Possessions

by Judith Michael

  POSSESSIONS

  one should allow workmen in a building that isn't secure."

  "You're defending your engineer, then, and saying it was only the earthquake, is that right?"

  "We'll be reviewing the plans, but I have no doubt the earthquake caused the damage."

  "Thank you, sir. You don't mind if we do a few interior shots—?"

  Ross saw the televised story, cut to thirty seconds, while sitting in Victoria's library. "Today's earthquake also caused injuries to two workmen in the Macklin Building," the reporter said, "part of the Bay Bridge Plaza development south of Market."

  The camera panned across the BayBridge site to the Macklin Building, then moved inside, pausing at the hole in the ceiling and the debris on the floor. Greg Thorpe appeared glumly on the screen. "We followed the plans on the temporary beams," he said. "Though I did think at the time I would have made them stronger."

  Ross shot up in his chair. "Liar," he said.

  "But that wasn't up to me," Thorpe added. "It was the engineer on Mr. Hay ward's staff."

  "Ross Hayward Associates," the reporter's voice said as Ross appeared on the screen, "are architects for BayBridge Plaza and the renovation of the Macklin Building."

  Watching himself, Ross thought he looked disheveled and faintly guilty. "No one should allow workmen in a building that isn't secure," he said. "We'll be reviewing the plans—"

  The reporter replaced him on the screen. "The Department of Inspectional Services had no inmiediate conmient. In other earthquake news—"

  "Son of a bitch!" Ross exploded as Tobias snapped off the set. "That wasn't what I meant and he knew it."

  "Have some more Scotch," said Tobias. "You could use it."

  "I could use a new construction manager. If I carry any weight around there, the contractor's going to fire Greg tomorrow morning. But Scotch will do for now. Thanks."

  "Ross," Victoria said anxiously. "You're not really worried about this, are you? It will be forgotten in all the other earthquake news. There were far worse incidents than yours."

  POSSESSIONS

  Ross kissed Victoria's cheek. "I'm concerned about it, but you shouldn't be. I'll take care of it. I won't stay for dinner, though; I'm going back to the office for a while."

  "Mr. Hayward," the butler said from the doorway. *There*s a telephone call for you."

  Ross thought of reporters. "I'm not here."

  "It's Mrs. Fraser," said the butler.

  'Take it in here," Victoria said quickly. "We'll be in the dining room."

  Ross grabbed the telephone. "I saw the television report," Katherine said. "I was worried about you. I called your house, and your office . . . Why didn't anyone mention the work on the footings?"

  "It hasn't started." Listening to her low voice, he wanted her so desperately his words seemed to stumble. 'They'd rescheduled it for next week."

  'Then it might not come up at all. But—if people are looking for reasons, do you have to say your engineer was at fault so no one looks any further and maybe gets to the footings?"

  She'd seen it all, Ross thought; the whole of his dilenmia. Protect Victoria and the company by keeping the footings out of the story; or point to them to get his own company off the hook for the design of the temporary beams. "We may be able to blame the earthquake by itself. Especially since there was damage in the whole area."

  "The reporter made you seem responsible."

  "He was looking for a good story and he distorted what I said. Victoria thinks it's too small a disaster to be remembered. She may be right."

  "But she doesn't know about the footings. Ross, is there any way I can help you?"

  "You can come to me. Help me get through this mess and whatever it leads to. I need you. I love you, I want you with me, I want you part of me."

  He heard her long sigh. "I'd come now. But it would be the way we were before."

  "That's not good enough. I said part of me."

  "I haven't heard from Craig or Hank. I'm still waiting."

  "And calling me up."

  POSSESSIONS

  "I was worried about you. I can't just turn off my feelings—"

  "Katherine, there has to be a time when you make up your mind, in spite of Craig. You can't wait indefinitely."

  "No . . ."

  "Well, when is it? When will you say it's been long enoughT*

  "I don't know. That's one of the things I'm thinking about. Ross, please trust me. I have to do this. If you don't want me to call you anymore, I won't."

  "Of course I want you to call me. I reach for the phone a dozen times a day to call you. Whenever something happens, good or bad, I turn around to tell you—and you're not iiere."

  "But you don't call."

  "No. Because I'd begin pushing you about timetables and decisions, the way I just did. And then you'd tell me this is something you have to do, the way you just did. And I understand that. Katherine, you're a remaricable woman; you've made a new life with pride and dignity from the rubble your husband left behind; you hold up your head and face whatever comes instead of hiding or running away; you're honest with yourself. I don't want to try to force you to,see things as I'd like you to see them. I don't want to stand in your way and prevent you from finishing what you've begun. E)oes that make sense to you?"

  "Yes," Katherine said softly. "Do you know, the more you tell me what you want for me, the more I miss you?"

  "I hope so," he said, and she heard the smile in his voice.

  When they said goodbye, nothing had changed, Katherine was no closer to coming to him than she had been before, but Ross was still smiling when he stopped in the dining room to say goodnight to Victoria and Tobias, and her words— I miss you —stayed with him as he went back to the office to organize his strategy on the Macklin Building.

  "Sit down," said Derek, gesturing toward a chair while continuing to talk on the telephone. Ross chose one of the couches at the other end of the office, leafing through a copy of International Architect while waiting for his brother's conversation to wind to its leisurely end. The office was in glass and chrome and burgundy leather: desk, chairs, and conference

  POSSESSIONS y

  table at one end, and simulated living room at the other. Track lighting illuminated blown-up photographs of bridges, shopping malls, aqueducts, office buildings, and expressways built by the Hayward Corporation since its founding in 1918. In a comer, almost hidden by a massive Ficus tree, was a photograph of the Macklin Building.

  "Well, what a pleasure," Derek said, swiveling his chair to face Ross. "You don't often pay us a visit. Haven't seen you since you went to Paris, in fact. Place des Vosges, wasn't it?"

  Ross closed the magazine. "And Menton."

  "So I heard. Melanie said the youngsters had a fine time."

  "We all had a fine time."

  "And did Katherine finally leam to order from French menus? They always used to intimidate her."

  "Katherine learns whatever she puts her mind to," Ross said evenly. "She's not easily intimidated. I came to talk about the earthquake damage in the Macklin Building."

  Derek's faint smile did not change. "I heard about it. We had some damage, too: displacement of a roadbed in Daly City; nothing serious. Well? What is it you want to talk about?"

  'Two workmen were injured by falling concrete. I had a letter this morning from their lawyer; they're going to sue my firm, and me, for negligence. Five million dollars."

  "Insane. Are they permanently disabled?"

  "I haven't talked to their doctors. I doubt it and their lawyer isn't claiming it—yet. He mentioned time lost from work, medical bills, rehabilitation therapy, psychological trauma, pain and suffering to the family, and one or two others. It's all in the letter; I brought you a copy, since you're an interested party."

  Derek shook his head. "Nothing to do with it." He was no longer smiling. "I haven't much time; is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

  "You know there is." From his briefcase,
Ross brought out photographs he had taken on Friday and printed in the office darkroom Saturday morning. He laid them on the coffee table one at a time. 'The south side of the Macklin Building, showing settling cracks in the wall ... the first-floor interior where the wall and ceiling separated; also the collapsed ceiling .. . basement floor showing the amount of column settling. And this is the report of the foundation engineers who

  POSSESSIONS

  tested the soil and inspected the footings in July. You can keep it. But don't take the time to read it now; you ah-eady know what it says."

  Expressionless, Derek gazed at him. He had not glanced at the photographs. "I have no idea what it says. Nor any interest in it."

  Ross closed his briefcase. "I've contracted to stabilize the foundation by pumping concrete under and around the column footings; it should be done by mid-October. I'm paying for it. And I'll pay for repair of the earthquake damage. But I'm going to try to settle the suit out of court, and whatever that costs, you're going to pay half. Or you and Dad, if you can get it from him."

  "What the hell are you babbling about?" Derek's voice was contemptuous but Ross noted he was not demanding that he leave. "I'm going to pay? Like hell I am. You can clean up your own shit."

  "It's yours, too, and you'll help clean it up. Those columns wouldn't have settled if you'd built them the way they were originally designed."

  Derek shoved back his chair and strode the length of the office to pick up the photographs. He leafed through them. A comer of his mouth twitched, then he forced it still. "Would you care to explain what these have to do with me? You're demanding that I hand over a couple of million—for what? To help you pay off a pair of cretins who see dollar signs because their fucking lawyer says they can hold you hostage? Why in hell would I touch that with a ten-foot pole? Brotherly love?"

  Ross stood, and their eyes were level. "To keep it out of court."

  "What the hell do I care whether it goes to court? What do you care? Let it go; you'll win. There was an earthquake, dozens of buildings were damaged, a few people were killed, a few more were hurt. So what? That's what people expect. There's a mob of lawyers out there giving dumb workmen visions of sugarplums, and engineers and architects are going to go down like tenpins, unless they're smart. So get yourself a sharp lawyer—not Claude; he's too straight—and if you're still worried, find an inspector whose wife wants a vacation in St. Croix and buy them one. He'll swear to the design of your

  POSSESSIONS

  temporary support beams and he won't look any further; he'll say it was the earthquake. Christ, why do I have to explain all this? It's mother's milk in this business."

  'That's not the way I work. Who got the vacation when you changed the specs on the Macklin Building?"

  Derek flung the photographs on the table. "Listen, you sanctimonious ass, the Hay ward Corporation wasn't built by prayer; I doubt your little firm was either. But I don't ask where you put your dollars; and it's none of your business where I put mine. You look after yourself, little brother, and don't worry about the family corporation. The value of your stock is just fine."

  "Until city inspectors start looking at damaged buildings where there are lawsuits. What's mother's milk for city officials, for God's sake? They're primed to look for fraud, and sixteen years doesn't mean a thing if they find it; there's no way the Hayward Corporation could come out of that clean. That means you and Dad. Hugh had died two years earlier; the two of you were in charge. And it won't be as easy to brush off the city as it was to get rid of me when I asked you about it."

  "We told you there was nothing to worry about. We believed that."

  "You Hed. Both of you."

  "Don't call me a liar!" Derek lashed out, but his eyes were focused inward; he was weighing his options. Of course they had to keep it out of court; no one had more to lose than Derek Hayward, who was liable because he'd built the damn building, and also could be cut out of his grandmother's will, if she found out. But Derek knew Ross was worried about Victoria for a different reason; like a fucking white knight he wanted to shield her firom the whole mess. Which was why he wanted to keep it out of court as much as Derek did, perhaps even more. Good enough, Derek concluded, and almost casually called Ross's bluff. "It was Craig's little game; we had nothing to do with it. If you want to pay off those workmen, go ahead. But you're on your own. I'd let it go to court."

  "Craig had nothing to do with changing those specs."

  "Is that a revelation from on high? Craig floating down on a sunbeam to whisper sweetly in your ear?"

  "No, danm it, it came from you: that pack of lies you told 464

  POSSESSIONS

  Katherine about the sailing accident. The sanitized version of your fight with Craig—that he didn't like the way you managed the Macklin Building. Why didn't you tell her you accused Craig of being a crook? Why didn't you tell her the story you and Dad made up the next day for my benefit? For months you'd been trying to make her see Craig through your eyes and hate him the way you do. There was your big chance to completely blacken him, and you passed it up. You never pass up a chance like that; why did you do it then? Because you couldn't take the chance she'd tell Victoria. Or me."

  "Horseshit. That's one of Katherine's fairy tales. I told her Craig lost his temper when I showed him up in front of Jennifer."

  "That's a lie."

  "I told you—don't call me a liar! Are you so besotted you don't know she makes up stories as she goes along? She lies when it suits her, to get what she wants, and now she wants to get back at me by twisting what I told her about her spineless husband. She must regret her passion more than I realized— those worshipful eyes, her extraordinary body, offering itself—"

  Rage exploded in Ross; the room spun in red streaks. "You son of a bitch!" He grabbed Derek's jacket, jerking him toward him, but Derek wrenched free and backed away, his face taut, his breath coming in hoarse gasps.

  "Don't touch me—God damn you—if you come near me—!"

  Ross caught himself. Breathing hard, he flexed his fingers. Don't hit him; don't let him make you react.

  His voice still hoarse, Derek said, "Everyone lies. Craig made up a whole new life, all lies. And even before that, the two of you, all those years we were growing up, turning Victoria against me widi lies ... so you never had to fight for anything ..." His eyes darkened as he stopped himself. "Fairy tales," he said, his voice rasping. "Like the one you brought me today. I don't believe in fairy tales."

  Deliberately he turned his back and walked to his desk. Ross stood where he was, his thoughts racing. Turning Victoria against me . . . you never had to fight for anything. Tht room had stopped spinning; the red streaks of his rage were gone. His muscles loosened and he felt the lightness that came when

  POSSESSIONS

  he cut the motor on his boat and silence descended. He looked at Derek's rigid figure: the tight, narrow face and contemptuous smile that hid a maelstrom of anger, competitiveness, and fear.

  Fairy tales, he thought, hearing again the fury in his brother's voice as he had said it. But it was Derek's life, he realized, that was the fairy tale: an intricate web of wishes and fabrications to get attention, love, admiration, deference from his father and grandparents, clients, business associates, women, even—though Ross had never suspected it—his cousin and his brother.

  Ross looked back through the years, as far back as he could remember. Derek had perfected his skill at manipulating people by practicing on his family, forcing Ross and Craig to feel they were competing with him—and losing. And so from the time he was a boy, Ross had feared and envied his brother, longing to have his compelling power and magnetism, even, sometimes, his single-minded ruthlessness that seemed to sweep all obstacles aside. But at the same time his fierce dislike of Derek had grown and he had tried to keep a distance between them— even refusing to consider working in the family company because that would have meant working with Derek. But there could never be enough distance, even when he moved
to New York. All his life, Ross had been tied to his brother by the strongest bonds of envy and hatred.

  Now, for the first time, he saw that Derek's magnetism was desperation, that the brother he had feared and envied was a chameleon furiously plotting, lying, changing colors to snare and impress others. With a shock he realized how much Derek was like Craig. No wonder they hated each other; they understood each other too well.

  **Well?" Derek demanded. Usually he used silence as a weapon, making others so nervous they would say anything to break it. But Ross had outwaited him. "Well?" he repeated.

  Ross picked up his briefcase. "I think we've finished for today. I have work to do." He saw uncertainty flicker in his brother's eyes. He had never seen that before, and he knew that Derek was fighting to regain his balance: to recover from that brief moment of letting down his guard, and to recapture control of their conversation. But Ross would not let him. For once he had called Derek's bluff, and he was the one who was leaving.

  POSSESSIONS

  Derek watched him cross the room and open the office door. **What the hell are you going to do?" he burst out.

  From the doorway, Ross looked at him thoughtfully, without answering.

  "You're not going to let it go to court!'*

  "I'm not sure. I have to make some plans. You'll hear from me." He opened the door. "Good luck with repairing your displaced roadway. It's always best to have a straight path, isn't it?"

  He strode down the corridor. As he reached the elevator, the image of his boat returned: pushing away from the dock with no constraints or ties. Whatever he needed to do, however he had to do it, he had left the bonds of competitiveness and envy behind. Derek could no longer touch him; he was free.

  Victoria handed the portfolio of Picasso lithographs to Katherine. They sat together on the silk couch in the library; a low fire burned in the fireplace though the evening was mild. **A wonderful collection," she said. "Hugh and I bought them in Paris so long ago I can't remember. I'll miss looking at them each day."

  "So why donate them now?" Tobias asked as he poked a log and laid.a new one upon it. "Put them in your will. The museum can wait."