Now came the long silence that was to alter Jill’s life. Indeed, she had arrived at the crossroads of decision. She needed to be done with it all – to end the confusion – to silence the inner voices that continued to torment her – to escape the fear that always accompanied her. Paul waited for her as she sat with her eyes cast downward. She thought deeply, searching for the inner resolve that had previously eluded her. Then she looked directly at Paul. “I want to have an abortion,” she said.
“Then do it, and be decisive about it. Cross the bridge in advance. Let the deed be as good as done and determine right now that you’ll not punish yourself for it, that you won’t wilt or shrink from life because you feel guilty about what you’ve done. And if the deed is as good as done, then declare yourself to be as good as anyone else and do it in your mind right now. You don’t have to apologize to anyone for having done something that is for your best good.”
A sense of relief swept over Jill. She felt almost giddy as an enormous load lifted from her. She smiled at Paul and thanked him for his counsel.
“Do you know how to go about getting an abortion?”
Now a whole new set of concerns descended upon Jill. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said. “I’ll have to ask around I guess.”
“Remember that this is a private matter, Jill. It’s not something you want to discuss loosely with others.”
She nodded in agreement. “What would you suggest that I do?”
“Would you like me to give you the name of a good doctor who would be willing to help?”
“I’d really be grateful if you know someone.”
“I’ll call a doctor for you if that’s what you would like. That would provide an appropriate introduction for you. I’ll also give you his phone number and you can contact him when you wish to. Everything will go easily and quickly from that point.” Paul now leaned forward and slowly asked a final, searching question. “You are certain that you want to do this thing, Jill?”
“I am,” she said without hesitation.
“Good! And now let me reemphasize the point I made a moment ago. Even though the day is coming when abortions will be legal, we’ve not yet come to that point in this country. It would be unwise to speak with others regarding your plans. The greater the number of people who know about something like this, the greater the possibility for all kinds of complications.”
“Who would I talk to?” Jill said emphatically. “If I had wanted people to know about the baby, I wouldn’t have considered an abortion in the first place.”
Paul nodded with understanding. “There will be some expense involved, probably payable in cash on the day of the procedure. Will that be a problem for you?”
“It wouldn’t be if my father were paying the bill. Unfortunately he keeps close track of my personal finances. But Tony and I have talked about it. He said he would take care of things if I were to have an abortion. He has some money saved for school, and that should be enough, I think.”
“When you call to make the arrangements they will go over those details with you.” Paul took a notepad from his desk and scribbled a number, then handed the slip of paper to Jill. “This phone number will put you in touch with a private answering service. Give your name and the receptionist will understand what is involved. For purposes of protection you will not be given the doctor’s name. The procedure will be handled outside of his regular practice. The receptionist will ask you a few questions and set a tentative date for the procedure. You will be notified in a follow-up call as to the specific time and location. Don’t let any of this disturb you,” said Paul reassuringly. “These are just precautions the doctor has to take to protect himself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course. I also realize that there has to be protection against people like my father. He’s made a lot of money hauling doctors into court for malpractice suits.” Feeling a measure of freedom with Paul, following so many intimate disclosures she spoke of something she had not even told Tony. “My father is a hypocrite!” she said bitterly. “He wants to be known as everybody’s great protector against evil. That’s the reputation he’s built for himself, but he’s a hypocrite. He could care less about what’s right or wrong. His life is wrapped up with two things, money and personal importance.”
The counseling session with Jill was obviously not yet concluded. There were apparently other things she needed to say and Paul continued to listen.
“He’s got this thing going that’s always in the newspapers. He organized it a year or so ago. It’s a family thing. You’ve probably read about it. He calls it ‘Coalition for Stronger Families.’ He is great at giving speeches about families and parenthood, but it’s all phony. He takes my mother along for show and lets her speak, but neither one of them is able to talk about our family. We’re not really a family. There’s just no connection, no love. It’s just a name – the Faircloughs. There’s an image that goes with that name, and we’re all responsible to keep it from being tarnished. It’s supposed to be a privilege to have that name and the money that goes with it, but each of us is expected to pay for that privilege.
“When I was growing up, I knew I had to do things right—to get good grades, to keep out of trouble, to have the right kind of friends – because I was a Fairclough. It’s like a code of conduct or something that’s been drilled into you, and you don’t dare break out of the mold. But along the way you decide it’s worth it. You work at being a Fairclough because of all the benefits it brings. I discovered that if you wear the label and act the part, people do step aside for you. You get boosted up to the top of everything because people just assume that’s where you belong.
“As I said, my mother goes with my father when he invites her and plays the role to keep up family appearances. She plays the game perfectly, and she’s taught us all how to do it just like she does. But she and my father haven’t shared the same bedroom for years. I think she’s forgotten what it’s like to love or be loved. That’s the sacrifice she’s had to make to be a Fairclough. Oh, she’s a queen bee in her own world. She’s wealthy and influential. She’s busy with social clubs and political organizations. She’s on the ‘who’s who’ list, but she’s living an empty life. She knows nothing about being a wife in a real marriage or being a mother in a real family. I sometimes wonder what a shock it might be to her if she knew my father’s best kept secret.”
The apprehension and reticence so evident at the outset of Jill’s visit with Paul were now completely absent and she spoke freely. Her words came of compulsion, perhaps anger, as if she needed to release things that had been tightly stopped up within her.
“I moved into a sorority house at the beginning of the school year. It was a social thing. My folks thought it would be a good experience for me. I worked at being a Fairclough here on campus and did manage to make a lot of new friends. One morning I was sitting at the breakfast table in the sorority house with a girl from up the coast in Huntington Beach. We had struck up a friendship and were just visiting casually when I glanced at a copy of the morning newspaper. It was sitting right there on the table in front of us. There was a picture of my father on the front page. He had filed a malpractice suit against a medical clinic in Lemon Grove involving three San Diego physicians. The article mentioned several charges, including my dad’s favorite – they were accused of doing abortions on the side.
“I pointed to the picture and said something about it being my dad. I made kind of a joke out of it and said that he was getting ready to nail some more bad guys to the wall. I remember how my friend picked up the paper and studied his picture. Then she began to shake her head in disbelief.
“‘Is that really your dad?’ she said. She seemed dumbfounded. I was curious about her reaction, but at first she didn’t want to say anything. I could tell that something was really bothering her, and I kept at her until she stopped hedging with me. What she told me was the shock of my life. She said there was a woman who lived across the street from her home in
Huntington Beach, a single woman in her 20’s, very attractive and well-fixed financially. She said this woman stayed to herself pretty much, but that it was common knowledge among the neighbors that she was ‘kept’ by a friend with deep pockets. That friend was my father!
“That woman was young enough to be my sister! She has all the luxuries a full-fledged Fairclough is entitled to have, but she also has to keep the rules. For her there are probably only two: Be available when my father wants her, and never talk about it.” Jill sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, now you know the Fairclough secret;” she concluded. “Am I right when I say my father is a hypocrite?”
“Of course you’re right. Your father demands one thing of you but something altogether different of himself. It sounds as if he is one of those people who feel no obligation to others. In his mind they exist only to satisfy his personal needs.”
“That’s exactly right. It’s not just that he’s dishonest. That’s not the thing that bothers me the most. It’s what he does to people, especially those people he claims to love. He has put us all in a box and made it impossible to get out.
“In a way I feel sorry for that woman up in Huntington Beach. Yeah, he’s given her a palatial home in an upscale neighborhood; there’s probably hired help to keep the place immaculate. He’s given her an expensive car to drive and probably anything else her heart desires, but he’s put her in a box, too, and she can’t get out.
“That’s the way it is with my mother. He’s bought her and she’s not willing to part with all the things he gives her. I do give her credit for one thing, though. She does what he expects when she’s in the fishbowl where everybody can see, but in the private part of her life she has closed herself off from him. She knows he doesn’t really love her and she refuses to pretend to love him. Sometimes it feels like she is competing with him, throwing herself into civic things and charity work. That’s the one part of her life where she’s really independent.”
Paul had listened intently to Jill’s ramblings. He had cultivated great skill in putting people’s disjointed explanations together into a whole-cloth tapestry, understanding much more than was actually said. Now he spoke with penetrating directness to sensitive feelings within Jill. “You have brilliant insights into your life and the lives of your family. Most people hide from themselves and refuse to perceive the reality within their own lives. You’re half the way to real freedom, Jill. But being able to understand what is out of joint in your life is only part of the solution. Your real challenge will involve a decision to get out of ‘the box’ as you describe it. You see things too clearly to deceive yourself, and if you are too weak to ‘get out,’ your life will certainly become a torture chamber, providing no real personal fulfillment.”
Sobered and thoughtful, Jill nodded in agreement. Again she smiled at Paul. “Thank you, Dr. Kirkham; you’ve helped me immensely.”
As they stood, Paul posed a postscript question, almost as an afterthought. “I’m curious about one thing, Jill. How could your girlfriend have been so certain when she identified your father? Is there no possibility that she could have made a mistake?”
“Her name is Lillian. She was a curious teenager when my father’s mysterious mistress moved in across the street from her in Huntington Beach. There was lots of talk in the neighborhood as people began to figure out what was going on. My father never let himself be seen in the neighborhood, at least not in the daylight. But Lillian did catch glimpses of him coming and going. It was like a romance novel for her.
“On one occasion Lillian was with her parents for dinner at the local country club. It was one of those exclusive restaurants that are so important to my father. Lillian hadn’t been there long when her neighbor and my father took their places at an adjoining table. She watched him continually throughout the evening. My father’s face and features were so deeply imprinted into her memory that the photograph in the newspaper brought the whole experience back to her. I am absolutely convinced that she has the story right.”
“And you have convinced me, too,” said Paul.
The two of them shook hands and moved back into the hallway outside Paul’s office. Tony, who had been impatiently waiting for what seemed an interminable period of time, stood, obviously gratified at the smile on Jill’s face. He, likewise, shook Paul’s hand. Toni and Jill now set off to meet the enormous challenge that lay ahead of them. Despite this parting exchange of pleasantries and the optimistic, lighthearted spirit that Jill now radiated, her counseling session with Paul was a prelude to the darkest chapter of her young life. Paul’s flawed counsel had made something malignant appear benign. The consequences of his counsel, however sincerely given, and notwithstanding the spirit of faith with which it was received, would ultimately be devastating to both Jill and Paul.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was springtime in San Diego. The rainy season had passed and sunshine was once again the rule rather than the exception in Southern California. These balmy days encouraged new, luxuriant growth across the San Diego landscape. In Balboa Park, one of San Diego’s scenic jewels, the rhododendrons were in bloom and all along the Silver Strand Beach in south San Diego County surfboarders and sunbathers could be seen taking advantage of precious leisure time. Even though it was early in the season, the tourist traffic began to increase at Sea World and the renowned San Diego Zoo. Business became more brisk in the museums and shops of “Old Town,” and at Tijuana, just beyond the border, the never-ending stream of bargain hunters had picked up considerably as Mexican vendors and curio shops displayed their wares, hungry for American dollars.
Class attendance was down at San Diego State with a noticeable increase of students milling about the “quad” or sunning themselves in grassy areas. Some could be seen poring over textbooks while others were clustered about in animated discussions. Despite the fair weather, these were stormy days for many students who were preoccupied with issues and controversies outside prescribed textbooks. These were days of campus unrest and student activism – days when no idea was deemed too radical to be given a hearing. Established ways of thinking and acting were often mistrusted because they had not yet been subjected to critical analysis, the kind of analysis that exposed hypocrisy and called for a higher standard of altruism. During these stormy days, profit incentives were disdained and high fashion was scorned. Music with acrid lyrics proclaimed the need for a social revolution, and patriotism, together with other assorted glories, had fallen out of favor. War was considered to be barbaric, and honesty had been redefined as making one’s personal motives completely transparent.
These were days wherein a profligate lifestyle was highly touted by some for its rejection of passé norms and social expectations. A bent towards personal achievement was typically derided as evidence of inordinate pride, and freedom meant license for one to “do his thing.” It was a day when barriers and restraints were set aside, granting hedonism an unchallenged reign. And as barriers fell, life became an epicurean delight for many, with an abundance of new, previously forbidden experiences to sample and savor. Preeminent among these was love – free love – physical and sensual in its manifestation – untrammeled by restraint or obligation. Expressions of free love were often indiscriminate, requiring no justification other than the need for gratification.
It was during these days that a new form of courage became fashionable – the courage to bravely face the consequences of non-conformity and civil disobedience. For many, a draft card burning ceremony or an anti-war demonstration evidenced far greater social conscience than defending freedom on a distant battlefield, and some regarded the latter as supreme naivety. Some declared themselves willing to go to any extreme rather than to become an “expendable resource” in the hands of the warmongering establishment.
Not all students were imbued with the fire of cultural revolution. Indeed, it was a minority that actually donned the garb of the unwashed generation with its beads and long hair, but the battle cry of the few that
did was so shrill and bellicose as to become the dominant tenor of the times.
On this particular spring morning Claire Duncan was on her way across campus to a meeting with Leo Dykeman and Paul Kirkham. The purpose of this meeting was to review preparations for the personal development conference scheduled for mid-summer on Shelter Island. She was agitated about the meeting, anticipating an awkward working relationship with Dr. Kirkham. Claire represented the University’s Conference and Workshop Division and was immediately responsible for all physical arrangements for the conference. Prior to today her work on the coming event had involved only Leo, but as the need for detailed planning became more critical she would be dealing more and more with Dr. Kirkham, who was the real architect of the Shelter Island project.
It was publicity that occupied her thoughts this morning. She had viewed a number of the programs in Dr. Kirkham’s television series and regarded them as unusually well done. These programs that had become so popular with viewers during the past year would do much to attract participants, he being the central figure in the approaching conference. Nevertheless, she was alarmed at the negative publicity swirling about Dr. Kirkham, himself. Fortunately most of the fallout thus far had settled in the San Diego Tribune.
Typically fair in its treatment of University issues, the Tribune did maintain a very conservative editorial policy and seldom remained silent when it came to substantive issues. This conservative posture had been apparent in two strongly-worded editorials appearing in recent months. Among other things they had expressed alarm about the controversy fueled by liberal University personalities like Dr. Kirkham. This morning’s issue had gone considerably further with its criticism, giving lengthy reference to unfortunate events that had occurred during the previous day – events wherein Paul Kirkham had played a conspicuous role.
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