The War of the Roses: The Children

by Warren Adler

  She called Mr. Tatum’s office for an appointment and he had quickly obliged. As she drove, she turned off her cell phone. She did not want to tell Josh what she had in mind or where she was going. She would tell him only after the fact.

  When she arrived, Mr. Tatum stood up to greet her, then sat down at his desk. He moved quickly through the small talk of welcome, made his trademark finger cathedral, fixed his eyes on her face, and waited for her explanation.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you today, Mr. Tatum, but there is something you must know about the….” She had decided not to mention the Milky Ways. Mention of the objects was too trivializing. Besides, the issue was truth and candor here. The confection itself, in this context, was an absurdity. Instead, she said, “the incident with the Crespos.”

  “I thought I made that clear. It’s a thing of the past.” Mr. Tatum smiled. Victoria had the sensation that she was being studied with an intensity she had not sensed before.

  “Not to me,” Victoria said. “I would like to call Michael in here and let him speak his piece.”

  “Really, Mrs. Rose, that is not necessary.”

  “It is to me. And please don’t tell him that the matter has been closed.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Tatum said. He pressed a button on the console on his desk and asked that Michael Rose be brought to his office. Then he swiveled back on his chair and continued to study Victoria with penetrating eye contact.

  “If it means that much to you, Mrs. Rose, then I certainly would like to oblige,” Mr. Tatum said. “We educators must work in tandem with parents. Nothing happens in isolation.”

  Michael arrived, flushed and nervous. Victoria brushed his hair back and kissed him on the cheek.

  “No problem, sweetheart,” Victoria said. “I just thought it would clear the air if you told Mr. Tatum what you told Dad and me last night.”

  “This is your mother’s idea, Michael,” Mr. Tatum said, offering Michael a benign smile.

  Only slightly reassured, Michael recounted the story he had told his parents the night before. Mr. Tatum smiled and nodded through the confession.

  “I do appreciate this, Michael. It is, indeed, a sign of courage and good character.” He paused for a long time, cutting a glance at Victoria. “Unfortunately, young man, the question remains.” Suddenly, Mr. Tatum’s expression, which had seemed friendly and benign, turned severe. “You knew, of course, that you were violating the sacred rule of Pendleton, our honor system. Surely, you knew that. Then to compound it with lies.”

  Michael flushed and looked helplessly toward his mother. It was a tougher reaction than Victoria had expected. She had believed that he would be a willing partner with her in her son’s chastisement. After all, the purpose of the exercise was to teach him that lies demanded penalties. She dismissed her anxiety, half expecting him to throw her a wink at any moment.

  “That’s why he’s here, Mr. Tatum. To clear the air. To absolve himself.”

  “Confession is not absolution in this context, Mrs. Rose,” Mr. Tatum said, his expression growing in severity. “You must realize,” he said, offering a deep sigh as if his words were too painful to utter, “that this violation of our honor code alone is grounds for summary suspension. We at Pendleton have never tolerated such an infraction. Never. There have been no exceptions. None.” He turned toward Michael. “As for your deliberate lies, they go even further to influence the expulsion action that I am compelled to consider.”

  Victoria felt her innards freeze. She studied Mr. Tatum’s face looking for clues to his intention. The very word “expulsion” was a spear point that had found its mark.

  Michael’s lips quivered and his eyes glazed. Surely this was his way of driving the point home. Victoria’s heart went out to her son. It’s purely a tactic, she reasoned. Mr. Tatum was wise and experienced. Wasn’t he merely carrying out her plan? After all, how could Michael possibly learn that a lie had consequences if severe punishment wasn’t, at the very least, considered as a possibility?

  “I can assure you, Mr. Tatum, and Michael would agree that this… infraction… the lies as well… will never, ever happen again. Isn’t that so, Michael?”

  Michael nodded. She noted that his legs seemed to be shaking under his pants.

  “Tell Mr. Tatum,” she prodded.

  “Never, Mr. Tatum. I promise.”

  “A bit on the late side, young man.” He turned to Victoria. “I’m not certain, Mrs. Rose,” he said calmly, “that I can bend the rules, even in this case.”

  “You seem serious,” Victoria blurted, on the point of panic. How could she have so profoundly misread his reaction?

  “Dead serious, Mrs. Rose,” Mr. Tatum said, his words intoned through his finger cathedral.

  “Surely, the fact that he has come forward….” Victoria’s voice cracked and she had to clear her throat.

  “That does not mitigate the circumstances,” Mr. Tatum said gravely. Her heartbeat accelerated. She felt faint. She looked at her son, who stood shaking and ashen-faced in front of Mr. Tatum’s desk. “Rules are rules.”

  “But you said if he did come forward, he would be forgiven,” Victoria pleaded.

  “Earlier. If I recall, I said earlier.”

  “My God, what have I done?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rose, I’m going to have to take this matter under advisement.”

  Was this tough love she had pushed him into? Or a scarring lifetime trauma? She could hardly believe Mr. Tatum’s threats. In her scenario honesty was to be rewarded with, at the least, understanding and compassion.

  “And what of the Crespo girl?” Victoria said lamely. “She tempted him to violate the rules.”

  “That, Mrs. Rose, is Michael’s story.”

  “Well then, confront her.”

  “We’ve already had quite enough confrontations on the matter. I am, after all, responsible for the entire school, not the concerns of one or two students. We have a standard to be maintained.”

  “Are you serious, Mr. Tatum?”

  “Very.”

  “Could you please dismiss Michael now?” she asked, swallowing hard, sensing the pleading in her voice.

  “You may go, Michael,” Mr. Tatum said severely.

  Michael glanced toward his mother. She saw the look of helplessness in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry, Michael. It will be all right,” she said kissing her son’s cheek. His skin felt hot and she knew he was about to cry. Tears would come, she was certain, as soon as he left the office.

  “Well, he certainly should feel chastised now, Mr. Tatum,” Victoria said when her son had gone. “I thank you for that, Mr. Tatum.” She searched his face, hoping to see the expected smile of complicity. It never came.

  “You’ve put me in a terrible position, Mrs. Rose,” Mr. Tatum said. He got up from his chair and planted himself on the front edge of the desk, directly facing Victoria. He crossed his legs. “Expulsion is a real possibility, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Victoria mumbled, completely confused.

  “I’m sorry about this, Mrs. Rose. I really am.”

  “But surely such a confession counts for something. It was my idea. I wanted the lesson to sink in.”

  “I’m sure it did, Mrs. Rose.” Mr. Tatum said. “May I call you Victoria?”

  He uncrossed his legs and put his palms on the surface of his desk.

  “Of course,” Victoria replied, her mind completely dominated by her son’s plight.

  “You can call me Gordon,” Mr. Tatum said.

  “You’re not serious, then?” Victoria asked hopefully, seizing on this first-name intimacy as another hopeful sign. She noted that he had opened his thighs. The movement seemed inadvertent, and she averted her gaze.

  “About what?”

  Victoria’s eyes drifted around his office.<
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  “Expulsion,” she managed to whisper.

  “There are good grounds here, Victoria. If I make this exception, the rules would be compromised.”

  “But this is an eleven-year-old boy. Think of the trauma….”

  “Victoria, I deal with children of that age every day of my life. Believe me, I understand. But I must not flinch at making such hard decisions. I have to think first of the impact on the entire student body and the reputation of Pendleton. If that is compromised then all my work is for naught.”

  “Believe me, Mr. Tat… I mean, Gordon. I do understand that,” she pleaded, her confidence badly shaken. “My husband was against this. He was all for not coming forward. He doesn’t know I’m here. Please, Gordon, don’t let a mother’s good intentions go awry. My children are everything to me.”

  She felt him watching her as she opened her handbag and took out a tissue. Rarely had she ever cried. But the present circumstances were devastating. She had put her child in jeopardy. Never had she felt so totally defeated.

  “Now, now,” Mr. Tatum said, leaning forward and putting both hands on her shoulders, drawing her to him.

  “You mustn’t do this to Michael,” Victoria pleaded, dabbing her eyes.

  “I don’t want to, Victoria. Believe me.”

  “Please don’t then.”

  “You make one exception and the door is opened for others.”

  “I’m pleading for my son, Mr. Tatum.”

  “Gordon. Call me Gordon.”

  It was only at that moment that she was aware of what was happening. Her cheek rested against his crotch and she suddenly realized that it was lying against his erection.

  “Oh my God,” she cried, jumping out of the chair, breaking his grip on her shoulders.

  “What is it, Victoria?” Mr. Tatum asked.

  “I’m… I’m not sure.”

  It had to be inadvertent. But she couldn’t be certain. Sometimes, she had observed in both her husband and son that erections often occurred involuntarily in men, often at inappropriate moments. It suggested something that she was not willing to comprehend at this moment. But she could not dismiss the possibility.

  Her eyes drifted to his crotch, which, through his pants, still showed signs of excitement. He made no move to conceal the view.

  “Let it sit overnight, Victoria. I’ll make no precipitous moves on expelling Michael. I am willing to keep an open mind, Victoria. Why don’t you call me in the morning? Perhaps I’m being too….” He paused. “Unbending. Nothing is cast in stone. I could be persuaded. But I would suggest, however, that the matter be kept strictly between us. There is no need for your husband or the Crespos to know anything about this.”

  She studied his face and nodded. She could find nothing in his benign expression to indicate any hidden motives. But his sexual exhibit and his admonition to keep the matter confidential were too suggestive to summarily dismiss.

  “Believe me, this will not be an easy decision,” he continued. “I have to weigh all the pros and cons. I do see your point of view, Victoria. I’m not here to hurt people. Let’s both think about this. Perhaps I have been too… too parochial and single-minded.” He paused for a long moment, studying her. “But I leave myself open to be persuaded.”

  Open to be persuaded? Should she interpret this as a direct request for a sexual favor? She was not totally naïve, although she had never in her life ever been confronted by such a situation. But considering the stakes, she could not put it out of her mind.

  “Until tomorrow then,” he said.

  She nodded, rising from the chair, discovering that her knees wobbled.

  He slipped off the desk and moved toward her. She tightened suddenly, expecting an embrace, but she did not make an effort to move away. He kissed her chastely on the cheek.

  “I’ll expect your call,” he said.

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered, turning, starting to move toward the door.

  “Victoria,” he said sweetly.

  She turned to face him.

  “You’re a very attractive woman.”

  They exchanged glances for a moment. She felt sick with humiliation and despair both for herself and for Michael. What had she done?

  Chapter 6

  Josh arrived at his sister’s apartment, which was filled, as always, with the tantalizing aroma of cooking. It was a sharp reminder of their mother, who was forever cooking wonderful dishes for her catering business. He was immediately captured by the power of nostalgia and showed it when he embraced his sister. She returned his embrace with enthusiasm. In her arms, surrounded by her loving warmth, his body was suddenly wracked with sobs.

  “What is it, Josh?” Evie asked soothingly. She, too, had a familiar aroma about her as he nestled himself in the ample and warm flesh of her body and held himself there for a considerable length of time. He felt her hands caress his hair as she offered him her sisterly comfort.

  “For a moment there I thought I was back home with Mom and Dad,” Josh whispered, still holding her, but at arm’s length now, looking into her cherubic, dimpled face and the same blue eyes that had miraculously resurfaced in his son.

  “Happens to me a lot, Josh. They’re never out of my thoughts.”

  He nodded and brought her closer to him again. Looking up, he saw Tweedledee, the Siamese cat, sitting on an upper shelf of a bookcase watching them with vague interest.

  “I’m sorry, Evie. Laying this on you.”

  “For what, sweetheart? You’re my dearest little brother.”

  It was an odd reversal of sorts, since, despite his being four years younger, he had always performed the role of Big Brother.

  “Your little brother has a big problem,” he managed to say.

  “No problem is too big for a solution. And nothing makes me happier than your coming to me for solace.”

  She had obviously dressed for the occasion, putting on her long black velvet dress adorned with a single strand of pearls, certainly faux since she had sold their mother’s jewelry years ago. The dress covered her ample body like a shroud. Yet she looked lovely, like a giant porcelain doll.

  “A little drinkee?” she asked. “I made these lovely hors d’oeuvres.” She pointed to a familiar table, one of the few remaining furniture antiques on which he could see a pâté under a sheen of gelatin. Beside it was bottle of Dry Sack, her favorite sherry. He sat down beside her on the couch as she smeared the pâté on a square of pumpernickel.

  “You’ll love this, Josh,” she said. “It’s pâté en gelée. Mom used to make it.” He knew what was coming next. Food. Although his stomach rebelled at the richness of her concoctions, he made no attempt to admonish her. Love, whether it came in the form of food or anything else, was what he needed most at that moment.

  “Liver pâté, deviled ham and cream cheese, Worcestershire sauce, and, oh yes, a few wee drops of cognac brandy, beef consommé, some of this gorgeous Dry Sack, and cover it all with gelatin. Taste it, darling. It’s a gift from heaven.”

  It was not enough simply to serve the food. She had to embellish it with the ritual of identifying the ingredients, as if it were somehow part of a religious experience. She handed him the square of pumpernickel, heavily smeared with the concoction, and poured him a glass of the Dry Sack. Then she gave herself an equally generous portion and poured herself a drink.

  “First taste, darling,” she said, delicately biting into the smeared pumpernickel with her usual “ahs” and “ohs” of gustatory joy. He forced himself to take a bite and say “delicious,” then took a sip of sherry and settled back on the couch.

  By then, Tweedledee, as round and bloated as her mistress, had bounded from the bookcase shelf and jumped into Evie’s lap. As if by rote, Evie smeared some pâté on a tiny piece of pumpernickel and gave it to the cat, who munched it eagerly, then settled down to nap.

 
“I can’t believe I’ve done this,” he began, taking a deep breath, not quite knowing where to begin. “I’m embarrassed and ashamed, Evie. And you’re the only person on earth I have the courage to tell it to.”

  “Haven’t we always been there for each other, Josh?”

  “Always.”

  He told her about his affair with Angela, leaving out the more intimate details, but pointing out that from the beginning the affair was to be risk-free. He described how it had driven him into paroxysms of guilt and anxiety and how he had finally found the courage to break it off. Then he explained how her husband was now approaching him for money.

  “It was getting crazy. From the beginning it was supposed to be pure sex. Then I was actually falling for her. It was bizarre. It had nothing to do with my family. I guess I went nuts. Can you imagine the energy it took just to dissimulate? It was like… like….”

  “It was only a little interlude of pleasure,” Evie said as she dipped into the pâté again. “You, Josh?”

  “No thanks. You go ahead, Evie.”

  She spread more of the pâté on a piece of pumpernickel and downed it with gusto. Despite his fear that she was eating herself to an early demise, he chose not to lecture her and intrude on her perpetual state of good cheer and sense of well-being.

  “You’re a beautiful, attractive person, Josh,” Evie said when she had eaten the pâté and washed it down with sherry. “I’m sure many women have wanted to park their shoes under your bed. When the pleasures of the flesh beckon, it is sometimes hard to turn down.”

  “Evie, you know I was never the type to sleep around. It just wasn’t my thing. And not once since my marriage vows have I ever stepped out of line. Not until this weird episode. My wife and family are everything to me. Everything! This was madness, pure sexual obsession.”