wants and needs? If so, did he feel that his desires were somehow more worthy than the rest? This was pure selfishness and you wont have it. If it were true. So now it seems, Jennifer Knox sitting in a fret on her grand Italian sofa, that the point may not be how to get him off, but more importantly, to find out just how guilty he might be. The thought must sicken you. You go to the cabinet for a scotch and down it standing. This isnt like you. You pour another. You must really love that bitch of yours. You go to the front window and look out, seeing nothing but your own thoughts. Theyre not pleasant. You take a sip of your drink. It wont do to be drunk when Sandra gets home. A few drinks in the evening, thats sociability. But straight scotch in the afternoonthats self-medication and a lesson you dont want her to learn. You yourself havent done it for years, and are loath to start again now. You finish the glass and pour another.
A few minutes later, Grants at the door. Good boy; hes early. Whats gotten into you? are the first words out of his mouth when you let him in. You were maybe hoping for something more obliging, sweet even, but hes not a man used to being told what to do and it shows. He doesnt know whats going on? How can you not be concerned when the dogs are coming after you? you ask. What the hells that supposed to mean? Sit down. Ill get you a drink. I had one on the way over. Ill get you another. You pour him a single malttoo iodine-like for your tasteand sit next to him. He stares at you like this was another deposition. In a way, it is. Grant, if this is to go anywhere, weve got to be perfectly honest with each other. He grimaces. I told you, Ive given up other women. Since that first night, theres been no one but you. Unlike He thinks better of finishing, but its too late. You know exactly what he means. And he cant help but see it on your face. Im sorry, he says. But Ive been completely faithful. And I intend to be. I believe you. I believed you when you told me before. Then what is it? You brace yourself.
Tell me about JM Fowler. Oh, god. What do you know about that? How do you know about that? Ill tell you if you can convince me that you did nothing wrong. He drinks up briskly. Pour me another, would you? You can have the whole bottle. Just dont hold anything back. You pour him one, and yourself one from the other bottle. Lets sit outside, you say. I dont want my daughter to smell a distillery when she gets home. You take your glasses and go out back, sitting at the table. Youre taken by surprise when he pulls you to him and kisses you, savagely and at the same time tenderly, as is his inexplicable way, and his hand goes up your skirt. Look, hes feeling for you right through the fabric of your underwear, and you let him. You even spread your legs a little to make it easier for him. Why does love permit such right of passage where others will be stopped, even prosecuted, for the same thing? What gives him ownership of that precious piece of real estate that women are taught their whole lives to guard? These thoughts suddenly disperse as he hits his mark and you find yourself beginning to liquefy right there. Only the sudden image of being discovered by Sandra in the role of Marks wife coming upon him and Robbie in the throes of sweet and brutal animality makes you pull back and remove his hand. Im yours, Grant. All of me. But only if youre worthy. He looks worried. He does love you, poor guy; look what youre doing to him.
All right, he says, Im going to lay it all out for you. Why just now? If he ever does wind up your husband, youre going to have to teach him to speak to you from the heart, for better or for worse, like Robbie does. The only way to do that is not to condemn him for what he says. Judging by his look right now, that might not be as easy as you think. Still, youre determined to try. You struggle to regain your composure. Your body temperature is up a degree or two and you can still feel your heart beating. Nowadays it doesnt take much for you, queen of cool, to get your pilot light lit, does it. Then its just a matter of Grant turning on the gas to effect your full immolation. Or Nick, you think guiltily. Yes, Nick the master magician even more so. You regret drinking so much, as its freed your thoughts from their cage. You take another swig. Tell me everything, Grant. # By the time Sandra comes home, youre a complete wreck. Fortunately for you today, shes not the kissy type, and after sticking her head out the back door to see where you are, she goes to her room. Instead of the sound of a flute, you hear punk rock coming from her window, but thats the least of your worries. Grant is in deep, though he kept swearing its just business. It seems the esteemed Mr Morgan was bleeding money from the company he jointly owned with Fowler, not meatpacking at all but a separate financial services firm, and shifting it to a bank in the Cayman Islands. How can that be legal? youd asked him.
Consulting fees. Its in the contract. Either partner has the right to hire consultants without needing prior approval. Its done all the time. And who are these consultants? you asked, no doubt with one eyebrow raised skyward. Some guys from the old neighborhood who set up in New York about ten years ago. Worked their way in. They get about a twenty percent return on the money. That eventually finds its way back into the partnership and everybodys happy. And I make around a mill for my trouble. When you asked him how long it would take to pay back five million, the figure Nick quoted you, he replied, fucking Xanadu wasnt built in a day, you know. The scotch was getting to him, too. You felt like slapping him across the face but it probably wouldnt do any good. Hed either get up and walk away, or just as likely, climb on you and ravish you right where you sat, no doubt with your grudging consentlove and violence seemed separated by a hair just then. Thus you had restrained yourself. The kicker came when you asked him if hed ever killed anyone. His answer: No, but who knows what mistakes people are capable of. When you asked him what mistakes hed made, he went mute. That was ityou couldnt hold your hand back now. You let fly with a mighty slap that caught him squarely and soundly. That had to hurt. He stood up suddenly, apologized, said he deserved it, and left. Oh, he turned before disappearing around the side of the house, saying, Ive changed. Ive really changed. Ive changed for you.
# Nick was going to bring Grant down and you had a choice: you could stand with Grant and give him aid and comfort, or you could sit back and watch him fall. Either way, you might end up regretting your decision. If the simple command was to follow your heart, you could well be torn in twoyou dont just love a man, you also love the law. So which do you attend toyour private world, or the greater world youve sworn to serve? Its certain youre not going to get much sleep tonight, Knox. And why should you? Youre staring at a voracious maw which is probably capable of swallowing you completely. Or you could just turn tail and scat, like a lone leopard encountering two lions in the darkness. But you wont turn, will you. No, because youre hungry with such longings as only the human animal can contrive, and you must feed.
Chapter 27
The Way of the World
Grant has gone, Sandras upstairs, and the day continues, endlessly. The fall air is crisp but youre heated by the alcohol in your veins as you sit there staring at your yard and the now-plucked garden. Even the weeds have given up growing and they languish there in dull green impotent little clumps. Their roots, though, are comfortably dug in and biding their time til spring, when their uncharitable DNA will cause to be dispatched upward all the relentless energy necessary to spread and cover the earth. If Chicago were to be abandoned for just one generation, incredulous returnees would find vegetation commanding the city, each passing year rendering it more like the suffocated Mayan ruins of Belize and Guatemala. The genes even when they sleep are plotting their next cold-blooded move. The still air is punctuated by a sudden rush of sparrows, six or eight of them descending on the grass, looking for the last bits of seed or insect to gorge on before the long flight south, all the while cheeping deliriously, jerking their heads left and right and flicking their tails tremulously. What a contrast a pigeon is, or more so a mourning dove: quiet, unmoving, imperturbable. If sparrows have the least inkling of the divine, the dove must seem a god to them, an image of all thats pure and good in the world, its lordly dawn cooing almost a heavenly command to begin the day. Of all
the living creatures of the earth, is there one more Christ-like? You think to have another whisky but Sandra is expecting dinner soon so you demur. Youve been wanting to teach her how to cook but shes not interested. You think back fondly to the days when you and she baked together, she happily involved and helping at every step. Were those times gone forever? Suddenly you catch a movement in your peripheral vision. Its the cat that sometimes comes into your yard, more often than not to enter the garden and paw immodestly at the soft dirt. This time, though, it has a different objective. Its stiff, crouched body is aligned toward the sparrows, its eyes trained on them with the intensity of glowing briquets. Tyger tyger burning bright! Its lower brain has obviously taken over, accommodating no thought but lust for prey. How entertained owners must be when their usually-placid felines display this primitive posture around the houseat a ball of twine, a foot moving under a blanket. But when the object of that reptilian stare is a living being, amusement cant help but be tinged by horror, the horror youre now beginning to feel seeping into your inebriated consciousness. You want to look away but like all creatures you are drawn to blood. When the cheetah slaughters the antelope on the savannah, every animal stares. The cat makes its first move, a tentative paw edging forward, suspended in mid-air, then planted, the spine so low that the shoulders arch upward through the stretched skin like two support towers for a suspension bridge. Another step and another, and the high-strung sparrows are none the wiser. The cat pauses a few seconds in order to appear more like a piece of ornamental lawn furniture; then,
when all seems well, it takes two more impossibly slow steps. Now within range, it prepares for its rush. The bones of the hips come up, weight is transferred from one back foot to the other and back again and the twitchy haunches abruptly fling the reasonless beast forward toward the nearest bird. A sound involuntarily escapes your throat as the unsheathed claws find and clamp down on their target and draw it into the waiting jaws, a loose wing still flapping. The other birds scatter instantaneously and the cat turns in unaccustomed triumph and leaves your yard, no doubt to return home to present the trophy to the unsuspecting owner, as city cats often do. You almost feel sick. In your disturbed state, your mind leaps to a line drawing you once saw accompanying a magazine article. It was a representation of three fish swimming in a row, each one larger than the one in front of it, mouths open and about to swallow. The title of the article? The Way of the World. # Were having pizza tonight, you say to Sandra as you breeze through the kitchen. Cool. Order what you like. Use the money in the jar. You go upstairs to your room, change to a robe and climb onto the bed, propping up the pillows against the headboard as usual. Youre not really hungry, though youve hardly eaten since breakfast. And lets face it, youre smashed. Time, that sometime hideous silent mechanical scraping of the expanding
galaxies through space, stops, as the saying goes, for no oneexcept the rare shaman in trance or ecstatic Sufi dancerand surely not for you as you sit there like an inanimate lump of potters clay. Time passes all too soon and in no time at all youll be your mother having lunches at the club with Sandra, though in this case only half an hour or so has passed and you hear the doorbell. Thatll be pizza boy. A perfect time to pour yourself a double and return to your lair by stealth. Shell linger with the guyhe thinks shes hot and the girls do love attentionso there you are. You make your way downstairs, hand unsteady on the railing, and slip across to the living room cabinet as Sandras being chatted up at the front door. You pour yourself a good half a highball glassful and before disappearing around the corner you turn and call, Leave some for me on the table; Ill be down later. Well done, and she never got so much as a whiff of your breath. The role model survives another day. Once back on the bed you decide, concluded by a mere sip from your glass, that the complicated future has just been whittled down to one seemingly manageable problem: what to do about Grant. Grant Morganthe man who could accomplish anything with the snap of his fingers, the boy in the candy store who couldnt keep his ravenous mouth off the sweets. Is he friend or foe? Misunderstood kid or arrant criminal? And what about the fact that he, with unsolicited corroboration from Frank, says hes changed? Rank felons in prison have undergone religious conversions and become washed by the blood of the lamb. Should we then release them? And how far back does ones sin extend? One year? Five? Ten? If someones grandmother walked out of a store with a
45rpm record of Heartbreak Hotel under her jacket at age eighteen, should she be prosecuted at age seventy when we read about it in her autobiography? When does a crime stop being a crime? Or does it depend on the crime? A shoplifter goes free but a concentration camp warden is hunted down in perpetuity? At which point along the continuum does one draw the line? And who does the drawing? Lets look at it rationally, you think. (As if, in your condition.) The big question is: is Grant a murderer? You knew in your gut that he couldnt be, but there had been another emotion-laden case where you instinctively knew of someones innocence and were wrongwhen doing a summer internship with the Illinois State Supreme Court. Remember that time? Her name was Jill Baxter, and she was one of three perky little secretaries in your office. A sweet, peach-faced girl of nineteen with the softest voice and a polite deference to all in authority. One week, two paychecks out of twelve in the filing cabinet went missing. They must have been misplaced. When the same thing happened a couple weeks later the police were called, and some slick detective work turned up the startling fact that little miss Jill was in fact a heroin addict, and after some heavy-handed interrogation, she admitted to taking the checks. You had been shocked to the marrow, hadnt you, Jen. It made you realize that if this Miss Priss could do that, maybe anyone was capable of anything. It made you a better lawyer, though not necessarily a happier one. So you know in your heart that Grant could never take a human life, and you also know that he very well could. You yourself could, for gods sake, if the conditions were right. That much you knew about human nature, though you often wished you
didnt. Theres really no such thing as innocencelook at Billy Budd!and by the same token, you were sure, theres no evil in the world. There are only mental conditions that are changeable according to the character of the person and the temper of the environment. Isnt that so? Were generally happier erring on the side of the good while occasionallysome of us more than othersstepping over the line. This train of thought, unquestionably compromised by alcohol, leads you to believe that regardless of how much or how little Grant has done, he is redeemable, just as you are and the bank manager living next door is. If thats true, he deserves a shot, your shot. One more sip of scotchunladylike gulp is more like itseals the bargain: youre Grant Morgans bitch and no ones going to bring him downunless you yourself decide to. # Its ten-thirty now. Yes, you must have dozed off. You come out of your room and into the hall. Sandras door is closed. You make your uncertain way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Theres the pizza box on the table. You put a slice on a plate and dig in. Good pizza is just as good cold. You have a lot of experience with pizzahigh school, college, law school student, single motherlike a connoisseur of fine wine, you know your pizza. People sometimes call it junk food. Its not. It contains the four major food groupsbread, dairy, meat and vegetables. And the pricey Italian-cum-Armenian restaurant where you get yours adds the tasty extras you like: fresh roasted garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, Napoli anchovies. Of the seven heavens of the Greek firmament, you feel yourself at the final ones
portal. Its a fascinating world we live in, isnt it. When the animal within is satisfied, the conscious mind calms itself down to match it. Psychologists call it congruence: that struggle of the human psyche for symmetry, balance. As you polish off the first piece and reach for another, youre starting to feel almost symmetrical.
Chapter 28
Who Do You Trust?
Lets see your evidence. Good morning, Jen. Good morning, Nick. Lets see what evidence youve got against Grant Morgan. Nick is surprised by your interest, or is it the way you barged into his office and are now standing over his desk like a fighting cock with its wings extended? He asks you to sit and you pass. He wants to know what interest you have in the case. You tell him Grant Morgan has business interests all over town and its important to know if any present or future clients might be affected by association with him. Not exactly the truth, but not a lie, either. Jennifer Knox doesnt lie. Being an attorney has taught her how to ply the truth, however. Im meeting my client at ten, he says. Care to sit in? Bulking up with info from office conversation is one thing, but revealing privileged information from a client to the defendant of his lawsuit is grounds for disbarment. Ill take a rain check. Just tell me how you figure hes involved with murder. I dont care about his business dealings; under the law its all up for grabs. Everybody
fudges, you know that. Arent you the open-minded one. And youre always talking about the sanctity of the law. That hurt. Maybe Nicks just ticked because you dusted him off last time when he wanted to get together. Look, Nick, I just want a worst-case scenario. Your client claims the mans a murderer. I dont want hearsay, I want facts. The cops are looking into it but not too seriously just yetthe guys got a lot of friends. And the D.A.s not biting until he sees something he can sink his teeth into. So theres nothing but Fowlers word. Whatve you got? Anything? Fowler told me he didnt want to go into partnership with Morgan at first because another guy, David Goldman, had the town locked up. Morgan said not to worry, his associate Frank Carter would look into it. Two weeks later, Goldman was dead. Frank! you say involuntarily, then recover. I read about Goldman. It was what, three or four years ago? They said it was an accidental drowning. Drowning, yes. Accidental? So your client went ahead with the deal. Doesnt that implicate him? The paper trail doesnt start til a year later, so he can claim hes clean. By the way, Frank Carter was a suspect in another murder about twelve years agoanother of Morgans competitorsbut they couldnt come up with enough hard evidence. But
weve got Jerry on this one and Im pretty sure hell dig up something. Jerry, your firms private investigator. The same one who took less than a day to find Sandra in Madison. Jerry could see and hear what others couldnt, and if there was dirt, hed be there to sweep it into his file and hand it all neat and clean to Nick. Better get your info straight from him, then; it would lessen your exposure. First, though, you were going to talk to Grant. And Frank. # Its three in the afternoon and Pattys buzzing you. Call for you on line one, she says breathlessly. Its the Governor. You inhale and exhale slowly, then tap the button. Jennifer Knox. Ms Knox, John Clary here. Have I caught you at a bad time? No, not at all. Good. Ms Knox, would you be able to come down to Springfield to see me tomorrow? Say two oclock? Theres a matter Id like to discuss with you. Tomorrow? Yes. Ill have someone pick you up at the airport. When the Governor calls, people usually jump. Why should you be any different? Ill be there. Can I ask what its about? Id rather wait until you get here, if you dont mind. My staff will make all the arrangements and contact you later today. Good day, Ms Knox.
The rest of the afternoon was shot, as your mind bounces from Grant Morgan to the Governors call and back again. That callwhat was it all about? You knew the Governor from a few dinners and receptions, but that was about it. Well, well see, wont we. Aside from a four oclock partners meeting in the conference room where you said some but heard little, you havent accomplished much today. Youve already called Grant; Frank will swing by the house at seven. Nothing to do now but wait. # Your mother is there with Sandra when you arrive. Zacks there too, but thats to be expected. So whats this about the Governor? she asks as soon as you walk in. I really dont know. Like I said on the phone, it was out of left field. Your mothers drinking the oaked chardonnay. You go to the kitchen and pour yourself one. You must have some idea, she says. He knew your father; maybe thats the connection. Ive racked my brain all afternoon. The only thing I can come up with is that hes got to appoint an interim senator to take Herb Klines place til the next election, and he wants my opinion. All the heavies are in Chicago, so maybe he figures I can help him sort out whos who, though Im sure he already knows everybody. She seems satisfied with that and turns her attention to something else. You know that Robbies out in California with Summer, dont you?
That was my idea. Why? You dont know how much Robbie has told her, so you play dumb. He hasnt seen her for ages. I just thought it would be a relaxing place for him to use up some vacation days. He works too much; you know that. If you can call flying all over the country work. And who knows how hes going to get along with Dwayne. Dwaynes very nice, Mother. I think Robbie will like him. Do you? You dont think hell be a bad influence? You know how impressionable your brother is. Your mother is so full of it sometimes. Can you expect to be equally so when youre her age? Its a frightening thought. No, I think hell be a good influence. He knows exactly who he is and what he wants; Robbie doesnt yet. Maybe some of thatll rub off. Youre an optimist. Who can afford not to be? Anyway, someones coming to pick me up in about twenty minutes so Ive got to get ready. You look gorgeous. Gorgeous might be a tad on the strong side. You freshen up and twenty minutes later Frank rolls up. You give final instructions to your mother. And remember, Sandras door stays open.
You worry too much. Sometimes I think I dont worry enough. Its chilly as Frank opens the rear door for you and you slide into the welltraveled car. You cant wait to talk to him about what Nick said today. Barely a minute later youre about to burst at the seams like one of those strange corals on the tropical reefs that one night a year split wide open and spew their myriad gametes into the dark waters. Pull over, Frank, you say. What? Why? Pull over right now. Theres something I want to talk to you about. He looks at you questioningly over his shoulder and slows to find a place to stop. Edging up to a quiet curb, he turns off the engine and looks at you through the rearview mirror. Frank, do you trust me? Why? Whats on your mind? Okay, Ill just say it. Did you kill David Goldman? Silence so thick an RPG wouldnt penetrate it. Frank? Pause. I dont know anything about it, he replies coldly. Im speaking to you as a friend. You understand that, dont you? I would never betray a friend.
Friends betray friends all the time. Thats how the world works. Well, Im not that way. Wont you trust me? Ms Knox, I dont trust my own mother. Is he covering, or is he just offended at your accusation? Another minute of silence, during which he doesnt crack, and he starts the car and continues driving. He doesnt say anything the rest of the way to Grants. As he lets you out of the car in the parking garage, you try once more. I need to know. He says nothing as he presses the elevator button, then gets back into the car and drives off. You punch the elevator code and go up. Grant is waiting at the door with the usual two glasses. Veuve Clicquot for the lady? he asks, mispronouncing it. You take a glass, clink it to his and knock back a large, calming sip in as civilized a manner as you can manage. Okay, he says, whats up? Its written across your face but Ill be damned if I can read it. Lets sit down. He follows you warily to the sofa like a motorless caboose trailing after a headstrong locomotive. I want you to tell me the truth, you say. I told you all about Fowler yesterday. That was the truth; every word of it. Jesus, doesnt this ever end?
Im not talking about Fowler. I want you to tell me about David Goldman. That obviously catches him off guard. Some romance this is turning out to be. Im not kidding around, Grant. Be straight with me on this if you want anything resembling a future with me. He drinks up and pours another from the bottle in the silver ice bucket on the coffee table. You drain your glass and hold it out. What do you want to know? Did you ask Frank to get rid of him so you and Fowler could set up shop? Who told you that? Lets say its a rumor that may come back to haunt you. Hes thinking. He wants to trust you, or at least you think he does, but no doubt he also doesnt want to blot his reputation forever in your eyes. Not to mention incriminate himself. Why are you putting him on the spot like this? Youre starting to act like youre crazy about the guy. Admit itever since he sat across from you at the deposition, youve hardly thought about anything else. Not even Jack had affected you this way. Could it be the extraordinary power and mystery of Grant Morgan thats caught your eye, or is it the endearing way he opens himself up to you at the same time that he physically claims you as his own? Sometimes youre not sure whether youre in love or just mesmerized. Jennifer Knox, pixilated by at the very least a delinquent, at worst a bloody murderer! So? you press on. What about Goldman?
# Youre sitting at your kitchen table eating bleu cheese on crackers, downing it with the last of the chardonnay. Your mother has just gone home, after grilling you about why you came back from your date so soon. I wasnt hungry, you had said. Youd asked Zack to go home too, and now it was just you and Sandra, she upstairs listening to hip hop music with the door closed. You can hear the dire thump-thumpthump through the woodwork. Grant had been tight-lipped about David Goldmans death and you couldnt discern anything from his eyes. Guys from the South Side toughened up early, and if there was something they didnt want you to know, you couldnt get it out of them. You couldnt see it on their faces and it probably couldnt be forced out of them with a Glock to the temple. Youd learned that long ago as a young lawyer, and it was brought home once again by Grant and Frank tonight. That leaves you with a choice, doesnt it. Trust him or not. Though you left the penthouse in frustration, youve already made up your mind, havent you. Of course you have. You love the delinquent jerk. Youll back him to the bloody hilt. You call him to tell him so, and twenty minutes later hes sitting plump in your living room, petting your hand like you were a prize poodle.
Chapter 29
Upping the Ante
In the morning Sandra is encased in her shell and says little. You wonder if you should take an ax to it or just leave it alone to become desiccated and crumble of its own accord. Yet you worry that itll ossify with age, and how pleasant will those lunches at the club be then? Youre not just a selfish bitch, thoughyou worry about her soul, too. You are her mother. Do you have a rehearsal this weekend? you ask, thinking a reference to her one love besides Zackmusicwill warm her. Youve completely forgotten that shes starting up a band of her own. Im not going anymore, she says impassively. You rear up to jump all over her but restrain yourself. Why not? I told you before; nobody listens to that stuff. Jazz isnt cool. Jazz isnt cool. Thats one for the quotation books. She had no understanding of what music was, or history. But think back, Jen, to what you knew at fourteen. The word squat comes to mind, as does the possibly more colorful jack-shit. You used to like jazz. That was before. Anyway, you have to improvise. I didnt know that was so
much a part of it. So you improvise. The more you get a sense of something, the easier it is to feel your way around it. What does that mean? I dont know. Just that jazz is something you grow into. Its not like rock, where you just lay down a beat and wail on about love or frustration. You follow rock; jazz follows you. I have no idea what youre talking about. Four quick honks of a horn outside and she grabs a limp croissant from the table and dashes out the door. # The flight to Springfield was quick and neat, and you hardly had time to think about what you were going to do about Sandra, if anything. If she were going to ruin her life over a stupid boy, there wasnt much you could do about it. Why did she have to be so blind? Anyway, it was too heavy a thought right now, and you turn your attention to the Governor and what kind of recommendations you were going to give him. Even that thoughts cut short as you debark from the small turboprop and enter the terminal, carrying only your slim leather briefcase. Some young staffer is waiting for you and you go with her to the parking lot. Her name is Ruth, like in the Bible. You ask her about her namesake but she doesnt know anything about it. She leads you to a black off-the-rack Ford Explorer and says, Hop in,
chirping it open and motioning for you to sit in front with her. She pays for parking with a special card and youre off for the Governors Mansion. Ruth says its more private there than his office. I like your freckles, you offer on the drive in. Thanks. My boyfriend says my freckles are what keep him coming back. I dont know whether to thank him or shoot him. Better be thankful. In the early days of this country, Ruth, the only women men saw were the handful around them and the occasional drawing in the newspaper. Today images of women are all over the place, beautiful women, some without clothes. We may need every advantage we can get. She thinks on this, almost running a red light in the process. She hits the brakes and the car lurches to a stop. That was close, she says. The Governors Mansion is stately and immaculate and surrounded by the greenest of green lawns. A long black Cadillac is parked near the front, and a handful of lesser cars occupy a small parking area nearby. She parks in their midst. You go with her up the steps, past the massive pillars and the security guard, into the house. The foyer is magnificent, or so it seems to you, and gives you a flavor of earlier times. And its quiet like a chapel long emptied. This way, Ruth says in a muted voice and leads you to an office. She knocks twice, pauses, then opens the door. Jennifer Knox, she says and disappears.
Ms Knox. Governor. Please come in. The office is tastefully Old World, looking more like a small drawing room or library. Books are legion and theres a freestanding antique globe in the corner. The Governor himself was scarcely more modern; the cut of his hair, his clothes, seemed to signal a throwback to an earlier, more genteel age. You sit in a chair across the desk from him, your case in your lap, and await his pronouncement. Weve met before, he begins. Yes. Weve run into each other a number of times. Moreover, Ive done my homework. I probably know as much about your professional career as anyone. Of course, I could say that about a lot of people. Warts and all, in my case. Lets not be modest. Youve hardly made a wrong move since law school. If thats true, I owe it to luck. He brushes off your humility and leans forward in his chair. Why havent you gone into politics? Too busy, I guess. He laughs. Young lady, politics isnt something one does in ones spare time. Politics is a life in and of itself. And it can take you further than any law practice can. You are ambitious, arent you?
Yes. I thought so. And yet I sense that youre holding back. What makes you say that? Your obvious visibility in Chicago and the fact that you havent yet begun to parlay that into bigger and better things. And something I overheard you say this spring at that Heart Foundation charity dinner. You said that Dickens wasnt just fishing for a catchy metaphor when he said that the law is an assyou agreed with him and said you were determined to do something about it. I dont remember those words, but the sentiment is there, yes. And I read your article The Tribune. That was years ago. And have you changed your mind? No. So you see? You have an appetite to do something, and yet you hesitate. He sits back in his chair like an attorney resting his case, looking at you warmly, almost paternally as you cogitate over what he said. Having said his piece, he doesnt seem in any hurry to add to it. A minute or two goes by. Hes old schoolapparently he doesnt feel the need to fill up every empty space with noise. Thats okay, as your training as a lawyer has long since rendered you insensible to the vagaries of communication. A silent staredown, a raving tirade, a polite nodit was all the same to you. As they drummed into your thick novice skulls over and over: dont let anything shake you. Finally, you take
the initiative. Im assuming you asked me here because of Senator Klines death. Thats precisely why I asked you. You open your briefcase and pull out a folder in black leatherette. Ive made some notes for you about possible candidates in the Chicago area, including Oak Park and Evanston. You probably know more about them than I do. Anyway, I used three criteria to rank them: education, professional achievement, and what you might call the x-factor; public acceptability might be a way of putting it. I wasnt sure that youwhat? Why are you smiling? Governor? He chuckles. Its a shame to see all that good work go to waste. You feel your face reddening. Im sorry. I guess I was being presumptuous in thinking you wanted my recommendations. God, this is embarrassing. Thats not it at all. You see, Ms Knox, Im seriously considering appointing you as the new United States senator from the state of Illinois. # Hit me with a brick! Tan my hide and call me Sassy! What rough beast slouches toward Bethlehem to be yourn? Okay, get a grip, sister. The world isnt coming to an end; its just beginning. A senator! Thats just a hop, skip and jump away from the Presidency! The Guvs still looking at you with a twinkle in his eye.
Ms Knox? Jennifer? Im still recovering. Take your time. You want an answer now? Just whether youre interested or not. Ive considered a number of candidates and youve made the final cut. Of those, the ones who are prepared to accept the position will be subject to a more comprehensive background check. Then Ill make my decision. Your shock and euphoria are suddenly overshadowed by a looming cloud. But Im not a Republican. Im an Independent. Yes, I know. But Klines appeal was broad, as Im sure youre aware, and I dont think therell be any backlash if I appoint someone outside the Party, providing they also have broad appeal. Which I think you do. In any case, its just for about two years, when the electorate gets to choose again. At that point, the appointee can decide to run as a candidate proper or bow out gracefully with the full gratitude of the people of our great state. Land of Lincoln. Land of Lincoln, Everett Dirksen, Adlai Stevenson. Barack Obama. Heady company. I have no doubt you can join them. If not yet as an equal, at least as an aspirant. You flatter me.
Not without cause, I assure you. Youre still holding the leatherette file in your hands. You open the briefcase and slide it back in. As you do so, you say, I suppose these are my competitors, then. One or two of them, maybe. But I can tell you that youve got a comfortable lead. You snap the case shut. This is all quite a surprise. Think it over, then. Actually, Ive already decided. And? Count me in. He stands and comes around his desk. I thought nothing less. So, Jennifer, Ill let you know in about two weeks. And whatever I decide, Ive always had the highest regard for you, and I hope well have a long and cordial relationship. That goes for me, too. He takes your hand warmly in both of his and shakes it lightly. Ill have my niece take you back to the airport. You might have time for a cocktail before your flight. Ruths your niece. Yes. Great kid. Since she dropped out of Northwestern, my sister has been
fretting about her future, so Ive taken her on until she finds her way. Thats kind of you. Kind and calculating, actually. If I keep her on the straight and narrow, the family name keeps intact and everybody sleeps better at night. Every deed has two sides. In this case, it seems both sides are good. I think thats how politicians become statesmenby keeping both sides of the coin good. Well said. Ill see you out. # The drive back to the airport is brief in light traffic. You just might have time for that cocktail when you get there. A margarita would go good about now, to tame your ebullient spirits. Your uncles a nice man, Ruth. Yeah, hes cool. And Ive changed my mind about something I told you on the way in. Whats that? Remember I said you should be thankful that your boyfriend said he keeps coming back because of your freckles? Yeah. Well, Ive reconsidered. Better shoot him.
Chapter 30
Just a Routine Investigation
Hello, Sis. Robbie! Where are you? Im in the biggest of Big Surs. And? You hanging in there? Like a fruit bat in a guava tree. So whats been happening? Thanks for telling me about the snake. Ah, that darling little rattler? Cute, isnt he? Not when youve got to dodge im on the trail. Did dear Auntie Summer make you take point? No, luckily she let me dawdle behind. Do you know theyve got cougars out here, too? No way was I leading the march. I may be old meat, but to a mountain lion Im sure Im tenderloin. Robbie sounded better. Nothing like a radical change of scenery to ease the troubled mind a bit. It sure worked for you. And the hot pool? Great. I had no idea being naked in the woods was so deliciously animalistic.
It must go back to our monkey days. Your monkey days, you mean. I come from a long line of Egyptian pharaohs and priestesses. So, Isis is your goddess, then? Must be nice. My god branched me off from a damned chimpanzee. So how about the sweat lodge? Did Summer get you in that yet? She says I might be ready for it in a couple days or so. Says she wants to toughen me up first. She can do it. Shes a tough broad herself. And Dwaynes great. Once you get past the shyness, he loves to talk. Thats my medium, you know. And yesterday he took me fishing. Yeah, I like Dwayne a lot. Hes good for Summer, too. Treats er like a queen but wont take any crap from her. Seems like a perfect balance. Silence. So how are you doing, Robbie? Really. Me? I dont know. Its like Ive covered the pain withwhata layer of shellac or something. Im shinier now, but I still hurt. But I talked with Mark like you said, and who knows, maybe hell come around. And I followed your advice about staying over a bit in San Francisco, and honey, the bathhouses were a dream. Pure paradise on a sesame seed bun. If that doesnt make you forget your troubles for a while, nothing will.
You sound good. I think Im getting there. How long do you think youll be out there? Im not sure. Summer wants me to stay for two or three weeks, but well see. When Im ready to smile at my high-flying clientele again, thats the time to go back. And how about you, Jen? Still interested in that big bad Grant Morgan? More than interested. I think were a number now. Whoa, horsey! Think you can ride him without falling off? I think Ive got my grip on the reins now. Good for you. Maybe you can tame the beast. Who knows? And theres more news. Do tell. The Governor has to appoint somebody to fill in for Senator Kline til the next election, and he asked me if Im interested. No kidding? My sister the senator. Wouldnt that be the cats behind. It hasnt been decided yet. Hes got a few other people in mind, so I wont know for sure for a couple weeks. Who cares? Just the fact that youre in the running is a great thing. Shows how wonderful you are. Oh yes, Im so wonderful. You are. Ive always known it, and so have you. Now lets let other people see it, too.
Youre sweet, dear. Of course Im sweet. It comes with the territory. But that doesnt mean what I say isnt true. Youre starting to feel a little choked up. Stop it, before I melt on you. Take care of yourself, Robbie. And give my love to Summer and Dwayne. I will. And you, Sis; love and kisses to you. Love and kisses to you, too. # Youre propped up in bed with a cup of chamomile tea. Its late; not a creature is stirring. Good. You can take stock now. Robbie seems to be getting squared away. Hes a fragile kid, your brother, but he always finds a way to weather the rough spots. Hes come to you plenty of times, hasnt he, and now Summer, and for a time, there was a priest at that Cuban church in Miami. And like many of Robbies clan, periodic quick and nameless unions sustained him when his burdens grew heavy. Doing it with strangers, he once told you, is the most incredible energizer. You mix excitement and fear with the holy sacrament of sharing one of lifes most precious and vulnerable moments with another human beingit gives you hope to go on another day. Though you couldnt fathom the attraction of that, you could see the value of it if it were done with mutual respect, and for sure it was compatible in a psychological sense with mens apparent mandate to spread their seed where they could. So while such chosen menin our
age anywaymight never truly thrive, they could at least get by with such manna in the wilderness. That, Robbie seemed to be doing. If there was anyone to be pitied in this scenario, it was Mark. At least Robbie had the courage to be himself, tenuous as that seemed sometimes, while Mark put on a mask and was a prisoner of his own disguise. Well, then. What about this senatorial thing? Could it be possible that you might be the next Illinois senator? Was this ordained so that you could skip the stage of being Klines protg and step directly into the spotlight, where you could have it shine in the direction youve had in mind all along? And could you stretch a two-year position into a lifelong career among the top lawmakers in the country, where you, having become Diana of the hunt, could at last draw your bow? In any case, tomorrow youd contact Klines staff and find out if theyd managed to gather any of the information about prosecutions or harassment under the Patriot Act as the Senator had indicated. Finally you felt a sense of momentum building! In the four years since you found your truer self and put into focus more clearly how you wanted to unite your heart and your training, for sure youve felt youve been spinning your wheels, looking for some traction, and now you sense the beginnings of dry pavement beneath you. If all goes well, the only limit on your acceleration might be what you yourself put on it. Senator Knox. Senate Floor Leader Knox. Vice-president Knox. President Knox! It was all too heady to contemplate! And then there was the matter of Grant. With his connections on one side of town, yours on the other, his street-smarts, your legal training, his animal vitality,
your moral compasstogether youd pull him out of the mire and help transform him, maybe like the notorious Joe Kennedy, from a suspected wrongdoer into a prominent and respected member of the community. And in your tandem future, what great press you could generate to draw attention to your legal work! Youd fly to the stars and back and he, powerful and expansive being that he was, would never become a milquetoast Mr Jennifer Knox. Never! Now, Ms Knox, with all these big issues falling into place, lets see how this plays out, shall we? # Good morning, your ladyship. Its nice to see that Dels back to his usual self. Good morning. Say, Del, Ive been wondering. Ever think about working in Washington? Getting your hands on the levers of power now and then? He looks pensive a moment. I once thought Id like to go into politics, but after I realized what it was all about, Ive had second thoughts. Why? No reason. Your going back to law school got me thinking, thats all. He looks a little puzzled but it passes. Maybe hes surprised that youre considering his future, and possibly even grateful. Lets face it, the guy looks up to you. In any event, no sense in tipping your hand now when things are still up in the air. You change the subject. Anyway, I want you to see if anyone on Senator Klines staff is still around
the office. Im especially interested in whoever was closest to him; chief of staff or whatever. Will do. He goes out and you call Grant. Hello, darling, is your uncharacteristic opening. His voice warms immediately and youre beginning to feel the two of you might just be over the competitive cat-and-mouse game where neither of you were sure of the others motives. He, suspicious by upbringing and you by training, may just have arrived at a detente thatll mellow into a comfortable partnership with the application of enough time and attention. He returns your darling, a first for him, his most common though rare epithet being baby, coming no doubt from a history of girlfriends, cocktail waitresses and possibly the occasional hooker. Hes coming right along, you think contentedly. And he might be thinking the same about you. About that cabin by the lake, you say. He must feel the turning point in that statement because you can hear in his voice what could almost be described as glee, though with him its subtle. Tomorrow is Friday so he says hell pick you up at the office at four-thirty if its okay, and you can be up there in time for dinner. Bring your things to work with you, he adds. A weekend with Grant. In a secluded spot and surrounded by Nature. One big garden! Who knows what wild and unpredictable things could happen in a place like that? #
By early afternoon Del has located all of Klines staff, arranged in order of importance, and given you the list, complete with phone numbers. Who should I call first? he asks after youve had a chance to look it over. Thats okay, Ill handle it, you say. You ring the first name on the list and are received with effusive warmth. Does the guy sense you might be next in line for the throne? If so, dont disabuse him of it when youre in need of assistance, or may be in need of such assistance in the future. He tells you they had two people working on your project with the Senator for just a day and had collected a small dossier of four pages. You ask if a copy can be forwarded to you. Of course. In addition, he says, though his contract expires at the end of the month, hed be glad to continue the research part-time until then, even enlisting the help of the skeleton crew still in the office charged with getting the late Senators files in order. You thank him and put the phone down with a feeling of impending movement. Wheels are turning, massive blocks of stone starting to move inexorably toward the great pyramid. As youre musing about the momentous future stretched before you, youre quickly brought back by Patty on the buzz. Two men from the FBI are here to see you. The phrase the hunter becomes the hunted flashes in your mind but thats ridiculous. Still, no one faces the FBI or even the IRS without apprehension, no matter how clear the conscience. Send them in, you say. Agents Smith and Jonesyou dont hear their real namescome in and you ask them to sit. Ever the good attorney, you stay mum and wait for them to show
their cards. Ms Knox, Smith says, were doing a routine background check with regards to the Senate seat vacated by the late Senator Kline. Of course. Well be contacting various friends and neighbors of yours, if that wont be too much of an inconvenience. He seemed to be saying it more as a formality than a request for your blessing, which his attitude showed he obviously didnt need. It was clear to you that he was aware of his power, a power you sometimes had to deal with in criminal cases early in your career, defending clients against the weight of FBI evidence. You realized even then that the Bureau was a steamroller of considerable weight which, if it so chose, could flatten anyone unlucky enough to be in its path, the question of guilt or innocence notwithstanding. Was this the legacy of the great J Edgar Hoover, whose high-heeled and vindictive ghost could still be seen prowling the hallowed halls? if that wont be too much of an inconvenience. Not at all, you reply neutrally. Good. And we have a few questions for you as well, if youve got the time. Certainly. Del knocks twice and sticks his head in the door. Coffee? They decline, as do you. Del apparently sees the look on your face and gives you a sympathetic nod before leaving.
Well, Smith begins. You attended the University of Illinois on a National Merit scholarship, graduating with a degree in political science. You went on to Columbia Law School, worked on the Law Review there, and came back to work for Jenkins, Kunsler and Rabe. No arrests, not even a traffic ticket. You toss him a sop to see what hell do with it, if anything. Getting a ticket and talking your way out of one are one and the same, as far as that goes. Im not Little Miss Prim, you know. So you might say that Ive had at least three tickets. Mr Jones looks at Mr Smith as if this is vital new information but says nothing. Clearly hes just tagging along for the ride. Any political party affiliation? Im an Independent. And yet you were on close terms with Senator Kline. How did he know about that? How much did he know? I knew him socially and consulted with him recently about a case I was considering taking. Professor Benton from the University of Chicago. You struggle mightily to control your eyebrows, which are itching to rise. I didnt take that case. Can I ask why not? Lets just say I felt he had gone too far in stating his prescription for change. And yet your cases in the past have shown extraordinary sympathy for
freedom of speech. Its in the Bill of Rights, of course Of course. And yet one might characterize many of those cases as beingantiestablishment, shall we say, in tone, if not in substance. I try to take on cases that might prove a challenge, when I can. Nothing more. No ax to grind with the authorities, the federal government? Im an officer of the court. Im sworn to uphold the law. He realizes youre dancing, and is unfazed. Many FBI agents have law degrees themselves, so they know the tune. And you consulted Kline about Dr Benton before you made your decision to drop the case? If he knew that you and Benton had gone to the Senators office, maybe he was trying to trip you up. Who knows, maybe even Kline himself had been under surveillance. Even though a good Republican, hed made noises about the Patriot Act on the Senate floor, and that alone could have caused a blip on the radar. I dropped by his office with Professor Benton to run some things about the case by him. When I found that his opinion and my own about Benton coincided, I later decided to drop the case, yes. You know that Professor Benton has written about scrapping the Constitution. As I said, it was my judgment that he had gone too far. And you have no sympathy for that position?
Hes trying to bait you now, so that you might jump up out of your chair and shout, Absolutely not! Im sworn to uphold the law, as I said. The Constitution is the law of the land. Ergo He refuses to be unnerved by your footwork, but seems to lose interest in this line of questioning and decides to change tack. Tell me about Grant Morgan. You force yourself to reply without missing a beat, hoping he wont detect the effort. What about him? Id like to ask you about the nature of your relationship. I know him from the club. We had cause to call him in for a deposition, and I later began to see him socially. By socially, can I assume you mean developing a personal relationship with him? You can assume that, yes. And could this be construed as an intimate relationship? I suppose it could be construed any way you like but since this isnt a court of law, Im not enjoined to supply details of my personal relationships. Of course. This is just a routine interview. I only ask because Mr Morgan has been under periodic investigation by the Internal Revenue Service regarding offshore accounts and possible tax evasion.
Has he been charged with a crime? No. Then what business would that be of mine? If youre implying some sort of guilt by association, surely you must prove criminal intent by either party before any taint on that association is credible. Undaunted, he perseveres. Theres also the question of the death of a recent business associate of his, and a similar death twelve years ago. Are you aware of that? You dont dare lie. Dancing with an agent is one thing, but lying to him is quite another and these men are trained by experience to see, hear, and smell a lie the moment it leaves ones lips. Mr Morgan is a very private man, and a successful one, so naturally there are rumors, good and bad. Big as it is, Chicagos a small town and I suppose Ive heard them all. And you have no direct knowledge of the veracity of that particular rumor? Lets put that question in another pair of pants and say, Would I knowingly develop a personal relationship with a murderer? and let you answer it for yourself. And yet your law firm is at this moment investigating this and other allegations about Morgan as it conducts a lawsuit that has named him as the defendant. Youre aware of that? Yes. And that doesnt trouble you?
It troubles me the way all bad press about my associations troubles me, but I see no reason to fold on that account. And if you find yourself implicated in eventual charges? He obviously said this for its chilling effect, and as expected, it leaves an impression. You dare not show it, though. Implication presumes guilt, and with that in mind, I assure you I can rest easily. Certainly, but you must know that its not the individual who decides guilt but a jury, irrespective of whether one is innocent or not. He was getting to you now, wasnt he. It was nice work, planting in your mind that if Grant Morgan went down, you just might go down with him. Was this just a benevolent ploy to get you to back off, for your sake and the Governors, so as to be free of any hint of scandal if you did end up in the Senators office? Or was he hot on Morgans scent and thinking his career prospects would improve if he snagged abettors or accomplices, thus fattening the catch? And what a haul if he could reel in Jennifer Knox! You shudder at the thought, yet cannot let on. If there was the slightest whiff of corruption in Grant Morgans house, Id detect it long before I found myself deep enough in something to be implicated in it. But all of this is wild speculation on your part, yet I know that youve got a job to do and Im sure youre very good at it. Oh, he didnt like that remark. Look at his face, though youre sure hes trying to appear impassive. You just cuffed him one and he cant do anything about it. Hes
got to sit there looking professional. He doesnt seem like the type to let it pass with impunity, but his phone beeps and he reads a message. Im sorry, Ms Knox, but weve got to cut this short. Mr Jones looks at him. What about Dwayne Washington? he says. Well have to go into that at another time. Then to you: Thank you for your time, Ms Knox. Id like to continue with this later, if you dont mind. Ill have someone phone ahead so it wont be so much of an inconvenience. Fine. I hope Ive answered to your satisfaction. You cant help this little bit of sarcasm, can you, couched as it was in the sweetest of diplomatic tones. Yes, thank you. They leave. And they want to hear about Dwayne, too! You feel like a voracious beast has just been led out of your office on a leash, and they want to bring it back later for another feeding!
Chapter 31
The Unstoppable Force of Heat
Yesterday was totally laid to waste, as its hard to work when one feels violated and theres more to come. Today isnt much better, though at least youve got a weekend in the woods with Grant to look forward to. Only the theme now wouldnt be fun so much as frigging getting away from it all. You really envy that monk in the Zen story, eating his stupid strawberry with no thought of the morrow. Del comes in with an unrequested cappuccino, foam over the lip and powdered obscenely with chocolate. Whats the occasion? you ask. Your ladyship seems somber of spirit. You can probably thank our friendly Federal Bureau of Investigation for that. Those two tight-asses yesterday? I saw your faceI can still feel the chill they brought in. Look, theres even frost on your windows. You start to turn for a look but catch yourself. I can almost believe you, you say with a muted laugh. Believe me. God, I dont know why those guys make trouble for honest people. How can they sleep at night? The Nuremburg defenseI was only following orders.
But that defense was rejected at Nuremburg. So it was. Look, Del, yesterday was no big dealjust a routine background check. Still, it made me uneasy. Past experience makes me think its the benign tip of a much darker icebergthis overwhelming desire to root out the enemy. It drives me nuts sometimes. At Cornell we talked about it going back to Hoovers paranoia. Thats just what went through my mind yesterday! But Im sure it goes back much farther than that. John Adams was paranoid too, if you can call it that, and almost had Jeffersons neck because of it. I thought they were friends. They were, til Adams became president and Jefferson dared question some of his policies. Suddenly his loyalty was in question. The Alien and Sedition Acts. Smart boy. But even earlier than that, during the Revolution, the idea of are you with us or against us started getting out of hand. How so? Lets just say that accessorizing with tar and feathers came into vogue. Those not being handy, a good old-fashioned beating did the trick. He grimaces. With us or against us. So neatly restated by a recent president two centuries later. Yes, a proud tradition, and you never know what you might say or do to end
up on the wrong side of it. Its a crying shame. Ive cried my share, believe me, you lament. Pause. Well, drink up, he says. Youve got tons to do. Still leaving at four-thirty? In my mind Im already gone. # Its a little more than an hours drive to Doe Lake. The gated gravel road to Grants cabin was off another gravel road in a fairly dense wood. You said it was secluded, but you joke to Grant as Frank unlocks the gate. Five minutes on the narrow track weaving through the trees brings you to a clearing where you see a rough cabin, much rougher than Summers, and twenty yards beyond it, a small lake surrounded by polychromatic autumn trees. There were no other cabins in sight. Where are your neighbors? There are none. I own the lake. And the woods? I own them, too. Frank eases up to the cabin, parking next to an old jeep. You get out of the car and take in the scene around you. Its gorgeous. With you here it is.
Frank retrieves your bag from the trunk, gets back into the car and drives off. Just you and me, then? He smiles at you. You wanted Frank to stay? No! I just thought that since he was driving us all the way out here Thats nothing for Frank. Hes been out here already today. I had him come out this morning to turn on the power, stock the fridge, all that good stuff. You just snap your fingers, dont you. I worked hard for twenty-five years so I could snap my fingers. It was no picnic, believe me. Dont be so touchy, you laugh. I didnt mean anything by it. Sorry. Give me a while to unwind. Just dont bite, okay? I already promised you that. And Im going to hold you to that. In perpetuity. Sounds like lawyer talk. That way, its legally binding. You look around to get your bearings. Whats that over there? Its a treehouse. Want to go up? Is it safe? Trust me.
Quickly changing your shoes, you follow him across the grassy yard to the sturdy-looking tree. You look up the ladder to the treehouse above, then to Grant. Still game? he asks. Dont you know? you say, and start climbing. Youre suddenly feeling all girly now, arent you. Halfway up, you stop for a look around, Grant right behind you. The views great from here, he says. You look down at him but hes not looking at the lake. No sightseeing, please, you protest. This is private property. Just like my lake retreat. But I let you in, didnt I? So you want in, is that it? Ill make it worth your while. Im sure you will. And yours too, no doubt. Oh, theres no doubt about that. I cant believe Im talking to you like this. Like what? Like this. Why? Dont you like it? Thats just it; I do like it. You resume the climb and reach a hatch in the treehouse floor. Turning the handle, you push it open and climb inside. Grant follows and closes the hatch. You look around. Its one room, maybe eight by ten feet, with curtained windows on three
sides, set low so you can see out while seated on the floorthere are no chairs, only a profusion of cushions. On one side is a foam mattress covered in fabric that matches the cushions. You smell wood. Rustic, you say. Did you make it? I had a builder come out from Chicago. I wanted something that would weather the spring storms. Do you come up here much? Every time I come out. I sleep up here once in a while. I pretend like Im the last man on earth. Whats that like? Peaceful. You look out the window toward the lake. Youre a lucky man, Grant. Know that? Right now I am. Right now Im the luckiest man in the world. You touch his hand and he takes yours forcefully in his. You know exactly where this will lead, and youll follow along all too willingly, almost foolishly, like a lemming. And it doesnt bother you a bit. # Youre sitting in a lawn chair watching Grant grill a couple of steaks. The sun is low on the horizon but you can only see its tawny rays coming through the trees. You chuckle to yourself at a thought thats just passed through your mind. You see Grant a moment as a man might look at a woman: shes good in bed, and she can
cook, too! Grant? What is it? Have you taken another woman up there? Where? The treehouse? Yes. Youre the only one. See, thats kind of a special place for me and I dont really want other people up there. As soon as the words leave his lips, you decide youre going to marry Grant Morgan. Youre going to cherish him and nurture him as no one has done before. And tonight, youre going to give him a night of love such as hes never had, something that hell remember always and will bind him to you forever. Tonight youll let yourself become that female animal that no man might resistrestless, enveloping, cat-sensuous, totally yielding, and above all, appreciative. Youre going to make sure Grant Morgan never looks at another woman again but thinks only of you, dreams only of you. Youre the gatekeeper to a treasure hes teaching you is richer and more luxurious than youd ever imagined. Youll open the gate wide open and let him enter the treasure room, again and again, to run his fingers through the precious jewels, pour gold coins over his head in a voluptuous shower, knowing as you do that as a man, he could never get enough, never satisfy his eternal hunger. And through this total submission to his desire, becoming the very altar upon which he prayed, he would at last become yours. Your perfect reign could begin.
# You open your eyes to an incendiary flash as morning sunlight bursts through the cabin window. Grant is on your side of the bed, propped up on one elbow, looking at you with a barely concealed smile. Squinting your pupils narrow, you smile back. Youre so handsome, you say, reaching over languidly to stroke his morning whiskers. If you say so, he replies skeptically. How about a dip? In the lake? Isnt it cold? Its usually okay til the middle of next month. Cmon, lets give it a try. He gets out of bed and picks you up, carrying you outside and across the grass. No swim suits? you ask. No neighbors, so who needs em? He puts you down at the waters edge and you test it with your foot. Its not bad. Told you. Taking your hand, he leads you in. Its sandy, you say. I thought itd be mucky. I had five loads trucked in. You think of everything, dont you. No, only of you. Its working. The spell is working. Now up to your waist, you follow his lead as he lowers himself in the water til
his head is submerged and he stands up again. You put your hands to his dripping face, his chest. He puts his arms around you and you dissolve into him without a moments hesitation. You think back to your time with Summer in the hot pool, where you held each other just like this. Youre surprised and grateful that it feels the sametotal devotion, total surrender. Only theres an added dimension which suddenly makes itself known. # In the afternoon, Grant caught two perch from the rowboat, you lying sleepily against a cushion in the prow, staring up at the bleached white clouds inching across their blue carpet. Now at sunset hes grilling them over charcoal. Youre drinking champagne. The mood since you arrived has been placid, except for those times when it was anything butand you didnt want to spoil it by bringing up your visit from the FBI, though you had to. Hardly any alcohol was drunk this weekend, but tonight youve been putting a few away, getting Grant to join you, of course. No doubt you figure hell take it more calmly that way. You banter your way along, but now you hear the trumpets sounding. You cant postpone it any longer. Darling (as youre now becoming fond of saying), theres something Ive been wanting to talk to you about. He puts down his grill fork and takes a sip of his drink. Would it have anything to do with two dorks from the U.S. Government? You know?
They paid me a little visit. Asked me a whole bunch of questionsabout my taxes, about Fowler, and then they started asking me about you. Did they tell you about my meeting with the Governor? Being a candidate for the vacant Senate seat? I knew about that already. This surprises you, although it really shouldnt. Why didnt you say something? Youre a big girl, Jen, and I know youve got a lot of things you want to do. If thats one of them, more power to you. I can live with it. We can work something out. I just didnt want you to feel under any pressure. You let this sink in. Youre so good, Grant. Im really not. But I am better around you. I do know that. So what about the FBI? Do they know anything or are they just shaking the bushes? Fowlers lawsuit stirred em up, thats all. Yes, I know all about that, too. I couldnt really go into it with you, you know. I could be disbarred for that. I know. You protect yourself about what needs to be protected and I protect you from everything else. Thats how I see it. I dont see any conflict of interest in that, do you? Youre touched. Youd protect me?
Youre mine now. I protect whats mine. Startled by his audacity, you jump up and fling yourself haphazardly at him, spilling his drink. I love you so much, you presumptuous son of a pup! You kiss him with the full outpouring of your inebriated heart, deeply, sincerely. When you pull back, youre amazed to catch sight of an evanescent wetness in his eye. I love you too, my little lawyer princess, he says with boyish earnestness. So whatre we going to do about the FBI? His eyes suddenly narrow and grow steely. Screw em. They got nothing.
Chapter 32
It All Starts
On Monday the office is teeming, everyone seeming mad with overwork and you right in the thick of it. Nice necklace, Del says. Thanks; it was a gift. God, Ive got a million things to do today. Tell me about it. No more trips out of town. So you say. Ill be a junior partner forever if I keep this up. Youre on the clock now, lady. You spend an hour going through the files on your desk, budgeting your time for the next five days. You have a trial next week and two more coming up and youre nowhere near ready. Its going to be homework city for a while for sure. Theres something to be said for keeping your nose down and pressing onward, bloodhound-like, especially when you happen to love what you do and are good at it. You could do it with your hands tied, right, Jen? And what a clever way to keep the world at bay at the very moment you were engaged with ita paradox of the first order, but one you were probably thankful for. You dived into the fray, had done so
for years now, but because you did it as an attorney, the unpleasantries were held at arms length. The application of rational thinking, legal parameters, set procedures made even the most egregious problems manageable, if not soluble. Youd even survived your own divorce by treating it as a legal puzzle to be solved rather than a nightmare of which you were a waking, walking participant. You really had been Ft Knox, fending off the rancorous slings and arrows, though some had found their mark, for sure. But somethings changed, hasnt it. Grant opened up something in youphysical yes, but so powerfully emotional that it permeated you completely and seemed to unlock the door to your deepest being. Nick then unleashed its sweet, raging totality as you could never have imagined possible, and now Grant in his awkward and patient way is fine-tuning it every way he knows how. Lets face it, youre softening up, kid. Melting is probably a better word. And one might be inclined to believe you like it! Foolish girl, you think the heavens bluer now, the trees straighter and taller, commonplace flowers prettier. You must know that this is the handiwork of the giddy dance of the hormones, and yet you stick to your conceit that its part of some great spiritual plan, a gilded destiny bestowed upon only a lucky c few. Yeah, youre going places all right, sister, and with a man! Hold on tight now! # Eleven oclock and Del hasnt brought a second cup of coffee yet. Its apparent hes hard at work, trying to cover for you, has been for days. The guy needs a break. What does he do when he goes home? Friends and beers around a football game on TV? A doleful opera crying from the CD player? A parakeet? Youve never asked him.
Patty buzzes. Its the Governor on line one. You hit the button. Hello, Governor. Hello, Jennifer. I trust youre well. Very well, thanks. Jennifer, let me get to the point. Some information has come to my attention that I think we should discuss. Sure. Grant Morgan. Im told that youre seeing him. Yes, thats right. And youre aware that the FBI is looking into his activities? Our firm is representing JM Fowler, whos suing him. Theyve come up with some bogus charges to give the suit more gravitas, and the FBIs just sniffing around that a bit. Are you sure theyre bogus? The head of the Bureaus Chicago field office assures me theyre not. What do you mean? I mean theyve uncovered some incriminating evidence and plan to run with it. You cant be serious. What are they going to charge him with? The information theyve passed along to the district attorney indicated
accessory to murder. Thats impossible. I know wed like to think so, but there it is. Youll have to disassociate yourself from all this immediatelybecause Ive decided on you, Jennifer. Youre knocked back a foot. You want me for the Senate seat. Yes, and at the moment youre untouched by scandal, but if youre seen with Morgan after the news breaks What news? Hes been arrested this morning. You nearly drop the phone. You havent been whacked this hard since Jack skipped out with Paula. So you see our predicament, he continues. From what Ive been able to learn, your involvement isnt common knowledgeyour discretion and his secretive nature have more or less seen to that. Simply cease contact and Im confident things will work out. Promise me youll do that and we can get this thing rolling. This thing. The important work that needs to be donefrom the United States Senate! Theres your platform for the rejuvenation of the law of the land. Youve talked about it, written about it, dreamed those girlish dreams about making this world a little more reasonable, a little more just, and now you have the chance to do something about it! This was your Alpha Centauri, one of the brightest stars in the sky. This was your star. But
Im sorry, Governor. I cant. Youre not serious, Jennifer. This is an incredible opportunity for you. I realize that. But I cant do what youre asking me. Will you tell me why? Because I happen to love him. Grant Morgan? And Im telling you hes innocent. How do you know? I know. He pausesno doubt unprepared for the position youve taken. Then: This could be the biggest decision youll ever make. Think it over, Jennifer. Ill give you some time, though we dont have much. Call me before the end of the day if you change your mind. As soon as you hang up, you ring Grants number. You get a message. I cant answer the phone right now # Ten exasperating minutes later, during which time youve been paralyzed instead of mobilizing your considerable resources to find out whats going on, Grant calls on your cell phone, the number of which youve only just given him. Ive been arrested. I heard. From who?
The Governor called me. He asked me to stay away from you. And? Dont be ridiculous, Grant. Well beat this. Together. You are a princess. Maybe I am, for the first time. Look, dont say anything, and Ill be there right away. You bump into Del on the way out. Wherere you off to? he asks with a puzzled look, considering the amount of work youve got to do. Ive got an important errand to run. Grant Morgan? How do you know that? Nicks been blabbing out loud to the cops and the FBI, so I figured as much. Be careful, Jen. Keep your eyes wide open. The Chicago jail is the most unaccommodating of accommodation, and youve had your share of visits, though always the visitor. You paid your dues in criminal law before being bumped up to corporate, so you knew your way around a felony well enough not to be intimidated by the bleakness of incarceration. On the drive over you werent even thinking about that, then, but the disposition of the case itself. If the charge was in fact accessory to murder, the FBI would bow out and the district attorney would have taken over. Since Fowler had hired the firm to go after Grant, you couldnt very well represent him, even though Fowlers case was civil and this
was criminal and a separate matter altogether. Youd have to hire a brilliant attorney who was a savage but subtle beast in the courtroombecause you knew full well, as even Smith of the FBI had conceded, that innocence is no guarantee of a not guilty verdict. Being a recognized face in the cellblock got you in fast (with a mental pat on the behind) and a padded if somewhat shabby chair in Grants cell. Youre relieved to see that Grant hasnt lost the quick, feral look in his eye. Theyre not going to get you down, are they, you comment. Nope. You sit. Youre wearing the necklace, he says. Im yours, remember? You think to embrace him but restrain yourself, thinking you might not let go. Dont worry, you say. Ill handle everything. Just tell me again you had nothing to do with it. I swear it. Then this towns made a big mistake in thinking it can take on Ft Knox. He manages a brief, strained smile, but youre not joking. # When you get back to the office, Patty tells you theres a Mark Leavitt waiting for you in the conference room. Whats it about?
He wouldnt say. Send him to my office. Youve barely sat at your desk when Patty shows him in. Hes around thirtyfive, deeply tanned, although you can see puffy circles under his eyes. What can I do for you, Mr Leavitt? Im Mark. Mark? Robbies Mark? You ask him to sit. I he begins. Robbie loved you very much. I know hewhat are you doing here, Mark? He came back from California, said he wanted to talk to me. He said life was too illogical without love, and he wanted us to be together regardless of the consequences. I told him I loved him too, but that I had to be realistic. It was just too difficult for us to see each otherhe was a man and I turned out to be a mouse, and I couldnt face him anymore. I just couldnt handle it. Last night helast night the police found him, unconscious. Hed taken a lot of pills. You know himhe was probably just trying to make a point, the way he does. I got a call from the hospital. When I got there, he was awake, just barely. He told me to tell you thatthat you were the only one. Thats the last thing he said. Then his heart just stopped. He looks like a piece of broken furniture propped up on your fine leather chair, and his eyes are filling with tears. Your mind cant process. Robbies dead? I didnt know what I had. I really didnt, he says, his voice trailing off.
My Robbie? He tries hard to recover. Im so sorry. I had to tell you what he said, his last words and all. I caught the first flight I could get to Chicagomy wife doesnt even know Im gone. She thinks Im at work. You feel like youre falling down a bottomless abyss, nausea hitting you so hard you think you might throw up right there. You struggle for self-control. Of all the people in the world who deserved to find peace, Robbie was surely the one. Why should he find it in death and not in life? Where was the justice? And yet, arent you the one responsible? It was you, Jennifer, who told him to take a chance, you who sent him to Summer, knowing she could build him up into someone who might be strong enough to demand his due in life. Was there any doubt in your mind that the courage she helped him find made him able to lay his case before Mark, claim his right to be heard, not as a sensitive little thing but as a man, proud, even noble? You consigned your brother to his death because you want other people to be as strong as you areyou expect them to be. Big Sur was your boot camp, where you cast him to toughen up before battle. That he was never a soldierdidnt have it in him to fight his own battlesdidnt occur to you, did it. You feel so sick in your stomach now that you have to rush to the restroom, leaving Mark a rusted-out hulk of Ford in your office, dripping crankcase oil all over the floor. # An hour later, numb, you call Summer. She faints and drops the phone when
you tell her, and its a couple minutes of holding before she comes around again. You hear devastation in her voice, and she says shed fly right away to Chicago if they hadnt just taken Dwayne. You ask her what she means and she tells you Homeland Security started monitoring his blog and determined that it gave aid and comfort to the enemy. He was being held indefinitely, and she didnt know where. Could your FBI background check have had anything to do with shining a light on his activities? If you knew how to pray, girl, for his salvation and your own damned soul, now would be the time. # Your mother is with Sandra when you get home. When you called, she hadnt been contacted by the authorities yet, and you wanted to tell her in person. And shes in a mood when you walk through the door. Youd better talk to that daughter of yours, she says with more than just simple annoyance. Why? Whats wrong? Let her tell you. Sandras up in her cave, as usual, and you go up. Whats this all about? you ask. Zack asked me to marry him. Marry him? Youre fourteen! But I love him!
Chapter 33
Flesh and the Hearts Desire
Robbies funeral and Grants arraignment were both going to be held on Friday. Your contacts and Grants deep pockets got Illinois best criminal lawyer, John Krebs, a pit bull with Harvard credentials, so that was taken care of. You held out little hope for bail, as Grant had x-number of offshore bank accounts and no family to speak of, so was no doubt considered a flyer. You knew he wouldnt leave you behind, but such testimony doesnt really hold up in court. Robbies funeral would be a small affair; just you, your mother and Sandra Summer was still trying to track down Dwayneand a handful of Robbies flight attendant friends and local good-time boys. Sandra wanted to bring Zack but you nixed that idea right quick. You told her she could give the eulogy, though, thinking that in considering life and death and what people really meant to each other, she might grow up a little, maybe even give some of her little kitty-cat ideas a heave. # When the week was finally over, Saturday finds you standing silently in the garden, the harvesting complete, the weeds on hiatus, the withered vines and stalks all that was left of what was once vibrant, fructive life. Only the two sunflowers
remain, the straggly one much stronger now and seeming to forever aspire to be whole. You think about how proud youd been of Sandra, she speaking with unexpected poise yesterday at the service. Something she said stuck with you, and you recall it now. I didnt know him as well as I should have, but he was always good to me. Now you can let the tears flow, Jen. Nobodys around, nobody needs a shoulder to lean on. Let all the suppuration come out, let it drop like rain on the cool autumn soil and be purified by slow, fallow Nature so that in spring life will be able to rise triumphant again. # The Governors second choice has been appointed to the vacant Senate seat, to much Republican fanfare and congratulation. A mere shadow of Kline, but few begin their rocky climb in politics with a ready-made name. Your chance for glory and a solid platform for your reconstruction program out the window, you look around now for other options. Should you publicly champion Grant Morgan and start to get your name emblazoned across the sky that way? Its tempting, isnt it, but you know that any noise you make will detract from Krebs work in court and its him the jury will have to applaud, not you. No, better work behind the painted scrim so the audience can focus on his performance alone. So where does that leave you? # As expected, Grant was bound over for trial, without bail. Your work at the firm goes to hell as you spend hours researching, talking to people, working with
Krebs to plan a strategy. You cant help but gain added respect for the guys legal mind, even though he has the reputation for going violently for the throat, leaving witnesses for the prosecution mangled and bloody. Thats a pit bulls trademark, after all. One night late, youre having a drink with him at a lawyer hangout near your office. Hes wearing a muzzle. Tough day, you say. Every days tough. You doing okay? Im still standing. Thats a good sign. His phone rings. He listens to the caller, then puts the phone back in his jacket. We got problems. What do you mean? That was my contact at the police station. They found a weapon. Thats impossible. Goldman drowned. No, this is a gun that matches the bullet pulled out of the first victim twelve years ago. They traced the gun to Frank Carter. I cant believe that. Whered they find it? Doe Lake. # Youve hardly slept, and now youre at the jail trying to talk your way into an early visit. Some easy banter with the desk sergeant and youre in. Jennifer, Grant says. Im glad you came. Theyre going to move me across
town today. The guard lets you in and you sit on the bed next to Grant. You hardly know where to begin. Whats wrong? he asks. You look like bad news. They found Franks gun. The murder weapon from twelve years ago. He leans down on his arms, palms to his head. What is it you feel? That is to say, which is strongeranger or revulsion? They found it at the bottom of a lake. Your lake. He looks at you mournfully. I couldnt tell you. I was sure youd walk out. So you did it. The two of you. It was a long time ago. What about the other one? Four years ago. Are you responsible for that, too? Look, I told youIve changed. Youve changed me. Im leaving all that behind. Im gonna be a boy scout from now on, I promise. When I get out of here, well go wherever you want, do whatever you want. If you get that Senate thing, Ill be right there with you. You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. If you werent still numb from Robbies death, youd probably break down completely. Or strangle him where he fucking sat. You deceived me. To protect you. To protect us. I dont need protecting, Grant, you say, standing up half sick, half newly-
born. Guard! Youve got to believe me. And if it means anything, they had it coming. Both of em. Youre looking at him but you can only see yourself, a vain creature driven by desirethat mindless force thats slashed and bled you with the ease of a titanium knife. You take off the pearl necklace, token of his brutish loveas it now seems and your fawning acquiescence to his claim on you, and drop it to the floor. Hes an incorrigible animal. And yes, so are you. Maybe you understand that now. You leave without another word. # Youre bunched up in bed with the lamp on and a tattered Moby Dick in your hand. You want to understand obsession. You want to know how someone can be impelled by a power beyond will or comprehensionand unable to resist it. How you could laugh at the word freedom now! Where was free will when you were being led so innocently to the slaughter, not even remotely aware of the deadly blade which lay around the corner? Are you nothing but a puppet, Jennifer, a mere doll animated to carry out some coldblooded mission without the agency to resist? Heres a question for you: why is your spirityour true hearts desireshackled to this fleshly creature eternally yearning for fulfillment? A brazen cocktail of chemicals plays its seductive tune and you dance! To what end? What, simply to obey a commandment to get a man and get pregnantor one of its endless modern sublimations? With your eager emotions in tow? As the evolutionary biologist might very well say, Yes, thats it. We
know now that thats the way it is. So dont expect Melville to help you. He himself was fulfilling the same imperative, no doubt. Why did he write? The biologist would duly reply, To get chicks. Thats what men ultimately work for. Or could Melville have had a more spiritual purpose in mind?
Chapter 34
What Better Way
To pick up the pieces one must have a reasonable image of the whole. To reconstitute an illusion requires the most seriousno, madof efforts. And so time doth pass, saith the prophet. The decision to leave the firm was tough, though you suspected you were on the way out anyway, as far as the partners were concerned. You merely saved them the trouble. And you were helped along by the cold understanding that Robbie was forever gone, Grant was surely bound for prisonas was FrankNick was insufferable in his ecstatic bleating over gaining partnership, and the all but indispensible Del had flown homing pigeon-like back to law school. The garden was bare. Summer was surprised and thrilled that you were coming out there to stay. And you promised her you would help try to get Dwayne released. Theres your windmill, girl, staring you in the face. But the blind, as they say, cant see. Some do, however, recover their sight, if only partially at first. Sandra didnt want to go. She begged you to let her stay close to Zack, and though you disapproved, you continue to give her rope. Maybe thats the only way shell learn. Your mother, still grieving over Robbie, was glad to take her in. They
already spend scads of time togetherand she said she could use the company. You knew that to be true, on all accounts. Her parting words were something like, Dont worry; Ill make sure she keeps her knees together. # Winter is still and moody in Big Sur. The monarch butterflies had already come and gone, and the tall forests were deep and mysterious in drifting fog. Summers garden was spent, but she and Dwayne had built a greenhouse so that life could continue unabated, and hope as well. As you sit there in the steamy pool in the woods, Summer at your side and holding your hand, you wonder aloud. Can I ever be the architect of my own life? She looks at you with dewy emotion. Were none of us architects, honey. Were on a train ride here, looking out the windows at the wonder of it all. Nobody has the power to change where the tracks going. The most we can do is change our seat now and then, get a different view. What about love? Thats a big word. Dont you believe in it? I believe the moment we can separate understanding from feeling, we might start to get a handle on what love means. The trouble is, we get all bogged down in feeling. So I didnt really love Grant? Or Jack?
They say that what we think of as love isnt actually what we feel for somebody, but how they make us feel. Were suckers for that kind of stimulation, dear. You might say were addicted to it. But you love Dwayne. Yes, I do. And yet you make love with him. Isnt that part of feeling? Look at it this way. He needs somethingsomething raw and pure and true, maybe to soften the chafing of the suit of modern clothes were all forced to wear. He found that something in me, or so it seems, and I give it to him when he needs it. You separate that from sex? Lets just say I want to do something for him. I enjoy that. Maybe I tamed some of my own urges a long time agoout of necessity. No, tame might not be the right word. It might be better to say I put them to better use. So no, I dont really do it for the sex. But what about him? Its sex for him, isnt it? The feeling it gives him? Dont go worrying about other people and how they might tick. Its hard enough knowing your own mind and heart. When you love somebody, thats all you really need to contend with. I wonder if Ill ever be able to love, then. Really love. Your dream of the law raising up the people, Jennifer, seeing it fulfilling the nations promisethats love, isnt it? And coming out here to help me get Dwayne backsos that. Dont think youve got to be a saint to love with your spirit and not
your almighty emotions. Or your almighty twat! You see an excited squirrel scampering through the brush and up a tree, stopping every so often to flick its tail and check for danger. You wish it was enough to distract you, but its not. Its not by a long shot. I want to love with a faithful heart, not with my libidothats clear enough to me now. Thats so clear to me now! But the obstacles, SumI wonder if theyre too great. She looks at you and smiles. Remember that snake you met along the trail the last time you were here? Yes. And how did you deal with it? I went around it. So there you are. # After a time, in silence now as both of you embrace your own thoughts, she rises from the water, a white behemoth from the deep, and sits steaming on a rock to cool, her legs still in the water. You join her. This is so real, Jen, she says, and so right. Two proud women in the woods, talking like sisters, embraced by Nature. If you want to start a new life, could there be a better way than this? You touch her hand. I love you, Summer.
I know you do. And I love you. In the big world out there, lets see what we can make of that. Ive got serious work to do, and so do you. You know shes righttheres got to be a starting place, and theres so much to be done. You look at the redwoods, smell the fragrant sage. Youre naked and alive and lusting for the hunt. Whatever possessed you to think that Grant had the pearl? You have the pearl! Youve had it from the beginning. You know thatfinallyand have vowed never to forget. Lets see what song youll dance to now, and yes, Jennifer, for how long
Contact: katryrain@gmail.com

The Pearl Necklace

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

The Pearl Necklace

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

THE PEARL NECKLACE

The Pearl Necklace

A novel by Katry Rain

You might also like