Family Reunion

by Nicholas Sarazen

  Stephanie laughed. "I can't tell if you're teasing me or if you're serious."

  "Probably a little of both."

  "What is it you have against reporters?" she asked. "You know, you came down pretty hard on us the other day."

  Frank's expression turned serious. "A lot of reporters are like vultures, waiting around to strip you to the bones at the first opportunity. They usually don't even wait until the carcass is cold."

  "Maybe what you think is a vulture is really an eagle. Society needs journalists to keep an eye on everything, everywhere, from the Oval Office all the way down to your local dogcatcher. Without us, you would lose many of the freedoms we all take for granted."

  "They trained you well, didn't they?" He smiled at her. "Okay, maybe you are an eagle. Sorry if I ruffled your feathers."

  Over dinner Stephanie told him about growing up in Iowa.

  "Was it hard going to a school where your father's on the faculty?" he asked.

  "Harder than I thought it would be. Dad's pretty well-known on campus and I didn't want my identity to be only that of Professor Kenyon's daughter, so I went out of my way to be active in organizations. The hard part was taking one of his classes. Of course everyone assumed I got good grades because I was the prof's daughter. They didn't know I had to work twice as hard as they did for that very reason."

  "So your dad's pretty famous, huh?"

  "Yes, at least in his field. Three years ago he was president of the American Anthropological Society."

  Frank jutted his jaw and turned his head to give her a profile. "Think your dad would say I'm a throwback?"

  Stephanie laughed. "Absolutely. A perfect specimen of detectivus absurdus."

  "Hey, that's got a nice ring to it. I think I even like that better than gumshoe." He had a twinkle in his eyes. "It's definitely better than pig."

  As Frank walked Stephanie to her car she wondered if he had enjoyed the evening as much as she had. Her answer came when he encircled her waist with his arms and held her close.

  "Stephanie," he said softly, "I want to see you again."

  She looked into the eyes she was beginning to find irresistible. He possessed all the qualities she admired in a man and more, and she found herself not wanting to let him go. She touched her lips against his, gently at first, then more intensely.

  "Is tomorrow too soon?"

  Chapter 33

  Stephanie spent most of Friday looking for Weasel. She stopped at Severman House, but Colonel Willis told her that Weasel had not been back, nor had he called again. She drove up and down the streets nearby and checked the bus depot and the drugstore where they always met. She even tried Griffith Park on the chance she might see him there. She finally gave up and went home to get ready to go out that evening. She and Frank caught an early movie and then stopped by a new jazz club to hear a band named Flatfeet, made up of four West Hollywood cops Frank knew.

  On Saturday Stephanie and Frank drove to Ventura to see the touring half-size model of the Vietnam War Veterans Memorial. He especially wanted to go to look for the name of a friend.

  "From the time we were in grade school, Brent and I did everything together," Frank said to her as they approached the memorial. "You never saw one of us without the other. Our families went to the same church, we both bagged groceries at the same store. We even double dated a lot. In high school we both played football. He was the quarterback and I was his favorite receiver. He was a year ahead of me, but that never made a difference to either one of us."

  Stephanie stood there in awe at the sheer number of names. More than fifty-seven thousand. During the Vietnam conflict she was a child, still playing with dolls, oblivious to the problems of an adult world. The war had not claimed anyone close to her, so the pain had never been made personal. Until this moment. Each number was now a human being who had left behind mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, children, and friends.

  "How old was Brent when he died?" Stephanie asked in a quiet voice.

  "He had just turned nineteen. During my senior year we were playing Riverside, our biggest rival, and I had scored my third touchdown just as the first half ended. When we went into the locker room I got the news. I could barely go back out to finish the game."

  A volunteer helped them locate the section of the memorial they had come to see. Frank stepped closer, scanning the names arranged like bricks in a wall. Stephanie watched as he extended his arm. She stayed off to the side, allowing him space--physical and emotional--for at this moment, this section of the wall, this name, belonged to him and him alone. He pressed his fingers against the engraving. With his eyes closed, he moved his hand from left to right, tracing the dimensions of each letter as if his fingertips were sensors for his heart.

  Frank took his hand away and turned to Stephanie. Tears rimmed his eyes. She went to him.

  "I can't help it, Stephanie. I still miss him."

  Mike D'Angelo called Stephanie early Monday morning to let her know that he would be able to make it to The Family reunion on Friday. That meant twelve former Family members would be there, and four of them were bringing spouses. With Melrose no longer in control of Fiscal, it was much easier to make the final arrangements. All that was left to do was to take the food and drink to the party house on Friday and pick up the guests as they arrived at the airport.

  Early Wednesday morning Stephanie stopped by the Helping Hand Mission on Broadway. It was the third open shelter she had visited in as many days. The Helping Hand Mission was an old church that had been gutted and remodeled to house homeless people. She spotted a familiar figure sleeping in a cot near the door. She walked over and gently shook his shoulder. "Weasel, wake up."

  He rubbed his eyes. "Miss Stephanie! What're you doin' here?"

  "I was looking for you." Out of the corner of her eye she could see several residents watching them. "Weasel, we need to talk."

  He raised up from the cot and whispered, "Call me Rocky, okay?"

  For a second she was bewildered. "Can we go somewhere and talk...Rocky?"

  "Give me a couple minutes."

  Nearly half an hour later Weasel came out the front door. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a Guns N' Roses t-shirt Stephanie hadn't seen before. While he was inside he had shaved the stubble from his face. There were two small parallel cuts on his chin that began bleeding when he ran his finger over them.

  "What have you been doing, Weasel? Why haven't you let anyone know where you are?"

  "I was scared, Miss Stephanie. I know the cops have probably been after me for what I did. But I had to do it."

  "Are you talking about the body in the alley?"

  Weasel nodded. "I just knew that Xeno was closin' in, that he was gonna get me for tellin' you about the book. So I came up with this great plan. An old buddy of mine works as a janitor at County Hospital. He owes me some favors, so I asked him to let me know when somebody came in who was all busted up, and he did. I used the station wagon from Severman House and went down there Saturday night. My buddy let me in when the coast was clear, and I took that body. Since he was already dead I didn't think it would matter none. I don't know what had happened to him, but his face was so messed up you couldn't tell what he looked like. With my necklace there, I figured everyone would think it was me after they found the piece of paper and called you. When it came out in your newspaper that I was dead, Xeno would quit lookin' for me and I wouldn't have nothin' to worry about no more. Except it didn't work out that way. I guess they found out it wasn't me. I know it was a terrible thing to do, but it was all I could think of. I didn't hurt the guy none. He was already dead." Weasel looked directly at her. "You believe me, don't you Miss Stephanie?"

  "I believe you, Weasel. I don't understand your reasoning, but I believe you. But don't you think it's time you got back to Severman House? Colonel Willis is worried sick about you. I know I have been."

  "You have, Miss Stephanie? You've really been worryin' about me?"

  "Of course. Look, I have a
friend who's a police detective. He may be able to help. I think the best thing for you to do is to go with me and tell him everything...about Xeno, about why you took the body, everything."

  "I can't do that," Weasel objected. "I can't go around no cops. I never really trusted them all that much. I don't mean no offense to you, you being his friend and all. Heck, I'd trust you with my life. But I just don't want to talk to no cops."

  "So what are you going to do?" Stephanie glanced around at the neighborhood. "You can't stay here indefinitely."

  "I don't know. Maybe once I feel Xeno's not after me anymore I can go back to Severman House." He looked at Stephanie with arched eyebrows. "Are you still plannin' on havin' the reunion?"

  "Yes. It's on for Friday. And you know you're still welcome."

  "Naw, I can't come. But remember what I asked you? You can't talk about neither of us, me or Xeno. Promise?"

  "I promise, for the tenth time."

  Weasel seemed to relax after Stephanie reassured him she wouldn't mention either one of them. "Well, I best be getting back inside. I got stuff I got to do. They keep us pretty busy here."

  "All right, Weasel. Take care of yourself. And give me a call every once in awhile."

  "Okay, Miss Stephanie. I will."

  She had started toward her car when she stopped and turned around. "Weasel, wait a minute. What was that bit about calling you Rocky?"

  Weasel grinned. "I used to be a prizefighter when I was younger, Miss Stephanie. I almost won the title. Since I went by Rocky when I was in the ring, I told the guys here to call me Rocky."

  Stephanie had Frank over for dinner on Thursday evening, the last chance for her to see him before the reunion. He asked her to go windsurfing on Saturday, but she told him she had to work the entire weekend. After a candlelight dinner, they put some Bruce Hornsby on the stereo and retired to the couch.

  She cuddled against him, wanting as much of her body to touch his as she could without seeming too inviting. Each time they kissed, she pulled away at the moment she felt herself beginning to lose control. It wasn't that she didn't want him, it wasn't that she was teasing him. No, she knew where the evening was leading. The dinner she had prepared so carefully, the candlelight, the music, the small talk, and now the playful kisses on the couch--all were a part of what she hoped would be the moment when she would take him inside her and they would be forever linked in her mind, in her heart. But she wanted it to be right.

  The first time she ever made love was not an experience she cared to remember, but she could never forget it. It was during her first year at Columbia, with another grad student, and the young man was on top of her and dressed again within five minutes. She had been intimate with others in relationships that didn't work out, but no matter how forgettable a man was, no matter how much she later wanted to erase him from her memory, she would always remember the first time they made love. She wanted tonight to be special, to be something she wanted to remember. She had dated men who were physically attractive, and she had been out with men who were highly intelligent, or whose personalities she had really enjoyed. But Frank Satterfield was the first to have it all. And more.

  As they laughed and talked and kissed and caressed each other, Stephanie sensed that Frank, too, wanted to preserve the moment. His kisses were warm but not insistent, his hands searching but not intrusive.

  Stephanie nuzzled his ear, then gently nipped the lobe. "I like being with you," she whispered. "I haven't felt this way in a long time." Her mouth moved down the side of his neck and she felt a new rush course throughout her body. Her heart began to race faster and faster. She had a feeling of urgency come over her, but it was not the instant yearning of youth she had experienced so long ago in a college dorm. Rather, it was the urgency of desire fueled by an inner, higher realization that the person, the place, and the time were...perfect.

  Frank's mouth made its way to her lips. "Stephanie," he said between kisses, "I don't know if I can wait until Monday to see you again." Softly he stroked her cheek.

  "You'll have to." Her fingers began unbuttoning his shirt. "But how about a little something to hold you over till then?"

  Chapter 34

  Even though the reunion of Mother Earth's Family was less than ten hours away, Stephanie's thoughts were still on Frank Satterfield and the night before. She had finally fallen asleep in his arms well after midnight. At dawn they had made love one more wonderful time before she had to force herself to get up and get ready for work.

  She sat at her desk, going over her list to make sure she had not forgotten anything she would need for the weekend. She happened to glance up and notice a tall, good-looking young man with dark hair talking with Adrian Mathers inside the door to the City Desk. She saw Adrian point to her.

  The young man approached Stephanie's desk. There was something familiar about his face, his eyes, about the way he carried himself, but in the few seconds it took for him to reach her desk she couldn't recall where she had seen him. Or even if she had seen him before. She smiled at him when he stopped and look down at her.

  "Are you Stephanie Kenyon?" he asked without returning her smile.

  "Yes...can I help you with something?" For a reason she couldn't explain, she suddenly felt uncomfortable.

  "I would like to talk with you. My name is Drew. Richard William Drew."

  Again Stephanie looked at his eyes. Now she knew. She got up and wheeled an empty chair from another desk. "Uh...please sit down. Here."

  "Thank you," he said as he sat down. He stared at her without speaking, his eyes wandering her face. "Do you know who I am?" he finally asked.

  "Yes."

  "Then you probably know why I'm here."

  "No, I don't think I do." She searched his face for anger. Instead, she found only sadness.

  "I never knew my parents," he said in a detached voice. "It's rather funny, isn't it? Millions of people all over the world knew them, or at least thought they did, and I have no memory of them at all. All I have of them is what I see on film or read in the newspapers. In their movies it's all make believe, but at least they are alive to me. In fact, that's how I came to know them and love them. But it's different when someone writes about them...like you did. Then I have to read again about how they were slaughtered, or butchered, or whatever other graphic words you journalists like to use." His eyes did not move away from hers. "Anne Stratford and William Drew are nothing more to you than something to help you sell newspapers. But they were my parents."

  Stephanie wished he would shout at her, curse at her--even slap her--something that would permit her to feel defensive, because at the moment she had no defenses at all. "I'm sorry if I have offended you by something I wrote."

  "Offend?" His sad eyes told Stephanie the word was terribly inadequate. "I have lived with my parents' murders my entire life. Occasionally someone will write a line or two about how they died, or about Mother Earth and her Family. It's something I can't avoid, so I've learned to accept it. But you. You not only went into all the gory details about my parents' deaths, but day after day you've been praising people who were in The Family."

  The hurt Stephanie saw in his eyes was growing. "I can understand how the series could be difficult for you," she said, "but the people I've been writing about were not involved in the murder of your parents. They are just everyday people."

  "Then why did you choose to write about them? Why did you have to mention my parents if these people were in no way connected to their murders?" Richard William Drew stood up. "You know, I had never even heard of you until this week, and now I see your face on TV and hear your name mentioned all over town. You've used the tragedy of my parents' deaths for your own benefit." For the first time his voice betrayed some bitterness. "I hope you get out of this everything you wanted."

  Stephanie watched him walk away.

  "Hal," Stephanie said as he walked past her desk, "there's something I have to talk to you about. Right now."

  "I've got a lot
to do," he replied. "Is it about--"

  She nodded.

  "Okay, come on over."

  She followed him to his desk and sat close enough so they both could talk softly and still not be overheard.

  "I'm having second thoughts about the reunion, Hal. I think we should call it off."

  His expression was one of disbelief. "Are you nuts? We've got people flying in, all the food and drink ordered...everything's arranged. What's wrong with you?"

  "I had a visitor this morning. Richard William Drew...the son of Anne Stratford and William Drew."

  "Here? Why?"

  Stephanie ignored his question. "I just think we've gone far enough with this Family thing."

  "But this is what you wanted, Steph. You begged and badgered until I got approval for the reunion. We can't back out now. It's too late."

  Chapter 35

  Friday Night

  On the drive from the airport to the party house Marney Lentz tried to get Stephanie to tell her who else would be at the reunion, but Stephanie insisted on keeping it a surprise. Marney didn't act at all nervous, nor did her husband, Brad. He joked that he was glad to finally be getting the chance to meet Mother Earth.

  At the party house Stephanie introduced them to Hal. He fixed drinks and helped them settle in while she returned to the airport to pick up Paula Fitch.

  Stephanie found her excitement dampened by her visit from Richard William Drew, but she was determined not to let it show. And after all, Hal was right--it was too late.

  She arrived just in time to watch Paula taxi her Cessna to a stop on the tarmac outside the Bullock Aviation Hangar. Paula tied down the plane and went inside to check in and change clothes. When she came out of the hangar she was dressed in a low-cut carmine dress and white heels. Paula had looked attractive the day Stephanie interviewed her, even with the coveralls and grease on her face, but tonight she was absolutely stunning. She was excited about the weekend and, like Marney, tried to talk Stephanie into telling her who would be there. She didn't seem a bit apprehensive until they pulled up outside the party house.