On the Edge

by Parker Hudson

  She finally moved her eyes to meet his. “I received a call right after lunch from a woman who says that we've met, but she wouldn't tell me who she was. Her voice was vaguely familiar, and I've been sitting in my office for almost an hour, trying to figure out who she is. I think I finally did. It was that young, attractive real estate woman we met at the symphony several months ago, wasn't it, Richard?

  “I don't know.”

  “Yes, you do, you slime ball,” Janet's voice began to gain control again. “She, or someone, called up and told me that you had been…I can't even say it…with her at lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, instead of going to your health club.” Richard turned pale. “She said you love each other and that it would be better for all of us, especially the children,” Janet started to fight back tears, “if you and I split up and let the two of you get on with your life together. Richard—” And now tears streamed down her cheeks, and she did not even bother to wipe them with the wet tissue she clutched in her hand. “Richard, this woman has been in our bedroom. She knows where I keep my things in my own drawers. She said the two of you made love on our bed while I was in Vermont with our children. She said she went with you to Atlanta.” The tears fell from her face and puddled on her dress, as she held her head up, not moving, trying to rescue a trace of dignity from her utter humiliation. “Richard, how could you?”

  He hung his head, slowly got up, walked around the desk, and collapsed in his chair like a sack. She continued to look at him, not moving, only crying.

  “I…I…” he whispered. “I tried to break up with her many times. I knew it was wrong. But I didn't stop it. I would get mad at you for working so hard at the station, and she made me feel good. I was an idiot. The crazy thing is that all of this trouble with the kids finally made me realize how stupid I've been, and I decided to break up with her next week, after we meet with the counselor.”

  “I'll try to remember to have champagne for you that night to celebrate, like the two of you apparently did at lunch yesterday. Do you realize, Richard, that it's not just the sex and the humiliation of having another woman with my husband in my own bed? It's your mind and your soul she's taken from us as well. If something was good enough to celebrate, why didn't you celebrate with your family? What else of you have we missed because you've shared it with her and not with us? What's her name, Richard?”

  “Kristen. Kristen Holloway.”

  “That's right. And she is the one in real estate, right? The dark brown hair?”

  Richard nodded, still looking down.

  Just then his intercom interrupted them. It was Mary. “I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Sullivan, but it's Mr. Tsongas. He insisted that I interrupt you. He wouldn't hang up. He said to tell you that if you don't take his call now, the next calls he makes will be to the state ethics committee of the bar association and to the district attorney.”

  Richard spoke toward the intercom in a calm voice. “Please tell Mr. Tsongas that my wife is here with a problem, that we have a team working on his problem, and that I will call him back this afternoon, but I can't talk to him now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Trouble, Richard?” There was a note of pleasure in her voice.

  “Yes, but we'll handle it.”

  “You always do. Well, Richard, I'm sure that sometime I will want to hear all of the gruesome details about you two, like during our divorce proceedings.” Janet straightened her dress and wiped her face, further destroying her make-up. “But for now let's just say that I will be glad to grant you and Kristen your fondest wish. You can be free. Free! If that's who and what you want, then good riddance. I'll add an adulterous husband to the homosexual son and the slutty daughter I've already been handed this week. Isn't life great? I was so happy, just a few short weeks ago, in Vermont. I remember actually thinking that. Even with you, thinking that we were actually starting to make it work again. You seemed to be trying. I know I was.” Her voice gained strength and rose almost to a yell. “And all the time you were with that bimbo! So, goodbye, Richard. If I didn't have to go back to the station and be sure that ‘911 Live’ starts OK, I'd go home and pack your bag one last time. Please don't ever sleep in my house again.”

  She turned to walk to the door. He could think of nothing to say. “And I'll probably tell our lying children that they came by that trait naturally. No point in holding them to any promises this weekend is there, Richard? Have a great time with Kristen. I hope she knows how to mend your shirts.” And she left, slamming the door behind her.

  Richard sat in shock for ten minutes. Finally, Mary knocked at his door and came in. She became very worried when he just stared up at her, a vacant glaze in his eyes. “Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Shullo says they're waiting for you in the conference room.”

  “Yes…Fine…Please tell them I'll be right there,” he whispered, “but I have to go to the restroom first.”

  His heart was like a cold stone. But his stomach was churning. He could hardly make it, his knees were so weak, but he reached the restroom just in time to become violently ill. He found himself kneeling in front of the toilet, crying like a baby, and throwing up his guts. After ten minutes, the agony subsided a bit, and he washed his face and hands and rinsed out his mouth. He looked at himself in the mirror. He stared. He looked ten years older than at lunch that day.

  He cleaned himself up as best he could, stopped by his office for his pad, and entered the conference room. The others had obviously grown impatient waiting for him, but they were shocked nevertheless by his altered appearance. “Are you all right?” Bruce asked, as Richard retook his chair.

  He waved his hand and smiled. “Sure. Everything's fine. What did I miss?”

  Court went back over the strategy written on the large newsprint pad. Richard listened and took notes, but he had a hard time concentrating.

  Finally, when he realized that they were all looking at him, he nodded approval and said, “That sounds fine to me for the weekend. Let's implement it and meet again at, say, 10:00 on Monday morning. OK?” Everyone nodded. “Bruce, I'll stop by your house tonight or in the morning. Court, can I see you for a minute?”

  When there were only the two of them in the room, Richard gave Court a piece of paper with Marty Tsongas’ name and telephone number on it. “Court, please call Marty. He's the attorney for the Tomlinsons, who just invested almost one million dollars in Bruce's company this morning. He's not happy, as you can imagine. Please tell him that I'm in another meeting, and divulge to him as much or as little as your experience says is OK. Then tell him that I'll get back to him on Monday morning. OK?”

  “Sure, Richard. By the way, these guys have really gotten themselves into a mess,” said the younger attorney.

  “That's why they pay us so much to get them out. Work on it over the weekend, and I'll see you early Monday morning.”

  It had taken a supreme effort to appear normal and calm during the past hour. Once he had told Mary not to let anyone disturb him and sunk back in his own chair in his empty office, Richard's total hollowness returned. He swiveled and looked out at the late afternoon scene of the city. Everyone seemed to be hurrying somewhere on that Friday afternoon, but he had nowhere to go. He no longer had a home or a family. He had trouble breathing, and his shirt was still damp from his earlier perspiration. For a long time, he just stared.

  Nepravel had of course been there all afternoon, joining the two demons who were regularly posted at the law firm. Now the three of them were joined by Balzor himself, who floated into Richard's office through the plate-glass window. “How is it going?” he asked Nepravel.

  “Just as you planned, sire—even better, perhaps. Janet has told him never to live in her house again, and she may release the children to do whatever they want this weekend. He's just sitting here, staring out.”

  “We've got to make him mad—and soon. It's getting late. Nepravel, turn up the voice of Hate.”

  Richard had been daydreaming, really, his mind wandering among different p
arts of his problems. He imagined that he might just pull through the difficult business with Tsongas and Tomlinson. It would be close and would depend on how hard they pushed, how much money Tomlinson ultimately lost, and how loyal Bruce was. He might save his legal skin—or he might lose it.

  But as important as those problems had been before Janet arrived, they no longer occupied center stage in his mind. His family. He had lost his family. He would never spend the night with all four of them together again. He was still a biological father, but could he ever be a real father to Susan and Tommy again? Lost. All lost. Forever.

  And why? Kristen Holloway, he heard a voice within him say. That witch destroyed our family for her own selfish ends. How could I have been so blind to how selfish she is? She called Janet and told her everything, deliberately trying to hurt her. Poor Janet. No wonder she was upset! That stupid, selfish shrew!

  It never occurred to Richard that he was responsible for the destruction of his family, at least not in a loud enough voice for him to hear over the other voices. Balzor, Nepravel, and the others pushed the voices further, enraging him even more.

  The rest of the law offices were empty. It was after 6:00. Mary almost knocked, but decided that she had interrupted him enough for one day. So she left him a short note, wishing him a happy weekend, and left. Richard stood up and began pacing, becoming madder and madder at Kristen for sticking her nose into his family. What right did she have, after all, to do this to him? And to his kids?

  Janet drove back to the station, reminding herself repeatedly that she was a professional. Particularly if she was going to have to make her own living now, she had better do a good job. So she stopped at a restaurant and used the restroom to recreate her face. When she pulled into the station, she vowed that she would not let Richard affect her work, either that night or ever again.

  Everything went smoothly. At 6:00 the cameras and microphones on all of the vehicles and emergency personnel were turned on and tested. The link with Network in New York worked well, and the local director, Kevin Jones, was in his chair. Just before 6:30, the vehicles with the special equipment rolled, looking for stories. Janet knew that the same scene was occurring simultaneously in nine other cities across the country.

  Once everything was underway, Janet said goodnight to Bill Shaw and the large group gathered at the station to watch the first broadcast. She had explained to Bill her intentions to watch it at home, and he gave her a thumbs-up sign as she waved goodbye through the glass window of the control room.

  Kristen felt great after her phone call to Janet. A heavy burden had been lifted from her. As she put away her lunch plates and freshened up for her 3:00 showing that afternoon, it occurred to her that if all went according to her plan, Richard would probably be spending that night, and all his nights from now on, with her.

  Later, she hurried home from her appointment, arriving about 5:30. There was no message from Richard on her answering machine, but plenty of messages from her clients. So she started returning their calls.

  Richard continued to pace in his office, while Balzor and the demons turned up the pressure. My children deserve a better life than they're now going to have, and she robbed them of it. What if Janet remarries and the kids wind up liking him more? Blast it all! Kristen has really done it. She deserves a swift kick or a slap in the face!

  She probably thinks I'm going to come over there, fall down on my knees, and thank her. Well, hardly! In fact, I think I'll go over and slap her. Would that be simple enough? Just walk in, slap her, and tell her she's a slut. She needs to feel how I feel. She needs to feel ruined.

  Richard picked up his phone and dialed her number. “Hello,” she said. He hung up, having verified that she was in her apartment. He grabbed his coat and keys, not bothering with his briefcase. I'll probably spend the night here, he thought, and was even more depressed and upset.

  Kristen, who didn't like it when a phone caller hung up immediately, glanced up to see that her night chain was locked across the door. Then she called back another of her potential purchasers, wondering what had happened to Richard. It was almost 7:00.

  As Richard drove to her apartment, followed closely by Balzor and Nepravel, he became angrier and angrier. His career hung by a string. He was incredibly in debt. His children were running wild. When would he next see his kids, and what would he say, after criticizing their behavior the way he had? That woman!

  She'll be in there with the night chain on. How will I get in? Maybe she'll open it. The bolt cutter! Tom Bryant put it in the trunk weeks ago, and I've never moved it. It'll cut through a night chain in an instant. Good luck, he thought.

  Richard parked in a visitor space at Park Place and took the bolt cutter out of the trunk. As he walked through the front door with his key, he smiled at Bart and said, holding up the tool, “She locked a trunk and can't open it.” The doorman smiled and nodded knowingly.

  Janet pulled in at about 7:15. Susan and Tommy already had the television on, tuned to TV5, but they were elsewhere in the house, waiting for the appointed starting time.

  She put her things down and freshened up again in front of the mirror. She would not have time to tell the kids about Richard before the show, but maybe they could talk afterwards, or in the morning. It would not be easy, but it had not been an easy week, and it had to be done, since Richard would be moving out immediately.

  Kristen was sitting on her sofa in the middle of a conversation with Mr. Robert Bradley, to whom she had shown a house on Tuesday, when she heard the key turn in her front latch. “Hold on just a minute, Mr. Bradley,” Kristen said. “I'll be right back.” She lay the handset down on its side on the table next to the sofa and walked toward the door.

  “Richard, is that you?”

  “Take off the chain, Kristen.”

  Something odd about his voice gave her pause, and she looked out before removing the chain. She could not believe the transformation. The anger in his face, especially his eyes, was overpowering. She stepped back, shocked.

  “Take off the chain, Kristen. Right now!”

  “Richard, what's happened?” she whispered, her hand at her face.

  “What's happened!?” He brought the large bolt cutter up and sliced through the night chain in one stroke.

  He flung her door back, walked in, and slammed it. “What's happened!?” he yelled at her. All the time Kristen was backing up, shock on her face.

  “You know exactly what's happened, you slut! You called Janet and destroyed our marriage and the woman I love, in one five-minute call—that's what happened!” he yelled in her face. Then he slapped her with his free hand. She screamed. He grabbed her wrist and flung her on the sofa.

  Mr. Bradley, who had been listening on the open telephone line, heard the slamming, yelling, the slap, and finally the scream. He became very concerned for the safety of the attractive real estate agent who had been so patient with his wife on Tuesday, and reached over for his hand-held cellular telephone, which had been recharging on his desk. With it he dialed 911.

  The operator answered immediately, and Mr. Bradley quickly explained what was happening.

  “Do you have the address?” the operator asked.

  “No, but I have the telephone number.”

  “That's OK. Our computer can cross-check for the address instantly.” He gave Kristen's home telephone number to the operator.

  “I'll dispatch a police unit immediately. Did you say you can hear what's happening?”

  “Yes, she apparently put the phone down on the table right next to where he's now standing, and he's yelling so loudly I can hear most of his words.”

  “Would you mind putting your two handsets together, earpiece to microphone so that we can try to listen in and tape it?”

  Mr. Bradley complied, and using the amplification equipment at the 911 emergency center, the operator was able to hear Richard's voice in Kristen's apartment, as he berated her and told her what a slut she was.

  Janet, Tommy
, and Susan had gathered in their den to watch the beginning of “911 Live.” After a brief explanation about the show's groundbreaking concept and a quick look at the new equipment needed to link the cities together, promising more information later, the anchorman cut to a fire which was burning out of control in an apartment complex in suburban Chicago.

  “Hey, this is wild,” Tommy said. “You mean this is really happening right now, while we watch?”

  “Yes,” replied Janet, “as we watch. For good or for ill.”

  Wrapping her arms around herself and tucking her feet beneath her on the sofa, Susan said, “It sort of gives me the creeps, not knowing what may happen to someone next. Mom, where's Dad? I thought he wanted to see this.”

  Janet, remembering the most painful afternoon of her life, said, “I'll tell you when this is over. Let's just watch the show for now.”

  “I don't love you,” Richard spat at Kristen. He was still looming over her, the huge bolt cutter in his left hand, as she cowered on the sofa beneath him, sobbing and scared for her life.

  “I was going to leave you next week…even buy you something nice to make it all right.” He laughed derisively.

  “But you told me you loved me,” Kristen managed to cry.

  “Hey, you know what a client told me today? ‘Everyone lies.’ I guess I lied, Kristen. We used each other pretty well. Only you blew my life apart, and now you're going to have to pay,” he said, vaguely imagining that he would slap her a few more times.

  “I love you, Richard,” she whispered.

  “Tell that to my kids, the ones I'll never live with again!” he yelled.

  On the internal link between TV5 and New York, Kevin Jones alerted Mark, “Hey, we've got a possible burglary, or violent domestic, with live audio here.”