The more Tommy tried to be assertive and in control, the more Richard realized the depth of his son's anger and confusion. A couple of times Richard lost his train of thought, wondering what had happened in just a few short years to the little boy with whom he had played T-ball in the back yard.
Richard had sworn to himself that no matter what Tommy said, he would not lose his temper. For once he kept his control. There was no resolution from their walk and talk. But Richard listened. By the end he didn't know whether Tommy needed professional help or was just part of the “alternative lifestyle” which was bombarding everyone with its legitimacy these days. It never occurred to Richard, of course, that Tommy might need spiritual help from someone strong, like both a natural father and a heavenly Father, to believe in explicitly and to trust. Richard was frankly as confused as Tommy, which didn't help the boy. Did Tommy need psychological help, no help, more fathering, less fathering, what? By the end of their walk, much of their tension was gone, but Richard was now an active part of Tommy's problem, as much as a simple adversary. Both of them sensed Richard's impotence, but neither of them knew what to do.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 11 – Bruce McKinney called Richard early Monday morning. “Did we do well on Friday night or did we do well?” he asked, the joy obvious in his voice.
“We did well,” Richard agreed. “In fact, I just got off the phone with Marty. I'll draft a waiver for them on the stock price, and a modification to the purchase price. Then we need your final payables and inventory to fax to them so we can pro-rate everything to Friday. We seem to be in pretty good shape. I gave him our bank escrow account number so they can wire in the funds.”
“That's great, Richard. Thanks for all your help. By the way, how's Tommy?”
“He's fine. Just a little mixed up, I think. But we're working on it.” Richard tried to move on. “Does the deal look OK to you?”
“I don't like losing $100,000, but it will be good in the long run to have Patrick as an owner.”
“And in the short run, the $900,000 won't hurt,” Richard concluded as they said goodbye.
Janet was running late that afternoon. The controversy and the publicity surrounding Friday's upcoming kick-off of “911 Live” were growing so quickly that she was having trouble keeping up. There had been several interviews for Network—even other network—news shows. And with newspaper tie-ins to the local station's involvement in the test run that summer. The local advertising time was all sold, and at a very high rate for an unproven show. Nearly everyone at the station was involved, especially since they had lost seven members from their staff. So Janet was late leaving the station.
As she drove into the garage, she looked at her watch and decided to call for a pizza delivery for the kids. She and Richard could have a salad. After putting her things down, she phoned their favorite pizza restaurant and placed an order. Looking in her wallet, she realized she didn't have enough cash, so she climbed the stairs to ask for a loan from Susan or Tommy.
Janet knocked on Susan's door but heard the water running in her shower. She opened the door. The door to Susan's bathroom was shut, but her purse was on the bed. Hoping to find fifteen dollars, Janet opened it and instead found Susan's birth control packet. She pulled it out, thinking that somehow her own had been misplaced, but the label, from their pharmacy and from their own doctor, clearly read “Susan Sullivan.”
Janet sat down on Susan's bed, the container in her hand. She opened it—almost the entire month had been used. She closed it and closed her eyes. “Drew,” she whispered.
The water went off in the shower, and a few minutes later the door opened. Susan came into her bedroom, a towel wrapped around her. She was surprised to see her mother on her bed, staring at her. Janet opened her hand, revealing the birth control pills.
“I didn't hear you come in and open my purse,” Susan said.
“I was looking for pizza money. Is there something you want to tell me, Susan?”
Susan smiled at the thought and walked to her bureau for a brush. “No, I hadn't exactly planned on telling you about those. But now that you've been through my things and found them, I guess they're no longer a secret. Drew and I are sleeping together. But I'm not pregnant and I won't get a disease, so you don't have to worry.”
“Oh, that's great,” Janet smiled. “Our seventeen-year-old daughter is sleeping with her boyfriend, but we don't have to worry.”
“Mom…” Susan turned, anger now in her voice. “It's not like that at all. Drew and I love each other very much.”
“How long have you two been having sex, and where?”
“I don't think it's any of your business, but we've been making love for a long time,” she lied, “and we usually go to a motel.”
The mental image of Susan and Drew at a cheap motel together invaded Janet's mind and almost caused her to jump, physically. She closed her eyes for a moment and then said, “Don't you think your health and happiness are the business of your parents? We love you and don't want anything to happen to you. What if you do become pregnant, or contract AIDS?”
“I won't. Believe me, we know what to do to take the right precautions.”
“If they all work. But what about your mental health? You're just seventeen. You and Drew are playing with fire.”
“Mom, I'm the age of most women when they married a century ago. I know what I'm doing. And besides, I'm just following your advice.”
“What?”
“You told me that day when we played tennis that the only meaning to life would be to fall in love with a good man and raise a family. Drew is a good man.”
“Not as good as he was a little while ago. Anyway, I meant when you are in your twenties, after college, when you've had a chance to experience other things and get married. Not now, when yesterday you were a little girl.”
That remark angered Susan, and she was about to speak when the doorbell rang. “The pizza man must be here,” Janet said, rising from the bed. “Here are your pills. I guess one day I'll understand all of this, but for right now I'm very disappointed in you.”
“Mom?” Susan asked as Janet reached the door, “Are you going to tell Dad?”
“I don't know. Probably. I'm sure he'll be really pleased.”
“Mom, it's not that big a deal.”
“Not until you get pregnant, or ill, or die, or have an abortion, or have a baby, or Drew leaves you. You're absolutely right, young woman.” And Janet left Susan holding her pills.
Janet decided she would sleep on what she had learned before deciding whether and how to tell Richard. But after Susan and Tommy had gone to bed, she and Richard were sitting alone in the den, both working on stacks of papers brought home from their offices, when Richard said, “Janet, I think Tommy may have been having some fairly significant homosexual experiences with Brent and other boys, and I'm not sure what to do about it.”
For the second time in one evening, Janet was speechless. “How…how do you know, Richard?”
“Friday night the investor we had dinner with wanted to see the Platinum Club.” Janet squinted her eyes a bit, and Richard hurried on. “And since my car was back at the office, and I didn't want to be inhospitable,” he shrugged, “I went along with them for a short while.” And then Richard recounted the story of their collision with the boys and of his talk with Tommy the previous afternoon. “So I don't know whether it's something he just did as a ‘stage’ or whether he's permanently homosexual, or bi-sexual, or what. I do know he's angry and confused. Unfortunately, those are the best two adjectives to describe me at this point too. I mean, is this something to be worried about, or just to accept, like the color of his hair? One thing that is obvious is that he's been lying to us for some time about what he and his friends were doing and where they've been. So I guess we can't trust him any more.”
“Well,” Janet started slowly, “before you get too down on Tommy alone, I found out tonight that Susan has been taking birth control pills and that she and Drew
have been sleeping together.”
Now it was Richard's turn to be speechless again. The same knife that had pierced his heart on Friday night stabbed him again. And again. Someone kicked him in the stomach, robbing him of his breath. But his mental images worked well, and quickly.
Seeing that he could not speak, Janet continued, “She claims they've been at it for some time, but I don't believe her. The date on the prescription—from our own doctor, by the way—is just last month. I would imagine that they started either just before or after our trip to Vermont.”
“Where?” he managed to ask.
“She says in motels.”
The mental image of his daughter Susan naked in a motel bed with Drew exploded in his mind. Richard vowed, “I'll kick his butt from one end of the street to the other.”
“Well, you better kick Susan's too. She's the one who bought the pills, and it takes two to tango.”
Richard slouched back in his chair. Nepravel, who had been watching the discussion from the mantel over the fireplace, smiled. “Isn't it something, Richard, when they grow up to be exactly like you?” he laughed. “You should be proud. Following in their father's footsteps. Don't kick them, Richard—compliment them! And maybe their children—your grandchildren—will do the same, or worse!” and he laughed so hard that he slipped off the mantle and would have fallen to the floor, if gravity had affected him.
After a minute of thinking, Richard said quietly, staring at the floor, “So we have a fourteen-year-old son who may or may not be a homosexual, who lies to us, and who goes places at night we don't know about with people whom we don't know. And we have a seventeen-year-old daughter who is sleeping with her boyfriend, who lies to us, and who goes to motels on a regular basis, also taking birth control pills. Do you think we need help?”
Nepravel stood on the mantel and pointed at Richard, fire leaping from his mouth and eyes, “And what about you and Kristen! Tell her the whole story, Richard! Don't stop with the kids!”
“You may be right, dear,” Janet said, the sadness in her voice matching his. She started to tell him that they should have spent more time with their children, but she decided to save that point for another day. The news by itself was depressing enough.
“How do we fight all this, as parents?” Richard said, not realizing that he was looking right at Nepravel. “When did all of this happen? What did we do wrong? Is this how it is with everyone these days? Are there no values left?”
Nepravel almost fell off the mantel again, he was so delighted with Richard and Janet's agony as parents. “You reap what you sow, folks. At least your kids have two parents. Think of all the children trying to make it without the help of good folks like you!” and he smiled in contentment.
“I guess an immediate issue is what we let them do now, this coming weekend,” Janet said. “I mean, do they continue to lie about where they are going? Or do we forbid them to see Brent and Drew? Or do we buy them boxes of condoms and wish them ‘Safe Sex’ as they go out the door? What do we do?”
“I think we need professional help, Janet. This is beyond my experience. Tomorrow can you call their school, maybe the nurse, and see if they can recommend any family therapists?”
“Yes. And I've heard a few names from other mothers. I'll make some calls. I guess we should go as soon as possible. Maybe we can get them to hold off on their sexual urges for one weekend, while we try to sort this out.”
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12 – Richard was still reeling from their Monday night discussion when he arrived at work on Tuesday. At least he had “lunch” with Kristen to look forward to.
About 11:00 his intercom hummed. Mary said, “It's a Mr. Dowling from California.” Richard couldn't quite place the name, but he told her to put him through.
“Hi, Richard. This is Peter Dowling in San Francisco. We met several months ago at a symphony there. I was with Kristen Holloway. Do you remember me?”
“Of course,” Richard replied as friendly as he could, remembering the awkwardness of that evening. “How are you, and what can I do for you?”
“I'm fine, thank you. And Kristen certainly said a lot of nice things about you. She must know you pretty well.” Richard was silent. “Well, anyway, she suggested that night that I call you if I needed some help in the financial sector of your city, and so I'm following up, if you don't mind.”
“How can I help?” Richard asked, mildly curious.
“Well, as you may recall, I'm an investigative reporter for the morning newspaper out here. For over a year I've been working on and off on a possible story about Far West Securities. The rumors have been that they've pledged or sold stocks and bonds held in trust for others to raise money for themselves when times were difficult. Obviously this is quite illegal. The rumors have been around for several years. Apparently they've always been able to replace one sold stock with another, when they had to, so they have never been caught short.
“When I was there earlier this year I was checking out a new part of the story, but I could never confirm it. That story was that Far West had worked out a secret deal with a securities firm in your city, which was doing the same thing, ‘swapping’ the stocks or bonds each firm needed to pass its quarterly audit by the National Securities Examination Association. In other words, if Far West needed a particular group of stocks or bonds to show the auditors that their physical holdings matched their book records, the firm in your city would express them out for a few days. Then Far West returned the assistance with their holdings when the other firm was audited. The audits are scheduled in advance, so they had time to prepare. And if an occasional spot check by a young auditor produced a discrepancy in the stock register numbers, it was blamed on a typing error, and they promised to correct it. So long as the total volume of assets always matched the books, that was the main thing.”
“Sounds ingenious, and, as you say, quite illegal,” Richard said. “But what does it have to do with me?”
“Nothing. But yesterday a very unhappy and very recent former employee of Far West called me and gave me a name in your city. He said that this is the name I was looking for when I was there earlier. Have you ever heard of someone named Bruce McKinney?”
Richard's blood froze. “Yes.”
“Well, allegedly his firm has been doing these illegal swaps of escrow stocks with Far West for all these years, and I wondered if you might know someone with that firm whom I might call to try to develop a relationship with, so I can slowly try to uncover whether this is all true or not. I'm not asking you to do anything yourself. I thought you might just know a broker or someone with whom I could start.”
Richard's legal training finally kicked in. “Peter, I wish you had asked me the name first, instead of telling me the story first. The fact is that I'm the main attorney for McKinney and Smith. Now I know something that may or may not be true, and I wish I didn't know it. I'm going to have to think through my ethical position, but it's obvious that I can't help you in any way.”
“What a coincidence,” Peter agreed, “in a city as big as yours. Well, I'm sorry, too. I understand, and I guess I did do it backwards. If you have to tell them, how about deleting my name for now, so I can keep working from this end?”
“I'm not sure I can, Peter. This is suddenly quite a mess. But I'll do all I can to protect your identity within the bounds of my responsibilities to them.”
“Well, thank you, Richard. I'm sorry for the call, for any number of reasons. I guess I'll have to fly back there again myself and dig around on my own. Goodbye.”
Richard swiveled in his chair and looked out across the city in the direction of Bruce's office. He could not believe the conversation and even imagined for a moment that it was some sort of bar association test of his own ethics. But in the pit of his stomach he could imagine that if times were tough enough, Bruce McKinney was at least capable of doing what Peter had described. But had he?
Turning back around, Richard called Kristen's beeper number. He only had to wait
forty-five seconds before his own phone rang. “Listen, dear, something very important has just come up, and I've got to go out. Just now. I hate it more than you do, but I can't have lunch today. I'll try to make it up to you on Thursday.”
“Is it really that important?” she pouted.
“Yes, I'm afraid so. It's business, and I've got to take care of it.”
“OK. But I want three hours on Thursday.”
“You're on. See you then. I love you. Bye.”
Richard pushed the button on his phone for a new line and dialed Bruce's number. The receptionist put him right through.
“I was just heading out the door to grab a bite to eat with one of our trainees, Richard, but I always take your calls. What's up? Is everything all right?”
“I hope so, Bruce, but I need to talk to you, face to face. Can I come over now?” The concern in his voice was apparent.
“Sure, Richard. I'll take my young broker to lunch tomorrow. I'll order us some sandwiches, and we can meet right here over lunch. Is that OK?”
“Yes. Fine. I'll see you shortly.”
When Richard arrived in Bruce's paneled office, two club sandwiches and chips were waiting on china plates at the small conference table beside the large window.
“Have a seat and some iced tea and tell me what's up.” Bruce smiled and motioned Richard towards the table.
After they both sat down, Richard took a sip of tea and asked, “Bruce, have you ever heard of Far West Securities?”
Bruce paused for an instant, took a sip of his tea, and said, “Yes, they're a large brokerage firm in California, based in San Francisco, I think. Why?” His eyes narrowed a bit.
On the Edge Page 27
