by Jack Waddell
"The daughter and her husband are an open book. And right off I've got to tell you that if you're considering giving any support to Aiken you couldn't go far wrong. He's a solid guy – especially for a politician.
"And the mother?"
"Well, it's pretty ironic. Here's somebody whose words were read by thousands every day. And all the while she stayed more or less anonymous. Pretty neat trick if you ask me. Did it for years, too."
"Give me the basics," Connie prompted.
Taggert opened the first folder and spoke from the summary sheet on top. "Well, she landed in Chicago in 1930. She'd lost everything here – everything had been in her husband's name and the banks took it all. Worked for a little weekly suburban paper for a while then got herself a gig as a columnist for the Chicago Tribune. Always wrote under a pen name even though she went back to her maiden name as soon as she landed there. Daughter was born in 1931. Lived for years with an aunt so she never had a phone listing or an address that could be traced. Stayed to herself, too. No clubs or organizations I could find. Quit the paper in '58 and married a guy named Nigel Hyde, a widower and an editor with a publishing house in New York. Has lived in Westchester, New York ever since. The novels you know about."
Conor heard only one fact. He tried to look nonplused. "No other marriage?" he managed to ask, feeling himself start to shake.
"Nope. Looks like she just lived with her aunt and raised her daughter. We've got her earlier history here too. But I think you know most of that already. It's here in the file, anyway."
"So what about the daughter?"
Taggert shuffled the folders and opened the second. "Like I said, she's an open book. Born in Chicago in ‘31. Mother gave her the last name of Harper rather than Burke even though he was listed as the father on the birth certificate. Went to private schools there. Got her degree in journalism from Northwestern. That's where she met her husband. He was getting his law degree there at the time. He's from a long line of lawyers here in Southern California. They married in ‘56 and moved out here and bought a house in Costa Mesa with his dad's help. She worked for a small advertising agency in LA before the kids came along. He was elected to the State Senate in '62. She's been very active in his career. He's a real up and comer. Doesn't seem to be playing the usual games. A lot of people are predicting big things for him. Like I said before – solid."
Conor wasn't surprised to hear Burke was listed as the father. But he knew the file would contain a piece of information that would tell him the truth, the truth he'd dared not consider ever since meeting Bridie and learning about Annie. But he couldn't bear to ask or find out in front of Taggert. "Thanks, Jim. That's what I needed." Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out an envelope. "And here's your fee – five hundred, right?"
Taggert took the envelope and put it in his briefcase, closed the lid and snapped the latches. "Right – and thanks, Connie. Glad to be of help. Call me anytime. Here you go…" With that he handed Conor the two file folders. They rose and shook hands. Conor watched Taggert walk away. He sat on the bench and slid the two folders between the pages of the book. He picked up the coffee cup and rose from the bench. He would read the files alone, in private.
* * *
The anticipation was almost too much to handle. He had to know, but didn't want to. Too much was at stake. He'd set the book and folders on the seat of his car on the drive home and had kept glancing at it as if it could magically open and reveal its contents. Once home he went into his study and put the book with the folders on the desk then made himself a drink, all the while eying the folders. At last he sat down. He lit a cigarette and took a drink. He put the glass down and took another drag on the cigarette. Finally he took the folder labeled "CO #2" from between the pages of the book. He leaned back and opened it in his lap. The word leapt off the summary page as if it were the only word typed there. February. She was born in February. February 16. It was true. It had to be.
He flung the folder across the room, the pages inside flying everywhere. He screamed a curse. His whole life people had tried to cheat him. As a caddie it was with tips, as a restaurateur it was with provisions, as a golfer it was with rules, as a businessman it was with contracts. And he had found them all out. But this was the biggest deception of all. He'd been cheated out of a child, a daughter. He'd never held her, never taught her, never watched her grow into a woman. Why? Why had the woman he'd held in his heart all these years done this to him?
He sat motionless in his chair his heart pounding. He was more than incensed. He suddenly felt broken and empty. The greatest thing in his life had been hidden from him for thirty years, years he could never reclaim. He sat there and tried to reason with himself. Yes, she had been disgraced and stripped of her home and possessions. But trains ran both ways. He had never been hard to find. She knew Meg and Meg always knew where he was. Why had she never sought him out? He tried to make sense of it. Was it her shame? Had it been Mary's embrace at the Calcutta that had driven her away forever?
He had to do something about this. What that would be he could not begin to think about in his shock and anger. He started to take another drink then stopped. He put the glass down. He would go to Biarritz. He would play golf and he would walk and carry his bag alone. The game would tell him what to do.
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Chapter 37
Mitchell
Tuesday, October 13, 1964
Mitchell Aiken was a very busy man. The general election was only three weeks away and he had much to do. It was clear Goldwater was a lost cause. Still the congressional and state races were close. Running for the U.S. Senate, George Murphy, the Republican and former actor, had a great chance against Pierre Salinger, the incumbent Democrat, who'd recently been appointed to fill the vacant seat. Aiken had speaking engagements almost every day and phone calls to make to volunteers who were organizing get out the vote campaigns. And there was his practice to attend to. Coming out of law school he had chosen to go into private practice rather than join a big firm like his father or go the corporate route. He knew he would sacrifice income but he felt a need to help real people with real problems. Thus he handled a variety of civil matters ranging from divorces to real estate transactions. He'd also taken on municipal work and it was there, working for town councils and zoning boards, that he developed an interest in politics. He was a natural. Good looking, charming and intelligent, he soon parlayed a seat on the Costa Mesa Town Council into a state Senate seat.
So it was this morning that he sat in his office above retail stores in Costa Mesa's downtown juggling phone calls and dictation and giving orders to his secretary at an urgent, harried pace. His eleven o'clock appointment was nearing and it was going to be more a distraction than an annoyance, but still he didn't relish the meeting. There was just too much to do. But he had put Conor O'Reilly off for more than a week and that was not good form. He was an important man with the potential to do a lot of good for the campaigns.
O'Reilly had been most insistent with his secretary about setting up the meeting. Yes, he understood the election was looming. Yes, he understood Mitchell was busy and booked solid with commitments. Yes, he understood he would only be in his office a few days in the coming weeks. No, he could not wait until after the election for the meeting. No, it could not be handled with a phone call. No, he could not go into the reason for the meeting. But as much as it was his tenacity, it was more his charm that got him past Mitch's secretary.
Mitchell was in the middle of a phone call when his secretary buzzed him on the intercom and announced O'Reilly's arrival. He didn't want to make him wait so he ended the call with a promise to return it in just a few minutes. He buzzed the secretary back and asked her to show him in.
Conor entered the room unsmiling. Mitchell rose from behind his desk to greet him. They shook hands and said their hellos. Mitchell gestured with his hand for Conor to take a seat. "So what can I do for you today, Mr. O'Reilly?" he opened. "You made this sound pretty urge
nt."
"It's Connie to you. And it is. For both of us."
"How so?"
"What's your usual retainer for general counseling?" Conor asked taking control of the conversation,
"On an ongoing basis?" Mitchell replied, surprised at the question.
"Yes."
"Well, the usual is two hundred and fifty a month. But of course if you're talking about something you need…"
Conor held up his hand to cut him off then reached into his suit jacket pocket. He pulled out a wallet and counted out five one hundred dollar bills on the desk. "Here," he said pushing them toward Mitchell. "Here's a first month's retainer. I'll send you a check like that the first of every month. You're my attorney now, right?"
Mitchell grinned nervously. "Well, yeah, I guess so. Thanks. But…
Conor again held up his hand to interrupt. "Before we go any further I just want to get something straight between us. As my attorney I expect you to honor client confidentiality. Nothing that passes between us is to be repeated to anyone at any time. And I mean anyone. Not your wife, not your secretary, not anyone. Is that clear? Is that abundantly clear?" he said holding Mitchell's eyes in his own.
"Well, yes, of course. I mean I don't…"
"Good. Then we're in agreement. Complete confidentiality."
"Yes. But I don't quite understand. What is it that you need?"
"I don't need anything. I'm here to tell you a story that affects you and your family and is of great importance to me."
Mitchell tensed, his hand rising to his neck. This was getting personal. He hadn't bargained on this. "What are you talking about?"
"I'll give it to you straight. Your wife, Bridie, is my daughter. And by extension your children are my grandchildren."
Mitchell was stunned. As if struck by a blow he fell back in his chair. He stared back at Conor, his mouth open.
"I know. I know. It's got to be a shock," Conor continued. "It was for me too. But it's the truth and I have to deal with it and I need your help to do so."
Mitchell struggled to find the words. "But her father was some guy named Burke who died before she was born."
"No. That was a lie her mother made up to cover the truth when Bridie was born. She was a widow who didn't want to be labeled an unwed mother or Bridie branded a bastard child. There are only three people alive who know the truth and you're one of them now."
"You've got to be kidding. How can this be?" Mitchell objected growing distressed as he began to realize the ramifications.
"It's no joke. Annie's husband was a homosexual who never came near her. She and I had an affair in 1930, in May. When he was murdered, she lost everything and ran off to Chicago and had Bridie in February 1931, nine months later almost to the day."
"Murdered? He was murdered?" Mitchell blurted unable to grasp all the information.
"Yes. His boyfriend killed him, and then committed suicide. It was horrible for Annie. In some ways I understand better now why she had to leave California."
"I don't think Bridie knows that."
"I hope not. It was pretty ugly."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"I can't change what happened, her mother leaving and all. But I am in a position to take care of my daughter and grandchildren and that's what I intend to do."
Mitchell was becoming ever more uncomfortable. It was sinking in that he would be carrying a heavy burden with this knowledge. "But why aren't you telling Bridie this? Why me?"
"Bridie is not to know!" Conor snapped back. " Ever! You got that straight? Capisce?"
"Capisce?"
"Understand?"
"Yes, but…"
"Look, Bridie's mother made a decision thirty years ago to keep me out of their lives. I can't begin to fully understand it or forgive it. But for whatever reason it's what she did. She and Bridie went on to live their lives and they are good lives and for all I can tell they are happy lives. I'm not going to interfere. I'm not going to barge my way into them and compound the mistakes of the past. The only person Bridie can hear this from is her mother. The truth was hers to hide and it’s hers to tell."
Mitchell went quiet for a second as he tried to comprehend. Then he said, "I still don't understand why…"
"Why I'm telling you this?" Conor interrupted. "Because I need your help. Here's the deal; I'm setting up trust funds for Bridie and your children. The money for Bridie will be available to her on my death. The children's money will be released when I die or when they come of age, whichever happens first. In the latter case the fund's source is to be anonymous. You're to be the secondary beneficiary and the trustee."
"Trust funds? I hate to ask, but what are we talking about?"
"I'm funding them at half a million apiece to begin with; a mix of securities but mostly shares in GCI. It's going to be up to you to make sure they grow."
Mitchell exhaled softly. "Half a million? Each?"
"Yes."
"But that's a lot…. How can you…"
"How can I afford it?" Conor again interjected. "I just can. I've worked hard my whole life. And part of the reason I did was to make myself worthy of Bridie's mother. By the time I gave up on her coming back into my life I was well along. So I guess in some ways I'm repaying her daughter for the incentive she gave me back then,"
"But don't you have anyone else in your life to take care of?"
"No. I'm alone. I took care of the two sisters I have left years ago. Same with my cousin and his wife. They're set. And a niece and nephew are taken care of too. There's nobody else"
"But why not just name them in your will?"
"Taxes. I can see the Democrats licking their chops over estate taxes. One day nobody will be able to leave anything to anybody without the government robbing most of it. But that brings me to the other issue and that is my will. I need a new one and I want you to draw it up with me. And I want you to be the executor."
"Well, I don't know what to say. Of course I can help with that."
"You don't have to say anything. You just have to do it."
"Of course, of course. Is that it, then?"
"Mostly. The rest is more delicate. While I don't want to interject myself into your lives, I want to get to know my daughter and her children. And I think I can do it through your political career."
"What do you have in mind?"
"The fundraiser we talked about when we met. I want to work with Bridie on that. I'm thinking we can start on it after the election. Maybe hold it in the spring. And I definitely want it to be a family thing."
"Well, if you do work with Bridie on that I'm sure there'll be times when she has the kids tagging along. She doesn't leave them with the nanny any more than she has to. And the family angle is a good idea anyway. I'll do what I can to make sure you get some time."
"There's something else. You and Bridie play golf, don't you?"
"Yes, when we have time. Which is not very often."
"I understand. That's what I figured. So I'm going get you a corporate membership at Biarritz. The kids will love the place, especially the pool right now, the ages they are. And it'll be good for your business too. And that way maybe I can spend some time with the children there."
"That's really too good of you. Thank you. We'll enjoy it I'm sure."
Conor leaned back in his chair. "Good. Then I think we're done here. And you're clear that this is to always remain confidential between us."
"Yes, of course. But I think Bridie would want to know that it's you, her father. That's an important truth she really should know."
"No. The truth is she had no father. And for all intents and purposes she still doesn't. Use your head, man. You're a public figure like it or not. If word of her mother's past ever got out in the open she'd be crucified and you along with her. The press would have a field day dredging up an old scandal and your opponents would be laughing all the way to the polls."
Mitchell mulled the scenario before responding. "Yes, yes. You're probab
ly right."
"I am. And you need to know this; if I find out you've violated our little agreement all bets are off. No trust fund, no will, no retainer. You got that?"
"I do. And don't worry. I understand completely. You're my client. You can trust me."
"And I do. Or I wouldn't be here."
"So when do we get started on the trusts and the will?"
"I know you're busy and what you're doing in this election is important. So we can wait until after it's over and you catch up. In the meantime you may hear from David Glass, my accountant. He may have a few questions of you as he starts to pull some things together."
Mitchell jotted the name down on the legal pad he kept on his desk. "David Glass. Got it."
Conor rose from his chair. "That should do it. You know how to get in touch with me, right?"
"I do," Mitchell said, standing up himself. "And I will be in touch right after the election. I really don't know what to say except thank you. Thank you so much,"
"Thank me by being a good husband and father."
Mitchell smiled. "That's something I try to do every day,"
Conor smiled back. "Good."
They shook hands across the desk. Conor turned to leave and got as far as the door when Mitchell called out after him, "What about her mother? Are you ever going to tell her you found out about Bridie?"
Conor turned back to him with a grim look. "No.”
And then he left.
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Chapter 38
Providence
Sunday, June 12, 1965
It had been a beautiful morning for golf at Biarritz. The air was warm, the breeze was mild and the sun shone brightly from an azure sky dappled with little white cotton ball clouds. It was the kind of day that made California famous. Conor had felt well enough to walk the round with a caddie. He always considered that walking was real golf and that to ride around in a motorized buggy was an entirely different game called "cart." But between his bum knee and his doctor's advice, a golf cart had become increasingly necessary. As he walked off the eighteenth green he noticed he hadn't lost his breath once during the round. That was encouraging. He decided that called for something of a celebration and so, after he changed shoes in the locker room, he went up to the men's grill and had a Bloody Mary served up in a large paper cup he could take back outside. He walked out onto the veranda and made his way to the north side where he could look out over the pool and see if the Aikens were there. Bridie and Mitch had come to make Sunday afternoon visits to the pool with the children after church a fairly regular occurrence and Conor always made it a point to stop by and say hello if they showed up.
