Riverside Park

by Laura Van Wormer

  “No, I don’t know,” she said trying to keep her voice even.

  “I have to go to that restaurant,” he said, turning away.

  “Don’t you dare take another step. Not until you explain to me what has been going on between you and that bartender.”

  When he turned back around she saw a mixture of fear and defiance in Jason’s eyes. This was one of those defining moments Mrs. C used to warn her about. “Okay, Mom. Have it your way.”

  She waited.

  “Go on, ask me, if you want to know so bad.”

  This was not how she had imagined Jason’s first love would be. He still played video games and watched cartoons on TV.

  “I screwed her, Mom, all right?” he suddenly said. “Isn’t that what you want to know?”

  Rosanne caught her breath and then straightened to her full height, throwing her shoulders back. “Jason Frank DiSantos, you will never use that kind of language again, do you hear me? And you will never use that kind of language about what is—what should be—a sacred act between two people.” Yeah, right, she thought, that’s me and Randy, sacred every Saturday night.

  “That’s what you care about, Mom?” he said, angry, coming toward her. “My language? Aren’t you even worried she might be knocked up like your sweet little Sammy Wyatt who you spend all your time with?”

  She slapped him. Hard. Rosanne had never done that before and the red mark it left on Jason’s face made her feel sick. “You have no right to judge other people,” she told him. They glared at one another until she finally stared him down and he backed away a step, turning his back to her. “So Celia the bartender is not pregnant, is that right?”

  “Right,” he said, resting his hands on the breakfast bar.

  “You’re going in for a complete physical.” She took a breath. “You’re going to get tested for AIDS, for herpes, for—”

  “She’s not like that, Mom.”

  “And how could you possibly know that?” she said, grabbing his arm and turning him around. “How can you know where she’s been, where the men she’s slept with have been—”

  “She’s not like that, Mom, so just shut up about her.”

  “This is what tells me you are still a child, Jason. That’s why I am scared. Because whether you like it or not, a twenty-four-year-old woman has no business messing with a boy in high school!”

  He suddenly whirled around to pound the breakfast bar with his fist. “Shut up, Mom!” He turned back around, tears threatening. “She’s not like that. She’s a wonderful person. And I love her, Mom. Okay? And I wouldn’t love her unless she was something special.”

  Oh, she’s something special all right, Rosanne thought.

  24

  Sam Has a Visitor at the Office

  THE EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE meeting dragged on. On the table was whether or not Electronika International would altogether close down its plant in central Connecticut and, if and when they did, would they build a new plant in a right-to-work state or move that entire end of production to China. No one at the company wanted to shut down the plant but they couldn’t afford the northeast union wages and benefits anymore and they were getting hammered with taxes on their property and equipment.

  “What do you think, Sam?” the president asked from one end of the long boardroom table.

  Since Sam’s thirty-year career at the company had largely been spent in marketing, he knew the question was being asked in terms of public relations. Just how bad would the fallout be for pulling the manufacture of high-end office equipment out of the States? And should Electronika even care about fallout since their key competitor had already moved production to China and was killing them with lower prices?

  Sam leaned forward, folding his hands somewhat gravely in front of him, his wedding band catching the sunlight. They were on the twenty-third floor and had a view of the East River. He was one of two people of color in the room. The human resources director, a woman, was half Puerto Rican and half something very white. Skin did not get much darker than Sam’s, and he liked how the crisp white cotton sleeves of his Brooks Brothers shirt looked against it.

  “I think we should consider going public with our problem,” Sam said.

  “If we delay shutting down that plant it won’t just be a problem anymore,” the controller said, “it will be our disaster.”

  “Go on, Sam,” the president encouraged. He had been in the office for four years now. At forty-five he was the youngest president they had ever had.

  “From here on in let’s make the whole process public.”

  “Would that be including the pending brain-cancer lawsuits?” someone said sarcastically.

  “I think we call the Times and say, this is where we are, these are the choices we currently have and we want the public to understand what’s going on. Then we tell the governor of Connecticut we can’t afford to do business there anymore, which is the absolute truth. Then we set up a summit with the governor and Connecticut union guys to see what, if anything, can be done to keep us there. And then we set up a summit with, say, the governor of Arizona, about what would be possible in a right-to-work state. We give the numbers out to the public all the way, what it costs to do business in Connecticut, what it costs in Arizona, and then what it costs in China to produce what we need.”

  “To a certain extent we’re already doing that,” the president said.

  “What about the brain-cancer suits?” someone said again.

  While legal started talking about that, Sam made some notes regarding an overall corporate image rehab. He was somewhat startled when his secretary came in to drop a note in front of him.

  Althea is here to see you. She says not to hurry, she brought work to do.

  “I am telling you,” the controller said, “unless union workers increase their contribution to their health care we can’t use union workers anymore, period.”

  The meeting went on for another half hour, during which nothing was resolved except the president was going to make a highly publicized trip to Connecticut and Arizona.

  When Sam returned to his office he couldn’t help but smile when he saw Althea sitting on the couch, typing away on her laptop. When she was very little she sometimes came in with him on Saturday mornings and sat on the floor and colored on the coffee table. By the time she was six she was scribbling nonsense on sheets of paper—alternating between being president of the United States and a movie star—doing somersaults down the thickly carpeted hallways and looking for other workers who had come in to catch up because they might give her some candy.

  Now Althea made twice the money he and Harriet did combined.

  “Hi,” he said coming in, “this is a nice surprise.”

  “Hi, Dad, hang on a sec—” She finished typing something. He made his way to his desk, tossing his legal pad on it and took his seat. Althea walked over to the door. “Do you mind if I close this for a minute?”

  “No, not at all,” he said. He watched her as she closed the door and came back to sit down in front of his desk. It was hard sometimes to equate the little girl looking for candy with this poised and confident woman. Althea was like him in that she loved well-fitted and finely made clothes, but she had a grace in her movements he had never possessed.

  “Would the great and powerful Oz also mind coming out from behind that curtain?”

  The desk. She didn’t like to talk to him while he was behind it. Sam smiled, shaking his head, and got up out of his very comfortable leather chair and walked around to sit down in the chair next to Althea. “So what’s this?” he said, reaching for the folder.

  “Wait a second,” she said, pulling it away. “You can’t open it yet until I explain.”

  “Okay.” She gave it to him and Sam sat back in his chair, crossing his leg to rest his left ankle on his right knee, and tapped the folder against his leg. “Explain.”

  “I wanted to talk to you without Sammy or Mom around, Dad. Because I know if you back me on this then it’l
l happen.”

  “And if I don’t back you?”

  “I’m going to do it anyway,” she told him evenly.

  He nodded, biting the side of his lower lip. “I take it we’re back to the baby.”

  She nodded. “I’ve served notice to the adoption agency in Utica that I’ll be suing to stop the process.”

  “Althea,” he began, shaking his head, “your mother and I—”

  “Are going around in circles,” she finished for him. “And it’s not your fault, but you’re damned if you do anything and you’re damned if you don’t.” She brought her hand to her chest. “I don’t care what Sammy thinks right now. This child should not leave our family and I’m not going to let it. And no offense, Dad, but you guys are way too old to be anything but grandparents.”

  Sam rubbed his face. “And what about your sister?”

  “I want you and Mom to tell Sammy that unless she allows me to adopt this child then you will cut her off financially.”

  “You want us to commit extortion on your own sister,” he said dully, opening the folder and looking through it. There were a number of legal documents.

  “Whatever it takes,” Althea said. She touched his arm. “She wants to get rid of the baby, Dad, so she can chase that man. You’re not going to be able to stop that. She thinks she’s in love with him. But you can’t just let her out of this without her having to face up to the consequences for her behavior. She has to do the right thing. She has to let us keep this baby.”

  “So you think she did it on purpose,” he said.

  “I know she did,” Althea said without hesitation.

  Sam closed his eyes, feeling nauseous.

  “It was the only way she could think of to call his bluff. To get him to leave his wife.”

  “Jesus,” Sam said, swiping the folder and standing up. “Jesus Christ, help us all,” he said, going to the window.

  “It happens, Dad.”

  “Not with one of my daughters it doesn’t,” he said, pivoting around. “She was not raised this way, Althea!”

  “I know,” Althea said, standing up. “And Mom’s dying of a broken heart. But if you just stop and think about how spoiled Sammy is, everything she does makes sense.”

  She stopped when she saw Sam glaring at her. If one more person said how he and Harriet had spoiled Samantha he was going to start breaking up the furniture. He had not raised his daughter to carry on with a married man, he had not raised a daughter who would try to trap a married man—

  He threw himself in his chair behind his desk, tossed the folder on his desk and bent over, pretending he needed to retie his black Oxford shoe. When he sat back up he felt more in control. “Tell me again why it’s fair to take away this child’s chance to have a mother and a father?”

  “You’re fixated on that. Just because your childhood was miserable, Dad, doesn’t mean every other child’s has to be. We’re not talking six kids here, Dad. We’re talking about one. And imagine if Grandma had made the kind of money I do. You don’t think your life would have been a lot different after your father died? Of course it would have been. Grandma would have given you the world if she could.” She was leaning over his desk now. “You of all people should understand why I, as a successful black woman, cannot allow to see my own flesh and blood be given away when the child can have a warm and loving and thriving home with me.” She had tears in her eyes. “You of all people, Dad, should understand that it was you who raised me to be this way, to succeed and to be independent and to have the courage to stand up and be who I am. And who I am, Dad—and I know this with all my heart—is the mother of this child.”

  Sam heard her. He really heard her this time. He pulled his chair closer to the desk and opened the folder again, thumbing through the papers.

  “I want you to be with me when I talk to Sammy, Dad. I want you to back me up on this. If you do, I know she’ll agree.”

  “And if she doesn’t?’

  “I’ll sue to stop the adoption.”

  He nodded, turning a page. There was a document in here for Samantha to sign away all of her legal rights as a mother. It would be something she signed after the birth of the baby. There was also one for the father. The name of the father was blank. “What if Samantha changes her mind and wants to keep the baby?”

  “She won’t. She’s too narcissistic.”

  “But what if she does?” he asked, looking up at her.

  “I’d want her to live with me in New York,” Althea said. “Transfer to NYU. So the baby has some stability.”

  “And if she refuses to come back to New York with the baby? What would you do then?”

  “I’m not sure. But I do know I would keep tabs on the child and make sure it wanted for nothing. Time, attention and love included.”

  Sam took in a long, deep breath, looking down at the papers again. Althea’s commitment was there. She meant what she said. Come hell or high water she would be the guardian of this baby.

  “Okay, babe,” he murmured. He closed the folder and looked up at his daughter. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”

  25

  Celia Receives a Visitor at Home

  CELIA WAS NOT even up yet when Rachel came into her bedroom and woke her up.

  “Ceil, Ceil,” she said, shaking her shoulder.

  Celia raised herself up to look at the clock and then collapsed facedown in the sheets again, pulling a pillow protectively over her head.

  “Damn it, Celia,” Rachel said, yanking down the covers, “wake up. There’s a cop at the door.”

  “A cop?” Celia mumbled.

  “With some pissed-off lady. The cop wants to see you.”

  Now Celia rolled over and sat up. She tried to think. Yes, she’d had a few drinks after hours at Captain Cook’s last night and then she and Jimmy the waiter had shared a joint on the walk home. But she didn’t have any blackouts or anything; she hadn’t done anything except come home, strip her clothes off and go to bed.

  Rachel had her wardrobe open. “Where’s your robe?”

  “Somewhere,” Celia said, surveying the piles of clothes around the room.

  “Celia, come on. It’s a cop!”

  She got up and slipped on the closest pair of jeans lying on the floor, pulled a T-shirt over her head and headed for the door.

  “You can’t go out there like that!” Rachel whispered, frantic.

  “Watch me,” Celia said, walking out into the hallway. She yawned and covered her mouth. “Excuse me,” she said to the uniformed officer and a short lady who were standing just outside the open door. “I work nights so I’m not really awake. What may I do for you, officer?”

  “Are you Celia Cavanaugh?”

  “Yes.” The short lady was looking her up and down as if she was some kind of nasty garbage. “And you are?”

  “Never mind who I am. You’ll find out soon enough,” the woman snapped.

  “Officer Kellaher, New York Police Department,” the officer said. “This lady has made a complaint against you concerning the sexual assault of a minor.”

  “I’m calling your father,” Celia heard Rachel say from behind her.

  “No, Rach,” she said quickly, turning around. She turned back. “Officer, I have not the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Having sex with a minor is against the law. Arrest her!” the woman instructed the cop.

  Celia’s elderly neighbor had opened her door just in time to hear that.

  Celia was awake now. “I’m sorry, there has to be some kind of mistake.”

  “I’m Jason DiSantos’ mother,” fumed the short woman. “Do you still think there’s a mistake? Since you forced my son to have sex with you in order to keep his job?”

  Celia tried to push down the fear. “Forced?” She shook her head and looked at the cop. “Officer, I’m a bartender at Captain Cook’s, over on Columbus.”

  The space cadet neighbor on the other side of them had now come out of his apartment to ask if Ce
lia needed any help.

  “She’s being arrested for the sexual assault of a minor,” the old lady neighbor from the other side explained to the space cadet.

  “I am not,” Celia told her neighbor.

  “You are, too!” Jason’s mother said, stamping her foot. “And you’ll rot in jail if I have my way. What kind of freak are you?”

  “What I was trying to say, Officer,” Celia sputtered, “is that her son works at Captain Cook’s, too, as a busboy.”

  “He used to work there. That’s where she raped him!”

  Celia tried to ignore her. “You have to be at least eighteen to work in a restaurant that serves liquor. That’s the law. You know it and I know it. Otherwise Jason couldn’t work there. So I don’t know what this is all about. He’s an adult. He’s a legal adult!” she shouted at her old lady neighbor.

  The police officer looked at Jason’s mother, who seemed to have lost some steam. Jason was probably only seventeen. Still, a seventeen-year-old boy was not considered a sexual minor.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you that you have to go after high school boys?” Jason’s mother said to her. “Why did you have to sink your claws into Jason? He’s a sweet kid and you raped him and then you dumped him and you hurt him. I’ve got half a mind to deck you, you smug little bitch—”

  Celia stepped back, using the door as a shield, but the police officer got a hold of the woman. “Dammit, Rosanne,” he said, grabbing her arms, “cut it out.”

  That was a weird thing for him to say.

  “I’ll just get her out of here now, Miss Cavanaugh,” the cop said, dragging Jason’s mother toward the elevator.

  “You’re a sick woman!” Mrs. DiSantos yelled as Celia slammed the door.

  “What the hell was that about?” Celia cried to the ceiling on her way to the kitchen.

  Rachel was just hanging up the phone. “Your dad’s on his way,” she said breathlessly.

  “My what? Rach, I told you not to—” Celia dove for the address book and quickly dialed her father’s cell phone. She got flipped over to voice mail. “Dad, forget whatever Rachel told you, it was a gag from someone at the restaurant. Call me.” She hung up. Moments later the phone rang.