Mrs. Ferguson screamed in horror. Lisa didn’t even cry out. She fixed her gaze on me and exclaimed, “Ask Thomas. He knows I’m telling the truth. He ran away because he knew the little bitch tried to reel him in and seduce him.”
All eyes turned to me but I said nothing. I stayed silent, impassive. I wasn’t even moved by Esther, who was looking at me and waiting for me to tell the truth.
Mr. Ferguson came forward to try to rescue his daughter, but Paul stepped in to stop him.
“You’re a liar, a villain, an immoral drug addict. You’ll end up in the gutter. Oh yes, one of these days they’ll find you dead with a needle in your arm. Get out of here. You sully all of us with your presence.”
Paul’s words surprised us all. Lisa looked at him with hatred in her eyes.
“Let go. Let her leave,” Paul asked Roberto.
“She has to say sorry,” Roberto demanded, holding Lisa’s arm ever tighter and shaking her.
“Enough!” yelled Mr. Ferguson.
My father approached Roberto and Lisa and I feared he’d say something.
“Miss Ferguson, you should save yourself and the rest of us from letting this unpleasant scene go on any further. You have offended Miss Sabatti and you must apologize. Do it,” he said.
“Never,” replied Lisa.
Esther slapped her again, this time with so much anger and despair that my father tried to hold her back while Mr. Ferguson tried to get Roberto to let go of Lisa.
“Are you having fun?” my mother asked me, lighting up a cigarette and ignoring the fact that smoking wasn’t permitted inside the academy.
“Sure. Those two should start punching each other and then the scene will be complete.”
“Lisa has no shame, and it seems you don’t either,” muttered my mother.
“I’ve inherited quite a number of your bad qualities,” I said.
Just then Lisa screamed. Esther’s blows continued to rain down, and even though her father tried to hold her back he could do nothing to stop her.
“Esther, my girl, leave her, leave her!” her father pleaded.
But Esther wouldn’t listen to anybody. She needed to hit Lisa to cleanse herself of her humiliation and shame.
“I’ll sue you!” yelled Mr. Ferguson to Esther.
My father intervened again, and to my surprise turned to face Mr. Ferguson.
“I would be honored if Miss Sabatti would allow me to be her lawyer. She should be the one to sue your daughter for slander, and we will seek compensation. What has happened here is intolerable.”
My mother also looked at my father in surprise. What did this girl matter to him?
Eventually the Fergusons managed to free their daughter. The families of the other students hurriedly said goodbye to Paul and the professors. Nobody wanted to stay a minute longer. It had been a first-class spectacle, but not a pleasant one. They’d have plenty to talk about and plenty of people to criticize.
“You should have defended Esther by telling the truth.”
It was the first time Jaime had ever reprimanded me. His reproach infuriated me. But that was my brother’s way, just like it was my father’s way to side with the weak. Right at that moment my father was trying to console the Sabattis, assuring them that nobody had believed a single word Lisa Ferguson said. My father was so naïve.
Esther passed me without a glance. I wondered if I should say something, but I resisted the impulse. I was not in the mood for her admonishments.
“Your brother is right,” said my mother.
“Right? How is he right?” I asked bad-temperedly.
“That bitch of a friend of yours has made a fool of Esther. Some of your friends will believe Lisa—people always prefer to believe the worst.”
“And they’re almost always right to believe the worst,” I assured her.
I started to turn away but Jaime put his hand on my shoulder, forcing me to turn back. I was close to punching him but Paul came up to us.
“Your friend will end up dragging you down with her. Watch out for her,” Paul said to me.
“Don’t exaggerate. She was just on edge and you already know that she doesn’t get along with Esther,” I replied, without much conviction.
“You are not as smart as you think you are, Mr. Spencer; you must be the only one who hasn’t yet realized that you’ve been no more than a puppet in Miss Ferguson’s hands.”
Paul’s claim irritated me. So that motley crew with whom I’d studied thought me little more than Lisa’s plaything.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded angrily, and before he could reply I headed for the exit.
I couldn’t bear that place for another second. What’s more—I have to confess—Paul had hurt my self-esteem.
Jaime followed me, as did my mother, while my father said goodbye to the Sabattis. I didn’t feel comfortable until I was in the car. I suddenly needed to distance myself as quickly as possible from Paul’s academy and the two years I’d spent there.
“Lisa Ferguson’s behavior has been disgraceful,” said my father to no one in particular.
“She’s a bad person,” said my brother.
“What do you know? You don’t know her. You don’t know anything about her.”
“You don’t have to be a mind reader to see what kind of a person she is,” Jaime replied.
“That poor girl…Lisa has destroyed her reputation,” my father continued.
“You’re being melodramatic. I don’t understand why you’re all reading so much into a catfight,” I insisted.
“No. That wasn’t a catfight. I don’t know what idea you have of women but Lisa is surely the worst you will ever meet. I think she’s your perfect match,” announced my mother.
I felt like slapping her. I imagine it showed on my face because my father scolded her.
“Carmela, don’t make Thomas feel guilty about what happened. But, son, your mother is right. What she did to Esther is unforgivable.”
“Why didn’t you defend Esther?” asked my brother.
Jaime’s insistence was getting on my last nerve. He would have behaved like a knight in shining armor, but I wasn’t like him.
“How about you leave me in peace, okay?”
No one said another word. We arrived at home and I shut myself in my room, while Jaime talked with my parents in the study.
I knew that they were criticizing my attitude, thinking I was lacking in manners.
I sat on the bed going over what had happened and reached the conclusion that if I hadn’t defended Esther it wasn’t because I was afraid to confront Lisa, but rather, I told myself, because I didn’t care about either of them.
What my parents and my brother thought I should do is not what I did:
When Lisa accused Esther of sleeping with Paul, I should have intervened. I should have said that it was all a sick joke, and I should have gotten Lisa out of there. I know I could have handled her. She would have protested but then followed me, and the whole regrettable scene would not have happened.
Lisa had nothing to lose—she loved scandals, so none of the events that she set in motion mattered to her. Yet I knew that the scene would destroy Esther. Lisa’s claim that Esther had slept with Paul and that she had tried to do the same with me was slander that I knew would spread like an oil slick. My mother was right that people always prefer to think the worst of others in order to feel less miserable about themselves.
“Be quiet, Lisa! How dare you say such things? You know that Esther is the best student here, the best of us all, the only one who deserves to graduate with honors, the one who truly has talent. How dare you insinuate that there’s anything between her and Paul? You know that’s a lie. Esther would be incapable of doing anything like that.”
Yes, that should have been my speech. My father and my brother would have looked at me with pride, and my mother would have been surprised by my courageous behavior. Naturally Lisa would have turned on me, launching into her second
accusation: that Esther was a manipulator, capable of sleeping with anyone in order to climb the social ladder, and the idiot she had under her thumb was me.
My reply would have had to meet the standard of my previous words. I could have taken a couple of steps back and looked at Lisa, scandalized. And then I could have approached Esther, saying loudly:
“Esther is my most selfless friend. No one who knows Esther could believe such a story. It’s just slander. You can’t stand that she’s a good and honest person, perhaps because that would be beyond you. I won’t allow you to ruin her name or the friendship I have with her. I don’t know what’s going on with you, Lisa, and I’m sorry to see you in this state, but your words reflect back on you. You’re ridiculous. You’re pitiful.”
That last part would no doubt have further enraged Lisa. I’m sure she would have tried to slap me. But at that point I would have loudly apologized to all those watching the scene and, taking Esther by the arm, would have invited her to leave with me. My parents and the Sabattis would have followed us, and Paul’s unsuccessful end-of-year party would have been over.
The Fergusons would have dragged Lisa away, ashamed of her behavior. And I would have seemed almost like a gentleman to everyone present.
—
But I did none of that. It never even crossed my mind to do anything like that.
The actions I did not take that day are part of another life—a life that now, as I decline and am on the verge of, yes, death, I wonder if I should have lived.
As time passes, I’m beginning to think that if I had acted correctly I might have been proud of myself, but I can’t be sure of that. Back then I saw my future as just a fraction of eternity and felt no need to be noble or to do any good. I asked nothing of myself. I accepted myself as I was: no more, no less.
I can still remember how uncomfortable dinner was that night.
My mother was in a bad mood and when our eyes met I could see how disappointed she was in me. Jaime seemed saddened, as if those scenes he had experienced were out of some nightmare. He watched me out of the corner of his eye, searching my face for answers. It was my father who broke the silence when we reached the second course.
“Thomas, I’d like you to think about what happened. You’ll agree with me that you should have intervened.”
“And what do you think I should have done?” I asked, to provoke him.
“Told everyone that Lisa was lying and stood up for Esther. That girl doesn’t deserve to be treated this way. As for Lisa…I won’t tell you what to do, but that girl can only bring you trouble. I feel sorry for her parents. Mr. Ferguson has worked hard to become a great businessman. And Mrs. Ferguson has always been generous with the organizations that need her help.”
“Oh yes, she does love her charity galas. They’re a great opportunity for her to show off her jewels and for the papers to highlight their generous donations, to legitimize their fortune. And Mr. Ferguson is a humble cattle rancher who has cleverly managed to get his prepackaged meat sold in supermarkets across the country. He’s a butcher who got lucky, hardly aristocratic enough for the hypocritical tastes of the great families of New York. But this is the land of opportunity—if you get rich, you have a guaranteed seat at the table of high society. If Mr. Ferguson weren’t a wealthy butcher they would laugh at his accent, at his ridiculous hat, at that folksy attitude he likes to cultivate. Mrs. Ferguson hasn’t stopped being what she was either: a teacher from the Midwest who’s come up in the world. The designer labels, the jewelry, the French manicure—they haven’t turned her into the great lady she claims to be. Isn’t that right, Mother? That’s what you always say. ‘A monkey dressed in silk is still a monkey.’ You said your grandmother taught you that.”
My mother knew that everything I had just said about Mrs. Ferguson expressed the same opinion I had of her.
“Where did all this hatred come from?” asked my mother, barely restraining her desire to slap me.
“This is the land of opportunity,” my father interrupted. “There are no aristocrats here, just people who will judge you based on how hard you try. Mr. Ferguson is an example of how far you can get if you work hard. Here nobody asks where you came from, only what you do and what you’re prepared to do. That’s how Mr. Ferguson has earned the respect of all who know him. Do you know how many families he gives work to? And your comments about Mrs. Ferguson are out of line. The jewels she wears are the result of her husband’s efforts—she’s allowed to feel proud of him. It’s easy to remain indifferent when someone asks you to support a good cause, but everyone knows that they can count on her, and that is very laudable on her part.”
“If you say so,” I replied.
“You have no right to judge the Fergusons, but you should have enough sense to know that Lisa is heading in a bad direction. That girl has decided to throw her life away,” insisted my father.
“If her father had worried more about her instead of spending night and day selling his goddamn cattle,” I replied, “and if her mother had spent less time at the salon trying to be someone she’s not, then Lisa—”
“You mean that Lisa is the way she is because of her parents?” There was an implicit reproach in Jaime’s question.
“We are all who we are as a consequence of something,” I said firmly.
“Bad people always look for excuses to justify the way they are,” declared my mother.
“If you say so.”
—
Without telling me, Jaime had decided to frame the ridiculous diploma that Paul had given me. For some reason, my brother wanted to showcase the piece of cardboard that announced I had graduated from the Hard School of Advertising.
In the fall my brother would enroll at Harvard and, from that moment on, there would be no way to deny the obvious differences that would exist between us. But he did love me.
I had to start thinking about what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I knew that it would be difficult to find a job if my only credential was a diploma from Paul Hard’s academy. Either my father would have to ask a favor of one of his friends or I’d have real problems, as no advertising agency would bother to interview me. My father expected me to ask him—he was too polite and respectful to try to impose his help on me. My mother didn’t seem to care that I was wandering around the house with nothing to do. The truth is, that summer crept up on us, and perhaps they thought it wouldn’t hurt for me to have some vacation before I tried to enter the working world.
It was Aunt Emma, my father’s sister, who triggered the decision I’d eventually make.
When the weather was nice we usually spent part of our vacations at her house in Newport. It was a large house, and from the tall windows you could make out the sea. She liked having us there. She’d inherited the house from her husband. I suppose they’d both thought they’d fill it with their own children. But bad luck had haunted my aunt, leaving her without a husband or children. She had to make do with Jaime and me.
I always managed to squirm out of family responsibilities, but on this occasion, out of boredom or a desire to leave the city, I agreed to go with them. Aunt Emma had insisted we spend at least a couple of weeks at “the cabin,” as she dubbed her Newport house. The grandparents would come too. This family reunion seemed to excite both my father and Jaime, while my mother resigned herself to two straight weeks in Newport. Because I gave in to boredom and because my mother always gave in to my father’s demands, we all ended up installing ourselves in Aunt Emma’s house on Ocean Avenue—and it was well we did so, since at that time the humid heat was unbearable in New York City.
Aunt Emma liked to organize our stays as if they were military operations. In the morning she would gather everyone in the kitchen and spend some time discussing what we would do for lunch and dinner. Then she made sure that there were fresh flowers everywhere in the house and that my father had his favorite newspapers.
My grandfather and father would leave early to play golf. My grandmother Do
rothy would also rise early to take a walk with her ridiculous Yorkshire terrier, and then she would spend the rest of the morning with some friend. As for my mother, she would get up late and usually stay on the porch reading, ensuring that not a single ray of sunlight would touch her and further darken her skin.
Jaime had friends whom he’d usually go out with, to play tennis, to surf, and to flirt with girls. I was the only one who had no agenda, because, in truth, I didn’t want to do anything.
I would usually go for a swim as soon as I woke up. When I was younger my mother had tried to prevent me from going out in the sun so that my skin wouldn’t get darker, as had happened to her. But I had already convinced myself that it was her fault that, due to my genetic inheritance, I would never have white skin, so I no longer bothered avoiding the sun.
The rest of the day I tried to slip away from whatever plans Aunt Emma concocted, which usually consisted of having cocktails, or tea, or going to some neighbor’s house or inviting them over. She liked to see the house filled with people.
I don’t remember if it was the third or the fourth day after we arrived in Newport when, at one of the few dinners where there were no guests, my grandfather James asked me what I was going to do with myself.
“He has all summer to think about it,” my father replied on my behalf.
“Well, there’s not much to think about—Thomas wants to work and if he needs a leg up you know you can count on me. I have a couple of friends with good connections at advertising agencies. I could talk to them. What do you think?”
It annoyed me that my grandfather was insisting on talking about my future, and especially that he wanted to organize it for me.
“Leave the boy alone, James. When he gets back to New York he’ll have plenty of time to think about what he’s going to do. For now he has to enjoy this short vacation,” my grandmother Dorothy intervened.
“James is right. Thomas needs to decide how he’s going to face up to his future,” said my mother, in support of my grandfather.
Suddenly all eyes turned to me. My grandfather was spoiling the dinner for me. Even naïve Jaime realized that I was getting angry and tried to change the subject.
Story of a Sociopath Page 11
