The Ascendant

by Peter Parkin

  The drunker they got, the funnier the semen jokes got. But, the next day, those jokes never seemed quite as funny.

  The power of booze.

  “Aw, I’m sorry to hear that, Judy. I didn’t know. How did he die—were you with him?”

  “No, we’d been divorced for over a decade, and I hadn’t seen him in at least that long. He killed himself, Sandy. Slit his wrist. The coroner said he had an extremely high blood alcohol level at the time of death.”

  Sandy felt his mouth go dry. “I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked. I’d heard that drinking had become a bad problem for him, but I hadn’t talked to him since just after your wedding. We just lost touch, I guess. I moved to Massachusetts and you guys stayed in New York.”

  “Yes, his drinking is what broke us up. I couldn’t take it anymore. He was a troubled man, Sandy. Depressed, I think.”

  Sandy nodded knowingly. He had a pretty good idea why John had become depressed, but he’d sworn Sandy to secrecy about the incident and Sandy had always respected that.

  “I’m so sorry to hear this, Judy. I think I heard that you have a daughter? How’s she taking it?”

  “Yes, Cynthia. She’s almost fifteen. She hadn’t seen her father in so long, so she’s doing okay, I guess. And, so am I. It’s sad, yes. But, the saddest part is that he wasted his life. He was such a nice man deep down inside, and had an absolutely brilliant brain. Well, you know that, of course. He could have done anything he wanted to.”

  “You’re right. He could have. I feel so bad for not keeping in touch with him. I might have been able to help him in some way.”

  “Don’t think that, Sandy. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help himself. I tried, believe me.”

  “True.”

  She paused for a second. “I’m the one who should feel bad, Sandy. I heard about how you lost your family a couple of years ago, and I never got in touch with you. I’m so sorry. And, now I see your face plastered all over those ads that Linc is using in his campaign. That guy makes me sick, still, after all these years. And, what he did to you and me back when we were so young, I’ll never forget that.”

  “That’s okay. I understand—we’d all lost touch, and the way my family died was so…horrid. Even people who came to the funeral really didn’t know what to say.”

  Sandy heard Judy sigh. “It’s more than that. I wanted so much to pick up the phone and call you, but I thought I would sound…opportunistic…callous. I mean, once upon a time you and I were an item, and by the time your family died I was single again. It just didn’t seem right to me, almost indecent.”

  A scene suddenly flashed in Sandy’s brain.

  Judy, standing at the edge of the dance floor along with several of her friends. It was Barnard College in New York City. One of the top ten girls-only universities in the country. The West Point boys and the Barnard girls used to hang out a lot—joint dances, charity events, athletic competitions. Sandy was attending the dance along with Linc, John, and a few other Honor Guild guys.

  She was wearing a long flowing green dress, and her auburn hair was accented with a red rose. He thought at the time that she was the most stunning girl he’d ever seen in his short life. His eyes focused in on her, blocking out everyone else. Her eyes locked in on his, too—and they lingered for the longest time.

  But, Linc was also enamoured. He immediately stomped over to her and asked her to dance.

  Sandy replayed the next images in his mind—in slow motion.

  Her head shaking the answer, No.

  Linc spinning around and heading back, anger blanketing the face, which had turned a brilliant shade of red.

  Judy then crooking her index finger at Sandy and inviting him over.

  They were together the rest of the night, and for most of the following year.

  Until he broke her heart.

  More correctly, until she thought he broke her heart.

  “Yeah, I can see why you’d feel that way, Judy. Totally understandable. Don’t give it another thought.”

  “Sandy, I have something to tell you. And…something to give you. It was John’s last wish—he sent me a note before he died, along with a cassette tape. In his note, he said that he was hoping to come into a large sum of money and he was going to give Cynthia and me most of it. But, it was strange—he said if something happened to him, that I was to get in touch with you and get this tape to you. He insisted that I not listen to the tape, and I haven’t.”

  Sandy felt his fist gripping the phone tighter. “I…don’t know what that tape could possibly be about, Judy,” he lied. “But, if John said not to listen to it, don’t.”

  “Should I mail it to you?”

  Sandy’s instinct told him that would be a mistake. A voice in his head whispered to him what this tape was all about. The same ancient story that had caused John Nichols to descend into depression and transform into a hopeless alcoholic. The same story that got Sandy booted out of the Honor Guild, to be followed by John a scant year later.

  “No, don’t do that, Judy. Are you still in New York?”

  “Yes, in Queens.”

  “Okay, that’s only about a four-hour drive from Boston, so I’ll just cruise on down the coast. It would be a good excuse to see you again, anyway. And I’ll get to meet Cynthia.”

  A few seconds pause. Then, “Oh, Sandy, it will be great to see you again, too. I really mean that.”

  “It’s a date, then. Text me your address. I’ll text you back as to what dates look good for me, and you can let me know what works.”

  “Okay, see you soon, Sandy. It will be so nice.”

  Sandy hung up the phone and stretched his feet out on top of the coffee table.

  So, John was dead and he had a tape. And was hoping to come into some money. Seemed as if he thought he was in some danger? Which sounded to Sandy like blackmail. Kind of like what he himself had just tried to do with the deputy mayor.

  Maybe it wasn’t suicide after all?

  Sandy remembered way back to the day when John’s guilty conscience forced him to confess about what happened in that van with Linc, three other guys, and the young girl. John was so afraid, didn’t know what to do. Was scared about the idea of blowing the whistle on the Honor Guild Commander.

  Sandy volunteered to do it for him, but promised to keep John’s name out of it. He remembered how the dean listened to him intently, promised him that he’d deal with it. That justice would be served, but that it was imperative that no shame be brought upon West Point. What was done was done, and nothing would bring the young girl back. Sandy accepted that—believed that the dean would deal with it in the honorable way that the school’s legacy demanded.

  But, it didn’t work out that way. He had no idea whether the dean ever talked to Linc about the death of the girl. All Sandy knew was that within days he was kicked out of the Honor Guild and sent back down to the regular population of West Point. And warned that he was to keep his mouth shut. Or…

  He didn’t know what the “or” meant and hadn’t wanted to find out.

  So, did John’s cassette tape have something to do with that incident? Was he blackmailing Linc—timed with the launch of his presidential campaign? Had John deluded himself into thinking the bastard was easy pickings?

  Judy’s voice sounded exactly the same. It was as if the last twenty or so years hadn’t passed by at all.

  Sandy, Linc, and John had each been connected to Judy back in their university days.

  Intimately.

  That night of the dance was the beginning of a wonderful relationship for Sandy and Judy, but it was the beginning of something else, too.

  An insidious simmering burn began that night.

  Judy was Sandy’s first love.

  And, while he’d indeed loved Sarah with all of his heart—a love that evolved into a sort o
f adoration—there was just something about how he felt about Judy that was never duplicated. Something in the gut, the brain, the heart. Impossible to describe, but also impossible to forget.

  Linc hated the fact that Sandy was dating Judy. He wanted her, pure and simple. He tried to intervene many times, but Judy rejected him. Told him that she was in love with Sandy.

  The two of them planned to get married after graduation. They’d decided what breed of dog they’d have—even before discussing the number of kids. They would have a house in the New York suburbs, and Judy would coach gymnastics at one of the high schools. Sandy would become some sort of scientist—didn’t really know which way he’d lean, but he knew he’d be doing something brainy.

  Then one day Judy heard a knock on the door of her dorm room.

  A knock that would change both of their lives.

  The girl was wearing shorty shorts, and a revealing tank top that overtly taunted small-breasted Judy with a pair of 38Ds. She proceeded to tell Judy that her boyfriend was a hound dog, who’d enjoyed a threesome with her and her equally ample girlfriend. She uttered words that hurt, graphic words designed to create images that would break a tender heart. Gave her the other girl’s phone number so Judy could check with her and verify the story. Told her that she was telling her these things because she felt she deserved to hear what a terrible boyfriend Sandy was.

  Their romance ended that night. Sandy protested his innocence, but, she wouldn’t listen. Said she’d called the other girl already, and that she’d repeated the same story verbatim.

  Sandy said it was a lie. That he’d never cheat on her.

  Her logical retort was, “Why would they lie?”

  Sandy didn’t have an answer for that.

  Linc swooped in almost immediately to fill the void.

  Judy was vulnerable, got caught in the crossfire. He charmed her.

  At first, he was nice to her, but it didn’t take long for her to see his dark side. She broke up with him and ended up with John Nichols on the rebound.

  After she and John had been going out for a few months, he told her about what he’d learned during a night of heavy drinking. A night when Linc declared to the group of guys that Judy was just a slut and he was glad to be rid of her. Then, in a drunken stupor, bragged to the group how he’d paid off a couple of strippers to make up that story about Sandy. Gave each of them $1,000 for their bullshit. Just so he could cut Sandy out of the equation.

  Sandy was proud of John for telling her that. It helped unbreak her heart. And he took a risk doing it, because there was the chance she’d come running back to him.

  Which she did.

  Judy came to his room and told him she was sorry that she hadn’t believed him. She was crying uncontrollably, and Sandy soothed her in the best way he could. But the soothing fell far short of what they used to do together.

  Too much time had gone by.

  He and Sarah had been dating for a while, and he wasn’t prepared to go back in time. By then he loved Sarah and wouldn’t consider hurting her. He was committed.

  And he’d been hurt too—hurt that Judy hadn’t believed him. She knew him well enough to know that he never would have done that to her. He’d loved her.

  An immature, stubborn decision on his part.

  A decision that had a profound effect on several lives.

  He should have appreciated how shocked and hurt she must have been when confronted by that slut at her door. He’d expected too much of her, had expected her to be stronger than any average person could realistically be.

  But, back then, Sandy was just an immature, stubborn young man.

  Lincoln Berwick, now the senator from the great state of Texas, and possibly soon to be the next President of the United States of America, viciously broke the heart of the love of his life. And in the process, he’d broken Sandy’s, too.

  All because Lincoln Berwick wanted what he wanted.

  13

  The waves gently rolled in to shore, leaving the sand glistening for a second or two after the water retreated. Like magic, the sand returned to normal, waiting to be kissed once again.

  Bright sunshine added extra sparkles to the grains of sand and a warm steady breeze was blowing in from the west, making this middle of December day unusually balmy. Christmas was looming, yet it felt like just a typical day in June.

  Bill Tomkins kicked off his sandals and wiggled his toes into the sand—something he hadn’t done in a long time.

  Then he did something that for him was completely wild and crazy. He rolled up his pant legs and waded into the frigid water. It sent a shiver through his entire body, but it felt strangely wonderful. Made him feel alive. And a little bit carefree—a quality that most people would never associate with Bill Tomkins.

  He walked in a bit deeper until the water was past his knees, soaking the edges of his rolled-up pants. Then he turned around and gazed back at his beach house just as a larger wave smacked him in the ass.

  Sheila waved at him from the upper deck. She had the two boys with her, Fraser and Wallace. They were six and four respectively; adorable, just like their mother and, unfortunately, fatherless. Sheila had been widowed a couple of years earlier by a drunk driver—husband Sean was killed driving home from work—and it had taken her the better part of a year to get back to her normal self.

  The kids had suffered a bit, although they were too young at the time to really know their father all that well. They were more upset that their mother was upset.

  Bill had tried to be there for her, help her through it, but he knew he’d failed miserably. His sister and brother-in-law had done most of the nurturing. Bill had provided money—not exactly heartwarming, but it made him feel like he was at least doing something.

  Still, he got the impression from his family that they knew he hadn’t been capable of doing more. There’d been no resentment at his absences from family functions, no yelling or screaming, no accusations of being a cold-hearted bastard.

  They knew him far too well and had long ago given up on trying to find his heart.

  Bill smiled and waved back at Sheila. She was beckoning him to come back up to the house. He could see smoke rising off the hood of the barbecue, indicating that dinner was almost ready.

  He’d been fiddling with the barbecue himself a couple of hours ago, trying to figure out how to work the damn thing. It was a massive unit, with a side warmer, sear burner, and a grill large enough for at least a dozen T-bones. But, he’d never used it before.

  Sheila had grown impatient with him and shooed him down to the beach.

  And he was glad she had—it had been ages since he’d walked on his own beach and was surprised at how much he was enjoying it.

  And he couldn’t even recall having a good hard look at his house from that angle before. It looked so much bigger from the beach.

  The house was about forty years old and had a lower porch as well as the upper deck that Sheila was cooking on. It was Cape Cod style, clad in yellow-painted clapboard siding. One of the most impressive homes on the beach and it was way too big for Bill.

  But, a great investment.

  He’d bought it five years ago for a cool five million, and it was now assessed at over seven.

  His private beachfront was a stretch of about 1,000 feet, which housed a seriously long dock where he kept his Boston Whaler moored. Just something else that he hardly ever used.

  The Hamptons were located on the easternmost edge of Long Island. This most exclusive enclave was divided between two distinct sections: Southampton, and East Hampton. There were fifteen hamlets contained within the Southampton district and another seven in East Hampton. Bill’s house was in the Southampton sector, in a distinct village called Sagaponack, which was the most expensive zip code in the entire United States.

  The Hamptons’ reputation as being a fashionab
le summer resort community began way back in the 1800s. It was actually described by the New York Times in 1893 as being comparable to everyone’s idea of the Garden of Eden.

  Bill picked up his sandals and walked back up to the house. Sheila was calling him now with some sense of urgency—making it known that the crown pork was ready and waiting.

  He walked up the stairs and she greeted him with a hug. The little boys grabbed onto his wet legs, forcing him to drag them into the kitchen.

  And he wondered what the three of them saw in him.

  Was it the expensive house on the beach? No, couldn’t be. His niece was the least material person on the planet.

  Maybe it was because he was such a tough nut to crack. Always pleasant, but never overtly affectionate. Everyone liked a challenge, so maybe that was it.

  Or, maybe they just saw something in him that he’d never seen himself. Perhaps they were the only ones in his circle who didn’t look at him as being a cold-hearted wheeler-dealer. Maybe they could see through him, see his heart, feel his longing for something more substantive than money.

  Dinner was wonderful.

  Sheila was a great cook, and he made a mental note to get her to show him tomorrow how to work that damn barbecue. He wanted to cook for her and the boys for a change. See what he could whip up. Challenge himself. Hell, if he could string together billion dollar mergers, how difficult could cooking be?

  Sheila put the boys to bed and then joined Bill in the living room.

  Even though it was a warm December evening, Bill had thrown a couple of logs on the fire. Why, he didn’t know. Probably because he knew Sheila would like that.

  She curled up on the couch opposite him.

  “I worry about you, Uncle Bill.”

  “Stop with the ‘uncle’ stuff. Just call me Bill.”

  “Okay, Bill, answer me this—when are you going to get a woman in your life?”