“Yes, of course,” answered Jay. “I have a car here, and I'll do all of that.”
As they drove in Jay's car to the restaurant parking lot, he tried to soothe Susan's raw nerves and imagination, assuring her that there must be some reasonable explanation and that Billy was really a good guy. Susan listened to him but did not hear—her mind was racing through the possibilities of what might have happened to her best friend.
Susan hoped that by some chance Billy and Amy would be waiting for them at her father's car, but it sat almost deserted in what had once been a full parking lot. Jay offered to follow Susan home, but she thanked him and declined. They exchanged phone numbers so that each could call the other with any news about Amy or Billy. Susan then thanked him for what had been, until forty-five minutes earlier, a great evening for her, opened the door to her father's car, and slid behind the wheel.
The familiar smell of her father's car suddenly hit her, perhaps because all of her senses were so much on edge, with all of the adrenaline pumping through her body. Her father. Where was he? What could he do to help her or Amy? What would he do when he found out how she had lied to her mother? Would she ever be able to go out again? And did she deserve ever to go out again, after what she had done?
Pulling out of the parking lot, tears filling her eyes, she almost did not straighten up in time, just missing a power pole. That snapped her attention back to the road, but she still had no idea of exactly what she would say to her mother. Under the circumstances, should she blame it all on Amy? Should she take the responsibility herself? Would her mother call the police? Would she call Amy's parents at their mountain home? What on earth had they done? How stupid could she have been, lying to her mother and going to a fraternity party with boys she did not really know? It suddenly occurred to her that she could just as easily be the one who was missing!
As she slowed and began to turn into her driveway, still not knowing what she would say to her mother, someone suddenly darted out from the bushes on her right and waved for her to stop. She stopped, leaned over, recognized the form, and flung open the passenger door. Amy jumped in, her clothes obviously in disarray, her cheeks stained from tears.
Susan's heart was pounding in her chest. “Where have you been? What are you doing here? Are you OK? My goodness, Amy, do you realize it's 11:30, and I've been looking for you all over, not knowing whether you were dead or alive? What happened?”
“Please, go on so we won't be any later,” replied Amy, remaining in control of her emotions, for the moment, even though she was just as physically upset as Susan. Taking out a handkerchief and straightening herself as best she could, she wiped her face and said, “Let's just get past your mother for now, and then I'll tell you what happened. We were at my house, and it got so late that I knew you would be coming home. So I just waited outside in the bushes for you to get here.”
Amy's partial explanation left Susan with her mouth open. The moment's circumstances were playing wildly on her emotions. In less than fifteen seconds she had gone from distress, to anger, to thankfulness that her friend was safe, to deep concern about what, if anything, to tell her mother if she questioned them. Would she lie? Could she? What if her mother already knew where they had been, somehow, from one of their mutual friends? Or what if she found out tomorrow? There was now no time to ask Amy or to prepare. They were home, the garage door was coming down, and they would have to go in. Susan, too, wiped her eyes and cheeks, then quickly put on a dab of make-up.
She opened the door from the garage to the breakfast room with her key, her heart in her throat. Mercifully, her mother was not sitting right there in the bright light. They closed and locked the door, then turned off the light, which left only the light from the stairway and the light coming down the hall from her parents’ bedroom.
Amy started to go upstairs, but Susan grabbed her arm, and they walked down the hall in the direction of her mother's bedroom. “We're home,” whispered Susan toward the light in the doorway.
To her dismay, her mother opened the door and walked down the hall toward them. But at least she did not turn on any more lights. “I'm glad to see you. What did you wind up doing? And, Susan, why didn't you call me?” asked her mother.
As Susan opened her mouth, still not knowing exactly what to say, Amy spoke up. “We went to a movie, Mrs. Sullivan. It was…”
It suddenly occurred to Susan that Amy must have prepared this explanation in advance, for it to be so quick and so positive. Amy must have done this before!
Before Amy could finish the sentence, Janet, who had been looking at their faces, interrupted. “Are you girls all right?”
“Oh, yes,” said Amy. “We went to see Wounded Soldier, and it was very sad. I guess we both cried at the end,” she smiled through her lie.
“And, Susan, why didn't you call?” repeated Janet.
“We were late finishing dinner,” lied Susan. Once over that first lie, she warmed to the task. “We just made it to the theater on time, and there was a line, and I guess in the rush to get to our seats I just forgot. I'm sorry, Mom. I'll be more careful next time.”
“All right. I'm just glad you're both home safely. Get a good night's sleep, and don't stay up too late talking.” With a welcome home smile gracing her face, she gave Susan a quick kiss on the cheek and turned to go back to her own bed.
With the door to Susan's room safely closed behind them, the emotional roller coaster of the last hour suddenly took its toll on Susan. Her knees started to buckle. She grabbed Amy and pushed her so that they sat down on the bed together. “So what, in heaven's name, happened to you tonight? Why didn't you tell me where you were? Can you imagine how worried I was about you? And what about this movie? I've never seen Wounded Soldier! What if Mom asks me about it?” So many questions. So much had happened to these two junior girls in one simple evening, when they were supposed to be at a restaurant and a movie.
Amy, too, was obviously racked by emotion. She started to cry, gently. Susan could tell that Amy was not crying for effect. She was not like that, anyway. These were genuine tears and genuine emotions coursing through Amy's body in front of Susan. In a moment the trickle of tears turned into quiet sobs. “Oh, Susan, it was awful.”
Whatever her own emotions had been, Susan was now very concerned for one of her two best friends. She reached out for Amy and slid across the bed to her. Amy buried her face on Susan's shoulder and cried for a while, interrupting her tears with her explanation.
“Oh, Susan, I was such a fool…It seemed so sensible at the time, but now I know I'm an idiot…You see, Billy and I have had quite a few dates, and I really like him a lot. He's so sweet. And, you know, I drank two or three of those grapefruit and vodka drinks when we first got there…and I guess I just lost my head, or I don't know—Anyway…” She wiped her eyes with a new Kleenex Susan handed her, then took a deep breath and looked down at the floor, “anyway, Billy told me that we should go somewhere to be alone.” Amy visibly exhaled. Susan's back straightened as she kept her hand on Amy's hand.
“From somewhere, I don't know why—I guess it was the drinks—I told him that my parents were away for the weekend and that no one was at our house.”
“Oh, Amy.” Now it was Susan's turn to inhale deeply.
“I know, I know,” offered Amy, still looking at the floor. Susan took Amy's hand in hers. “We tried once to find you, but we must have missed you. He was so impatient. He said we'd be back before very long and that you wouldn't miss us. He fixed me another drink, and we left.” Susan exhaled through her teeth, making a quiet sound.
“Anyway, he drove us to my home, and he turned off the headlights of his car when we came up the driveway so no one would see. I, uh, let us in, and, uh, we…went to my parent's bedroom and, uh, Susan…I guess I'm not a virgin anymore.” She tried to smile as tears again rolled down her cheeks, and she held her abdomen with her free hand.
Susan was speechless, the visual image in her mind of Amy and Billy holding
hands as they walked through Amy's darkened house, just next door, the same home which she had been in all those thousands of times herself. And then the familiar image of Amy's parents’ bedroom. And Amy and Billy on the bed together. That's where the visual images stopped because Susan simply could not complete the picture.
“I, uh, we did it on my parents’ bed.” Amy now visibly hung her head, and the tears again turned to sobs. “I feel so stupid, and dirty. I guess I was drunk. I don't even remember what it felt like, except that it wasn't any fun. Now it hurts,” she said, again holding her lower abdomen. “What a night. What a mess I've made of it all. It feels so bad. I'm so sorry.” She paused, but Susan was still speechless.
“Like, again, I guess I was drunk. I guess I passed out. Anyway, the next time I remember anything it was after 11:00, and I knew you'd be looking for us, and I knew you'd be upset, and we rushed around and got dressed (for some reason, those particular words hit Susan very hard, as if her teenage friend with whom she had just the other day been playing dolls, was now talking like her own mother)…made up the bed, and by then it was so late that I figured you must already be on the way home…So I told Billy to head back to the parking lot in case you had not left yet, and I told him I would wait in the bushes, in case you were already on the way so we wouldn't miss each other.”
Those words reminded Susan that she had Jay's telephone number and had promised to call him if she found Amy. Should she call now? Would Billy already have bragged about his conquest of Amy to Jay? That made her angry, and she was not sure she could have a civil conversation with him. While she thought about that one, Amy concluded, “So there I was, waiting in the bushes outside your home, and thank God you came along on time.” And this time she smiled a genuine smile of friendship. “You always were dependable and punctual! So what do you think, I've pretty well trashed tonight? Lying to your mom. Making you lie to your mom. It's just been a great evening!”
“Oh, Amy,” was all that Susan could say at first. Then, trying to make her friend feel better, and as a natural reaction to all of the immediate tension, she added, “What are we going to do tomorrow night?”
They both laughed a short, nervous laugh. Then Susan again reached for Amy, and hugged her close. “Well, I guess you've taken a pretty big step, in a way that doesn't sound like it was very much fun for you. I'm sorry it happened this way…and I'm very sorry we lied. But here we are. I guess we'll make it.”
“One more thing,” added Amy, as she pulled back a bit from Susan's embrace and again looked down at the floor, “thinking back on it, I don't remember…I don't think he used any protection.”
“What?” asked Susan. “Amy, how could you both be so stupid?”
“I don't know. Like I said, I'd had too much to drink. He said he didn't have any and that anyway nobody ever got pregnant the first time. I don't know,” and finally her eyes rose level to Susan's.
“Oh Amy, you know that's hogwash. Why have we had all those sex education classes in school?” Realizing that she was coming on pretty strong and that there was now nothing either of them could do about it, Susan backed off, smiled, and patted her on the shoulder. “You're a real dope, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I just hope it will be all right. On top of all this, I sure don't need to be pregnant.” She smiled bravely. “Anyway, let's see…I need to tell you about Wounded Soldier. I saw it last week with Jessica. I'll tell you about the highlights, and you'll be able to cover for any of the questions anyone ever asks you about the movie. Then we'll just keep all this quiet. And, like you said earlier, let's don't tell Bobbie. She wouldn't have understood us going to the party, so I know she'll never understand what else happened!” Amy shook her head.
“OK…and I guess now that I've calmed down some, I ought to call Jay and let him know you're safe. Do you think Billy has found him?”
“Probably,” said Amy, “but I guess you ought to call if you said you would. By the way, what sort of a date was he?”
Susan picked up her phone to make the call, and she and Amy drifted back to familiar ground, chatting about their dates, away from the difficult tightrope on which their emotions had been balancing for the past hour and a half. They both sensed that neither of their lives would ever be the same again, for many reasons, after the events of this evening. And their emotions now needed to fall back on older, more familiar ground, to reset the bond between them, which had been stretched further than ever before by what had just happened. Susan had disobeyed her parents’ rules. Amy, at seventeen, was no longer a virgin and ran some risk of being pregnant. They had both lied to Susan's mother. But their friendship had survived and, if it were possible, had seemingly actually deepened.
While his children were enduring trials that would dramatically change their lives, Richard and Kristen decided to enjoy room service and each other that Saturday night. It is safe to say that neither Tommy nor Susan ever once crossed Richard's mind all night. While he was with Kristen, no voice told him that Tommy, in acting on his sexual fantasies, and Susan, in lying to Janet, were both growing up to be just like their father. The voices did not volunteer that kind of information, just the opposite. And, besides, Balzor and Nepravel were planning other ways for Richard to find out more about his offspring.
4
WEDNESDAY, MAY 3 – On returning from lunch that Wednesday afternoon, Richard picked up his telephone message slips and looked through them, walking down the hall to his office. One of the slips was from Robert Meredith, with a note written by the receptionist “Reminder: prayer breakfast in the morning at Palace Hotel at 7:30.” Richard had already noted the event written in his appointment book, and he was looking forward to hearing Ben Fuller, even if it was at such an early hour.
Thirty minutes later Bruce McKinney and David Smith arrived, and Mary showed them into Richard's office.
“Did you see the For Sale sign in front of Hugh McEver's house on the way in this morning?” asked Richard after their initial greetings.
“Yes, I did,” answered Bruce. “Do you have any idea what she's asking for the house?”
“No, I don't, but I'm going to ask a friend of mine in the real estate business. Janet told me the rumor is that Hugh didn't have as much insurance as he probably should have, and it's apparently going to be pretty tough on Betty and her kids. I just hope she doesn't dump the house and hurt the values of all our homes in the neighborhood!”
“I'll say,” said Bruce. “So, what did you work out with Patrick Tomlinson's attorney? Are we ready to go?”
“Yes, I think so. Here is the final copy of the contract. Both of us have been through it twice, and Tomlinson has signed. I was able to clean up some of the legal wording in your favor, but the closing is still contingent on the settlement of his father's estate and also on the price of the Fairchild Textile stock. I did get them to agree that if we have not closed by September 30, then he will advance $100,000 to you as a working capital loan, until his equity actually comes in.”
“September 30?” said David with real surprise. “Richard, we can't last until September 30 if this deal doesn't close earlier, or some other miracle doesn't happen. We have lots of other irons in the fire and transactions that should provide big commissions, but this is the closest thing to a real investment that we've got and we just can't wait that long.”
“Well, I'm afraid that anything else is a true deal killer, my friend. He would not budge beyond the possibility of $100,000. But I suspect that if your funds get tight, you can take this contract to your bank and borrow at least some money on the strength of the contract,” added Richard.
“Bruce, what do you think?” asked David, obviously disappointed.
“Well, it doesn't look like we have an alternative. I can't fault Richard. He did the best he could. Patrick's father must have taught him well because he apparently isn't going to budge on these two or three key issues.” Turning to Richard, Bruce asked, “And does he still want our personal guarantees on all the re
presentations and warranties?”
“Yes, he does, without limitation. He wants to hold your feet to the fire to be sure that the accounts receivable and payable, for example, are accurate as of the closing date.”
“Well, David, I guess we'll just have to hope that the attorneys working on the old man's estate move along quickly. And if all else fails, like Richard has suggested, we'll try going to the bank with this contract to see if we can borrow against it. Thanks, Richard. We really appreciate your help. Here, David, let's start signing these contract copies so Richard can send them back to Tomlinson's attorney this afternoon.”
After they left, Richard picked up his telephone and dialed a beeper number. A few minutes later his direct line rang. It was Kristen.
“Hey, how are you?…Listen, I really am sorry about yesterday, but that board luncheon rolls around every once and a while on a Tuesday. I hope we're still on for tomorrow,” Richard said trying to put some extra enthusiasm in his voice. Smiling, he added, “And, listen. So that I can write off the cost of the food as a business luncheon, please check on the price of the McEvers’ house down the street from us, and we'll discuss it over lunch!”
At baseball practice that afternoon, Tommy and Brent were lofting fly balls to each other in the outfield, waiting for the batting drills to begin. As Tommy threw the ball high into the brilliant blue afternoon sky, for some reason he thought of his father. All the past weekend he had waited for his father to say something about hitting a few balls with him, as he had promised before going to Atlanta, but he never did. The weather on Saturday had been a bit marginal, but by Sunday warm spring weather had settled in. His father had come and gone as usual that weekend, doing some work at the office for a few hours, paying bills at his desk in the den for a few hours, and even cleaning the leaves out of the gutters on his ladder on Sunday morning.
On the Edge Page 8
