The Peace Maker

by Michele Chynoweth

  Donald Richards’s eyes narrowed and the crease deepened. “Maybe you haven’t been following the news about our industry, son. Not only are we coming out of this recession, but that little blue pill called Viagra that makes millions of men and women happy and that has made us billions of dollars is now being made generically by our competition. We’re losing millions as we speak.”

  Darren had half expected the lecture from his father. One always came with every request, even throughout his childhood. When he asked to borrow twenty dollars at the age of eleven to put toward a model train set, he was told “neither a borrower nor a lender be” and had to work it off washing his dad’s Buick and raking leaves. When he borrowed five hundred dollars at the age of sixteen to put toward a car, he had to sit through what seemed like an hour’s lecture on car maintenance. And when he was given money to go to college, his dad never let up on asking about his grades and telling him of his expectations.

  So he was ready to engage in the ensuing discussion. “Surely you’re looking at other venues to combat the loss and be even more profitable?”

  “Well, son, in fact we are, and we have discussed funding your campaign, although not to the tune of a hundred mil. I can’t make these decisions alone, you know. But I’m sure I can swing it past the powers that be on the Board, if you can help us in return.” His father, looking every bit the corporate president with his tanned good looks, graying hair, and expensive Italian suit, stood and stretched his tall and husky frame. He was still in good shape for a 67-year-old, although too many cocktail parties had given him a small gut. “I’ll tell you what. I can cover half of that today and talk them into the rest after you make some strides to help us on our newest frontier.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve heard of egg harvesting?”

  “You mean human egg harvesting?”

  “I’m not talking about chickens, son.” Donald chuckled at his own comment, shaking his head. “We do need a sense of humor in this business. Anyway, let me show you what we’ve been working on lately.”

  Minutes later, Donald Richards led his son down a sterile hallway, past a limited-access heavy metal door, and down another hall. Eventually they came to a large plate-glass window overlooking a recessed lab, where three men and two women in white lab coats and facemasks were bent over microscopes and looking at large computer screens.

  “As you know, RA is a leader right now in biotechnology and in particular, stem cell research. We are trying to find the latest treatments and possible cures for a myriad of diseases. But what you don’t know is that we are really close to achieving a breakthrough with a cure for Type 1 diabetes.”

  “Wow.” Darren looked with awe at his father.

  “Wow is right. This could save hundreds of thousands of lives. We’ve got scientists working in our labs all over the globe right now on this very same project. We only have one problem, and that’s where I need your help. In order to continue on, we need more material to conduct our research. We’ve found the best way to develop a cure is to test stem cells because, by their nature, they have the capacity to develop into many different types of cells and can be manipulated to give rise to potential treatments. But, as you already know, we’ve taken a lot of heat by religious factions about our massive use of embryonic stem cells, and embryos are getting harder to come by. So we’re now using stem cells from zygotes, or newly fertilized eggs, before they become embryos. First of all, they’re, in effect, even better to use than embryos because they are brand-new and not yet differentiated, which means they have the capacity to turn into any type of cell at all. And second, the ‘heat’ we’re getting from egg harvest protestors isn’t nearly as great as that from antiabortion and right-to-life groups. Yet—” Don paused before his last word, stressing the importance of it.

  “So I can help how?” Darren loosened his tie.

  “As you know, egg harvesting is legal in most of the fifty United States since federal regulations were passed in 2009. Women are paid for donating their eggs for in-vitro reproduction for couples that can’t have babies. A handful of states have recently passed laws, though, banning egg harvesting for research, and some have gone against federal regulations, saying it’s illegal for any reason. I’m afraid more states might jump on board if the crazy yahoos still screaming about it have their way. They just don’t know that they’re interfering with scientific progress and real cures.

  “Of course, New York, being one of the states to pass legislation legalizing human egg donations for research, has always been a leader, which is why we remain incorporated here. I just need you to lead our country to follow suit by passing federal legislation that’s similar to the laws we have here in New York that legalize human egg harvesting for scientific research.”

  “Dad, just like you, I can’t just make decisions and rules on my own, even if I do become president,” Darren said warily. “And if the public finds out I’m pushing for stem cell research by my father’s company, which just so happens to fund my campaign, it won’t sit too well, I’m sure.”

  “Which is why no one else has to know, son. I’m not saying make it part of your platform. I’m saying get one trusted congressman or senator—maybe one who wants to ride your coattails and wouldn’t mind doing you a favor—to introduce a piece of legislation. I’m sure there will be plenty more up there on the Hill to vote it in just to be in your camp. You’ve got more power than anyone else in the world right now. You can make a difference.” Don grasped Darren’s arm. “I’m proud of you, son. I know I don’t tell you that often, and I know I was disappointed when you didn’t join my company and follow in my footsteps, but now I know you have an even greater calling.”

  Darren knew his father’s gestures and words were pure theatrics, and that his motives were entirely self-centered. But, then again, so were his. Still, he had to be careful.

  “I have one question Dad. Forgive me if I’ve been a little busy and haven’t been following this issue too closely. I get the anti-abortion stem-cell research protestors. That’s been going on for years, and of course part of my platform is my party’s stance that a woman has a ‘right to choose.’ In fact, I’m going to start campaigning on the fact that President Greene has set us back to the Stone Age by making it so hard for young women to voluntarily get abortions. But why is the protest against egg harvesting getting fired up? Surely women still donate their eggs voluntarily and get paid for them, right? Is there some problem with all of this I don’t know about?”

  “No one is forcing women to donate their eggs, if that’s what you’re asking. At least we’re not. We can’t control what they do over in some backward Third World country. And yes, as far as I know, women still get paid for their donations. A lot more now, in fact, since that handful of women won their federal lawsuit against the American Society for Reproductive Medicine, which used to cap the money doled out for each donation to five-to-ten-thousand dollars. Now these women are getting greedy, asking for more, and getting it. And we US companies just can’t afford it anymore.

  “Coupled with that, the need for harvested eggs has risen dramatically since there’s more competition than ever before to be the company with breakthrough cures and drugs. RA isn’t the only research firm working on this project. So instead of thousands of donor eggs, we need millions. Which means we’re encouraging more women to donate in poor countries where they need the money…and we can afford to pay them.”

  Darren looked at his father still perplexed. “Okay, I still don’t see the problem.”

  “Just like with anything, occasionally a girl has gotten the procedure done at some cheap clinic, by some unlicensed guy who calls himself a doctor, and has become ill or wounded. Then some bleeding-heart woman found out and started spreading the word, forming a protest group, and they called the media, which put it out there on the Internet, and the word started to spread. Now they want to call what we’re doing “human egg trafficking.” We’ve got to stop their nonsense be
fore it’s too late and millions of people suffer in the long run with diseases that can be cured with our scientific and technological breakthroughs. We need your help to get the official backing of the US government for our procedures and our mission…to enable us to do what we do throughout our own country and the world.”

  Donald’s eyes shone with passion now, and he gripped Darren’s arm tighter. “You’ve got to help us. We need to get you in office so we can find a cure. And when we come out with it, none of this other stuff will even matter in the grand scheme of things anymore.”

  As if on cue, one of the lab technicians looked up through the window and waved at his boss and son, then the rest followed suit.

  Donald had a big smile on his face as he waved back, talking through clenched teeth. “Are you with me?”

  Darren smiled and waved too. “Yep.”

  With one last wave, Donald put his arm around his son’s shoulders and walked him back down the hall.

  They went to lunch at the Ambassador Grill and Lounge in the UN building a few blocks away, and over martinis and overstuffed sandwiches, Donald turned his attention to the subject of Darren’s wife, lowering his voice even though they had gotten, upon request, a remote window table. “I understand she was attending Al-Anon meetings?”

  Darren turned red with embarrassment. “She stopped once I asked her to.”

  “Well, she better stay stopped. That whole thing sounds like some women’s cult that likes to bash us men just for having a couple of drinks once in a while. It’s definitely not good for your image. I think she needs to turn her attention to more, uh, productive things to do with her time.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Darren, you need to use your imagination. Start romancing her again. Take her out to a dinner and play. Everywhere you turn here in New York there’s something to do. Encourage her to visit friends. She does have friends, doesn’t she?”

  “I only know of Amy, her old roommate who was her maid of honor in our wedding.”

  “The black girl?”

  “Yes, Dad.” Darren turned red again as their waitress deposited another round of martinis at their table, embarrassed but not surprised at his father’s strong prejudice.

  Donald waited until she left before commenting further.

  “That one’s trouble. Isn’t she a reporter now with the Times?”

  “Uh-huh.” Darren gulped down his drink, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “She just moved from Chicago, where she was working for the Tribune, back to New York. Chessa said she got some type of great offer. Personally I wish she had just stayed in Chicago. She’s another busybody just like Stephanie. I would have taken care of making sure she stayed put if I didn’t have a thousand other more important matters to handle.” Darren’s voice was filled with scorn. He shared his parents’ disdain for anyone who they considered lower class, which pretty much included most people of other races and socio-economic status.

  “You should have her over for dinner.”

  “Are you kidding me? You just said she was trouble!”

  “Just listen. You could do a little ‘information dropping,’ give her some tidbits that may fuel a story in your favor, or like they do in hunting, send the dog off the trail with another scent. Feed her some story that takes her time up, but makes her feel like you’re helping her out. You’ll win your wife over and get her nosy black friend off your tail at the same time. Speaking of tail…” Donald watched as their young blond waitress bent over to retrieve some cash he had ‘accidentally’ dropped on the floor, and then stared at her backside as she walked away.

  Darren stared too. She had smiled at him with a gleam in her eye, recognizing him instantly and fawning over him the entire meal. He clinked glasses with his father and drank down his third martini.

  “Romancing my wife, eh? Shouldn’t be too hard with that image in my mind.” He shared a rare laugh with his dad.

  When Chessa returned home after work she was bone tired. It seemed like the phone had rung nonstop that day with calls from young girls who had run away or turned to the streets and needed help. Some of the calls were from young single mothers who had been beaten or were pregnant again and broke, and other calls were from older married women who were stuck in abusive marriages with seemingly no way out. They all needed treatment and counseling, and many needed food and shelter.

  During the past year that she had worked at Safe Horizon, Chessa’s heart had been broken so many times over these cases that she wondered if it was permanently damaged. Sometimes it seemed that her heart had hardened to the point that she just went through the motions now of listening to the call, giving advice, making the right connection, and finding help from the right resources.

  And yet…today it somehow broke again over one young rape victim who called. “I know this sounds crazy, but my husband raped me.” The tear-choked words still rang in Chessa’s ears. “He’s been rough before, but this time I said no and he wouldn’t stop. He hurt me. And he wasn’t sorry. He said this is how it would be from now on. And he threatened that if I ever left him, he would hunt me down and kill me. I know he was drunk, but….”

  Chessa had to wipe the tears that fell uncontrollably in order to see as she drove. When she pulled into her driveway and opened the garage door, she saw Darren’s red Porsche gleaming inside. Even though it was Friday and she had been expecting him to come home for the weekend, she still felt the bile of fear rise in her throat, and the nausea of despair claw at her stomach. She found herself saying a silent prayer to a God she felt she hardly knew anymore but still somehow believed in out of sheer desperation. God, please don’t let him be drunk or angry tonight.

  She sighed and walked through the garage door into their spacious kitchen, and her breath was taken away.

  Candles were lit on the kitchen dinette where they usually ate together, and everywhere around the room as far as she could see. In the adjacent living room a fire glowed in the fireplace. There was a bouquet of fresh flowers on the kitchen island, and the room smelled of roasted chicken and apple pie, two of her favorites.

  Darren had his back to her at the oven, and upon hearing her enter he turned and smiled. “Welcome home, honey. I thought you might have had a hard day, so I figured I’d cook you dinner for a change.” He crossed the room, and put his arms around her. Chessa tried not to instinctively recoil and instead let him envelope her. She didn’t smell vodka or whiskey or beer. Just a faint smell of aftershave and peppermint.

  She wanted with all of her heart to believe this was for real. Just go with it, she told herself. Maybe God actually listened this time.

  After a delicious meal, during which the two of them stuck to pleasant small talk about the highlights of their day, Darren surprised her further. “I know you’ve been stressed with work and my campaign lately, so I was thinking—why don’t you invite your best friend Amy to come over next weekend for dinner or even overnight, however long she can stay. I’ll stay out of your way and give you some girl time.”

  Chessa’s mouth gaped open.

  “I know I’ve been a jerk lately and I’m sorry. I want to make it up to you. Get our marriage back on the right footing. Everything’s been all about me, and I want to make it more about you.”

  Amy came for dinner and an overnight stay the following weekend. She sported a new short haircut and had lost weight. With her makeup and navy pants suit, Chessa thought she looked fabulous.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Chessa said, grinning as she welcomed her best friend through the front door and took her suitcase. “You look fantastic.”

  “I figured I’d surprise you with my new look.” She whistled as she peered around the front foyer and adjoining living room and dining room. “Nice digs. So, is Darren home?”

  “No, he’s making an alumni appearance at Columbia.” Even though he remained in office as a US Senator, now that he had decided to run for president, Darren didn’t work as much in DC that summer as h
e had in the past, keeping busy garnering support for his campaign.

  “Hmmm, kind of takes you back, huh? So what came over him to suggest that I come for a visit? I thought he never liked me much.”

  “He seems to have changed a little lately. He’s been the perfect husband. I figured I wouldn’t question it.” Amy’s eye’s narrowed with doubt. “Anyway, he’ll be home for dinner, so let’s not waste time talking about him. Come on out to the sunroom. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  The hours passed quickly as the two old friends talked, laughed, looked at old photo albums, and reminisced.

  “You look tired,” Amy said as they sipped a cup of coffee after lunch.

  “Gee, thanks, Amy.”

  “I don’t mean to put you down. I’m just concerned about you.”

  “I guess I have a lot on my plate that’s stressing me out.”

  “So tell me about it.”

  Chessa had tried to forego telling Amy again how miserable she had become in her marriage, not wanting to get any looks of pity or hear “I told you so.” But the truly compassionate look in her friend’s eyes as they sat on the soft leather couch watching the summer sun descend among the trees, painting the sky in soft pinks and blues, drew her emotions out of her, and suddenly she was weeping. Chessa told Amy all about her husband’s drinking, her in-laws’ contempt and her conflicting emotions. “And yet he really does seem to be changing lately.”

  Amy just listened, nodding.

  The two women were still on the couch talking when Darren walked in the door carrying a bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers. He’d told Chessa he would fix dinner again, that she didn’t have to worry about a thing. Darren bent over and kissed his wife, then gave Amy a hug. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

  “Humble, my—”

  “Amy!” Chessa cut her off, but Darren laughed.

  “I know, but wait until you visit us in our next house.” Darren winked and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner.