In the Land of Milk and Honey

by Nell E S Douglas

  Chapter 20 - The Fall upon Us

  I wandered the streets not wanting to go home. A wall had fallen and left me an ocean of rubble inside. My bubble, my world, had burst. As I walked, the city became ugly, caving in on me, car horns heralding collapse, as blank faces and sad masks stampeded past. Skyscrapers poked the sky, invading it. Behind the towers a dimming sun hid, with nowhere else to go.

  I understand, I thought. I’m a casualty of this place, too.

  By the time I arrived, everyone was there. Anxious hearing my key in the lock, but upon my entry the atmosphere changed to match my mood; drained. It was hard to be faced with consoling looks already. Tristan was napping; I finally left his room both unwilling and unable to draw it out anymore.

  “Daniel is taking Tristan.” What else could be said? August, who sat beside me, took the weight of the crushed custody papers from my hand and quietly replaced it with his own as he cleared his throat and began reading aloud. His steady hand maintained a presence in mine. I didn’t pull away.

  I’d had the wherewithal to collect the documents, along with the bag I’d flung on the floor upon entry—a humbling procedure given my exit. I called August and said we should organize a meeting then he raced to school for Tristan. I didn’t want to risk being usurped by Daniel, possession being nine-tenths of the law. That was my hope, anyway, as August neared the end of legalese. August added a layman’s term summary at the end. Everyone seemed to sink a little deeper in their seats, processing. Even Ian, though he occasionally muttered a curse.

  It got tenser when Jill rose from her seat and calmly, too calmly, made her way to the kitchen. The wake-like atmosphere held until we heard a crash; something breaking. We all flinched at the two sharp crashes that followed. Jill re-entered the room like a bull pacing the gate. Bravely, Vi spoke.

  “I don’t understand—what happened?” she said. “It’s been going so good, why is he trying to mess things up?” August gave her a pitying side glance. Vi seemed upset he started a fight but was in denial about what it meant. She picked at her cuticles, unsure.

  Jill flicked her hand. “He’s an asshole, that’s what happened.”

  “The claim said the reason was ‘an unfit environment,’” Violet went on. “It makes no sense. He can’t prove any of this.”

  I didn’t speak.

  “Can he?” Vi asked, disbelieving.

  “He believes so,” I said. “He did an investigation.”

  “So what?” Jill snapped but was overlooked by her brother.

  August turned to me, eagle-eyed and businesslike. “What’s the alternative?” Of course he knew there was one.

  “He said if I kept it out of court, he would give me shared custody…maybe joint,” I said, then came back down to Earth. “But it would be entirely under his terms.”

  “What are his terms?” August asked.

  “Tristan wouldn’t be able to interact with any of you. Not anyone except me.” I looked down.

  “Is he insane?” Jill shot.

  “We’ll kick his ass, Bree. He won’t win.” Vi said fervently.

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t tell if she was humoring me.

  “We’re serious, Bree! Whatever we need to do, whatever we need…” Vi broke down, and though no one had comfort to spare her and she wept alone, in that moment I envied her. She did everything freely—she felt so much.

  August broke the desperate silence. “We’ve got ample time to prepare. I’ve already contacted a few of the best attorneys. Now we just have to see who can take the case.”

  That got my attention. “What do you mean can?”

  I felt his hand in mine go a little clammy. “Once an attorney has been considered in a case like this, he can’t represent the opposing party. Daniel’s team has taken the precautionary measure of pre-interviewing a few attorneys on the case.”

  I asked but already knew. “He’s interviewed all the good ones. The best attorneys in the city, hasn’t he?”

  August considered his reply. “I’m still working it. I’ve found a few,” he said, “One in particular.”

  He’d found one. One top named attorney. I wondered how Daniel had been so sloppy. Ian cut in my revelry.

  “A preemptive strike. That’s the guy I knew,” Ian said, almost humored. His eyes connected with mine, and in one of those strange moments Ian saw straight to the heart of it. “There’s more,” he said, eyes narrowing. “What aren’t you tellin’ us, Bree?”

  “His investigation…was thorough. It included all of you. Us,” I explained. “He knows everything from your newspaper subscriptions to classes you flunked. There are details much dirtier than that, though.”

  “Like what?” Vi asked. I looked at her squarely.

  “Like your entire life on hidden video.” I didn’t bother looking around and I didn’t have to. “So this decision is all yours as much as mine. He offered me a deal to keep it out of court, but if I go it’s winner take all. I don’t know what my chances are. He’s prepared to take me down and take you all down with me.”

  “Let him try,” Jill hissed, which was met with nods of agreement.

  “We can fight the smears, but, there are truths there, too. Some you do not want out there.” I looked around, and if someone had something to say, they clearly didn’t want to say it then.

  “What’s your plan, little mama?” Ian asked. I looked around the room and saw beyond a shadow of doubt, and not for the first time, they were with me. Maybe then I probably could have cried, but pain gave way to resolve.

  I sucked in a long breathe. “I’m going to give him the fight of his life.”

  It was simple. I was down, not out—not for Tristan. And not for them.

  “We’re with you,” Ian said, with a solidarity that brooked no argument.

  Our sullen meeting disbanded, one by one, shortly thereafter. Everyone left but August. When we were alone, I confided in him.

  “August, it’s a matter of time until they discover I was sick. When they do, I’m done.” Even I could hear the anxiety bubbling at the surface.

  My anxiety was contrasted when he replied, “They can’t find that out, Gabrielle.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t get it, August. You weren’t there. He can find anything, get anything,” I pressed. Surely, he knew who was against us.

  “He can’t get those,” he said with shy mischief then grew serious. “Bree, the place they took you was a private hospital and—because no one was sure—you were treated as a victim of a crime. You were assigned a patient number instead of your name. Absolute discretion was used, and after you made the choice to keep Tristan, I had the records sealed. Completely. As a gift,” he finished, near bashful. He’d tried to erase it so I could have a fresh start with my child. Which one of us the gift was intended for, Tristan or I, I didn’t care.

  “But Daniel knew I was going to give him to you,” I said, remembering something. “He knew I didn’t want him, at first.” My words came out chapped.

  “I’m afraid that’s my fault, Bree. I scan legal documents onto my computer. I only keep digital records. I deleted the adoption agreement and your statement of consent long ago, but it would still be available on my hard drive.” He sighed, troubled. “My laptop is synced to my office computer, which technical support took from me last week. Updates, they said.”

  “You were hacked.” If I’d held doubt about August’s comprehension of the magnitude of our opponent, the nod he gave me then erased them all.

  I woke up the next morning doting over every detail of making Tristan’s breakfast and packing his lunch. He was seated comfortably in front of a plate of scrambled eggs big enough to feed an army when Violet showed up in her bathrobe.

  “What has he done?” Violet said, swollen eyed, standing at my door clutching the day’s paper.

  It was a small article. Just a fraction of a page. It shouldn’t have been anything, and wouldn’t have had not been on the inside of the first page of the largest circulated
paper in the country.

  BarclayBaird CEO, Daniel Baird, files frantic Custody Claim for illegitimate son.

  The first sentence of article contained ‘most eligible bachelor’ ‘suspicious’ and ‘liaison’. I felt ill. The article virtually emanated Vegas glitter for all its salaciousness. The worst line was this:

  The recently discovered child was fathered during a casual sexual encounter on the NYC streets with 25-year-old Sweetwater, Va. native, Gabrielle Valentine.

  I checked my messages on the way in to work that morning. Seventeen new voicemails. The internet had picked it up as well. Twenty-two people had forwarded the article in my inbox. The firestorm had begun.

  Two days later, we were in Harlem.

  “I think this is our man,” said August.

  “You sound confident,” I replied. He smiled and pressed the flat of his palm into an oak door, holding it open. We entered a waiting area, small even by NY standards, and approached what looked like a drive-thru window.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Harper,” August explained.

  The cocoa-skinned woman looked up through horn-rimmed frames. “Sign in,” she said, and flipped around a clipboard. Without pretense, he did.

  “Are we in the right place?” I whispered.

  A homeless man sat, sifting through a candy dish like a gold miner. August just smiled. “Justine, could you direct me to the gentleman’s room?” He was polite through the glass partition, waffled with security wire.

  She peered up. “Round the corner. At the check cashers. Unless you’re a plumber, too,” she sassed familiarly but not especially fondly. “And it’s Ms. Justine, Mr. Wall Street. All those manners, I know you recognize an elder when you see one.” Her lip puckered, but her eyes were friendlier now.

  August was amused. “Thank you, Miss Justine. Bree,” he addressed me. “I’ll be right back. We’re a little early, anyhow. Mr. Harper said three.”

  “Better leave that watch with me, Wall Street,” Justine suggested, hand shoved through the half-round speak-through. He unfastened the vintage roadster and placed it in the artistically manicured hand. She admired it appreciatively. “Didn’t know you had it in you, boy,” she quipped humorously, but her glance was intelligent. “Tell your to girlfriend have a seat. Mr. Harper’s running late.” She spoke her employers name like an insult.

  August exited and I took a seat in a chair beside the vanilla plug in. Distractedly, I shuffled through reading material, but after finding a Highlights from the past decade, I settled on a crime prevention pamphlet. Across from me, mere feet away, a soft snore came from the ragged older man, dozing upright with his hand buried in foil-wrapped treasure.

  He startled when a delivery man pushed through the door, arms piled with leaking brown take-out bags.

  “About time,” Justine snapped, rolling open a garage door style barrier, the smell of take-out strong.

  “Hold your horses, woman. I almost killed myself on the way up. Someone left wrappers all over the wet stoop—again.”

  The old man grinned, unencumbered by dental shortcomings. He rasped, “Hey now, Soulman.”

  “Benny, you are not eating until you clean up that mess,” Justine snapped, then complained, “Plumbing’s out. Place is falling apart. That never happened when old Mr. Harper was here.” The delivery man looked pestered. “Give it here, Sol,” she addressed him. “Did you get extra wasabi? You’re always forgetting the wasabi. Messing up my kung fu chicken,” He shoved two boxes through the hole, one at a time, then handed one to the homeless man, who tucked it football style and shuffled out with the waiting room tissues.

  “It’s Kung Pao—and it’s chili sauce, not wasabi. Not like you need any with that hot ol’ temper. Sitting here playing online poker all day.”

  “Mind your own work,” She harrumphed, slamming her gate down. He seemed like he’d wanted the last word but relented. As he turned away from her, he noticed me. I looked down at the pamphlet.

  “I know you,” he spoke in acknowledgement. “From the paper. Valentine, right?”

  My mouth froze in an awkward o before I could say yes. Knew me? They all thought they did since the news broke. Today’s paper pictured me and all my closest friends in an even less flattering light. The content revolved around the finance magnate’s illegitimate son with an ambitious girl from the sticks. The pièce de résistance being a quote from Morris Werp. He alleged firsthand knowledge I was a professional companion for Wall Streeters.

  The delivery man was lingering. “You’ve got some serious troubles,” he added conversationally, taking the seat beside me. I set aside stewing about Morris. The delivery man picked up the copyI’d been avoiding, flipping it to page six.

  “Many people do.” I shrugged, glancing away from the photo display of myself and my friends. He raised his eyebrows, surprised by my nonchalance.

  “Mr. Daniel Baird,” he read aloud then turned to me. “That’s a powerful man.”

  I looked down. “Yes.”

  He folded the paper on his lap. “I don’t believe everything I read. But, even a broken clock is right twice a day. What are you after?” he probed further.

  “My son,” I bristled, meeting his eyes. His eyes were sharp. Noninvasive, unlike his conversation skills, but astute. Maybe it was the job of every male to take up arms against females portrayed as scheming on their sperm and 401(k). If so, I wasn’t about to become victim of bro-coding.

  He eased back, finally. “Then you can’t lose,” he supplied.

  “I don’t plan on it.”

  He patted my knee. “You’ll get the help you need here.”

  August returned from the bathroom just then. He smiled warmly at me, then at the delivery man. “Something smells good in here! Hello, Solomon.”

  The delivery man stood and extended his right palm out to me, too confidently to refuse. He pulled me up and shook my hand. “Allow me introduce myself,” he explained. “I’m Solomon K. Harper. Your attorney.”

  Solomon K. Harper was full of surprises. August previously informed me that, at thirty, the man had plenty of courtroom time—and, so far, a perfect winning record. While in conversation, I’d noticed a collection of impressive accolades and degrees. After lingering on the framed half-page Times write up naming him brightest in his field last year, I had just one question.

  “Why aren’t you working for Daniel?”

  He didn’t mind my bluntness, regarding me with the coolness of a practiced litigator. “I didn’t like his answers.”

  “You’ve met?” I asked, puzzled how he escaped Daniel’s web.

  “I met him.” Justine, who, it turned out, was Sol’s mother, announced. “He came here, sucking up all the air in my waiting room. Fine looking man, though. Good looking man,” she tsked.

  “That’s enough commentary, woman,” Sol quelled lovingly.

  She peered up from her notes, clapping down her pen. “Just because your ornery Father called me ‘woman’ doesn’t mean you’ve got the right,” she said sternly, but I didn’t think she minded. He’d revealed this was his father’s practice before he died, and Sol had inherited the office and all its employees. His mother, a South Georgia native, had been the legal secretary for forty years.

  Sol turned back to us. “His team contacted me. The fiancée. Nice lady, very convincing. It’s rare, but he’s not the first to put half the city on retainer to black out opposition, so I said I needed to meet him in person. He came here, like you. But I like my winning streak. I only win when I’m right.”

  Looking at cappuccino skin and warm chocolate eyes, I got a really good feeling.

  “Did he meet a Chinese delivery boy?” I asked finally.

  “No,” he replied, entertained. “Pizza man.” Then he grew serious and got right to work.

  On the second floor of a converted two-story walk up, deep in ungentrified Harlem, we’d definitely found our man.

  Chapter 21 - Arks and Vices

  Full custody. Temporarily. Full cust
ody.

  There was no appearance and no hearing. It was an emergency order placed by the State of New York. Daily, the situation grew direr.

  August was in a tailspin at BarclayBaird. Watching him suffer, I wondered why he didn’t quit, but that was August. Jill was still angry. I gave her space. And Ian was giving everyone space. I’d seen a photo in the social pages of him at a Harvard mixer, the kind he used to dodge; a black and white image of him in a conservative suit sitting with a few local businessmen. A woman with short dark hair sat closely beside him. I called Jill that day. She never returned my call.

  Solomon said Daniel had already procured his own DNA tests without telling me, confirming what we knew. Not the swab kind as August and I had done. Which meant at one of Tristan’s innocent visits with Daniel he’d extracted his hair, or worse blood, and concealed it. I had invited in a monster. I told Claire as much on Wednesday before my third scheduled visit.

  I threw my smock in the laundry basket and came out to the showroom from my studio.

  “You have six messages,” she announced. “I stacked them here. A few weekly magazines and papers. One big one from Good Day New York.”

  “Bigger isn’t better in this situation.”

  “Yeah. Well maybe start with that one and work your way down. The one on the bottom is from Gary Chartreux from The Manly Man Show on cable.” I gave a sour look. “I know. I almost hung up on them. I can’t stand that guy.”

  “Thank you for putting up with this. You make a good firewall.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s kind of cool actually” Claire said spiritedly. “You’re famous.”

  “Notorious. Big difference,” I corrected her innocent remark. My infamy fell somewhere between the campaign aide busted sending sexy messages to a senator and the unnamed girl being humiliated by a rock star on a sex tape.

  She shrugged. “Still, kind of neat,” Claire replied.

  “Claire,” I said, looking at her pointedly. “I have visitation with Tristan right now. You remember him, I think? So while I’m getting my monitored visitation with the child I’ve raised, nursed, named, nurtured, and loved with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns who is now in the full guardianship of a father he’s known for less than a few months, you lock up the showroom and make sure nothing else gets stolen from me when I’m not looking. Capisce?”