A Lethal Legacy

by P. C. Zick

  Her question moved me because of the note of wistfulness and uncertainty I detected in her voice. She rarely allowed her vulnerability to show.

  "Are you kidding? You were the crowned princess of the Townsend family. Until you came back last Christmas, I don't think Claire's heart ever healed."

  "Tell me about that time. Pam would never, ever discuss anything about it except to tell me my father had died."

  After my divorce from Allison, I struggled with my novel trying to use all of the characters from my notebook as composites within the story of change centered in 1960s’ society. My main character, a troubled woman, came from my haunting images of Pam and her unnamed unhappiness.

  I went over to Claire and Philip's house one evening soon after Pam and Claire's return from New York. Aunt Claire answered the door with the baby in her arms.

  "Hi, Ed. Look at my beautiful granddaughter. Isn't she the most wonderfullest baby ever made?" Aunt Claire loved to make up those silly words, lisping as they escaped her lips.

  "Where's Pam?" I asked. I watched as Aunt Claire's brow formed a deep furrow.

  She pointed her head down the hallway toward Gary's old room. I rubbed my hand over Kristina's downy head, looking directly into her blue eyes, which seemed to reach inside of my heart and tug at its tough interior. Slowly the baby's hand reached for my face. I reluctantly left to find this beautiful baby's mother.

  I knocked cautiously and heard a muffled, "Come in." Pam sat in a rocking chair by the window dressed in a pink mini-dress. Her hair had been set and combed out and her make-up looked flawless. She was reading Cosmopolitan and looked up after a few seconds to see who had intruded into her quiet space.

  "Ed, I thought it would be one of the doting grandparents with earth-shattering news about the spittle of their new granddaughter," she said.

  "Hi, Pam. You look wonderful. Are you taking a break from everyone?"

  "Sure. Ed, I'm going nuts here. Why don't we go out somewhere for a drink? I haven't been out in ages. Claire and Philip don't seem to ever go out."

  " I don't know, Pam. What about Kristina?"

  "What about her? She's being taken care of. Please?" she pleaded in a little girl voice.

  "Let me check with Aunt Claire first." I wasn't sure about this whole situation.

  Claire looked at me for a long moment before answering. "I think it might do her good to get out. Go ahead, Ed."

  "What about Kristina?"

  "What about her? Pam doesn't pay much attention to her daughter. I take care of her most of the time."

  When Pam and I settled in the lounge at the Holiday Inn, I noticed that every time I mentioned the baby, she changed the subject. She also out drank me three to one on the vodka gimlets. I don't know how she put away those sickeningly sweet and sour drinks so quickly.

  "Pam, when do you plan on going back home?" I asked.

  "I guess Gary's coming here over Christmas, and we'll go back after that," she said.

  "It's been great to have Claire and Philip to help out, hasn't it?"

  "Yes, Claire's been wonderful, but I don't think she likes me much. But, Philip?" She snorted into her drink and curled her lips.

  "Philip isn't much with babies, I know, but he did allow Claire to come for two months to help," I said.

  "Now isn't he the greatest, though," she said.

  "What is it, Pam? What's wrong?" I really did like this troubled woman and wanted to help. If I could just understand the source of her unhappiness, I would be able to bring more textures to the main character of my novel. At times, I wondered if I cared more about the fictional characters in my stories than those sitting right in front of me agonizing over the mundane details of life.

  "Nothing, Ed. You wouldn't understand." Tears formed in her big blue eyes.

  "Try me."

  "Philip, he's not really . . .," she faltered and then seemed to regain her composure. "Forget it, Ed. It's nothing."

  I didn't believe her, but I couldn't imagine what Philip had to do with her marriage. Then suddenly Allison's warning about my Uncle Philip came to mind. What had she said about not leaving her alone in a room with him? I downed my drink and told Pam we’d better be getting back to the house. I didn't like the progress of my thoughts.

  On the way home, she asked if we could stop by the liquor store for some supplies. She came out of the store cradling two fifths of vodka in her arms.

  As we walked up the front sidewalk to the house, we could hear Kristina's cries, before we even opened the front door. I went immediately over to Aunt Claire and the baby to see what might be wrong. Pam pushed past me and went directly to her bedroom carrying the two bottles of Smirnoff's, ignoring the piercing screams of her daughter.

  "She's a little cranky tonight, but she'll settle down soon," Claire said.

  I reached out my arms to hold my little cousin, and Claire reluctantly turned the squalling baby over to me. I began humming a Bob Dylan tune as I walked around the living room with the baby on my shoulder. Soon the cries stopped, and I placed Kristina in the crook of my arm. She looked at me once again with her intense blue eyes. She began to coo and reached for my face with her tiny hands. I turned to kiss the inside of the soft palm and inhaled the sweet scent of babydom. I didn't understand how Pam could ignore this little creature who seemed to need very little.

  Philip came in from the kitchen. "Has she gone back to the bedroom?" We both nodded. "It's time I had a talk with that girl. She needs to start taking care of this baby and go back to Gary. She needs a reason, and I've got the best one in the world," he announced over his shoulder as he made his way down the hallway to see his daughter-in-law.

  I looked over at Claire, and she shrugged. I wondered if Philip was going to offer her cash to love her daughter.

  I decided I had seen and heard enough for one night. I knew that Gary's marriage was in trouble, and so was the baby who had a mother without a maternal bone in her body. I said good night to Claire leaving her bouncing Kristina on her knees. My last image that night of a smiling, gurgling baby cooing at a doting grandmother remained indelibly inked on my memory.

  Whatever Uncle Philip said to Pam that night worked. By the time Gary came home for the holidays, Pam seemed to be finally taking care of Kristina. But whenever she could, she eagerly turned the baby over to whoever happened into the room, usually Claire or my mother.

  I edited some of what I told Kristina now on the phone, but it was probably evident in what I didn't say that Pam was a disconnected mother right from the beginning.

  "At least someone loved me," Kristina said.

  "We all loved you. You stole my heart the first time I held you in my arms, Kristina. I've never forgotten that."

  "What about now?"

  "Now let's worry about you and what you are going to do with your life." I was anxious to steer the topic of conversation away from anything intimate. I had just shared with this young woman more about my life than I had ever shared with anyone else, except Gary. I needed to steer the conversation to lighter material.

  "So do you have an interest in anything?" I asked.

  "Nope, not me, Eddie, boy," she said.

  "Kristina, you know you're smart and attractive; you've got the whole world before you, don't blow it," I said.

  "No, I'd rather blow you," she said. "I've never forgotten that kiss."

  I hadn't forgotten it either or the sight of her naked as she stood in Gary's apartment. I ended the conversation shortly after that. It shocked me that she would reduce our conversation to a cheap sexual innuendo. I hung up the phone angry, frustrated, and incredibly aroused.

  "That's not yours," he screamed as she picked up the watch on the table and dropped it into her purse. She looked at him with wide eyes and snapped her purse shut before walking out the door, leaving the impression that she had every right to take what was not hers. And he was powerless to stop her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  During my infrequent contacts with Gary over
the next two years, Kristina's name never popped up much except when he became worried over something she had or hadn't done. During the summer of 1988, they came to Florida for a visit.

  Gary and I didn't have much time alone because of the relatives' demand on both Kristina and Gary's time. Gary looked gaunt and tired. When someone asked him about his health, he said little, if anything at all. Gary was the expert on avoiding the unpleasant. Because he still managed to do all the family things, I wrote it off to job stress or maybe even a problem with Rick who had become Gary's most serious partner so far.

  Kristina seemed worried, too, although we only talked about it one time. I tried to avoid being alone with her as much as possible. I didn't trust my emotions in her presence. Just looking at her sometimes aroused such feelings of passion that I could barely keep my hands at my sides. Those were the moments when I usually escaped back to my apartment in Gainesville. I felt much safer that way.

  "Do you think Gary looks all right?" she asked one afternoon as we sat on the porch at Claire and Philip's.

  "He seems tired. What do you think?

  "It's weird. He won't talk about it, but I know something is wrong. He coughs a lot, too. He does seem better here, but I think he's trying real hard in front of his parents."

  "That's Gary. He would never admit to even having a cold when we were kids. That's probably all it is, but when you two get back to New Orleans, make a big deal about his going to a doctor. He'll listen to you, Kristina."

  She promised she would watch over him and keep me posted, but

  when Gary didn't come home for the holidays in 1988, I became more worried. I called him on New Year's Day. He called to wish me a Merry Christmas.

  "Happy New Year, Gar," I said when he answered the phone.

  "Hey, Cuz," came the weak reply.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Just getting over the flu. It's a rough one this year, but I'll be all right. How're you doing?"

  "I had dinner with your folks tonight. Your dad is still trying to get me to move to Ocala. Now Aunt Susan's started putting on the pressure, too."

  "Well?"

  "I'm thinking about it. I'd like to be closer to Mom. You saw her when you were here. She's not doing so well, although I thought she'd be happier in Florida after my dad died. I'm not sure how much longer Susan can live alone with her in the apartment. I guess, temporarily, I'd move in with them. Besides I can write anywhere."

  "Who could ask for more? What are you working on now?"

  "I'm fooling around with a few ideas. I just sold an article to a local travel magazine, but I'm still waiting for the muse to move me on the next novel."

  "You'll find something, buddy. I know Mom and Dad would enjoy having you closer to them. Sometimes I think they'd rather have you as a son. At least you don't disappoint them all the time." He sounded dejected.

  "Gary, what's wrong?" I was very concerned now. He never felt sorry for himself.

  "Could you manage a visit anytime soon, Cuz? Maybe before you embark on your next bestseller? I could use a few good laughs."

  Now he really had me concerned. Gary never asked me for anything. He never wanted to appear weak even in his weakest moments.

  "Sure, Gar, I could get away next week, OK?" I imagined all the things I needed to accomplish before then, but they paled in comparison to the plea I heard on the other end of the line. "You better keep me out of the strip clubs. I need to come back here clean and sober," I said, keeping my tone light on purpose.

  "That'd be great, Ed. Listen, can you keep it to yourself that I asked you to come? Mom and Dad might think something was wrong."

  We hung up the phone after making final plans for my trip. I wondered if Kristina had done something that required Gary to beg me to come for a visit.

  I arrived in New Orleans on a foggy January evening just as the sun set over the Mississippi River. Now that I was accustomed to the New Orleans' climate and peculiarities, I quite enjoyed my arrivals. The weekend Kristina first arrived, the fog seemed to add a level of mystery and intrigue, which kept me on edge that whole Thanksgiving weekend. I realized that Kristina probably had more to do with my nervousness than the weather, but the density of the air that weekend indelibly marked my view of Kristina forever and left me sexually aroused whenever I thought of New Orleans or the fog. However, this winter cold and humidity cut through to the bone like a Michigan winter never had. And even though I learned to enjoy the weather of this area, I still felt wrapped in a cloud of confusion whenever I arrived, although I didn't find it unpleasant any longer.

  Rick answered my knock on the door of the apartment. Several months before, Rick moved in permanently with Gary. The two formed a comfortable and hopefully lasting relationship. Gary once remarked that in Rick he had finally found someone who accepted all of his complications and insecurities and didn't try to make him into someone else. If only I could be so lucky in love.

  "Ed, I'm glad you're here." Instead of opening the door wide for me to enter, Rick came out into the hallway shutting the door behind him.

  "We'll go inside in a minute. You haven't seen Gary since ...?" he asked.

  "August. Why?"

  "Things are different now." Rick looked me straight in the eyes.

  "What do you mean?" My knees begin to shake, and I felt my usual panicky reaction when confronted with the unpleasant. I wanted to run back down the stairs, get into my car, and drive back over that long bridge to 1-10. I suddenly knew that Kristina had nothing to do with Gary's request for me to come to New Orleans.

  "He's sick, Ed. Real sick," he said. The stern gaze of a moment ago melted and tears formed in his eyes. He put his hands over his face to compose himself. "He's ..."

  "What? For chrissakes, Rick ..." I wanted to reach over and grab the collar of Rick's shirt to make him tell me.

  "AIDs," he said so softly that I had to lean toward him to hear.

  "You mean he's HIV positive?" I had been reading about the disease as I researched an idea. I knew people sometimes confused the two. Unfortunately, Rick knew the difference.

  "Not anymore. He's got full-blown AIDs." He hung his head while I reached out for the wall to steady myself. We stood like that for a few minutes, neither of us moving.

  "I want to see him." I saw Rick hesitate. "Now," I practically shouted.

  He opened the front door and led me down the familiar hallway to Gary's bedroom. He was asleep with his back to me when I opened the door. I wasn't sure it was Gary. This form before me didn't resemble the one I was so accustomed to over the years.

  "Gary," I said softly, approaching the bed.

  The form moved and moaned softly as if every effort brought excruciating pain. When he turned toward me, I used every bit of strength not to cry out in horror. It was Gary, a thinner Gary, an unshaved Gary, but a Gary with open sores all over his once handsome face. His jaws, sunk into his teeth, no longer carried the stone-like authority I used to depend on for strength. The strength had seeped from him, leaving behind this weakened and frail creature lying on the bed.

  "It's a bitch, ain't it, Cuz," he said through his cracked lips. “Here, I finally begin living openly and honestly, and I get struck down. Great joke God played, huh?"

  "Come on, Gar, this is just a temporary setback. You've fought much worse things than a silly virus," I said to try to convince myself as much as Gary.

  "No, Ed, this time it's real. The demons I fought for so many years have finally become real. This is the end, and I'm tired. You've got to do one last thing for me, buddy." He paused to catch his breath and gain some strength.

  "Anything, Gary, you name it. You know I'll do anything for you." I fought to control tears threatening to break through my thinly veiled façade of bravado.

  "You've got to tell Mom and Dad. I want to see them before I die, and they need to be told before they arrive," he said, attempting to raise his head from the bed.

  "Gary, are you sure?" I knew he had given up hope if he wanted C
laire and Philip to know the truth.

  "Just tell them about the virus. They can ask me about the rest. I'm ready to put all the subterfuge to rest now. And one more thing, Cuz. Take care of Kristina for me. She admires you, and she needs a strong, positive influence in her life, and I don't think she's dealing with this very well."

  The first request would be easier to fulfill. I wanted to distance myself as far away from Kristina as possible. I wasn't sure I was the positive role model he might think I was, but I told him not to worry, anyway. I'd handle it all.

  When I walked out of his room, I found Kristina sitting alone in the living room looking out the window. She moved her head slightly when I entered the room.

  "How's he doing?" she asked.

  "He's sleeping. You may want to wait awhile before you go in. He wore himself out talking to me."

  "That's OK. I haven't been in to see him since he got so bad. I can't go in there, Ed." At this confession, Kristina's eyes filled with tears, and she hung her head losing a battle to fight the sobs that began to wrack her body.

  I went quickly to her side on the couch and put my arms around her, rocking her back and forth like a baby until the crying stopped. Finally, she leaned quietly against my chest. I pulled her thick dark hair back from her face and wiped away her tears.

  "There, there, it's OK, Kristina," I said.

  Kristina looked up at me with those trusting blue eyes and reached with her hand to touch the side of my face in a familiar caress. I smiled and turned my head slightly so I could kiss the palm of her hand very tenderly. I pulled her close to me, and we sat there together on the couch as darkness settled over the city of New Orleans, and Gary lay in the next room with the life ebbing from him.

  During the holidays of 1968 when Gary had come to take his family back to New York, we made plans for the summer of 1969. I decided to go and live in Greenwich Village for two months. I had postponed this visit for two years, and now I knew I needed the atmosphere of this area to complete my book about a woman unable to love during the late sixties, the decade of love. But other issues kept nagging at the back of my mind. I wanted to weave the story around the false attractions of outward appearances, too. I worried that maybe I had set up an impossible goal for my first novel.