“What do you know about her? Her family is suing Jack’s estate on behalf of her estate. Wrongful death. I am assuming she died of AIDS and her family knew it was from him.” Boom! Boom! Boom! Sandra’s heart beat wildly in her chest; the pounding was nauseating, frightening. Cindy Thomasini dead? Why? Oh, no. But so quickly? She thought of Marie, dead. And her own nebulous health. She’d go along, feeling fine and then suddenly, out of nowhere, lose ground. Like Pam did. But they’d all been with Jack much longer than Sandra had.
“How do you know her?” Pam asked, her voice clipped. Sandra could tell she was annoyed.
“She came to the office looking for Jack a few weeks after he died. She claimed not to know he was gone. She explained he stopped calling her and she was looking for information about what had happened to him,” Sandra said. “I told her he was dead, and she reacted the way you would expect, but she recovered quickly and started telling me about their ‘friendship.’ They were together for three years. He was seeing her while he was seeing me. Payback hurts.
“What grounds does she have for a lawsuit? He didn’t force her,” Sandra said, immediately sorry she said it out loud. Maybe he had.
“It’s the publicity I’m worried about,” Pam confessed. “If everyone he was with thinks they can sue me, I’ll be in court the rest of my life. Why didn’t you tell me she’d come to see Jack?”
“I couldn’t justify it. You’d just been sick. The health department call came the day she visited the office! It was such a coincidence. I wasn’t in the best of shape myself. No, I couldn’t lay that on you with everything else. Look, I’m no lawyer, but it all sounds like a bunch of bull to me,” Sandra said. “The family is pissed, so they’re going to threaten you. Call your friend Jeff, Pam. We need his lawyer’s perspective.”
“I did contact my attorney, and he didn’t seem too concerned. He doesn’t know the extent of Jack’s—” Pam was at a loss for words. His reach? “He’s our tax attorney, though; maybe I need to talk to someone else.” Pam felt the anxiety building in her chest. “I’d better get busy and make that call to Jeff, Sandra. Thank you for listening to me yammer on. We’ll stay in touch, OK? And don’t keep anything from me!”
“OK, I’m sorry,” Sandra replied. They said goodbye and hung up. Pam started pacing. She didn’t know where to start. She thought of Jeff. He’d push her in the right direction.
“You need a civil attorney,” Jeff said. “There’s someone in my firm you should talk to. Dan Chua. I’ll get in touch and fill him in, if that’s OK with you. He’s very discreet, by the way.”
“Well, God knows I need that,” Pam said, exasperation with her own gullible stupidity growing exponentially. Why the hell didn’t Sandra tell her about Cindy Thomasini? Who else was she hiding? Out of nowhere, Pam began to think about Marie. She had emptiness in her chest that was almost painful. She wished she’d confronted Marie about her relationship with Jack, pressed for more details. She’d died with so many secrets.
Leaning up against the window sill, Pam looked out over the beach and the water. The view continued to have the same effect on her as it always did, and the negative thoughts and anxiety slowly went away. She jumped up when the shrill bell of the phone rang. Laughing, she went to answer and saw “Law Offices” on the caller ID. She answered with a soft “Hello.”
“Mrs. Smith, this is Dan Chua. Jeff Babcock suggested I call you. Is this a good time?” Pam couldn’t help herself; she had a little chill go through her body at the sound of this man’s voice. It was deep and soft. Contradictory. Here we go….
“It’s a perfect time. Boy, that was fast. I just hung up from Jeff!” Pam exclaimed.
“He doesn’t fool around,” Dan said with a chuckle. “Seriously, he said it was urgent and briefly explained what you have going on. Can you meet with me today?” Pam thought quickly; she had a hair appointment before dinner. She glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror; she could go another day.
“Yes, today is fine,” she said. They made an appointment for Pam to meet him at his office in a neighboring town inland as soon as she could get there, and said goodbye. She remembered to call her tax attorney and leave a message that she wouldn’t be putting the letter in her mailbox. She’d explain the reason later. The temperature got warmer the farther she drove from the beach through rush-hour traffic to Dan Chua’s office. She immediately liked the office; it was not a showpiece with expensive furnishings and custom carpeting like Jack’s lawyer had. She was surprised that Dan Chua was waiting for her.
“The receptionist leaves at four to pick her kids up from school,” he explained. She smiled at him, speechless. He was gorgeous. Tall but not gigantic, Dan Chua was young, probably in his forties, and a body builder. She’d gone to the gym long enough to recognize one. He looked nice in a suit, too. Most body builders look ridiculous in suits, she thought. She may have recognized him from the gym. They looked at each other, questioning.
“Do we go to the same gym?” he asked.
Pam laughed out loud. “We might! I was just thinking the same thing. It’s the suit that is throwing me off,” she said.
He shook his head in agreement and embarrassment. “I know, I know, the suit. It’s a dichotomy. I look like a ditch digger trying to pass as an attorney,” he remarked good-naturedly.
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean that at all,” Pam said, mortified. The last thing she meant to do was offend the guy. But he was laughing. She decided to shut up before she put her foot in her mouth again. Her palms were sweating. She wiped them on her skirt in case he wanted to shake hands, but he guided her back to his office without touching her. There would be no physical contact. She was shaking internally and knew that speech, when it came, would not be easy. She could feel the vibration in her throat. She was attracted to this guy! He was at least ten years younger than she was. And now she had to tell him the awful story of her disgusting marriage, AIDS, dead mistresses. It made her ill.
“Look, I’d better tell you right off the bat that what I have to say is not pretty, and I’m just sick having to repeat it to you. It’s difficult to have to think of it, let alone tell a stranger,” she confessed.
“Mrs. Smith, I’m not going to judge you. I did a little research since Jeff’s call. Cindy Thomasini committed suicide,” he said.
“Oh, God. How awful for them. No wonder they’re mad at Jack,” she said, her voice quivering.
“Her family is devastated, but they are also livid. They don’t have a case, but their attorney might think making it public will give it enough notoriety to make it viable. I’m not sure what his purpose is,” Dan said. Pam thought of Jack’s Manhattan lawyers writing up a letter to his father claiming abuse when Jack was a child. It wouldn’t have a chance in hell of going to court, but the horror of the possibility led to the man having a heart attack and dying. Threats could be powerful. She didn’t share this with Dan, however.
“I would be honored to represent you if anything comes of it. Or if you get communication from any other parties, give it to me. In the meantime, I will attempt to ward off public disclosure. There are a few steps I can take that might ensure privacy—namely, that if they go public, they ruin their chances of a settlement. Only about five percent of all civil cases go to court, Mrs. Smith. Not very good odds for the Thomasini family.” Pam was uncomfortable with the notion of settling, but where would it end? She decided not to bring it up yet. She was grateful that he didn’t ask any questions about Jack. He concluded the conversation by telling Pam that he’d work with her to solve the problems Jack may have caused. She appreciated him not trivializing what could potentially happen. They stood up simultaneously and walked out to the reception area together. Pam turned to Dan Chua and offered her hand. He took it and simply gripped it in his. She felt electricity coming from him and then silently admonished herself, He’s too young for me. As she was leaving the office, she noticed that the pieces of art that hung on the walls were not ordinary law-office posters. One in par
ticular caught her eye: an oil of a coastal area, wild and beautiful.
“Oh! That’s lovely,” she said, walking closer to look at the signature. She couldn’t make out the first name, but the last was Chua. “Did you paint this?” she asked, surprised.
“No, my grandfather did it. It’s Babylon,” he explained. “About one hundred years ago.”
“Well, it’s quite wonderful,” she said. “You’re from this area originally, then? Boy, that’s rare.”
Dan Chua laughed. “Yes, actually. Originally,” he said, smiling down at Pam. She was trying to talk without stammering.
“Are you Native American?” She felt silly asking him. He looked like an Indian, but was it even proper to say the words? She remembered feeling this way with Jack; unnerved and gauche, but Dan Chua immediately put her at ease.
“Yes, you’re very observant. Most people think I’m Mexican or from Puerto Rico.” He laughed heartily. “My father hates it. But we’re brown-skinned, so it’s to be expected. My family still farms here on the island.”
“Your last name—” she began, and he picked it up.
“Hopi, for snake. A Hopi traveled here from Arizona and married my paternal great-grandmother,” he explained, telling her the story with a cadence to his voice. “Don’t you feel like we’re sitting around a campfire, outside of the teepee?” He was stooping for her benefit so she wouldn’t have to look up at his face. He started laughing again, and she smiled at him as they walked out.
“Snake. A good name for a lawyer!” Pam said. She was standing next to her car, not noticing how they got there; she was so intrigued with Dan Chua. But they were in the sunlight, and she was suddenly self-conscious. Wrinkles and man-hairs could show up in the glare of the sun. She quickly unlocked her car door and got in, making a mental reminder to have her chin waxed when she got her hair done. He stuck his hand through the car window to shake hers, again.
“A snake to the plaintiff. A lamb to my clients,” he said. He was looking at her too closely, she thought. She waved and put the car into reverse, careful not to crash into anything. She hated it that a man could make her feel so unsettled. But was it even him? She’d just heard that a young woman Jack had been sleeping with, someone he’d given AIDS to most likely, had taken her own life. Her family was so devastated that they were willing to make the fact public to prove some point.
Driving back toward the beach, the temperature dropped at least ten degrees, and she felt better as she cooled off. She began to think of Dan Chua again. Was she really attracted to him? She was getting too old to act like a teenager. Dave popped into her head. They had a nice friendship as far as she was concerned— just a friendship. But she was certain he’d be very annoyed if she dated anyone else. Dated? Why was she thinking of dating? Becoming increasingly annoyed at herself, she decided to get home, change her clothes, and go right to the gym. A vigorous workout would surely banish any thoughts of the gorgeous Dan Chua.
She ran into the house and saw the message light on her phone but chose to ignore it. She changed into Spandex and a T-shirt. She’d lift weights for a while and then run on the treadmill. She worked up a good sweat, her ponytail wet with perspiration, and as she bent over to pick up a bar with enough weight on it to cause her to grunt, she noticed a pair of sneakers belonging to Dan Chua standing in front of her.
Chapter 11
Sandra Benson slipped into her new life with ease. In January, she’d given up her Upper West Side apartment and hadn’t looked back—yet.
“I love Williamsburg,” she confessed to her sister, Sylvia during a visit on Saturday. “It’s completely different than Manhattan. I wonder why I was so worried about leaving.”
“Probably for the same reason I was afraid to move to New Jersey. We were raised in the city. You shopped in the city because it was unfaithful to give your food money to a Jersey shopkeeper,” Sylvia said. “Mother was afraid to leave because she might miss something. Daddy used to get her to come with him if he had court across the river. After nine-eleven, she refused: ‘I might miss something if I leave. I’d never forgive myself.’”
“Poor Mom. I miss her every day. I’d have thought that by now I’d be over it,” Sandra replied.
“Oh, no, that’s a lie they tell you. It might get easier, and less painful, but you never forget. I think of Daddy every morning when I have my coffee. Remember how he’d get up and cook eggs for us every single day? He didn’t worry about cholesterol. I used to get so angry at him because he insisted on frying onions to put in scrambled eggs, and I’d have to wrap a towel around my hair to keep the smell from permeating it,” Sylvia said. “Now, of course every omelet I make has fried onions in it.” The women laughed at the memory of their dad at the stove.
“I can just see it now,” Sylvia reminisced, closing her eyes while she talked. “Dad would be standing with a spatula in his hand, turning to get Mother’s opinion. She would be at the table smoking and drinking coffee. No wonder they died young.” Sandra turned to the stove, hoping the activity of making more tea for them would hide the trembling of her hands. She hadn’t revealed her HIV diagnosis to her sister yet. There didn’t seem to be much point as long as she was healthy. They’d discussed the disease in the past, and she knew that although her sister was conservative, she was compassionate. She wouldn’t abandon Sandra. But the time just wasn’t right yet. Sylvia looked around her boyfriend Tom’s apartment.
“This place is nice enough, but it sure doesn’t look like you,” she said. “When are you going to move in?”
Sandra was surprised. “Maybe it’s because this is his place. To tell you the truth, I haven’t given it much thought,” Sandra said, but secretly, she knew the reason. It was easy to be there, to go about her life in his sterile, modern environment because she had no attachments. There were no pictures of her parents, no reminders of another time or another man. After all, she worked where Jack Smith had worked and now occupied his gorgeous office on the thirtieth floor with the spectacular view of New York Harbor. She sat at the same desk he’d sat at every day of his adult life. Did she need any more reminders? Suddenly tired, she looked at the clock. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we? I need some fresh air.” She stood up and stretched, bending from side to side. Sylvia watched her with admiration.
“Your body is spectacular. Do you even eat?” Sandra was rail thin, while her sister struggled with her weight, a few pounds creeping on as each year flew by. “Speaking of, I’m starving. What are we doing for lunch?”
“There’s a great little place up at the corner that serves soup and sandwiches. It’s usually not too busy, even on a Saturday.”
They agreed to it, and Sandra was embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of lunch. “I guess I must be in a daze. Sorry I didn’t offer you anything before.” Sylvia looked at her with concern but didn’t say anything. That answers how she stays so thin! The girl never thinks about food.
“It’s really nice having you here, Sylvia. Nice having family. You see things I have forgotten about, or have suppressed, like not really moving in here. I’m going to have to give that some thought.” Sandra was feeling her way along with Sylvia, who in the past might have used that tidbit she was just handed as a basis for criticism.
“Don’t pay any attention to me,” Sylvia said. “What do I know? You could say the same thing about our house, only in the reverse. My poor husband doesn’t have any space where he can put his stuff; it’s banished to the basement and garage.” Sandra thought of Pam and Jack. Where was Jack’s space in the beach house? And why the hell am I thinking about him again? “Let me tell you about a fantasy of mine,” Sandra said. “Paul and I share a common hobby. I never have put a name to it, except it’s not sports-related. We spend weekends in pursuit of our hobby. Every meal we eat is eaten over a discussion of this hobby. Our friends are all people we met while we were doing the hobby. Of course, it’s nonexistent. I have my things I’m passionate about, and he has his. I can’t wait to finish fixing
dinner so I can take my plate of food to our bedroom. I get into bed with it and turn on what I want to watch, while Paul goes to the den with his dinner to read or watch TV. On rare occasions, he’ll feel like being with me, and I almost resent it! I don’t want to have to listen to him chew or feel critical about the amount of food he’s taken.
“No one tells you this happens after the kids leave. I read about friends of mine on Facebook who have candlelight and wine with dinner, talking about things that interest them both. I don’t long for that or feel jealous of it. I want my own down time. In my fantasy, we are inseparable. In reality, I am content just knowing he’s in the same house.” As she spoke, Sandra noticed that Sylvia was red-cheeked and slightly out of breath. “This may not happen to you,” she added.
Sandra thought of the worry she had over not having anything in common with Tom. They didn’t share one interest. Was it really necessary? What if someone came along who liked weapons like he did? He spent at least part of each weekend day at the flea markets around the city, hunting for weapons. The antiquing scene bored her to tears. What did she like doing? At that moment, she realized she had no interests of her own. She hated to exercise and agreed with her sister that sports would be an awful thing to share. The only thing she liked to do was read. But she liked new books. Not e-books, either. She liked holding a new book in her hands with the shiny cover—paperback or hardback made no difference. She was a little nervous about starting a new book without first washing her hands. Breaking the spine apart for the first time was a ritual she’d enjoyed since girlhood. She wouldn’t buy a book that looked like someone else had been there before her. Looking for books at the flea market wouldn’t work.
Paul and Sylvia had their children in common. Even Jack and Pam had that common interest. What would she and Tom have that would bind them together? She’d been warned that getting pregnant again wouldn’t be wise. Tom knew that, but they’d never discussed the impact not having kids would have on them. He wanted children and had made that clear from the beginning. Was he feeling trapped now? Maybe he didn’t know how to get out of a relationship with her. She tried to push the thoughts out of her head.
Family Dynamics: Pam of Babylon Book #5 Page 6