Adam's Daughter

by Kristy Daniels

  She was about to turn but Tyler grabbed her arm. “Listen,” he said. “Let’s go have a drink. I know a nice quiet place that won’t card me. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Kellen paused. “All right,” she said.

  They took a cab across town. The bar was tucked back in an alleyway, discernible only by a discreet neon moon above the door. The interior was dark, and Tyler led Kellen to a banquette. He ordered two manhattans.

  “That’s a rather old-fashioned drink,” Kellen said with a small smile.

  “I’m an old-fashioned guy at heart,” Tyler said.

  When the waiter brought the drinks, Tyler quickly took a gulp of his.

  “Makes me feel old seeing my little brother in a bar,” Kellen said.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Kellen looked around. The bar was handsomely decorated in ebony wood and art deco banquettes. A pianist was playing Gershwin at the baby grand in the corner and the men sitting at the bar were dressed in business suits. Slowly, her eyes swept the entire crowded room. Suddenly, it hit her. There were only men. It was a gay bar.

  She looked back at Tyler. “Very funny,” she said. “Why did you bring me here?”

  Tyler’s eyes held hers. Even in the half light, she could see the strange mix of emotions in them. Great trepidation, wariness and a sort of giddy exhilaration. “You want to know about my life,” Tyler said. “Well, this is it. This is my life. I’m gay.”

  He said it matter-of-factly, with a smile, but she could tell he was waiting for her response. She was so stunned, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “But how —-”

  Tyler laughed so loudly others looked over. “We’ll leave that question for the geneticists, shrinks and priests,” he said.

  Kellen frowned. “I was going to ask how long.”

  He began to play with the drink stir. “All my life,” he said. “But I’ve known for sure since I was thirteen.”

  The pianist started in on “A Foggy Day.” The bar seemed suddenly oppressive. She wanted desperately to say something, something that didn’t sound reproachful, but her shock was just too great. “Why did you decide to tell me?” she asked finally.

  A vulnerable look crept into Tyler’s eyes. “I don’t know. Tired of keeping it to myself, I guess. You’re the only person I’ve told.”

  Another silence, long and awkward. Kellen looked at her watch. “I have to get going,” she said. “Stephen will be worried.”

  “You disapprove, don’t you,” he said.

  “It’s not that. It’s just that...” Kellen’s voice trailed off. She knew that whatever she said it would sound wrong and Tyler would take it as another attempt on her part to try to interfere with his life.

  “Well, don’t worry,” Tyler said with a smile. “I’ll stay in the closet like a good boy. I won’t do anything to embarrass you.”

  Kellen started to say something but he held up his hand. “And I’d appreciate it,” he said, “if you kept this to yourself. I’m not ashamed of it but I’m not quite ready to go public. I’ve seen one too many friends pay the price.” He looked out over the bar. “Had one get the shit beat out of him the other day. Just walking down the street, minding his own business and these three guys jumped him.”

  When he finally looked back at Kellen he was smiling but his eyes had hardened. “So. I’ll see you soon,” he said curtly. “Give my best to Stephen.”

  Kellen rose, pulling on her coat. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night?” she asked.

  “Can’t. I’m going away skiing for a week. Ian invited me to go with him and Clarisse to his condo in Aspen.”

  She was unaware that Ian and Tyler had any contact, let alone were friendly enough to vacation together. She immediately suspected Ian must have an ulterior motive but decided it was a bad time to suggest such a thing to Tyler.

  “Well, have a good time,” she said. “And call me when you get back. We’ll get together.”

  “Sure,” Tyler muttered. He picked up his drink and didn’t look up at her.

  When she got to the door, Kellen looked back to the table, but Tyler was gone.

  As she rode home in a taxi, Kellen’s thoughts stayed with Tyler and his incredible revelation. The only person she knew for certain was gay was her hair stylist and he seemed like a happy uncomplicated man. She had never given any thought to his lifestyle, thinking of it only as a sort of strange netherworld.

  But now it was more than that; it was her brother’s life. And she realized she knew nothing about it —- or him. He was a stranger to her all over again.

  She remembered suddenly an article that had run recently on the front page of the Times. The American Psychiatric Association no longer classified homosexuality as a mental illness. It had generated many negative letters to the editor, and Ian, who had a homophobic streak, had taken Stephen to task for giving it such prominent display.

  Now, more than ever, she was worried about Tyler. He needed someone to take care of him, and how in the world would he ever find someone?

  When she went into the bedroom, Stephen was sitting up in bed, reading a book. “How was dinner?” he asked.

  “All right, I guess.”

  “You sound a little down. Is Tyler all right?”

  She thought for a moment about telling Stephen. “He’s fine,” she said. She went into the dressing room, closing the door behind her. She changed and went into the bathroom. She stood for a moment before the mirror, staring at her reflection.

  Her makeup and hair, swept up in a French twist, were perfect as ever, but she looked tired. She leaned forward to inspect the tiny lines around her eyes. No need to worry —- no wrinkles, no signs of age. But something had crept into the corners of her mouth, setting it into the beginnings of hardness.

  She thought again of what Clark had said about her appearance. And she thought, too, of Tyler and how he had picked up on her shock and disapproval. He had told her his greatest secret. Why hadn’t she been able to give him the comfort he needed? Had she become that grim and self-centered? At one time, she might have easily dealt with Tyler’s news, when she had been more open-minded.

  She washed away the makeup and brushed out her hair. She paused to look at herself once more then went into the bedroom. Stephen didn’t look up from his reading as she slipped out of her robe and into bed.

  “Stephen?”

  “Hmm?”

  She turned in the bed to face him. “I want to go back to work.”

  “We’ve talked about this before,” he said.

  “But I’m not so sure you’ve really listened, Stephen.”

  He set aside his book, waiting.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you to do your job,” she said. “This has nothing to do with you at all.”

  “I can take care of things at work, Kellen.”

  “I know. But this isn’t to help the Times. It’s to help me.”

  She had wanted to explain this to him for so long and now struggled to find the right words. “Most of my life, I’ve been doing things to try to please the people who are important to me,” she said. “First my father, then you. But outside of those years I spent in Paris, I’ve never really lived according to my own needs. I always talked a good game but I never really had the guts to live my life the way I really wanted.”

  She looked at him but there was nothing in his eyes that told her she was getting through to him.

  “I feel like I’m drying up inside, Stephen,” she said quietly. “I need something else in my life besides this house and the children. I want to go back to work.”

  “But you’ve always had the newspaper, Kellen,” Stephen said.

  She shook her head slowly. “My father told me something once, something I never forgot. He said everyone needs a passion in their lives, something they believe in. That’s what the Times should be to me. Up until now, I’ve only given it parts of me -—in the beginning because of my inexperience an
d in the last seven years because the children needed me more. But if I’m ever going to really claim it as my own I have to give myself to it completely. Just like my father did.”

  He remained pensive, but she could see a hint of understanding, or at least acceptance, in his eyes.

  “Please try to understand,” she said.

  He sighed. "I don’t completely,” he said, “but I want you to be happy, Kellen. And I know you haven’t been lately.”

  She forced herself not to look away.

  “If going back full-time will make you happy, then you should do it,” he said. “I guess the kids will survive. Don’t know if I can say the same for me, though.”

  She realized with relief that it was an attempt at levity. Encouraged, she smiled. “Oh, it won’t be so bad. Do you remember what it was like when we worked in the newsroom together? We had a lot of fun in those days.”

  He gave her a begrudging smile. “Don’t even think about coming down to my newsroom,” he said.

  “I’ll stay upstairs. I promise.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Kellen picked up the Times that had just been delivered to her office. She pulled out the Lifestyle section and sighed with resignation.

  Well, there it is, she thought. But at least the problem is solved.

  The front page of the section, which normally was filled with features, photographs, and Clark’s column, was dominated by a huge lingerie advertisement from Macy’s. Clark’s column was the only editorial content, stripped down the left-hand side.

  About a month ago, right after she had returned to the office full-time, the battle over the section front had begun. She found out that the advertising department, with Ian’s blessing, had promised Macy’s that they could move their ads to the front page if they re-signed their contract.

  The fallout from the circulation report had begun, and if Macy’s pulled out others might eventually follow. Reluctantly, even Stephen came to take advertising’s side.

  “I know it stinks,” he told Kellen, “but it’s a matter of survival.”

  Clark had taken the news as a personal insult. “That column is my life,” he said. “When your father gave it to me, I don’t think either of us realized what it would become. This tells me that it’s not important. That I'm not important.”

  Kellen knew that the Times had to keep Macy’s under contract. But she still wanted to make a stand for Clark and the Times. She proposed a compromise: that the store cut its ad back to three-quarters of the page, leaving space for Clark’s column.

  “It’s the best-read thing in this city,” she told Macy’s representatives. “Your ads will benefit from placement near Clark.” Macy’s signed a new contract.

  It had been her first decisive move since her return, but as Kellen stared at the ad she felt no real sense of victory.

  The real problems remained untreated. The cost projections on Stephen’s plan to build a suburban printing plant were due any day. She hoped the news would be positive, not just for the Times’ sake but for Stephen’s.

  Kellen leaned back in her chair. Since her return a month ago she had made it a point to stay out of the newsroom. Ian had not helped matters. Sensing Stephen’s vulnerability, he tried to use Kellen’s return to antagonize him.

  The first challenge came when Ian appeared unexpectedly at an editorial board meeting. The debate was over who to endorse in a local election. Ian had lobbied strongly for one candidate but the board, led by Stephen, outvoted him and endorsed the other.

  Late that night Ian wrote an editorial endorsing his candidate and ordered it to replace the board’s endorsement. The fearful news editor complied, but a composing room foreman called Stephen at home and tipped him off. Stephen raced down to the office and he and Ian got into a fierce argument in the composing room. It was only when Kellen finally interceded that Ian backed down.

  Kellen picked up a memo Ian had sent to her that morning. Ian had found a new way to get at Stephen. He wanted to hire a general manager who would report directly to him, undercutting Stephen’s power. She would have to veto the move, once again forced into the role as Stephen’s savior.

  The secretary buzzed and announced Stephen was on his way up.

  When Stephen came in, Ian was close behind.

  “We’re busy, Ian,” Kellen said. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

  “This can’t wait,” he said, tossing a report on the desk. “The verdict’s in on the suburban plant.” He held out a second copy to Stephen. “You aren’t going to like this.”

  Stephen and Kellen began to read.

  “Let me save you some time,” Ian said. “What your feasibility study has taken four weeks to conclude is exactly what I said in the beginning. We can’t afford it. See you at the meeting Monday.”

  He left but neither Stephen nor Kellen looked up from their reading. After a few moments, she put the report down. “He’s right,” she said. “Twelve million. I never thought the estimate would come in so high. I’m sorry, Stephen.”

  He glanced up at her then went back to the report, flipping through the pages slowly as if in disbelief.

  “I wish there were some way to swing this,” she said.

  Stephen looked up. “There is a way,” he said. “You didn’t read far enough. It’s mentioned on page eighteen.”

  “What is it?”

  “Liquidate an asset or company holding.”

  Kellen stared at him. “You mean, sell one of the other newspapers?”

  Stephen closed the report. “Yes,” he said.

  “Stephen, I couldn’t do that,” she said.

  “Kellen, we have to do something, and we have to do it soon or we’ll never be able to fix the problem,” he said. “You might have to sacrifice one of the other papers in the chain to save the Times.”

  She thought suddenly of the paper mill in Canada, but she calculated quickly that selling off the chain’s paper source would be a foolish move. Paper was the single biggest expense for the corporation and having its own mill had kept that expense in line. She thought also of the television station in Oakland, but she knew Ian would never consent to its sale. The station was a low-cost moneymaker that Ian had always considered his personal cash cow. Stephen was right; the only way to get enough capital to finance the plant was through selling a newspaper.

  Her eyes went to the stack of newspapers on a nearby credenza. Every day, copies of each of the fifteen papers in the chain were sent to her. She scarcely had time to glance at them, but she always knew the papers were there, and their presence fortified her. They represented a continuum to the past, to her father.

  Stephen saw her looking at the newspapers. “Kellen, you can’t afford to be sentimental,” he said.

  “I’m not being sentimental. I just can’t stand the thought of losing one of those papers.” She picked up the Lifestyle section. “Selling one newspaper might seem like a good sacrifice but it’s a loss we can never make back. Once a newspaper is gone, it’s gone forever.” She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

  “Kellen,” he said, “you know you let your heart rule your head. Well, you can’t this time.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Sometimes you have to use both.”

  Stephen looked at her for a moment then ran a hand over his eyes. “All right, Kellen,” he said. “I don’t want to fight you on this. Or your father either.”

  He went to the door.

  “Stephen,” she called out.

  He turned, waiting for her to say something.

  “We’ll find another way,” she said.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Kellen sat at her dressing table, finishing her hair. “Stephen, you’d better hurry,” she called out. “We’re already an hour late.”

  “I don’t see why I have to go to this,” he said, putting on his tie as he came out of the bathroom.

  “It’s for Tyler’s sake,” she replied. “He asked me to invite you and I didn’t want to disappoint him. How ofte
n does someone open his own art gallery?”

  She turned her attention back to the mirror. An art gallery. She still couldn’t believe it. She had been so surprised last week when Tyler called to tell her about it. She had not talked to him in two months, since that night in the bar.

  She figured he was upset over her reaction to his announcement about being gay. But when he had called, he was friendly and excited about the gallery. He told her he had a business partner, a brilliant young sculptor named Michael Bierce.

  “I wonder where he got the money?” Stephen said.

  “His trust fund payments are pretty generous,” Kellen said. “And I’m sure his partner put up something.”

  She finished the tie. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  He smiled slightly. “We’d better get going. The sooner we get there the sooner we can leave.”

  They drove down toward Fisherman’s Wharf, to the foot of Hyde Street near the cable car turnaround in Victorian Park. Stylish silver lettering on the window of the brick storefront announced the Landon Gallery. Kellen noted that Tyler had chosen to use his middle name instead of Bryant.

  Inside, the room was crowded, the people fighting for space with the sculptures —- colossal-sized bronzes of nude men. There was soft jazz playing, barely audible over the loud buzz of conversation. Kellen paused at the door, looking for Tyler. The gallery was tastefully done in soft cream and mauve, with spotlights over each sculpture.

  She turned her attention to the nearest bronze. The ten-foot figure was poised, as if hurling an imaginary spear, its muscles overly defined to the point of grotesqueness, its teeth bared in an agonized grimace. The sheer size of it was oppressive. There were six others in similar poses stationed around the room, and nothing else.

  Kellen searched again for Tyler, finally spotting him in a far corner. She and Stephen made their way over.

  Tyler’s face lit up when he saw her. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I told you I would,” she said.