Remember Me, Irene ik-4

by Jan Burke

  “It was,” she said, tears welling up.

  I put an arm around her shoulders. “Not easy for you, either, I suppose.”

  She shrugged, then glanced at Geoff.

  I understood the signal. “There’s a burger joint not far from here. Feel up to a short walk?”

  “Sure. I — I hope you’re not too busy. I mean, I saw the article and I know you must have your hands full with this story—”

  “That was yesterday. Today I’m busy but not very productive.”

  When we stepped outside, I reconsidered our plans. In the sunlight, she looked pale and drawn. “Would you rather drive somewhere? You look tired.”

  “Oh, I’m all right. I’m concerned about Jerry, that’s all. He’s up at Las Piernas General with Cinco, glued to Andre’s side. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally.”

  Lisa had long referred to her father by his first name, and I should have been used to it, but I guess some old-fashioned notions of mine are more ingrained than I like to admit. I could let that slide, but I found myself unable to keep the censure out of my voice when I asked, “Cinco? As in five? Is that how you talk about your stepmother?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve offended you. And you’re right, it’s unkind of me. Nothing personal against Maureen — I hardly know her. I started calling my mom ‘Tres’ as a joke some years ago — she’s my father’s third wife. Just a joke, not an insult. I suppose it was an attempt to cope with my ‘stepmother’ situation. Maureen is my father’s fifth wife, but I’ve lost count of all the other women my father asked me to form some sort of mother-daughter relationship with — you were one of them.”

  I felt my cheeks growing warm.

  “I’m not criticizing you, Irene. It’s my father’s problem, not yours. You and some of the others were good to me, but most — Maureen included — have no interest in me whatsoever. For the most part, it’s mutual.” With an impish grin, she added, “I do have some marvelous dirt on some of them from the attic days!”

  “I had forgotten about that feature of the attic room,” I said. “You mean your dad never found out how well sound carried up through those heating ducts?”

  “Never! Isn’t that rich?”

  I couldn’t help but return her grin. As we walked a little farther, though, we both grew silent and serious. “Are you doing okay?” I asked.

  “You mean because of my father’s illness?”

  “Yes.”

  She stopped walking and said, “Are you talking to me as a reporter or as my friend?”

  “Your friend, of course.”

  “Then I’ll tell you the truth. Of course I’m worried about Andre. But for Jerry’s sake. That’s all. I know you think I’m a terrible daughter, but I can’t lie to you about that. You’ve watched me struggle with all of this over the years, Irene. Before you judge me, think about what it would be like to have Andre for a father.”

  “Not exactly a typical childhood, I suppose.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know about other people. I just know I can’t change Andre, can’t make him a different father. Sick or well, he will never love me. It’s a simple fact. I could wallow in self-pity over that, but I prefer not to. I’ve got my mom, I’ve got Jerry, I’ve got friends like you. Andre ceased to matter to me long ago, but not before I ceased to matter to him.”

  I thought about my father. I had been a rebellious daughter, but I had never questioned his love for me. Lisa was right; my childhood was nothing like her own.

  “You were in my father’s house when I was growing up,” she continued. “Are you surprised by my feelings?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Andre’s just reaping what he has sown.”

  THE BURGER JOINT, currently being called the Lucky Golden Palace, didn’t appear to be any of these things. Lisa ordered a burger and fries, I ordered a salad.

  “Jerry know anything about the meeting your dad was at last night?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  She laughed. “I wondered when you’d ask about that. I suppose I smell the same rat you do. Some redevelopment connection, obviously. Roland Hill buys old run-down properties, Corbin Tyler designs new buildings for them, Keene Dage builds what Corbin draws and Roland pays for.”

  “With money Ben Watterson’s bank has loaned.”

  “Right. The head of the Redevelopment Agency reports to — or reported to — Allan Moffett. My father has supplied a lot of statistical studies for redevelopment projects over the years. Booter Hodges arranges for the college to get grant money from the city for the studies.”

  It was good to be talking to someone who understood all of the political and economic connections. “That’s the dinner party. So what’s your guess? Why would Allan resign?”

  “You don’t have any leads?”

  I considered telling her what I had heard from Charlotte Brady about Allan Moffett’s visitor, but decided against it. Charlotte hadn’t insisted on confidentiality, but if she got another job in city hall, I wanted her to think of me as someone who could be trusted.

  “Nothing very substantial,” I said.

  “Maybe I can help you, Irene.”

  I looked up from my salad.

  “Roland Hill has expressed concern about my father. Maybe I could ask him about the meeting, ask if anything upset Andre.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Why not? I’m staying in town a little longer than I had planned. I don’t want to leave Jerry here to cope with all of this alone. The next time I see Roland, I’ll ask.”

  “Just ask him to return my phone calls.” I wasn’t too excited about the idea of getting a story second- or thirdhand. “Tell me what you’ve been doing for Barton Sawyer lately.”

  The change of subject didn’t seem to bother her. In fact, she became quite animated. As she talked about her job, it was apparent that she respected her boss.

  “He’s been so good to me,” she said. “Once I had my master’s, I was afraid I’d be pigeonholed, that he’d have me working on demographics forever. But he’s allowed me to branch out from there, to pursue my own goals.”

  “Still, your background in statistics has been helpful to him, I’m sure,” I said.

  “Of course, it’s very useful. And it will help me plan my own campaign. I guess I do owe that to Andre — I was never afraid of numbers.”

  “So you aren’t completely without admiration for him?”

  “‘Admiration’ might be a little too strong,” she admitted. “But I’m not ungrateful. Barton pointed a few things out to me. He said that Andre taught me to be thorough, not to be afraid to take on challenges, to follow through on what I started. He was right.”

  “You turned out just fine, Andre or no Andre.”

  “Jerry did, too.”

  “I don’t know your brother very well. Is he still teaching at Las Piernas College?”

  “Yes. I don’t know if he’s happy there or not.” She bit her lower lip. “Let’s quit talking about sociologists. Tell me about your husband. He’s a cop, right?”

  “Yes, a homicide detective.”

  “Homicide!” Her eyes widened. “How did you meet him?”

  “Meet him? Hmm. We met a long time ago — remember when I moved to Bakersfield?”

  “Of course. I was just a kid, and I thought I’d never see you again. You mean you’ve dated this guy for a dozen years and never told me about him?”

  “No — we didn’t date then. But we met there, and became friends. I moved back here, and as it turned out, he moved here, too. There were a number of years in between the two moves, and all kinds of complications once we were both here. We finally got together last summer.”

  “Last summer? And now you’re married? Las Piernas must have been a little more conducive to romance than Bakersfield.”

  “It wasn’t that,” I said. “It was the timing as much as anything. Besides, I was a green reporter, he was a rookie cop, and even among the more experienced r
anks, members of the two professions are discouraged from mixing socially — for good reasons.”

  “I can see why. He might leak information to you, you might not be as critical of the police as you need to be.”

  “Among other problems. But Frank’s worth the hassles I get at work, and so far, he seems to think I’m worth the ones he gets where he works.”

  “Any chance of my meeting him before I go back to San Diego?”

  “Sure. His schedule is pretty erratic, but we can try. Why don’t you come over for dinner on Monday? I’ll check with Frank and let you know if there are any problems.”

  I CAME BACK TO MY DESK to find a voice-mail message waiting for me. Jerry Selman had returned my call.

  “Hello, Irene,” the message said. “I’m glad you called. I’m here at the college now. I’ll be in my office until three.” He left his work number.

  I started to dial the number, hung up, and walked over to the city desk to tell Lydia where I’d be.

  “You mean you’ll be at Las Piernas College if you can find a parking space,” she said. “Want me to call ahead and try to get one for you?”

  “No, thanks. Some of the members of the administration get a little antsy when they know the local press is around. I’d rather not have anyone announce my arrival.”

  “OH, FORGIVE ME,” Jerry Selman said, finally stepping back to allow me to walk into his office. “I guess I wasn’t expecting you to go to so much trouble. The campus isn’t very accessible to the public, I’m afraid.”

  Only a moat full of piranhas would make it less accessible, I thought, having hiked up a steep hill from a distant parking lot.

  “I should have called,” I said, “but I was going to come up to the campus anyway, so I thought I might be able to catch you in your office.” As I said it, I told myself that wasn’t a lie. I didn’t have any appointments, but I did plan on trying to corner Booter Hodges after I saw Jerry.

  “Let me take your coat,” he said. “Have a seat — the chair by the windows is the best of the three. And let me get you a cup of coffee. How do you drink it?”

  “Just black is fine, thanks. Oh — this isn’t from—”

  “The vending machines? Never.” His smile was contagious. “But you’ve just proven that you truly were a student on this campus. The coffee out of those machines is noxious.”

  “We used to say that if you saw someone buying a cup of it, he just wanted something to pour on the cockroaches under the sandwich machines.”

  He laughed and went down the hallway to another room and soon emerged with two cups of office-brewed coffee. He carefully set mine on a corner of his desk and seated himself, holding but not drinking from his own cup. This opening round of hospitality completed, he seemed at a loss, his expression solemn.

  Serious, he was hardly less attractive than he was when he had smiled. Andre had been pleasant-looking but no knockout. Even as a younger man, Andre wouldn’t have received a second glance if you could have placed him next to his adult son. Jerry’s hair and eyes were dark brown, like his mother’s, but his other features were Andre’s — Andre’s, but somehow improved upon. Long fingers, thick eyelashes, a mouth a woman might want to coax into a smile or a kiss. It would be easy for this Selman male to surround himself with women. If he was half the manipulator his father was, he probably had a list of ex-lovers that would take longer to read off than roll call in a sultan’s seraglio.

  “I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you and your husband,” he said in a broken voice, snapping me out of my sins-of-the-father attitude.

  “It was truly nothing on my part,” I said. “You and my husband did all the work. Lisa tells me that your father is in stable condition?”

  He nodded, setting his coffee down. “He’s still in intensive care. There’s talk of surgery. I don’t know. He doesn’t take care of himself. Out last night without his medication! With a heart condition! And I kept telling him that he can’t let things get to him. The past few days — I think it was all too much. Ben Watterson’s suicide, Allan’s resignation, problems here at the campus, that old photograph — he let himself get too worked up.”

  “Photograph?”

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “Someone sent a photograph of Dad and an old girlfriend to Dad’s house. Actually, it wasn’t a photograph, but a color photocopy of a photograph — as if to say ‘There are plenty more where this came from.’ Maureen saw it and was understandably upset. She asked him to explain it to her, and he lost his temper. You know how he can be.”

  “Yes.”

  He turned red. “Well, yes. So… he said some hurtful things to Maureen. They patched things up, but it was just one more episode of stress. I can’t help but think that whoever sent that photocopy to him had to know he had a heart condition. It was a despicable thing to do. Not that he takes care of himself anyway. He had no business being out alone last night without his medication.”

  “The dinner meeting — do you know what that was about?”

  He looked away. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I didn’t even know where he was until I came home and got his message on my machine. It’s lucky I came home when I did — and that I know enough to carry a few of his pills with me. Not that there was time for that last night.”

  “You weren’t home when he called?”

  He shook his head. “Neither of us were home. Lisa was out with one of her friends and I was here, grading papers. I had a fierce headache, so I went home.”

  “I saw him go to the phones. He didn’t look well.”

  “He was such a fool! He should have called an ambulance, or had one of those men take him to the hospital. Didn’t he learn anything the last time?”

  “You were able to save him. That’s what matters.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled on a sigh. “I hope so. I wish I could be more certain of his recovery. When I saw him last night, hooked up to all those tubes and machines…”

  “Not easy on you, I know. You look like you could use a few hours’ sleep.”

  “Impossible. I thought I might be able to work, but I can’t concentrate.”

  “Your sister’s worried about you, you know.”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling faintly. “She’s not likely to worry about Dad. Not that I blame her. He made her so miserable as a kid.”

  “She hasn’t done bad as an adult. And she seems happy with her life in San Diego.”

  “Probably because she got away from Dad. She was smart there.” His cheeks colored. “I suppose I’m destined to remain under his thumb.”

  “Destined?”

  “Perhaps that’s not a good way of speaking about it. But I’m trapped, in any case.”

  “You’re not trapped. Just leave. Do what Lisa did. Live somewhere else.”

  “No, no, I can’t. There aren’t many teaching positions available these days. Even if I were willing to throw away all my years of study and look for some other kind of work, there’s Dad’s health. He needs someone to take care of him. I’m the only one who’ll do that now.”

  “What about his wife?”

  “Maureen? She’s good to him. But then, all of Dad’s wives were good to him, right? And taking his…” He paused, turning slightly red again. “Well, let’s call it his romantic history. Taking his romantic history into account, I can’t expect Dad to be cared for by any woman. It’s his own fault. He’s failed at marriage four times and seldom stays with anyone more than a few months. He’s a hopeless cad, I’m afraid.”

  A strange analysis from someone who — if the rumors had any foundation — was supposedly something of a cad himself.

  He glanced over at me. “I’m not being entirely honest.”

  “Oh?”

  “Let’s face it. I’m afraid. My worst fear is that he’ll have another heart attack and I won’t be there with him. I was with him when he had his first heart attack. He complained of chest pains, and over his protests, I drove him to the hospital. By the time we got there
, the pains were much worse. That one wasn’t so bad, but still, it scared the hell out of me.

  “All the way to the hospital, and for days afterward, I found myself saying three words over and over: Please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die.”

  He paused, shaking his head, then went on. “This from someone who has wished him dead countless times. As much as I’ve hated how he treated my mother, Lisa, all the women in his life — as angry as I’ve been with him for trying to control my life — knowing he’s a real bastard, I still wanted him to live.” He let out a long sigh.

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this,” he said suddenly. “I guess it’s because none of the other women from SOS — yes, I know the inside joke — has ever tried to talk to me. Maybe I’m jealous of Lisa, because the members of SOS are so taken with her, while they all seem to assume I’m my father’s clone.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever thought—”

  “It’s okay. How could you know anything about me? Naturally, his former girlfriends would assume that — what’s the old saying? — ‘The apple never falls too far from the tree,’ right? And what a tree! When I was younger, I used to fantasize that he’d get back together with my mother. By the time I was in high school, I was grateful he left her alone.”

  “Even though you were away at college when I was dating him, my impression was that Andre adored you.”

  He shrugged. “He did. Still does, I suppose, but that isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It meant that the only sibling I’ll ever have — Lisa — grew up hating me. And no one thinks of me as Jerry Selman, an individual in his own right. I’m always Andre Selman’s son.” He laughed. “His reputation precedes me.”

  “Academically, that can’t be bad.”

  “Unless you are expected to exceed your sire’s abilities. I never will. I’m a better teacher, frankly. But I’m no good as a researcher. Sometimes I think his frustration over my lack of scholarly ability must have given Dad that first heart attack.”

  “You don’t seriously believe that?”

  He hesitated only slightly before saying, “No, of course not.”