Possessions

by Judith Michael

  He sipped coffee. "Well. Of course Derek and Craig quarreled on the boat; acmally, they came to blows. Ross says he doesn't know why, and Derek won't talk, and Craig, we now know, fled the scene, so I must wait. Now you, my dear, could learn more; no one has a better right to ask questions and demand answers." He looked at her with innocent blue eyes. "You could be my research assistant."

  Katherine longed for Craig. He could tell her whether or not to trust this foolish-looking old man. She did want the truth; she wanted to learn as much as possible about Craig. But only to understand him better—and also herself: how she could live for ten years with a man and never suspect he was hiding in a maze of lies. But if she learned bits of Craig's past, why should she give them to Tobias or anyone else in a family she distrusted?

  Tobias sighed and stood up. "I won't push you, my dear.

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  But you and I could help each other and I'm quite reliable, you know. Well, of course you don't know that, but when you've been part of us for a while—"

  "I'm not part of you," she said. "I don't want to be part of you. I'm waiting for Craig to come back and since none of you cares about him the way I do, just for himself, I don't need any of you."

  "I think you might," he said gently. "Why don't you mull it over and I'll call in a week or so. Perhaps we could have lunch. Not in Union Square, however. My knees, you know . . . sitting on the grass . . ."He shook his head and walked to the door. "You've improved since that night at Victoria's. You're better-looking and I like your spirit. Craig would be proud of you."

  She looked at him in surprise. He nodded, pleased with himself. 'Think about that." He opened the door and was gone, but suddenly his head appeared again, eyes bright blue and smiling. "We'd make quite a team, you know." And the door closed behind him.

  "Just wait," Leslie said when Katherine told her about Tobias' visit and showed her the cases of wine, and boxes of cheese, nuts, and crackers, that had been delivered the next day. "Pretty soon there'll be another one. Looks like you've been discovered by the Hay wards."

  Katherine didn't want another one. She had enough on her mind. She had Gil Lister, day after day, and when she left him she came home to children who were cross and difficult to handle. At night she was restless, hungry for love-making and companionship. She went to her jewelry class twice a week, and Leslie came for dinner, or just to talk, at least once a week, but otherwise Katherine was very quiet, with plenty of time to think. Ross had called twice to see if she needed anything, but he had seemed distracted by problems at work, and something else—something personal—and when he did not mention another lunch, Katherine did not either. No more Hay wards, she thought. Maybe later, when I figure out how to deal with them.

  But Leslie had been right. A few days after Tobias' visit, Claude Fleming telephoned: not a Hay ward but, as he had told her at Victoria's, almost one of the family. 'The top of the

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  Hyatt,** he said when she agreed to meet him the next day after work. "Just across the square from Heath's."

  He was waiting when she arrived: a tall man in his fifties with carefully brushed silver hair, observant eyes, and a well-exercised body set off in an expensive suit. When Katherine sat opposite him in the booth, he pointed to the crest of a distant hill where a salmon-colored, balconied apartment building stood alone against the golden sky of late afternoon. "Do you recognize it?" Katherine shook her head. "Pacific Heights. Victoria's. You were there for dinner."

  The waitress brought wine for Katherine, Scotch for Claude, and a dish filled with toasted cereal and nuts. Claude slid it aside. "Execrable dish. The view, however, is fme. Are you settled in your apartment? And your job? And the children in school?"

  Katherine gazed at him a moment. "Perhaps we should have a meeting of the whole family. I could answer all the questions just once and then find out what everyone wants from me."

  His eyes narrowed. Then he smiled and lifted his glass. 'To your new life. Evidently it will be a lively one."

  Katherine*s face was flushed. She wasn't used to talking that way, especially to polished and successful older men who made her feel like a child. She wished she hadn't come. She'd already said she didn't want any more of this strange family that had rejected her in June and now sought her out in October. They made her nervous and when she was with them she acted in ways that surprised everyone, including herself.

  "—hope it is lively," Claude was saying, beckoning the waitress for another drink. "Everyone hopes so. As they hope to get to know you better."

  "Why?" Katherine asked. "To find out why I moved here and if I'm lying about Craig? To keep tabs on me so they'll know, the minute he returns, how big a dent he might try to make in their bank accounts?"

  He was taken aback. "Did Derek put that into your head? All we want is to help you. If Craig has abandoned you—"

  "He hasn't!"

  "Let us assume he has. It would not, after all, be the first time. After four months with no word or sign fix)m him—"

  "It's just as likely he had an accident," Katherine said stub-

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  bomly. "Or something happened that we haven't even thought of. I won't hsten to you criticize him—any of you—you never liked Craig; you don't give him a chance."

  "Some of us did," Claude said quietly.

  "Not the whole family."

  He smiled. "That's asking quite a lot of any family. But some of them adored him. He was in a peculiar position, you know: the first grandson. There were Victoria and Hugh, with their two sons, Jason and Curt—who were always in competition for one thing or another—and then Jason and Ann produced the first grandson, a year before Curt and his wife had Derek. Not that it was a contest, you understand, but Victoria adored Craig from the day he was bom; so did Ann; and as Jennifer grew up, she joined the admiring female chorus. Hugh expected his grandson to be another version of himself— aggressive, dominating, confident; Jason wanted a son who was a legend like Hugh Hayward; and Victoria and Ann called Craig their golden boy: perfect, excelling in all things. I felt sorry for him; there was no way he could live up to any of those demands. Curt, who's retired now and living in Phoenix, never liked Craig; he thought he was coddled and weak. Derek followed his father's lead, but then Derek never could tolerate people on pedestals, especially a cousin only a year older than himself. Ross, far less competitive, was Craig's friend. I suppose it helped that Victoria loved Ross but never could like Derek and he never forgave her. Well—" He gestured with his hand. "Families. The best of them have theu" feuds. Ross escaped: went to college in New York, got married, found a job. In fact Curt arranged that; a friend of his in New York took Ross into his firm. Derek stayed here and was running the company long before Curt took early retirement. By now he's doubled its size—took some chances that could have been disasters but proved enormously profitable. A real gambler, is Derek. And no one interfered with him, not even Victoria, who's the major stockholder. He became the head of the family by default when Victoria withdrew fi-om everything after Jennifer and Craig were killed—after we thought Craig was killed."

  Katherine saw again the picture of the laughing girl. "What was Jennifer like?"

  "Jennifer." He waved for another drink and looked inquir-

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  ingly at Katherine, who shook her head. *Tobias called her sunlight and shadow. She was lovely, with a freshness that made one regret one's age. She danced through life, taking nothing very seriously, until the last few months of her life, when she became quite preoccupied. Tobias was here at Easter and thought her somber. I thought she was worried. Certainly Ann and Jason were. She was so changed: distant, stub-bom . . . she'd been accepted at Radcliffe but then out of the blue said she wouldn't go. No one knew why.'*

  After a pause, Katherine asked, "Why did Ross come back?"

  "I think, to be near Victoria. He never explained it, though Derek tried his damndest to find out. But his return didn't change anyt
hing. He opened his own firm of architects, made a remarkable reputation entirely separate from the one Hugh and Curt and Derek had made at the Hayward Corporation, and he and Melanie built a house in Tiburon. There really was no family: Craig and Jennifer were gone, Jason and Ann had withdrawn to Maine, Derek and his father ran the company, Victoria was frantic with grief and then just got more and more crotchety. Nine years ago, when Tobias retired, she gave him an apartment on the second floor of her duplex. He and Ross were the only ones who got along with her. All of them went in separate ways, measuring their lives in different possessions."

  The words caught Katherine's fancy. "What does that mean? Measuring—?"

  "What we own, what we are, what we fight for. Derek, for instance, measures his life in money and power. Wives, perhaps, if you count the three he's had. And things: he accumulates everything from art to gadgets."

  Katherine thought of a picnic hamper. "And Ross?" she asked.

  "Accomplishments, I suppose. How much he can achieve in rebuilding the cities of America. No small dreams for Ross, In the meantime he makes good money—nothing near what Derek makes, but he's hardly worrying—and he cares about money, if for no other reason than his extremely extravagant Melanie, but I've never thought of him as measuring his days in dollars. Or power, though he must know it takes power to make his dreams a reality. Interesting man; isn't it because of him that you moved here?"

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  "Oh, no." She was dismayed. "I didn't even tell him." And Tve only seen him once, she added silently. Six weeks ago. "How does Victoria measure her life?"

  "Once it was the family: how firmly she kept it together. That stopped when Craig and Jennifer died. Well, not Craig— you know what I mean. For the last ten years, she's concentrated on making herself necessary. She's on governing boards of the opera, the symphony, the Museum of Art, and a couple of welfare organizations, and she's enormously influential because she really works. It was through her connections that the art museum got the Peruvian gold exhibit that opens this week. I recommend it: a brilliant show. Why did you move to San Francisco?"

  "Whatr'

  "I said—"

  "No, I heard you. I grew up here."

  *That's the only reason you moved from Vancouver?"

  "I'm not after any Hay ward money."

  "I don't think you are." He looked amused. "I'll report that to the family. You're a pleasant young woman; you speak intelligendy and listen well. In fact you've maneuvered me into talking about the family when I meant to talk about you. Admirable."

  Katherine regarded him. "I don't believe anyone maneuvers Claude Fleming. You wanted me to know about the family."

  He was signing the charge slip and his pen stopped momentarily. He smiled. "You'll do very well," he said, and finished writing.

  "How do you think I measure my life?" Katherine asked.

  Thoughtfully, he studied her. "By your independence," he said, and watched the swift changes in her face, from pleasure to confusion.

  "And Craig?" she asked.

  "Ah. Money, loving a select few, being admired, and successfully running from problems."

  Katherine looked through the window, at the darkening sky. For the first time, she was not sure what to say in her husband's defense.

  Leslie brought a bottle of wine and a birthday cake and they all helped set the table. "How old are you?" Todd asked.

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  "Ninety-nine," said Leslie. "But I'm told I don't look it. Some days I don't even feel it."

  Katherine looked up. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing serious," Leslie said. "It's Friday. Lots of things seem wrong on Friday that are miraculously cured by having two free days. Shit, I forgot; you work tomorrow."

  "Not this week. Gil told me he didn't need me. It's like a holiday."

  '*Gil? Being generous? Not in character. He must be up to something."

  "How old are you?" Todd insisted.

  *Thirty-six." Leslie tousled his hair. "Does that seem ancient?"

  "Not as ancient as ninety-nine." He looked at his plate as they sat down. "Mom, what's this gunk?"

  "Don't be insulting," Leslie answered. "Since it's my birthday, I got to choose the menu and it's ragout of beef."

  Todd made a face. "It sounds awful. I'm going to McDonald's."

  "You're staying right here," Katherine said. "And eating dinner with us. You haven't even tasted it."

  "I don't like it and I won't eat it and I'm going to McDonald's and you can't stop me!"

  "Hey," Leslie said with a quick look at Katherine's face. "You want to ruin my party?"

  'Todd," said Katherine. "I left a box in Aimie's apartment. Will you bring it in?"

  He shrugged glumly. "Why not."

  When he was gone, Leslie gave Katherine a questioning look. "He wasn't like this in Vancouver."

  "I know. He's changed since we came here. He's disruptive at school and doesn't do his work—his teachers say he's acting out all his problems. I can't talk to him about it—"

  "You don't talk to us about anything," Jennifer said. "You didn't even ask us if we wanted to leave Vancouver."

  "Jennifer, that was a long time ago."

  "Well, we haven't forgotten it. And we don't like anything about San Francisco or this apartment or school or your job or anything."

  Katherine and Leslie exchanged a look. "I have an inspi-

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  ration," Leslie said, "You two need a day at the Exploratorium. Next Saturday. At noon. Be ready."

  "Exploratorium!" Todd cried, coming in with a large box in his arms. "No kidding? Mom promised to take us twice but she blew it both times."

  "I had to work those days," Katherine said quietly.

  'Todd, you're behaving like a pint-sized bastard," Leslie said. Taking advantage of his open-mouthed shock, she pointed to his plate. "Eat your dinner—which is terrific, by the way— and see if you can help me figure out my mystery."

  "Mystery?" Jennifer looked suspicious. "Are you making something up so we'll forget we're not happy?"

  "No I'm not," Leslie said seriously. "I think we should talk about that. But this is my party and I don't want grouching to ruin it. If Todd blows out my candles with his huffmg and puffing, I won't get my wish."

  Todd and Jennifer smiled. "So what's the mystery?" Todd asked.

  "We have at Heath's a new line of sweaters by a designer named Ralph Lauren; they're very popular, and selling fast. Also selling fast are Calvin Klein blouses, silk, costing two hundred fifty each."

  Jennifer gasped. "Each? Is that the mystery? Why people pay that much?"

  Leshe laughed. "Nope. This is it: more of those blouses and sweaters are gone from the departments than the clerks remember selling. How would you explain that?*'

  "Somebody stole them," Jennifer said promptly.

  "That's what I thought, too. But the sales records in our computer say they've been sold."

  *The clerks forgot," said Todd. "They had anmesia. Did you ask them if they fell down one day and were knocked out?"

  "As a matter of fact, I didn't," Leslie answered. "I'll give it some thought."

  "Something's wrong with the computer," Jennifer guessed.

  "Computers don't make mistakes," Todd scoffed.

  "Not ever?" Katherine asked. "What if a person makes a mistake in telling the computer what to do?"

  "I've got it!" Todd cried. "It is the computer! A bunch of mice came into the computer when it was cold out and rubbed

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  together to get wanii and the nibbing made static electricity that erased part of the computer memory, so you're getting the wrong numbers!"

  "Good thinking," laughed Leslie. "Well look for mice on Monday morning."

  "Leslie," Katherine said. "What's the real problem? It's more than blouses and sweaters."

  LesHe sighed. "Nothing like a friend to see inside a person's head. You're right; there's more. There's my fellow vice-presidents. Four smug males
waiting with tongues hanging out for me to make a mistake so they can kick me off their masculine turf. I don't know what the hell is happening with those blouses and sweaters, but if we're losing merchandise— which means money—they'll look to see who's fouled up store security, and that means me."

  "You?" asked Todd. "Security?"

  "It comes under Personnel. And I'm vice-president for Personnel and Payroll. See what I mean?"

  Jennifer was watching Leslie with fascination. "Is the president a smug male who wants you off his turf, too?"

  "He's better than the others," Leslie answered. "Though who knows," she added darkly, "what really lurks inside a big chiefs head? All I want is to be left alone to do my job, and so far he's done that, but one good crisis could change everything ..." She brooded for a moment, then briskly shook her head. "Enough of this. You're a terrific audience; you've cheered me up; and I love you all. But we are in danger of forgetting one of the most important parts of this evening. Didn't I see a cake in the kitchen? How can I swallow thirty-six years without chocolate cake to make it go down? And what about that huge box Todd staggered in with? Could that be for me?"

  Katherine lit the candles on the cake while Leslie op)ened the box and lifted out a set of appliqu^ throw pillows for her couch that the three of them had made. "You remembered!" she cried in delight. "And they're wonderful—just the kind I couldn't find anywhere." Todd and Jennifer beamed and launched into a lengthy explanation of the difficulties in applique.

  "But it was fun," Jennifer said. "Even Todd liked it."

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  "I had this sword," Todd explained. "And I kept stabbing these monsters from caves that were about to gobble us up-"

  "He means he was sewing," said Jennifer helpfully.

  "Just don't tell the guys at school," said Todd. "They'd think I was really weird."

  Katherine stepped back, as if she were watching a play. Her children and her friend sat at a folding table, festive with tablecloth and candles, in the center of the crowded living room. On a table in the comer, her models of bracelets, necklaces, and pendants glinted in the soft light. The grandfather clock boomed nine o'clock. Nothing in that room, none of the people, would have been there if not for her. Independence, Claude had said, sending a quick rush of pleasure through her. He'd been right, and her pleasure had been real. It would only be for a while, only until Craig returned, but still she savored it: she had done this alone. I'll always remember how it feels, she thought. Because I've never felt it before.