by L. A. Long
“I already thought of that and figured you’d make the leap, even though I hoped you wouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry. Even when I was an intern, Morris was the king of mean. He ran smear campaigns even when they weren’t needed. It’s as if he’s avenging his family somehow. His grandfather, Donald Morris I, had political aspirations, but he was also promiscuous with not only women but men, and even though it wasn’t common forty years ago to discuss such things, Morris’s grandfather was the topic of much discussion. The Republicans shunned Donald the First.
“Once they were through trashing the grandfather, they moved on to Morris’s father, Donald II, who apparently had a bevy of beauties, his all female apparently, but the gossip was devastating to Morris’s mother, and she took her own life.”
“Tragic.”
“Yes, but that does not give Morris license to rape and pillage.”
“Why hasn’t he gone after Maxwell then?”
“I personally think that Gerald likes to be the puppeteer and pull Maxwell’s strings to do his bidding. He’s the real power behind the power. Rumor has always been that Maxwell couldn’t care less one way or the other about abortion, but that Gerald Morris has an ax to grind with all women, because one of his girlfriends aborted his child.”
“Maxwell is a puppet. That’s a subject that ninety percent of the population has a strong opinion about. It may even be higher than that.”
“I agree.”
“Right now, you need to know the story behind my nephew, and we need to call Nikko. We’ll deal with Morris and Maxwell later.”
“Okay.”
“My nephew was biologically my son.”
She maintained eye contact, encouraging him to continue.
“Mary, a woman I was casually dating for over a year, became pregnant. When I found out, I asked her to marry me. She told me she wasn’t interested in marrying me. She had her eyes set on a bigger catch. At the time, I was a teacher at the local secondary school, not making very much money.”
Lenore reached over and took his hand, squeezing it lightly.
“She told me I was good in bed and nice to look at, but she had no wish to become leg-shackled to me. If I’m not mistaken, that’s one of your VR terms. She read a number of historical romances and I think that’s where she got it.”
She smiled slightly.
“We talked about options: abortion, putting the baby up for adoption, my having sole custody. There was no way she wanted to be responsible for the child. About the same time, my sister, Eva, and her husband, Ian, found out they couldn’t conceive and badly wanted a child. Eva was several years older than I, was settled, and seemed to have a great marriage. The four of us talked and decided that Eva and Ian would adopt the child and raise it as their own.”
“Why didn’t Mary have an abortion?”
“Ireland is still a very Catholic country, and abortion is only legal in very specific instances, like when the life of the mother is in danger, and that’s subject to strict interpretation. While we could have gone to London for an abortion, she couldn’t do it for religious reasons.”
“I understand that. While I’m strongly pro-choice, it wasn’t my choice. I’ve never regretted having my son.”
“I know you haven’t, Lenore, and I never regretted the fact that my son was born either. Eva and Ian adopted the baby and named him Ian Michael.”
“After both you and his adoptive father,” she offered.
He nodded. “Everything went well for the first eight years until Ian Michael started getting headaches. It took several months of waiting lists, tests, and appointments and then more of the same before he was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor the size of a lemon. He was declared terminal, as I said before, and didn’t qualify for chemo, radiation, surgery, or a combination of those things under socialized medicine. The only thing he qualified for was hospice.” He said this with some bitterness.
“By that time, I’d had some success with my writing and had some money saved. I took him to Sloan-Kettering in New York City. Brought my sister and her husband, too. But the treatments were long and painful and my brother-in-law couldn’t take it. He left his family and headed back to Ireland.”
“That happens a lot when one parent can’t deal with a child’s illness.”
“Yes, but his departure sent my sister into a tailspin. They had been married over fifteen years, and she didn’t know how to live without him. Not only was her child gravely ill, but her spouse had left her and filed for divorce. She started drinking and taking pills to sleep. Eva became an alcoholic and a prescription drug addict.”
“I’m sorry, Michael Patrick,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I know you are. I even told Eva she should go back to Ireland and get herself together, try to set things right with Ian. By that point, Ian Michael was starting to show signs of progress. The radiation and chemo were shrinking the tumor, and the doctors were hoping to do surgery soon. Ian was a trouper and no matter how sick he was, he always had a smile for anyone who came in contact with him.” MP eyes were welling up now.
“I was able to keep writing while I was in New York, and my books were selling well. But the medical costs kept increasing. I sold my house in Dublin to help pay the bills. My sister and her husband sold theirs as well. My parents died years ago, so it was the two of us.”
“It had to be tough on you, being strong for Ian and your sister.”
“Yes, and I was starting to become more worried about my sister as the days went by. I was concerned that Eva wouldn’t be fit to take care of Ian when he was ready to go home. While Ian got well, my sister got sicker.
“I was Ian’s guardian in the event something happened to her. When Ian was released from the hospital, the three of us moved into a house in White Plains that I rented. I thought that once Eva saw Ian was making progress, she’d get her life in order too. She had a child to take care of.”
Lenore could see the conflicting emotions warring on his face: anger, frustration, and hope. She soothed a thumb across his knuckles, wanting more than anything to embrace him.
“When Ian finally got the okay to travel back to Ireland, my sister was drunk pretty much 24/7. She had lost weight; her hair was coming out in handfuls as if she was a chemo patient. Eva was destroying herself not only before my eyes but Ian’s as well. He was a smart little guy, and he knew his mum was sick.”
“Do you have a picture of him?” Lenore asked on impulse.
“I do,” he said, digging out his wallet. “This was taken about a month after he got out of the hospital.”
“He was beautiful.” Truth was, he looked like MP but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She was so moved by the photo, she had to swallow a lump in her throat.
“A real lady killer,” he replied ruefully. “All the nurses loved him.”
“So did you.”
“Goes without saying.”
Sadness washed over his face.
“I told Eva I wanted Ian to stay with me for a while when we got back to Dublin. I’d already made arrangements to rent a flat downtown. Of course, she was furious. So I asked her to move in with me until she decided where she was going to live. Eva told me she knew where she and Ian were going to live.”
“With Ian senior,” Lenore guessed.
“Yes. Eva told me that she had talked to him and that he was thinking about it. But when we all returned, Ian didn’t want his wife and son back. Told Eva he couldn’t deal with it if Ian Michael had a recurrence of cancer and that he hoped she understood. He even told her to give Ian to me, and then he’d take her back. But she wouldn’t do it.”
“She should have.”
“She should have but she didn’t; instead, she was convinced that if Ian senior saw how well his son looked, he’d change his mind. So when I went to the grocery store, she got Ian, put him in the front passenger seat, and proceeded to drive. Eva was intoxicated. Her blood alcohol level was two point fou
r. Ireland’s legal limit is point zero eight. She lost control of the car and crashed straight into a concrete barrier. The Garda estimate she was going in excess of ninety miles per hour. They were in a MINI Cooper and didn’t stand a chance.”
“My God.”
“The bodies had to be formally identified by fingerprints. It’s the worst thing I ever experienced.”
“Yes,” she said simply; words were inadequate. Lenore wrapped her arms around him. Tears came, hers and his. It was such a tragic waste of life.
“I need to get a grip here, mo chuisle. I’m not finished yet.”
“Not finished?” She looked at him with tear-stained eyes.
“Not quite. No one knew that Ian was my son. People knew he was adopted, but everyone assumed it was a private adoption and left it at that. But my former girlfriend came to the funeral home, and Ian senior was out of his mind with grief, having lost Eva forever. The man loved her desperately, and I’m sure he loved Ian Michael in his own way, at least until he got sick. I think he went along with the adoption to make Eva happy, and for eight years it did.
“When he saw me talking to Mary, something came undone in him and Ian started shouting, ‘If it wasn’t for you and your whore and your fucking bastard, Eva would still be alive. A child conceived in sin is punished. Your fucking bastard killed my wife. You should have let him die like he was supposed to. But no, you have to go to fucking New York City, Mr. Big Man, to save the day. Well, your bastard is dead. You got yours, you fornicating fucking asshole.’”
MP’s retelling was so real it was almost as if there were a recording playing in his mind and Ian’s poisonous words were spewing forth.
“Then he launched himself at me and tried to strangle me. Several cousins pulled him off. If they hadn’t intervened, I’d have been dead, because I hit my head on a marble table on the way down and was knocked unconscious.”
“Oh God,” she gasped again and took his hands in hers.
“My cousins wanted me to press charges, but I didn’t. Thought the man was so grief stricken he’d had a moment of insanity.”
“What did your ex do?”
“Fled. Can’t say I blame her. Never seen or heard from her again. Mary probably should have stayed away to begin with. But the Irish are funny about paying their respects to the dead. Being that she carried Ian for nine months, I can see why she came. Accident was all over the newspapers; that’s how she knew about it.”
Silence settled over them.
“I think we need some air before we read the article,” she said, suddenly exhausted.
“I’ll go for a walk with you, Lenore, if we can talk.”
“Sure—about anything you want to talk about, MP.”
He ran a hand down her face and looked into her eyes.
She took his palm and kissed the center of it. “If you’re worried about my reaction to what you did, don’t be. I think you were incredibly unselfish and believed with all your heart that Ian Michael would thrive in a stable two-parent home.”
“You’re right, I did.”
“You can’t change what happened.”
“But you kept your son.”
“I did.”
“You never thought of putting him up for adoption.”
“No, I wanted Nate. Maybe even more so because his father didn’t.”
“Ian Michael’s mother didn’t want him, and I didn’t feel equipped to deal with being a single parent at the time. When Eva found out she and Ian couldn’t have children, it almost felt like divine intervention. That the child, my child, was meant to go to my sister and her husband.”
“I can see that and I think you made a well reasoned, rational decision as well as a heartfelt one. And if Ian Michael had not gotten ill, chances are it would have stayed that way.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you, Lenore, you’re a thoughtful, compassionate woman.”
“Let’s go for a walk and then come back and deal with whatever ugliness the rag has spun. Then you can tell me all the other things you love about me.” She flashed him a flirty grin, and he gave her a laugh.
Chapter Twenty
“I got a hit on MP Finnegan and LaSandra Lacy on Seeker,” Morris told Maxwell in his office on Capitol Hill. Morris routinely, secretly swept his own office for bugs. He could easily have done the senator’s as well but figured that would only make his boss more likely to say things he shouldn’t.
Seeker was a computer Morris had set up for his covert use. It tracked people he wanted to keep tabs on without any evidence showing up on his home or office computer. Several days ago, he added MP Finnegan to the system.
“What?” Maxwell asked, intrigued.
“Read it.” Morris handed him the printout.
“Did you leak this?” Maxwell asked when he finished.
“Are you crazy, Byron? I was going to ask you the same thing, although I don’t think you’d have the resources to gather info like this. The point is, you have too much riding on Lenore’s cooperation, and we’re already on shaky ground. Once she and Finnegan get word, we’ll be the only suspects.”
“If not the two of us, then who?”
“I don’t know. Did anyone follow you to Lenore’s?”
“I might be stupid in your eyes, Gerald, but I would have called immediately if someone was following me. I have to admit, once I was out of the Beltway, I didn’t pay much attention,” the senator commented.
While Morris would like to have berated Maxwell, he didn’t, because he hadn’t been looking for tails either. Gerald also hadn’t shared the fact that he, too, had showed up at Lenore’s unannounced and was summarily tossed out on his ass.
“Start paying attention,” Morris said mildly.
“Shit.” Maxwell slumped into his seat. “They’re going to think it’s us.”
“I already said that, and I haven’t heard back from Lenore’s attorney confirming the meeting. She might call it off.”
“I’ll go right to Nathan if she tries to interfere.”
“And he’ll go right to his mom, who will be pissed and rightfully so.”
“But Nate is an adult.”
“Lenore is his mother, and they’re close. Some senator comes to him confessing he’s his father after all this time, and he’s not going to call her? Are you delusional, Byron? Before you even meet him, she’ll have made sure she’s told him the sordid story of his conception and your response to it. My guess is that he’ll decide not to see you or, worse, he’ll go public, but I can’t see that happening. No one wants the media storm this would cause.”
Both men sat for a minute, each in his own thoughts.
Morris finally asked, “Corrine?”
“How the fuck would I know? The woman’s a beast.”
“Tell me how you really feel about your wife, Byron.”
“Fuck off.”
“Clever and original as always,” Morris retorted and continued. “Even if she had you followed to Lenore’s, how would she know that MP Finnegan was there?”
Maxwell’s eyes blinked nervously.
“Did you Google Finnegan from your home computer?”
The question was met by silence.
“Are you stupid? So maybe it plays this way. Corrine has you followed. Figuring out you went to Lenore’s house is not brain surgery. Get an address, do a record search, or her PI does. You Googled Finnegan, because you’re useless and jealous. She checks your search history, because she probably does all the time. I bet you never think to clear it. She gives the intel to her henchman and tells them to wreak havoc. She knew Lenore was one of your interns. I’m sure she thinks you slept with her, maybe thinks you’re screwing her again. Corrine could be setting you up for a fall, buddy.”
“But why now?”
“Why not? You’re not such a catch anymore. One son dead. One son terminal. Heck, if divorce is good enough for Tipper and Al, maybe she figures it’s good enough for Corrine and Byron. Going after Finnegan could be a w
arning shot over your bow. Ties in Lenore, but only as an afterthought and only as LaSandra Lacy.”
Byron nodded dejectedly.
“You have to admit the two stories have enough similarities to have tabloid legs. If someone gets hold of yours and Lenore’s and compares it to Finnegan’s, the similarities and contrasts would be good for a series of articles, if someone did it right. Not to mention the traditional press feasting like Henry the Eighth on your sordid life.”
Maxwell ran a hand through his hair, pushed out of his chair, and poured a double scotch from the small bar in Morris’s office. Downed it and refilled his glass before taking his seat again.
Gerald watched but said nothing about the booze. Instead he resumed. “I venture to guess only bits of that article are true, and Finnegan’s agent or attorney or both will be screaming for a front-page retraction above the fold. MP Finnegan’s article will no doubt be touchy-feely and gut wrenching. Shit, if his agent, Nikko Martenstein, can manage it, she might be able to get it in The Sunday Times Book Review.”
“What am I going to do? If this is Corrine, she’ll destroy my life, my career; there’ll be no run for the White House,” Maxwell lamented.
“White House isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. She takes you down, you write a book, and become a FOX commentator like others have.”
Ignoring Morris, Maxwell said, “Let’s say it’s not you, me, or Corrine. Could it be someone from Lenore’s camp?”
“Don’t think so. I’ve kept an eye on her for years and she’s been involved with no one who even hits the radar. She’s careful with who she brings into her life.”
“Seems she likes this Finnegan well enough,” Byron spat. “Could they have leaked it themselves, the agency or the publishing house?”
“They’re not above doing those things for publicity reasons, but this story is so ugly and inflammatory, I don’t see it. This is way over the top.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“We need to look at this from eye level, Byron.” Morris said seriously. “If your story with Lenore hits newsprint, airwaves, and the web, other women will speak out. Tiger Woods and Bill Cosby will be looking like a choir boys.”
