Americans have a penchant for electing tall candidates, and Gus was a very short man. He stood barely five feet tall and, having been diagnosed as an infant with a rare form of dwarfism, achieved that height only because he had been treated with growth hormones throughout his childhood. He was not only exceptionally short, his head was overly large for his frame, his arms and legs too short.
Gus and Amanda had grown up knowing that he would someday administer both the Alliance and the oil company founded by their grandfather Buck Hartmann and that she would eventually take over their mother’s ministry and become the spiritual leader of the Alliance.
Gus left the limelight to his sister. If people had heard of him at all, it was as the brother of Amanda Tutt Hartmann. Only the most astute observers of the political scene realized that he had played a pivotal role in the current president’s rise to the White House and was perhaps one of the most powerful men in the country. Gus refused to be interviewed when contacted by the occasional perceptive reporter who realized that the reclusive chairman of both the vast Alliance of Christian Voters and Palo Duro Oil and Gas was more than what he seemed. Nevertheless, every few years an article about Gus would appear in one of the nation’s more astute publications. A photograph almost never accompanied such articles, for almost no photographs of him existed in the public domain. He never appeared at public events. Never appeared in public at all. Palo Duro and Alliance board meetings were generally held at Victory Hill or the ranch or via teleconferencing. Whenever he went to the White House, he entered through a back entrance used mainly by delivery people and servants. If he wanted to speak with the president from his home, all he had to do was punch a button on his phone. Gus spoke to the president almost daily to remind him of his priorities and that he had run for office as a devout Christian and damned well better do nothing to destroy that image.
His sister, however, was quite well-known and continuously sought after by reporters and photographers, and her face was often on the covers of magazines. Amanda was as elegant and well-spoken as their mother had been and had inherited their mother’s skill with the written word but carried a softer message to her flock. Amanda’s God was more loving and forgiving than her mother’s had been. Amanda’s book, Peace from Within, had been an international best seller. And, like her mother before her, she was a frequent guest on talk shows, and there would be standing room only at the rallies and revivals she held all over the country, during which she urged attendees not only to give their heart to Jesus but to register to vote and to use their vote to bring the United States of America back to God.
Gus realized that his sister had always assumed he shared her religious faith, and he never bothered to tell her otherwise. For him, religion was now and had been throughout history a way to control the masses. He placed his faith in power—in political power—and religion had become the defining force in American politics. Gus had masterminded the president’s election by bringing together the power and wealth of giant corporations and the religious right. Under Gus’s direction and Amanda’s ministry, the Alliance of Christian Voters had become a powerful political action group.
In spite of his disdain for all things religious, Gus loved and admired Amanda immensely. He had been relieved when her brief marriage to a professional football player ended, and she and her infant son came home to Victory Hill. The football player, who had a history of bar fights and an addiction to gambling, refused to give up parental rights and allow his son’s last name to be changed to Hartmann, but less than a year after the divorce, the man had been the victim of a drive-by shooting.
Amanda’s son had no memory of his father. Gus had been the father figure in Sonny’s life, a role he had cherished. Still, he had never completely realized how profoundly he loved his nephew until the accident. It was almost six months ago now since Sonny had been found pinned under an all-terrain vehicle at the bottom of a shallow canyon in the far northwest corner of the ranch. He had been taken by helicopter to Amarillo, but after more than a month in intensive care, Amanda had him moved back to the ranch, away from prying eyes, and taken up the mantle of a grieving mother. Her millions of followers assumed that Sonny was dead and grieved along with her, but the press had not given up so easily. With their telephoto lenses and audacity, they drove up the isolated road that led to Hartmann Ranch. They stayed until the frigid reality of a Panhandle winter drove them away.
Technically, Sonny Hartmann was still alive. He still moved and even mumbled at times. But the essence of the boy who had been Gus’s beloved Sonny lived no longer.
Gus now conducted his life under a staggering burden of grief.
His sister had prayed a thousand prayers to her God, asking that Sonny be restored to her. Gus even reconsidered altering his own religious beliefs for a time. Even though he had not prayed since childhood, when his grief became unbearable Gus had given it a try. On bended knee he made his bargains and promises, but they had been to no avail.
He looked into the face of the stone Christ and pondered trying once again.
Chapter Three
“YOUR TEN O’CLOCK appointment is here,” Lenora’s voice announced when Bentley picked up the phone.
“What do you think?” Bentley asked. “Does the young woman live up to your expectations?”
“My expectations aren’t what matters. Her file is on your desk.”
“Offer her coffee and give me a few minutes.”
Bentley headed for his private bathroom to take a leak, run a comb through his hair, and remove a speck from his right contact lens. With the lens back in place, he grinned at his face in the mirror, remembering last night. He thought he’d lost Brenda after Gus’s second phone call, but she’d hung in there. And turned into a tigress. A fuckin’ tigress. And he had risen to the occasion. God, had he ever. And he hadn’t even taken Viagra.
Bentley gave his crotch an affectionate pat.
Still wearing a self-satisfied smile, Bentley emerged from the bathroom and took a quick glance around his office—at the book-lined walls, the Persian rugs on dark wood floors, the carefully selected works of Native American art on the walls. He picked up a remote from his desk and adjusted the blinds on the wall of windows overlooking the river.
The room was designed to impress, of course. Lately though, Bentley had begun to wonder if the decor was a bit too contrived.
He used to take more satisfaction in the trappings of his success. After all, his first law office had been over a garage, and he and Brenda set up housekeeping in a one-bedroom apartment. Of course, that had all changed after Gus Hartmann anointed him. Now he drove a late-model Mercedes sedan and lived in a mansion in a fine old Austin neighborhood, but sometimes he found himself foolishly longing for those days of yore when he and Brenda were young and struggling. Sometimes he wondered how she would react if he closed his practice and went to work for legal aid, helping the down-and-out instead of the filthy rich. Or if he gave up law altogether, and they took up fishing and gardening and enjoying their grandchildren—if their kids ever got around to providing them with any. But with a million-dollar mortgage, three sons still in college, and a daughter married to a worthless bum, he was pretty much locked into the present arrangement.
Bentley put on his suit jacket, adjusted his cuffs, and sat on a corner of the desk while he looked over the fact sheet Lenora had prepared on Jamie Amelia Long.
Twenty years old.
Dropped out of college midway through second year to care for dying grandmother.
Outstanding ACT scores.
Ran track in high school.
Parents killed in a plane crash when she was six.
Raised by aforementioned grandmother.
One sibling—a half-sister sixteen years her senior from whom she is estranged.
Blond hair.
Blue eyes.
Five feet ten inches tall.
Weight 135 pounds.
Right-handed.
No serious illnesses.
/> No known genetic disorders in her family.
Doesn’t wear glasses.
Never been married or pregnant.
No current romantic involvement.
Sounds good, Bentley thought. He hoped she looked okay. One of Amanda Hartmann’s specifications was that the young woman be “winsome of face and body.” In addition, she was to be “extremely intelligent, in perfect health, athletically gifted, willowy, graceful, soft-spoken but articulate, virtuous, industrious, and loyal.” She also must belong to a church and believe in God, and must never have been married. And Amanda “strongly preferred” a young woman without family ties.
On paper, at least, Jamie Long seemed like a match.
He really would like to get this business settled. Of course, he would bill the Hartmanns for every hour he’d spent educating himself on the legal aspects of surrogate motherhood and the time he and Lenora spent looking for and screening the candidates, but he needed to move on. He had two important trials coming up—both concerning environment infractions by Palo Duro Oil and Gas.
Bentley put down Jamie Long’s file, straightened his tie, and opened the door that separated his office from Lenora’s domain. Lenora and the young woman were seated on the sofa, coffee cups on the table in front of them.
Bentley extended his hand. “Bentley Abernathy. Nice to meet you, Miss Long.”
She had a firm handshake and met his gaze. “Thank you for seeing me,” she said.
Bentley escorted Jamie Long into his office and seated her on the leather sofa. After establishing that she did not want another cup of coffee, he retrieved the file folder from his desk and sat across from her.
Jamie Long was pretty in an unassuming way. Good cheekbones. A full mouth that would be sexy on another face but somehow only made her look sweet and vulnerable. Her eyes were a deep shade that must have some more exotic name than simply “blue,” and her hair was a glistening pale blond that surely could not have come from a bottle. With a little makeup and a better haircut, the girl could be a knockout.
“I assume that you saw our ad in a student newspaper,” Bentley began.
“Yes, in The Daily Texan. But that was a couple of months ago. I was a bit surprised that you were still looking for someone.”
“What would you have done if we weren’t?”
“I’ve found similar ads on other college newspaper Web sites and met several interested parties in chat rooms. I knew from the phone number that you were in-state, so I decided to start with you.”
“And just what made you interested in becoming a surrogate mother?” he asked.
Her hands were folded in her lap. She was very young to be alone in the world, Bentley thought.
“Well, I thought it would be a satisfying way to help a couple who really wanted a baby and at the same time earn the money I need to finish my college education and pay my debts,” the girl said.
“I see,” Bentley said. “I want to make sure you completely understand what would be expected of you. Before being artificially inseminated, you would be required to sign a contract in which you agree to terminate all parental rights to the child and to abide by my clients’ terms. You would be paid handsomely for your services, which would end with the child’s birth. My clients have specified that you would not be allowed to see the baby, know its sex, or have any sort of relationship with it whatsoever. Have you really thought this through, Miss Long? Are you sure you will be able to give up a baby that you have carried for nine months?”
Jamie nodded, her expression solemn. “I hope to have babies of my own someday, but at this point in my life I don’t want the responsibility that comes with being a mother. Right now I just want to finish my education and not have to worry all the time about money.” She paused as though considering just how much more of an explanation was needed. “I grew up poor and have always had to make do,” she continued. “And while I realize that my upbringing prepared me better for life than kids who have everything given to them on a silver platter, once in a while I would like to be able to walk into a nice store and buy something just because it’s pretty.” Then she buried her hands in her lap and blushed. “I know that makes me sound frivolous, but really I am a very serious person. I have always studied hard and made good grades. I never skipped school and never got into trouble. My grandmother never had to remind me to do my chores. She raised me well.”
“I am sure she did,” Bentley said. He liked Jamie Long. So much so that he wasn’t sure he wanted to introduce her to Amanda Hartmann. Not that he disliked Amanda. His dealings with her had always been pleasant and civil, and she was revered by millions of followers. But Amanda was, after all, Gus Hartmann’s sister.
If he passed on Jamie Long, however, he would have to keep on interviewing candidates, and the process had gone on long enough. Amanda and her brother were growing impatient. And maybe Amanda’s new husband was, too. Anyway, Bentley needed to move on to other things.
“Should my clients select you as their surrogate, they will expect you to agree to some terms that are a bit unusual,” Bentley explained. “For starters, you would be required to live on their ranch and be under strict supervision throughout the entire process—from the moment you sign the contract until you deliver the baby.”
Jamie Long’s eyes widened. “But I want to go back to college,” she protested.
Bentley shrugged. “I’m afraid that would be impossible. My clients are intent on protecting their investment and doing everything possible to ensure a good outcome. They believe that close supervision is the only way they can be sure that the young woman carrying their child remains drug- and alcohol-free and that she doesn’t smoke or engage in any other risky behaviors. My clients own a ranch in the Texas Panhandle. The woman they engage as their surrogate will have her own apartment in the ranch house. All meals will be prepared for her. A nurse will look after her. She will not be allowed to swim unattended nor will she be allowed to ride a horse or drive a car. And she will not be allowed to leave the property unattended.”
“So basically, I would be incarcerated for nine months,” Jamie said, her tone incredulous, her eyebrows raised.
“I think that ‘a guest with limited privileges’ might be more accurate,” Bentley said. “And it might be for more than nine months. The insemination process can involve several menstrual cycles. But such restrictions are not unreasonable when you think about it. My clients want to do everything within their power to protect the surrogate and their unborn child. Should you and my clients come to an agreement, throughout the entire process you must think of the baby as their baby. The husband will donate his sperm and therefore be the child’s natural father, and the wife will become the baby’s adoptive mother. The contract you sign will stipulate that after the baby is born you are never to contact my clients or make any future demands on them. You will be provided transportation to the destination of your choice. If you experience any medical complication as a result of your pregnancy or the delivery, they will continue to provide for your medical care until the situation is resolved. As for financial compensation, if my clients select you as their surrogate, they will pay you ten thousand dollars up front. If you don’t become pregnant after three menstrual cycles, you will be paid an additional five thousand dollars and dismissed. If you are successfully inseminated but miscarry, you also will be given an additional five thousand dollars and dismissed. The contract also stipulates amounts of compensation for other circumstances, such as a stillborn child or a child that is aborted because prenatal testing reveals a defect in the fetus that is unacceptable to my clients. But if you are successfully inseminated and deliver a live baby, you will be paid an additional ninety thousand dollars, making your total compensation one hundred thousand dollars.”
“Oh, my God!” Jamie said. “That’s a lot more than I expected.”
“Yes, it is a great deal of money,” Bentley allowed. “But there is yet another incentive for you to consider. Privacy is a major issue wit
h my clients. If you deliver a viable infant, they will create a trust fund in your name. According to the terms of this trust, if you do not contact the child and never reveal your relationship to the child to another living soul, for the rest of your life you will receive an annual payment of twenty thousand dollars from the proceeds of the trust.”
A small gasp escaped from Jamie Long’s lovely mouth.
“I must warn you, Miss Long, that you should not enter into a contract with my clients unless you are absolutely certain that you will abide by its terms. Even though it is not unheard of for surrogate mothers to change their minds and decide to keep the baby, those who do find themselves in a very compromised legal situation. While the courts might very well recognize her as the child’s legal mother, the father also has legal rights to his child. And the woman could face lawsuits for breech of contract, be held responsible for her and the baby’s medical expenses, and might very well be expected to reimburse the couple for their legal fees and any other expenses they incurred.
“So, Miss Long,” Bentley continued, “you need to decide what putting your life on hold for up to a year is worth. If you agree to my clients’ terms, you will undergo a comprehensive medical workup. If you receive a clean bill of health, we will arrange an interview with my clients. Now, do you have a place to stay here in Austin?”
The Surrogate Page 3