by Erich Segal
They acted embarrassed when Dad tried to tip them. All they really wanted was for us to join them for a beer(!)
Dad sort of promised that we might do it some other time. But as he whispered to me when they left, “They’re definitely unsuitable characters and we don’t want to set a precedent.”
Since to my knowledge there aren’t any other twelve-year-olds in the freshman class, that leaves the likelihood of my finding suitable friends pretty remote.
We unpacked—the books first, of course. Then Dad went out, bought a huge pizza, and we had the last meal before what he unreassuringly chose to call “the beginning of a whole new chapter” of my life.
I lay in bed a long time, tossing and turning.
Strangely enough, I wasn’t worried about doing the course work. But I was scared about confronting the people. And Dad had failed to mention the surprise that was in store for me the next morning.
Then finally I realized what was keeping me awake. And it had nothing to do with what was going to happen tomorrow.
I crept out of bed, went over to my canvas duffel bag and pulled out my best friend in the whole world.
And the moment I was back in bed with Teddy in my arms, I fell fast asleep.
10
ADAM
Adam and Toni’s solitude was highly populated, for the summer people who flock to the Cape are almost evenly divided between the Who’s Who of Boston and the Who’s What of Washington.
It was so atypical for both of them to steal even an afternoon off, that they had accumulated more weeks of vacation than they could possibly spend. But since, as Toni cheerfully put it, “when there isn’t anything like a Watergate, Washington goes to sleep in August,” she could close the door of her office with reasonable calm. Besides, she was amazed to discover that work did not seem to be the most important thing in her life at the moment.
They were both agreeably surprised how well each got along with the other’s home team.
“I look at it this way,” Adam mused lightheartedly. “The types I hang out with search for magic bullets, and the people you work with develop guided missiles.”
Still, they found plenty of time to be alone. Whether it was an early morning jog on the beach or a late evening clambake, they enjoyed being together. And the lovemaking got better and better.
Toni’s thirtieth birthday fell in August and her special request was curiously simple: lunch outdoors at the Sea Spray Spa & Resort in Chatham.
Adam was puzzled by her choice, until he saw the table she had booked. It was at the edge of the huge swimming pool.
She fixed him with her gaze and said affectionately, “Before we eat, I want my birthday present.”
Adam knew what was coming when she raised her eyes to the diving platform at the far end.
“Did you bring your bathing suit?” she demanded.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Matter of fact, I’m wearing it under my jeans.”
She smiled. “Good. Now show me a glimpse of the old Adam Coopersmith. The boy who could fly through the air.”
“Come on, Toni, it’s been so many years—”
“I’ll make allowances,” she said happily. “So please get out there and fall for me.”
Adam went to the locker rooms, changed quickly, and then, stopping once or twice to touch his toes and stretch, made his way nervously to the diving platform.
Climbing the steps, he took some comfort from the fact that it was only half the regulation height. As he stood poised at the summit, a sudden hush fell among the diners below, his grace and bearing hinting at what they could expect. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and executed a respectable swan dive.
Emerging from the water, he looked over at Toni and called, “Satisfied?”
“No way.” She was smiling. “I’ve got to see at least one somersault.”
“Do you want me to break my neck?” he complained.
“No,” she said, “I just want you to prove that the stories you told me aren’t apocryphal.”
He laughed, swam to the far corner of the pool, placed his hands on the edge and, with a single action, propelled himself onto his feet.
When at last he was atop the platform again, even the waiters had stopped to watch. Adrenaline raced through his body and made his heart pound. He advanced quickly, sprang as high as he could, tucked in his legs, spun around and entered the water.
This time the observers applauded.
Proud of himself, Adam looked at Toni for a sign of approval. She was clapping enthusiastically.
“More,” she called out like a teenager at a rock concert.
“No,” he retorted. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Okay,” she conceded, “let’s have lunch.”
As they drove back to their rented house that evening, Toni remarked, “You know, you’re a different person on a diving board. I mean, for those seconds when you’re literally flying in the air, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
When they had “settled in,” Lisl agreed to come and spend a few days with them in the guest cottage at the bottom of the garden.
The circumstances of the two women’s second meeting were vastly different. At Max’s funeral Toni had been a shy and sympathetic mourner. But now she clearly felt the enormous attachment between Adam and Lisl, and it awakened her instinctive feelings of rivalry.
Though she evinced a polite interest in Kleinian psychology, Toni was far from reticent about the importance of her own work in the Department of Justice.
She was unable to mask her feelings of power when describing a crisis in which she had to “send in the marshals” to safeguard the director of a Florida clinic who counseled pregnant women on their options.
This occasioned the only discordant exchange during the entire time she and Adam were together.
“I’m sorry you don’t like Lisl more,” he remarked as casually as possible when they were once again alone.
“What gave you that impression?”
“It was just a sense I got,” he replied. “I mean, of all your exploits, did you have to boast about protecting the rights to abortion in front of a woman who couldn’t have children?”
“Come on, Adam,” she retorted. “If I was ‘boasting,’ I’m sorry. But Lisl lives in the real world, where most women can—and do—have children. You can’t go through life as her psychic bodyguard.”
“Hey, don’t get me on my hobbyhorse about women having children. Let’s just be a little more sensitive, okay?”
Toni knew when to change the melody. “That’s what makes you such a man—you’re an extraordinary combination of testosterone and sensitivity.”
Her phraseology captivated him. And aroused his thoughts to other matters.
“Dr. Coopersmith, Dr. Coopersmith!”
A tanned, flaxen-haired woman in white shorts and a striped T-shirt, a cute four-year-old boy at her side, was waving frantically at Adam.
He turned and smiled. “Janice—it’s nice to see you again.”
The woman and her child hurried toward them. Before he could even introduce her to Toni, she pointed to the little boy and blurted, “Look, Dr. Coopersmith, this is your baby. Did you get the pictures?”
“Of course,” Adam replied, and then stooped to shake the child’s hand. “Hi there, young man. I’m the doctor who brought you into the world. You made a lot of people very happy.”
His mother was bubbling over and immediately addressed Toni, “Oh, Mrs. Coopersmith, you don’t know what a wonderful man your husband is …”
Toni was about to protest then saw that it would be too great a disappointment to reveal that she was not Adam’s wife.
“… he took on Jeff and me when everybody had given up on us,” Janice went on, “and as you can see from Larry, he gave us the greatest Christmas present of all time.”
“It was all your doing, Janice,” Adam said warmly. “I mean, I just rattled some test tubes. You were the one who had
the courage to try yet another pregnancy.”
“You’re too modest, Doctor,” she continued ardently. “I only wish Jeff were here, but his firm only gave him two weeks’ vacation. He insisted that we stay on. We would’ve loved to have gotten together with you one evening.”
“That would have been great,” Adam responded. “Give him my best wishes.” And then, addressing her son in a man-to-man tone, he said, “Take good care of your mother Larry. She’s very special.”
Moments later, as he and Toni were walking down the dock, Adam remarked, “Sorry about co-opting you as a wife.”
“That’s okay, Adam. I sort of enjoyed it. I only hope all your satisfied customers aren’t that overenthusiastic.”
The rest of the month raced by like an ever-accelerating cyclotron gathering its emotional energy by millions of electron volts.
On the final weekend they reached a crucial moment.
After an early morning walk on the beach, they found themselves placing their suitcases on opposite sides of the four-poster bed in the saltbox cottage that had sheltered such happiness for the past weeks. Without even pronouncing a word, they were having a passionate dialogue.
Then suddenly Adam murmured, half to himself, “I don’t want this to end.”
She gazed at him, the ache of imminent separation on her face, and echoed, “Me either.”
Another awkward pause, then Adam said, “It doesn’t have to, Toni.”
“We’ll only be an hour’s flight away,” she offered, knowing that this thought consoled neither of them.
“No,” he insisted, “that’s not good enough. We belong together.”
There it was: the heart of the matter.
Toni gazed at him and asked, “Do you think you could live in Washington? The research facilities at NIH are as good as Harvard’s.”
“How about you? There are some very distinguished law offices in Boston.”
“Adam, for me, Washington’s a very special place. I mean, the dynamics of political power are something I can’t put into words. My career’s just taken off—and not only in government. Starting January, I’ll be giving a weekly seminar in Con Law at Georgetown—which I find extremely flattering.”
“Come on, Toni,” he urged her gently. “There are plenty of good law schools up here—not least, the fairly famous one at Harvard.”
She lowered her head and, barely in a whisper, said, “Shit, I knew it would boil down to this, but I didn’t know how much it’d hurt. I mean, this is tearing me apart.”
He was at her side now, wrapping her in his arms.
“Please, Toni,” he implored, “I love you and I need you. Will you at least think about it?”
“What do you imagine I’ve obsessed about all month, Adam?”
“Hey look,” he continued, “let’s take our time.”
She lowered her head again. “I can’t.”
He was taken aback. “You mean you’d rather end it?”
Toni looked at him, her eyes shining. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I love you, I want to marry you. And if that means having to move to Boston—then I will.”
Adam was overwhelmed. First by joy and then, a moment later, by a pang of remorse at having forced her to make the sacrifice.
They kissed and made love with such spontaneous passion that Toni missed her direct flight to Washington. That meant they would now have to drive all the way to Logan Airport in Boston. There were advantages. It gave them two and a half more hours together.
Vesuvius erupted.
“No way, Coopersmith. Not unless Hell freezes over!” Thomas Hartnell bellowed, pounding his desk for emphasis. “You’re not dragging my daughter to that provincial mackerel-snapping, anemic excuse for a city.”
“Dad, calm down, for God’s sake.”
“Skipper, you get lost so I can deal with this alone.”
“No, dammit, it’s my future you’re discussing—or rather, tearing apart in a tug-of-war.”
Toni stood her ground as the two men in her life battled. It was so acrimonious that she feared it might even come to blows.
“Will you listen to reason, Mr. Hartnell?” Adam demanded.
“Nothing you say is of interest to me, Dr. Coopersmith. And before you bring it up, yes—I do owe you my life. But I don’t owe you my daughter—she’s even more precious.”
“I’m not taking her to Timbuktu, sir.”
“As far as I’m concerned, anything beyond the Beltway is unacceptable. I mean for Christ’s sake, Adam, I can pick up this phone and in ten seconds get you appointed to NIH at double your current salary. What’s so damn special about staying at Harvard?”
“It’s very difficult for me to explain,” Adam said quietly. “But I suppose I can give you the answer in two words—Max Rudolph.”
“But the man’s dead. You could move all his research down here—and his wife, for that matter—lock, stock, and barrel.”
Adam hesitated for a moment and then confessed, “I know this sounds crazy, but it wouldn’t be the same. When I walk into that lab, he’s still there. When I look through the glass walls of his office from the benches, I still see him at his desk. And when I ask him a question, he sometimes answers.”
Toni was dizzy with admiration at the courage Adam displayed in standing up to her father’s steamroller tactics. She had never heard anyone speak to the Boss like this.
“God, you’re some kind of nut,” Hartnell sneered.
Yet Adam, brave as he was, still could not bring himself to reveal his deepest motive: that he wanted to tear Toni away from her father’s smothering sphere of influence.
Finally she cut the Gordian knot. “Dad, as far as I’m concerned, if Adam’s in Boston, that’s where I want to be too.”
“But what about your goddamn career? Are you going to throw it all down the tubes for this white-coated creep?”
“Please try to see my side of it,” she resisted. “I’ve had a career, but I’ve never had a relationship with a really good man—and to me that’s more important.”
“Skipper, trust me on this. You’re an easy mark. You’ve been infatuated before—”
Adam objected. “This is not—”
Hartnell turned on him with ferocity. “I’ve had quite enough of your insolence, boy. Now I’m giving you exactly thirty seconds to about-face and march the hell out of my house.”
“No, Dad,” Toni overruled him. “We’d need at least an hour.”
“W-What?” her father stammered furiously.
She nodded and said softly, “I’d have to pack. Because if he goes, I go with him.”
Two months later Toni and Adam were married in St. John’s Lafayette Square, the so-called “Church of the Presidents,” directly across the park from the White House. The incumbent in the Oval Office was among the guests, no doubt a gesture of respect for the man who had done so much to help put him there.
And Thomas Hartnell managed to smile while giving away his only daughter.
At the reception, the Attorney General proposed the toast.
11
ADAM
Dr. and Mrs. Adam Coopersmith rented an apartment on the top floor of a Beacon Hill brownstone. Toni then dug in to cram for the Massachusetts bar exam.
Both were passionate about their careers, as well as each other. They would look back on this time as the happiest of their married life.
They worked till eleven, then joined the crowds of yuppies filling the many pubs and restaurants on Charles Street, transforming the whole area into a huge nightly block party.
When Toni began to hunt for jobs, there was no lack of Boston law firms eager to add a former Assistant Attorney General—for she had been promoted just before she gave notice—to their roster. Osterreicher and DeVane outbid them all in salary as well as prestige.
Meanwhile, Adam was making progress on the work for which Max had so magisterially paved the way. His new director had finally taken the time
to examine the official protocol for his study on idiopathic multiple miscarriages.
Cavanagh was no fool, especially when it came to sniffing out the value of a research project. And he now realized the enormous potential of Adam’s investigations.
Therefore, in a gesture of magnanimity, he restored two of the post-docs he had removed from the team.
He also made a point of reminding Adam of the revised publishing etiquette for all work emanating from what was now his lab.
“Max took a back seat,” he explained with a thin smile. “But I enjoy visibility. Since I’m chief, my name naturally precedes all others.”
It was a flagrantly unfair practice, but not uncommon. Forcing himself to be pragmatic, Adam resentfully acquiesced to what was an exploitative necessity. Yet he was just concluding the outline he had been working on with Max. Surely the Brit would never try to appropriate this as one of his publications? Unfortunately, the man’s ego was stronger than his conscience.
“Rules are rules, old chap, and we might as well start on the right foot. Naturally, you’ll have to put a dagger—or whatever that mark is called—before Max’s name to indicate that he’s passed on.”
Thus the paper went out to the International Journal of Fertility as being primarily the collaboration of an Englishman and a dead man he had never met. Did Cavanagh really think that the medical community would accept this authorship as either credible or respectful?
Keeping a low profile, Adam continued his explorations. Meanwhile, Toni executed what she lightheartedly referred to as a “double play.” In the same week, she received positive results from the Massachusetts bar and her beta sub unit pregnancy test.
Excited by the prospect of fatherhood, Adam worked even harder, as though inspired by a subliminal creative rivalry. In the months that followed, he repeated the final experiments in Max Rudolph’s half-filled lab book, using corticosteroids to suppress the embryotoxic reaction in pregnant white mice.
After much soul-searching—weighing the possible side effects of the steroids versus the good they might do—he reluctantly began to treat women whose tests revealed that they could not possibly have a child unless the killer toxins were somehow subdued.