by Joy Fielding
Despite his tan, Gary Schuster turned ghostly pale. “What the hell are you talking about?” He was on his feet. “Is this some sort of threat?”
Renee stared at him with resolute calm. Lynn felt the room spinning. She dug her fingers into the gentle curve of the table. “I never make idle threats, Mr. Schuster. In truth, I have absolutely no idea what plans Marc Cameron may or may not have with regard to his children, but I can assure you that Mrs. Schuster will fight you with everything in her power to hold on to hers, even if it means some unfortunate disclosures with regard to Suzette Cameron’s past indiscretions. I can’t believe that you are really serious in your intention to sue for custody, nor do I think you really want a lengthy court battle which would prove not only costly but futile. It will delay your eagerly sought-after divorce and ultimately put you no further ahead. No judge in his right mind would award you custody of your children given the evidence, and you know it. You’re a lawyer. I don’t have to tell you that judges deal in facts. You have only jealous suspicions, for which a judge is likely to tell you to mind your own business.” She paused, and Lynn understood it was as much for effect as to catch her breath. “Also, you should know that in the event that you do file this petition, I intend to counterfile. My client has been very generous up to this point in forgoing her right to alimony. Considering her husband’s vastly superior income, and his intention to fight her for half the house, she will no longer be in a position to be so generous, especially with an expensive court battle looming on the horizon.” Renee handed Gary’s attorney a copy of the counterpetition she had drafted. “Much as I love a good fight, I hope we’ll be able to settle this matter out of court, and as quickly as I’m sure we’d all like. Why don’t you take a while and look this over. We’ll be in my office if there are any further questions.”
“We hurt Gary,” Lynn said sadly after her husband and his lawyer had left the building. She was standing by Renee’s window, watching as Gary walked angrily across the center courtyard toward the street. “I think he saw himself as Suzette Cameron’s knight in shining armor. I don’t think he considered that there might have been others before him.” She paused, struggling for the correct way to phrase her next question. “Do you think it was right to use what Marc told me about Suzette’s other affairs the way we did?” Lynn thought it only proper to assume at least partial responsibility for her lawyer’s actions. She had told her to use whatever she could, do whatever was necessary.
“Isn’t that why Marc Cameron contacted you in the first place? To tell you some things he thought you should know? Well, it turns out he did just that.”
“I don’t think that when he told me those things about Suzette, he thought I would use them to hurt her.”
“Didn’t he?”
The question hung in the air like the scent of an unpleasant perfume.
“You were very impressive in there. Awesome,” Lynn said, and Renee laughed. “I mean it. I owe you.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get my bill.”
“You know what I mean. If there’s ever anything I can do …”
“How about lunch one day next week?”
“I’d like that.” Lynn looked back out the window at the now empty center courtyard. “What now?”
Renee smiled, holding up a copy of the signed agreement. “Well, I have to admit that even I was surprised that they signed so quickly. We kind of took the wind out of their sails, I guess. Anyway, we have our agreement; the children stay with their mother; the house is yours. We lost out on some of the fine print I was trying to nail down, but that was just the icing on the cake anyway. We’ll proceed with the divorce.” Her smile widened. “We have the agreement, Lynn. You’re free to do whatever you please.”
“And Marc Cameron?”
“That’s entirely up to you.”
TWENTY-TWO
As soon as Lynn left her office, Renee reached into her desk drawer for a chocolate bar and was dismayed to find the bag empty. She quickly checked two other drawers, feeling vaguely like an alcoholic in search of a bottle, but found nothing. “Damn.” Sitting back in her chair, she fought the urge to put her feet up on her desk. The desk top was a mess. Papers seemed to grow out of it as if they were weeds in a garden. There was no room to put her feet. “Hah,” she laughed out loud, “who am I kidding? I couldn’t get my feet all the way up there if I tried.” And if I did, she continued silently, I’d never be able to get them down again. They’d have to use a forklift to get me off. The image of her legs being pried from the top of her desk with a forklift dampened her spirits considerably. She’d been feeling happy, almost giddy, over her triumph. And it had been a triumph, she told herself, trying to pump herself up again. She had run roughshod over Gary Schuster and his lawyer. She had called his bluff and then some. She had won. “Did he have any balls when he walked out?” she heard Philip ask, accusingly. “Oh, I let him keep those,” she heard herself reply. Had she?
“Oh, Philip, why can’t you be proud of me,” she wailed, desperately wishing for something sweet to put in her mouth. “Awesome” was the word Lynn had used. She’d been “awesome.” “Vicious,” Philip corrected. Would she even tell him about her victory today? Would he consider it a triumph or a travesty? She thought of calling him, then decided against it. He’d be with a patient. Besides, he had better things to do than listen to her crow. “What say we go out and grab an ice-cream cone?” she suddenly heard him say, seeing him wrapped in a towel in the doorway of her sister’s room. She dismissed the image as quickly as she always did, along with the picture of her sister, pale and frightened, on the bed. “Cheer up,” she told herself. “You were great. You were ‘awesome.’”
Her sister’s large green eyes refused to fade into memory. Renee reached for the phone and dialed her home number. Philip was taking Debbie to a rock concert in West Palm Beach tonight. Maybe she’d be able to persuade Kathryn to join her for a night out, just the two of them. Something was obviously bothering Kathryn. She’d been doing so well and then, bingo, back to square one. Perhaps she felt guilty about starting to enjoy life again so soon after Arnie’s death. The gnawing feeling still persisted that Kathryn hadn’t told her everything about the night he died, that she was leaving something out. Maybe she could persuade Kathryn to tell her what it was.
Renee listened as the phone rang five, six, seven times. She was about to hang up after the eighth ring when her call was suddenly answered. “Kathryn?” Renee asked, the hello on the other end so breathless as to be indistinct.
“Debbie,” the voice informed her. “Can’t you recognize your loving stepdaughter by now?”
“You sound out of breath.”
“I was coming down the hall when I heard the phone. It was a race against time to see whether I could get in the apartment to answer it before you hung up. That’s what usually happens, you know. The person hangs up just when you finally get to the phone.”
“Good thing I’m the type who holds on.”
“Good for who?” Debbie asked, throwing down the challenge.
“Is my sister there?” Renee asked, refusing to pick it up, wondering where else Kathryn would be. She hadn’t left the apartment in weeks.
“I don’t know. I just got in, remember? Just a minute, I’ll check.” The phone banged roughly against the kitchen counter, reverberating in Renee’s ear, quickly followed by a second, even louder bang. Renee realized the phone had been carelessly tossed against the counter, where it had easily tumbled off, and was currently dangling upside down from its cord, swaying back and forth a mere few inches off the floor. “There’s nobody home but us abandoned stepchildren,” Debbie announced a few seconds later.
“Kathryn’s not there?”
“Not unless she’s hiding under her bed. Maybe she went out to get her ticket.”
“What ticket? What are you talking about?” For a minute, Renee thought Kathryn might have decided to accompany Debbie and Philip to the rock concert in West Palm.
“Her ticket to New York. I told her I was leaving Friday and she said she might as well fly back with me. Did you know that my mom’s treating me to a few days in the wicked city before school starts?”
Renee ignored the question. “Kathryn didn’t say anything to me about leaving.”
“Kathryn hasn’t said anything to you about a lot of things.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Renée. You’re supposed to be so smart. You figure it out.”
“I don’t have time for these games, Debbie.”
“No? Too bad. I like games. Anyway, she’s not here.”
“You’re sure she’s not out on the balcony?”
“Not unless she’s dangling over the side.”
Renee was about to hang up when the sound of Debbie’s voice froze her hand. “Sorry, did you say something?”
There was a nervous giggle on the other end of the line. “I said maybe she’s hiding under your bed.”
The line went dead. “Now what the hell was that all about?” Renee replaced the receiver and stared across her desk at where Lynn Schuster had been sitting earlier, thoughts of her “awesome” victory all but gone. What was Debbie talking about? And why this sudden decision on Kathryn’s part to return to New York? What was going on? She buzzed her secretary. “Marilyn, I’m going home now.”
“You have a meeting in ten minutes.”
“Cancel it.”
“Cancel it?”
“Cancel it.”
Renee walked through her apartment door and headed straight for the kitchen. “Kathryn?” she called out, opening the refrigerator and reaching for the plastic bag of miniature 3 Musketeers chocolate bars at the back.
“She’s not home yet,” Debbie told her, coming up behind her stepmother and startling her. “Having a little snack, are we?”
“I am.” Renee turned around and displayed two small chocolate bars in her open palm. “Want one?”
“No, thanks. Dad’s taking me to dinner before the concert, and I don’t want to ruin my appetite. He’s taking me to the Troubadour. You remember the Troubadour, don’t you, Renée? We went there for lunch.”
Renee shut the fridge door, saying nothing.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Renee, you sure know how to eat.”
Renee ate the first of the two bars, then started on the second.
“How can you eat that stuff? My mother always says that sugar rots your brain.”
Renee smiled, and finished the second bar, knowing Debbie was trying to get a rise out of her and getting perverse enjoyment from the fact that she was spoiling the young girl’s fun by not snapping up the bait.
“How come you’re home so early?” Debbie asked.
“I missed you.”
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” she said. “I’m the only fun you have around here.”
It was Renee’s turn to laugh. “I’ll try to cope.”
“How? By eating yourself into oblivion?”
Renee felt her cheeks grow red, as if someone had slapped them. She walked out of the kitchen into the living room and sat down on the white sofa, staring out toward the ocean. She pictured herself in a boat, drifting farther and farther away from shore.
“My dad says you didn’t always have a weight problem,” Debbie said, joining Renee, uninvited, in the living room. “That’s how he puts it, a ‘weight problem.’ He says you were actually quite slim when he met you. Of course, I don’t really remember that far back. I was just a kid.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Renee laughed out loud. “You were never a kid.” It was strange that people in so much pain could still laugh, she thought, wishing she had another chocolate bar. She debated getting up and getting one, before deciding against it. Why give Debbie more ammunition? Philip was taking her out to dinner soon—she’d be gone by the weekend, hooray! hooray!—and what was the point in getting into a shouting match at this late date? What is your objective, after all? she asked herself, deciding on a different approach. “So, have you enjoyed your summer?”
“Not bad.”
“You made some new friends.”
Debbie shrugged. “I guess. You remember Alicia Henderson, don’t you?”
Renee felt her body tense, her throat constrict. “Yes, of course.”
“She took me out to lunch one afternoon. Did you know that?”
“Yes, I think she mentioned it.”
“I wonder why she did that. It was really nice of her, don’t you think?”
Renee forced a smile in her stepdaughter’s direction. Debbie was standing beside the Clarence Maesele painting, which hung on the north wall. “Very nice.”
“Is this a conversation?” Debbie asked playfully. “Are we actually having a conversation?”
“Let’s try not to get too excited.”
Debbie walked to the window, Renee following her with her eyes. “No, we wouldn’t want to do that. Not with all those extra pounds you’re carrying around. It could put too much of a strain on your heart.”
Renee got quickly to her feet. Enough was enough. “That’s it for me.”
“Wait,” Debbie called out, and Renee felt her feet stop, though she knew she should keep walking. “I’m sorry,” Debbie mumbled. “It was just a joke. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive. Come on, Renée, sit down. Where’s your sense of humor?”
Renee smiled. Debbie apologized the same way her father did. They both said they were sorry while making sure you realized it was all your fault. She was too sensitive; she had no sense of humor. Renee sat back down. She couldn’t win. Where did she think she was going?
“My name is Renee, rhymes with beanie,” she said for what felt like the thousandth time. And perhaps it was.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” There was a touch of ingenuousness to Debbie’s voice that surprised Renee. Could there really be any doubt?
Renee wondered how to best answer the question. “No,” she said finally, opting for the truth.
“Why not?”
“Come on, Debbie,” Renee told her, throwing the girl’s earlier remarks on the telephone back at her. “You’re supposed to be so smart. You figure it out.”
Debbie shrugged, turning her profile to Renee, staring at the wide expanse of ocean. “So, Kathryn didn’t tell you she was planning to leave?”
“No, she didn’t.” What was the point in hedging?
“That’s strange, don’t you think? I mean, I thought you were supposed to be so close.”
“I guess it was something she decided on the spur of the moment. She’s probably concerned she’s overstayed her welcome, and when she found out you were leaving, I guess it seemed like the right time for her to go too.”
“Are you going to try to talk her out of it?”
“If I can.”
“Why?”
Renee was caught off guard by the question. “Why?”
“If she wants to go, why don’t you just let her go?”
“I don’t think Kathryn is really functioning all that well right now. I’m not sure she’s equipped to make any major decisions.”
“She seemed to be doing fine for a while.”
“Yes, I know, but …”
“What do you suppose happened that made her change?”
“I think she’s just tired,” Renee said, her tone indicating her desire not to continue with this topic. It was a question she had asked herself repeatedly over the last couple of weeks, and one she had no wish to discuss with Debbie. “I think I’m tired. I think I’ll lie down for a while.”
“Maybe my father should talk to her.”
“What?”
“I said that maybe my father should talk to her. I bet he could get her to change her mind. Persuade her to stay.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe not.”
Renee felt as if she were taking part in a conversation in which all the important pieces of information were being withh
eld. She was losing patience, losing control. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
“What would I be trying to tell you?”
“Beats the shit out of me,” Renee said, underlying the profanity and heading for her bedroom.
“You still haven’t told me why you don’t like me,” Debbie continued before Renee could get very far.
“Come on, Debbie, I don’t see the point of this.”
“I’m leaving in a couple of days. You may never see me again. Now’s your chance to set the record straight.”
Renee told herself to keep walking, to say nothing and simply make a dignified exit while she still could. Instead, she stopped at the entrance to the living room and turned slowly around. Stop now, her mind shouted. Don’t say anything. But it was already too late. “I’ve tried to like you, Debbie. I really have.”
“But …?”
“But you don’t give a person much of a chance.”
“How’s that?”
“I think you know.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Renee stared across the room at her husband’s daughter. Was this the girl’s peculiar way of trying to make amends? Was she attempting to wipe the slate clean so that they could begin again fresh next summer? Had Philip talked to her, warned her she’d better change her ways? Was the girl actually reaching out to her? Would this mess of a conversation actually conclude with a tearful, heartfelt embrace? “I’ve tried to get close to you, Debbie,” Renee began. “I’ve tried to be your friend. I know that I’m not around as often as I should be, but I’ve suggested that we set time aside to do things together. You always decline my invitations. You always make me feel that you don’t want very much to do with me.”
“Maybe that’s your own paranoia.”
“Maybe. Am I wrong?”
Debbie said nothing. She puffed her cheeks full of air and then released them with a thin, popping sound. “What else?”
“Well, since I’ve said this much, I might as well go all the way,” Renee continued, coming back into the room, approaching her stepdaughter.
“Might as well,” Debbie concurred.
“I think that …”