by Warren Adler
Bruce continued to call him, always under the guise of filial love and caring, offering various caveats and instructions to him for protection against predators of the female gender. He zealously exerted pressure on him to better arrange his estate for future preservation, which meant, also, the avoidance of estate taxation and, consequently, more inheritance for Bruce and his sister. What he had done previously was to draw up conditions that would protect Anne from the conflicting desires of his children and the possibility of her being besieged by predators. Lonely widows were easy pickings. Her death had skewered that arrangement.
Carol, too, called, but her needs were mostly immediate. He usually obliged to some extent, knowing that the money would be thrown into a rat hole, if only to shield himself from her constant whining.
He often speculated that Bruce and Carol truly believed that his refusal to make these arrangements was a way for him to maintain control over them. But he had concluded instead that what he really wanted was exactly the opposite, to maintain his independence from them, to divorce himself from their prospects. In the end, he felt certain he would take steps, from force of habit, to keep his estate from the clutches of the tax collector.
As for potential predators, which by his son's definition, meant scheming women fortune hunters who preyed on wealthy aging widowers, any precaution seemed laughable. He considered himself too aware, too street smart, too cunning and shrewd, too far from senility, too practical and cautious to allow female predators to come near him, no less feast on his carcass. It was an amusing irony to him that Grace was exactly the opposite of such a definition.
What he insisted on was that any arrangement he would devise for his estate's disposal must be his own decision, not his children's. Pressure from them made him particularly resentful and defensive and, above all, unwilling to accede to their wishes.
He knew, of course, that it was only a matter of time before his son would find a way to discover the truth about him and Grace.
"I know what's going on with that woman, Dad," Bruce told him finally. By then Sam had been intimately involved with Grace for about a month.
"I was wondering when you would get around to that."
"It was quite by accident, Dad. A woman called asking for a reference on Carmen. Frankly, I couldn't believe you got rid of her. I called her and she told me ... well, that you were involved with the woman who had come to dispose of Mom's clothes."
"I offered them to you and your wife. And to Carol. Apparently you didn't want them."
"Just because we left them in the house didn't mean we didn't want them," Bruce said with a pained air.
"It's the first I've heard about it."
"Anyway, that's not the issue, Dad. It's really your call about the clothes."
"So you don't want any of them?"
"I guess not, but that's still not the issue."
"What is, then?"
"I'd say it was a matter of respect for Mom."
"What is?"
"I called a number of your friends. They said you hadn't been to the club and remained holed up at home. Am I right to conclude that you're carrying on with that woman?"
"Carrying on? You can conclude anything you want, Bruce."
"Dad, if I'm right, you could be heading for lots of trouble."
"It's none of your business, Bruce."
"Yes, it is, Dad. Mom isn't around to protect you anymore. I've got to do it for you."
"That is the most presumptuous, asinine thing I've ever heard."
"Don't get mad, Dad. All I want is for you to face the facts. Mom hasn't been gone, what six, seven weeks, and here you are ... with another woman. Really, Dad. Okay, don't get upset. I suppose there are certain physical needs, even for men of your age. That, maybe I can understand. But beyond that, Dad, don't get carried away by the physical aspect. Oh, I know the rationalization about people who had a good marriage and are so traumatized by the loss of a spouse that they need another replacement mate immediately. I've consulted some well-known psychologists on that score. Believe me, I understand."
"You understand shit, Bruce," Sam said.
His conversations with Bruce were getting increasingly acerbic, but still he couldn't bring himself to cut the paternal cord. It was Anne who was always the voice of reason when it came to conflicts with his children. He could still feel her influence. Bruce might have sensed this as he continued his avalanche of advice.
"Dad, according to these psychologists, grief makes people irrational. You're not yourself. Can't you see that? It takes time to get through this. I hate being the bad guy about this, but I feel I owe you this cautioning note. You're my father and I love you. I do, you know. And Carol loves you. So our advice is, believe me, separate from the other, the matter of the estate. I know you're touchy about that as well, but you didn't work hard all your life for a big slice of your estate to go to some fortune hunter. It's bad enough that Uncle Sam will take a big bite out of it. Now, I'm not saying that this woman is out for no good. She may be genuinely interested in you as a person. But the fact is, you're a very rich man, a mark for any designing woman. Be real, Dad. Protect yourself. I'm not saying you shouldn't see other women. Believe me, I'm a man like you, Dad. I know about certain needs. If that is what you want, then pay for it. Make it impersonal. What I'm talking about is emotional involvement, getting yourself so wrapped up in a woman that you can't see the forest for the trees."
"It's none of your damned business."
"I'm your son, Dad."
"Then be my son and stop worrying about the fucking money."
"You're wrong, Dad. That thought isn't worthy of you."
"Don't lecture me on the worthiness of my thoughts."
"You're being irrational. That's exactly the point."
"Bruce, your father is not an imbecile. I'm not exactly stupid when it comes to human relationships."
There was no point in arguing. His position, Sam supposed, made perfect sense from Bruce's perspective. But Sam was still alive, rational and, despite popular myth, physically vital. Bruce might even be sincere about his professed love for his father, although Sam doubted that it carried the emotional weight his son had cited.
Sam supposed that Bruce was no worse nor better than other children with a wealthy father and a healthy appetite for possessions and further fortune. This, Sam knew, was the dark side of having money, too much money.
In that context, Bruce and Carol's real agenda had only to do with his death and thereafter. He had a nagging suspicion that their dutiful little homilies about love were the expected lip service of grown children. It wasn't a comfortable presumption, but he could not get it out of his mind that his own love for his children had more to do with nostalgia for their childhood and his own youth, for another long-lost, more hopeful time, than present reality.
It occurred to him that these thoughts were a generational journey that proceeded through a time-worn passage. He was not the first aging parent to think them and he wouldn't be the last. Apparently this was the final stage of parenthood to be endured and clearly the worst, most frightening part of the process.
"Just in case, Dad, I've drafted a prenuptial agreement. Don't get mad, Dad. I know you'll think that's also presumptuous of me. Frankly, I don't expect it to be anything to be seriously considered at this point. No way is it a reflection of your present state of mind. But it does give you a sense of how you should be looking at your future estate-wise. I'll fax it to you...."
"Isn't that a little like putting the cart before the horse? The idea hasn't even entered my mind."
Of course Bruce was being presumptuous. But wasn't he being a bit ingenuous as well? Sam wondered.
"All it does is give you guidelines ... just in case. Something to think about."
"I don't want to think about it."
"You've got to, Dad."
"You're patronizing me, Bruce. The fact is that with all your education and lawyerly bullshit, you're still a little pisher."
>
"You're always misunderstanding, Dad. Someone has to speak up for Mom's point of view. She was an integral part of your success, Dad. She wouldn't want what you and she have built to inure to the benefit of a stranger."
Inure to the benefit, Sam sighed. Lawyer talk. It was starting to depress him.
"In the first place, Bruce," Sam said, though he had no wish to continue the conversation, "what I do is my business. Not yours. You know I cared for your mother, loved her very much. She's gone now, and I have to get on with my life. Yes, I am seeing another woman. Believe me, she has no designs on my money. She's financially independent, her own person. She would be insulted by this conversation. Carmen was summarily fired for almost exactly the same reasons. She did not mind her own business. At this stage, we haven't discussed anything that remotely suggests those things on your mind. At some point, perhaps, it will be dealt with. But it's far too premature. I'd appreciate it if you'd stow it for the time being. I have no intentions of doing anything hasty or stupid. I never have. I never will. Frankly, I don't want to hear any more about it."
"So you are involved," Bruce mused.
"I don't need this conversation, Bruce," Sam said in frustration. "And I'd like to hang up now."
"I know you hate hearing anything negative, Dad. But someone has got to voice concerns."
"Concerns noted, son."
"And please read what I've written, Dad."
He hung up, livid with frustration and rage. It always came down to this: money, money, money. He wondered if his children saw him as a human being. Perhaps they never had. He was the father, the provider parent, the authority figure, the teacher, the disciplinarian, and the enforcer ... but never, from their circumscribed view, to be seen as human, with needs beyond their welfare and protection.
Trying to sleep was impossible. His mind churned with angry possibilities. Perhaps he should redo his will completely, give everything he had to charity. Everything! Leave them nothing. Let them vent their anger over his dry bones. He felt constricted, confined, straitjacketed by convention and responsibility.
He got up, roamed the house, then went out on the balcony. It was a moonless night. He couldn't see the ocean, although he heard its relentless pounding on the shore. It reminded him of Bruce, equally relentless, his harangue never-ending.
Grace a designing woman? The concept was laughable. He prided himself on his knowledge of people. Grace was too proud a woman to demean herself by accepting any gift from him, whatever its value.
She was obviously trying to maintain her integrity, accepting him for himself alone, showing little interest in what he had. There wasn't a covetous spirit in her mind or body. He was sure of it, dead certain, in fact. Besides, she did not lack for material resources. She was interested in him solely as a human being, a man, a companion, a friend, a lover.
Fearing rejection, he fought off any contemplation of a future with Grace Sorentino. He had deliberately deflected such speculation and he wasn't going to allow his hopes to rule his conduct. Not in his present state. But he could not stop thinking about Grace, going over the events and episodes of each day with her, the sheer joy of it. He missed being with her, missed her embrace, the touch of her, missed her soft, soothing voice.
It was after midnight. She had been away three hours and it felt like an eternity. How was he possibly going to get through the night without her? For days, he had fought the truth of it, hoping that his mind, his rational intelligence, would triumph over his emotions. He had deliberately avoided any suggestion that she spend her nights with him. She was already spending her days with him, but it was at night that he was most vulnerable.
He missed her, ached for her. And yet he dared not confront her with such feelings. Would an offer of a more permanent arrangement insult her? Chase her away? Above all, he could not risk abandonment. Anne had already done that.
Had he felt this way about Anne? He tried to remember how it was at the beginning. It was too murky, too confused by what went after. With Anne, although he could not find perfect recall, his feelings seemed as if they were more cerebral, and, therefore, more calculating. Anne represented an entry into what he then had considered a higher world, the American aristocracy.
Had he considered such ambitions when he had courted Anne? Courted? It was such a proper word. But that was exactly what he did with Anne, who was a virgin when she came to the marriage bed. Not once before their marriage had he touched her naked flesh, meaning her breasts and her vagina. Even then, he had sensed the missing link, the total absence of passion.
With the exception of that one time he had called Grace, he had never done it again. For some reason it had become a silent pact between them. He would not call her. She would not call him. It had no logic, only precedent, as if they were allowing total absence from each other to heighten the joy of the morning reunions. That might have been the rationale. Or perhaps it was something else, a compartmentalizing of their lives, a device to avoid commitment beyond their days together.
At that moment he refused to conform to this silent pact. He needed her, needed her voice, as if it were the only remedy for his agitation. He reached for the telephone.
"It's me," he whispered.
"Sam?"
Her voice was barely audible. She was whispering.
"Himself."
"Is anything wrong?"
"Nothing wrong. I ... I couldn't sleep. I ... I miss you."
"I'll be there in a few hours, Sam."
"I know. I..."
"What is it, Sam?"
"I wish you were here, Grace."
"And I wish I was with you."
"Really?"
"Really."
"It's not enough. Just days together."
"I know."
Her voice was barely audible. Suddenly he heard an intrusive sound.
"Are you still there?"
"Yes. But I can't talk now."
Can't talk? Why? He left the questions unsaid.
"Tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow."
Hanging up, he felt troubled by her abruptness. What had happened? Had someone picked up an extension? Suddenly he felt an uncommon sensation, a psychic stab, a kind of agony. Defining it instantly, he knew it was jealousy. Another man? Was it possible? He turned the possibility over in his mind, then dismissed it, annoyed that it had even entered his consciousness. Another man, perhaps a husband, not an ex, was in the picture. That would mean she was lying about her situation. Never, he decided. She would explain it all tomorrow.
But it did illustrate the extent of his feelings, this instinct to exclusively possess her. He knew what it meant, although he was not certain that he had ever experienced it with the same powerful sense of totality. Not with Anne. Not with anyone.
He was ... there was no other way to describe it ... in love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"So that's it," Jackie said. She had come into her mother's bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"That's what?"
"Mom has got a guy."
On one level Grace felt a weight removed, a burden lifted. On another she felt terrified.
"I don't appreciate your listening in on my personal conversations," Grace rebuked.
"I didn't listen in on purpose, Mom. A call comes in the middle of the night, it's only natural. Anyway, that's beside the point. Who is this man?"
"A very nice man."
"You could have told me. I tell you everything."
"It didn't seem appropriate. Besides, you don't tell me everything."
"Is it serious?"
"I can't say."
"Are you balling him?"
"Jesus, Jackie."
"Bet you are. I'd like to meet him."
"In due time."
"So this is where you go when you're supposed to be looking for a job."
"I'm still looking for a job, Jackie."
"What kind of a guy is he, Mom?"
"Very nice and kind. A good
person."
"Does he know you have a daughter my age?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you might be lying about your age, or maybe he doesn't know you're carrying the baggage of a teenage daughter. It's obvious from the way you cut short the conversation that you were hiding the fact that I existed."
Despite her skewed interpretation, Jackie was closer to the truth than she knew.
"It isn't that," Grace admitted. "He knows I have a daughter."
Jackie cocked her head in skepticism.
"Is he older or younger than you?"
"Older," Jackie admitted. "But then, anyone over forty must seem ancient to you."
She contemplated her answer through a long pause. "Is that where you got the clothes?"
"I told you," Grace said, annoyed now. "I won't discuss that."
"That's it, isn't it? A dead person's clothes. His wife's, right?"
"I told you..." Grace began, then aborted her reply. She wished Sam hadn't called.
"Dead wife," Jackie said. "I'm not an idiot, Mom. There's dough there. I can smell it."
"That's all you think about."
"What else is there to think about? We're bleeding down here. If you're balling a guy with money, the least you can do is hit him up for a few bucks. Mom, you're not in a position to just give it away."
"My God, Jackie..." Grace sputtered, her anger accelerating.
"Why are you so touchy about it, Mom?" She clicked her tongue. "Not love, Mom. Not that. You're too old for that. You've got to be more practical. What we need here is security, Mom. That's where it's at for us."
"This conversation is over," Grace sputtered.
"See how touchy it makes you. See?"
"I..." She was momentarily at a loss for words. "I ... I just don't want anything to spoil things."
"You think I'll spoil things?" Jackie said belligerently. "Is that it? The bigmouthed daughter. Hey, Mom, I'm not stupid. If you're bullshitting the guy, I'll play along. I won't fuck it up."
