Pam of Babylon

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “Of course, that isn’t all! It’s so complicated; I can’t believe this has happened. And a baby? Are you sure it’s his?” Pam didn’t answer him. He went on, “It’s just not like Jack.”

  “You didn’t know your brother then, because it was just like him. Bill, I can’t go into anymore now. Evidently, my mother has had a stroke or something, and I have to get her some medical help today,” she lied. “We’ll talk later, okay? I’ll call you tonight.” She hung up not waiting for him to respond. What a jerk!

  “So, Mom.” Pam walked to the table and pulled a chair out to sit next to her mother. “What’s going on?” She reached out to take her hand.

  “Thank you for your concern about me, dear,” she said. “I’m not sure what’s going on with me. I didn’t feel good all week.” She looked down at her hands and then up at Pam. “I feel better today.” Nelda passive? Pam was worried. But it might work in her favor. She was going to unload the news on her mother regardless of her mental state.

  “Mom, I need to tell you something. Are you up for some news that may upset you?” She took her mom’s hands in hers. She needed to tell Nelda today. She didn’t want any more loose ends. Her kids were the last to hear from her.

  “What now?” she said, frowning.

  “Jack had an affair before he died, and the girl is pregnant.” There, she said it. It was out. Her mother knew the truth. What could be more embarrassing than having your critical mother know that her daughter was married to someone who wasn’t satisfied with her? What could be worse? Hopefully, her mother would never find that out.

  “With who?” Her voice was up an octave, not shrill, but on its way.

  “Do you remember Sandra? The girl who was here yesterday? Her.” Pam realized how lame that must sound.

  “Why…why in God’s name did you have her there, Pam? That doesn’t make any sense.” Nelda was clearly annoyed, and she had regained her command, tapping on the counter with her finger nail, lips pursed.

  “I think I need to be involved with the baby, Mom. I can’t explain it, exactly. Something about it being part of Jack. The baby will be the kids’ sibling. I need to facilitate that.” She was getting depressed. Her mother was acutely lucid for having had a stroke. Perhaps if she were still acting like a lost child, this would have been easy.

  “The baby doesn’t mean anything to your children, Pam. Stop being such a ninny!” She pushed her chair away from the table and slowly got up, her body not in agreement with her mind. She thought about what a wimp her daughter was. She let that ass run her life while he was involved with another woman. She never liked him. “Am I staying here? Why did you bring me here?” Her voice was higher now, like a child who was not getting her way.

  “Mom, could you just relax? Sit down, okay? I know you must be so disappointed in Jack, in me. But what else can I do? I can’t deny the baby. The children would never forgive me. So everything I am doing is for them and, ultimately, the good of the baby.” Again, she realized how lame that sounded. Her whole life boiled down to this, the illegitimate baby of her late husband.

  “Pam, maybe what you could do is focus on yourself and those two lovely children you gave birth to. Do you really think they are going to be happy about this? How are you going to tell them? ‘Lisa, Brent, your dad had an affair, and the girl is pregnant,’ like you told me? Really? I don’t see them jumping for joy.” Nelda was pacing now, the way she did when her own girls were young and she was trying to reason with them. The realization brought tears to Pam’s eyes. Her mother may be failing, but she was still a formidable woman, someone who knew her mind.

  “For some reason I have never been able to understand, you have always put yourself last. Even as a little girl, you would relinquish what was yours to your sisters. Your father used to get so angry with me. He said that my self-deprecating behavior was destroying your self-esteem. I didn’t know any other way to be. He would yell at me for being a wimp in front of our girls, and then he’d yell at me to bring him a beer. Oh boy, it was a losing situation.

  “When you were a newlywed, and that spoiled brat Marie threw such a horrendous temper tantrum that we thought she would hurt herself, your dad gave in that time. I’ll never forget, you came home to pick up the rest of your wedding gifts, your little cake topper probably not even frozen yet, and you left with your sister. I knew that I was in trouble then.

  “Having spent the weekend with you, she would be miserable on Monday after school and having to come home to Brooklyn. She started the anorexia then. I know, you thought it happened later, but that very first week she refused to eat. Dad slapped her so hard across the face that she fell up against the wall in the kitchen. I screamed. When I tried to go to her, to help her up, she clawed at me, screaming that she hated me.”

  “Mother, I knew she was giving you a rough time, but I had no idea it was that bad!” Pam was appalled. “How long did she act like that?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, but knowing what it was, knowing that she was partly to blame for her mother’s difficulty with Marie.

  “She hated us, Pam, especially Dad. At least she treated him with hatred. I wondered if he was abusing her because that is how violent she reacted to being around him. Did she ever mention anything like that to you? Did she ever suggest that he might have molested her?”

  Pam reeled. “Never, Mother, Never! She never even hinted at it.” Pam’s heart was beating so hard. What could this mean? Jack was molesting her, not our father. She would have wanted to get away from him, not Dad, unless she was lying, unless it was consensual, unless she initiated it. Still wrong, Jack, still wrong. Oh God. She put her hands over her face. What did this mean? She remembered the letters, the few she read, threatening Jack, begging him.

  34

  Sandra locked the door to her office and, once again, requested that she not be bothered for an hour. She returned to her briefcase, the contents spread out on the table. She set the folders aside for later. It was the envelopes that she wanted to open first. They weren’t actually sealed, but the flap was tucked in.

  She picked up the one on top of the pile. It was a business-sized envelope with a privacy liner. She carefully pulled the flap out and inside, she saw a thick wad of cash. Why would Jack stash cash in his desk? It didn’t make any sense. She took the money out and counted it—one hundred $20 bills; two thousand dollars. She put it back in the envelope and picked up the next one in the pile. It was the same thing. There were seven envelopes in total, each with two thousand dollars in twenties. Why? Piling them back up, she stuck them into her purse. She’d give them to Pam. It was not a huge amount of money, but enough that it might tempt thievery. She was already taking possession of her business.

  Pam and Nelda sat at her kitchen table, drinking coffee for the rest of the morning, while the phone rang over and over again. Nelda agreed that the time had come for the house in Brooklyn to be put up for sale. She also agreed that coming to live in Pam’s guest quarters above the garage would be very nice. The discussion about Marie ended with both of them agreeing that they would never know the whole story, and if they did, it would be horribly one-sided. Pam was certain that her father didn’t molest Marie. She just knew it in her gut. Marie didn’t want to be away from Jack. She was in love with him, even as a teenager. Pam tried to push those thoughts out of her mind. The despondence was creeping in when she had been doing so well. And she wouldn’t share the thoughts with her mother. Eventually, she was going to have to answer the phone. She picked up the receiver and thumbed through the caller ID. Sandra called twice, and Bill called again. She didn’t want to talk to Bill.

  “Mom, do you think you will be okay if I leave you alone for a while? I have to make some phone calls.”

  “I have never needed entertaining in the all years I have been coming here, and I don’t need it now.” Pam didn’t hear her, busy dialing Sandra’s office number.

  While on the path to Pam’s house, Sandra was reluctant to break the solitude of her
journey to Long Island, but knowing in her heart of hearts that the sooner she revealed her findings the better for everyone, especially Pam. To the right of the walkway, there grew a tortured mugho pine. Pam loved the pines on the New Jersey shoreline, and when they bought this house, one of her first purchases was the pine. She had placed all of the plantings herself. People laughed at Pam, made fun of her and called her the spoiled wife of a rich man, but the truth was that she did her own decorating and gardening, and although she had given in to trying to clean the place herself, she rarely asked her cleaning ladies to do more than the basic cleaning. Sandra noticed the yard, its simple beauty with gravel and sand, some hardy perennials clumped together; lychnis and black-eyed Susans, and lamb’s ears. She didn’t know the names herself but would ask Pam about it. She wanted her own house with a yard. There was a momma cardinal sitting in the pine, watching her. She was so lovely, not at all plain, a soft Chinese red, with that perky little spike on her head. She cocked her head to the side to look at Sandra and then flew off.

  Sandra looked to her left and saw Nelda looking out at her from the kitchen window. She looked annoyed. Oh great! Sandra thought. She smiled a big, fake smile and waved at her. The old lady just frowned and walked away, a few seconds later opening the door.

  “Hi, Mrs. Fabian!” Sandra said. She decided to forgo the “How nice to see you.”

  “I’ll get Pam” was all she replied. Sandra stood in the hallway, waiting. Oh fuck, she thought, maybe I should have called first.

  “Hey! I was just trying to call you!” Pam said as she walked toward Sandra with open arms. Sandra was grateful for the response.

  Without waiting, Sandra whispered, “I need to talk to you—now.” Pam led her out to the veranda.

  “Mom, we need to talk privately.” Nelda didn’t respond. She was washing vegetables in the kitchen, scrubbing radishes with a little brush, each one, even the tiny ones, given a thorough going over. Sandra put her briefcase on the chair next to her while Pam closed the french doors. She started to pull the envelopes and folder out.

  “What’s going on?” Pam said. She sat across from Sandra, looking at her, thinking for the fourth time in as many days, what more could happen?

  “Pam, I’m going to come right out and say this without making excuses. I was up all night, worried about Jack’s office. Peter told me to let you take as long as you wanted to come get his things, and I completely agreed. But then I started to think that he might have left something in there that would further hurt you. Oh, I don’t know what, we never wrote letters to each other, not even an e-mail. I was more worried about Peter or one of the others finding something. I mean, you know all there is to know about us. I promise you that.”

  “Go on. I understand that. I appreciate that,” Pam urged.

  “So I went in this morning and locked myself in his office. There was nothing there, just piles of work, nothing clandestine, nothing underhanded. I did find a gun in his top drawer, right next to the gum and mints. That was weird. I never imagined Jack even knowing how to use a gun,” Sandra said.

  “Jack hated them,” Pam replied.

  “I didn’t go through the filing cabinet, but I did want to go back to his desk. It was compelling. I can’t explain it. The lower right hand drawer—I squatted down and pulled it out, and there it was.” She pointed to the pile she had pulled out of her briefcase. “Seven envelopes, each with two thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills. Not sealed. That was strange enough, but this is worse.” She waved the manila folder toward Pam, inviting her to take it. Pam visibly pulled away from it.

  “What’s it about? Tell me! I don’t want to read it!” She was shaken now. What could this all mean?

  “I’m not sure myself what the impact of this will have, if any. Jack was filing a civil suit against his father when the man died. A suit that charged him with sexual abuse and battery.” She opened the folder and began reading from the documents prepared by Jack’s lawyer. “‘From my client’s earliest recollection, until the age of seventeen, he was beaten with fists, and also belts, wood paddles, and plastic pipe, by Harold Smith, his father. He also charges that Mr. Smith fondled him, sodomized him, and forcibly raped him during this time.’ ” She stopped. There didn’t seem like any point in going further. Pam was stricken. She was pale and shaking.

  “I wonder if the money has anything to do with it. I mean, it’s a small amount, but why both things in the back of the drawer? I don’t get it.”

  “Can I tell you what I think it might be?” Sandra asked. Pam looked at her and nodded yes.

  “I think he was paying this money to your sister. It’s just a gut feeling.” Pam thought of the notes she had burned. Oh, why did I do that? What if Marie was blackmailing him? But for two thousand dollars a month? It didn’t make any sense.

  “The civil suit is harder to explain. There is a statute of limitations in New York State, but child protection groups are fighting to lift the statute for cases of violence and sexual abuse of children.” She rifled through the folder and pulled out a letter from the attorney to Jack. “Here, this explains it. It looks to me like Jack wanted to shake things up, for some reason. He knew it wouldn’t go to court. Why the attorney even agreed to file it is a mystery.”

  They sat together in silence, the waves crashing on the sand, a storm out to sea mirroring what was going on here, on the veranda. Children were screaming with pleasure, running up and down the beach. The smell of the salt air and coconut suntan oil filled the senses. It was all too much. Pam reached for a paper napkin, a pile stuck under a citronella candle placed on the table. She noticed a fly, drowned in wax, next to the wick. Wiping off her forehead, she said, “He filed this in August, and Harold died in September. Jack would have found out the following month that he wasn’t really his father.”

  “But I wonder if he found out before Harold’s death? Do you have the letter the woman, Barbara Johnson, wrote? Do you have the letter she wrote Jack? What was the date on that letter?” Sandra asked.

  “It’s at the apartment,” Pam said. She remembered Marie’s notes. “I found a folder in the same place in Jack’s desk here yesterday. It was filled with notes threatening Jack. I couldn’t read through them. I burned them.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference Pam, don’t worry about it,” Sandra told her. “We just need to come out and ask her if he was giving her money. I mean, it is okay if he was. He was her brother-in-law. But why like this? Cash? There are seven envelopes, one for each month left in this year. Oh, I wish I had found something else to explain all of this.” They sat, there listening to the sounds of summer.

  “Poor Jack. He had a horrible life. Tortured like that by a man who was supposed to be his father. I’ll never forget Bernice gushing about what a fabulous father Harold was. We would take the kids there for Thanksgiving every year. Harold was right there with all the kiddy toys. Did you ever see that den? Oh my God! They did that so the grandchildren would want to go there. Jack was always reluctant and refused to let Brent and Lisa sleep over at their grandparent’s house. ‘I like my family under one roof,’ he used to say. Once, when he was away on business, I got sick. I mean I was bedridden, probably pneumonia after I had the flu. Bernice came and got the kids for me. Marie was in school. When Jack found out, he flew back the same day. I thought it was for concern about me, but now I wonder if he didn’t want those children under the same roof as his dad, as Harold,” she corrected. Shivering, “Poor Jack,” she repeated.

  They sat in silence for several minutes. Then she thought of Bill. Had he been abused as well? She wondered if she should warn Sandra. Always the peacemaker, this time she would stretch herself.

  “I almost don’t want to tell you this, Sandra. But I think I better, about Jack’s brother, Bill.” Sandra nodded to her to continue. “Evidently, yesterday at Sunday brunch Bernice decided to drop the baby bomb. Why is beyond me. But evidently, he is enraged. He called here, and I refused to discuss it with him. I don’t
understand what the impact will be for him. It doesn’t make any sense. I know he was expecting Jack to field some business his way, and I told him you would probably do the same thing. But he was so upset about the infidelity. I kept asking him what difference it made, as it had nothing to do with him.”

  “Jack actually told me that his father’s business was in trouble. Just in passing, he mentioned it, no details. I know he was sad about it, but I got the impression that he wasn’t losing any sleep over it,” Sandra said. “Can I ask what Bill said to you?” Pam wasn’t ready to relate that horrible scene.

  “He is angry, but it doesn’t seem rational to me. I will not discuss it with him or my mother-in-law.” Pam hoped Sandra would take a hint from that and stop her dialogue with Bernice. But her role in this wasn’t to control anyone. She wouldn’t turn her back. But if Sandra chose to take Bernice into her confidence, she might have consequences. “I wish we could just toss all of this crap into the trash,” she said with a sweep of her arm toward the pile of paper. She wondered what she was supposed to do now, if she should try to see the attorney Jack retained. Would he be able to say anything to her? Did attorney-client privilege apply after the death of the client? She decided right then that she would see the attorney and find out what she could from him.

  Sandra left the envelopes and file with Pam and headed back to Manhattan. What a hell of a day. She felt empowered by her actions, by being honest with Pam. Uncovering those things in Jack’s office saved them from potentially being a real nightmare if gotten into the wrong hands. She was tired from the trip. The train was hot and stuffy. Someone was eating take-out fried chicken; she could smell it, and she could hear them smacking their lips with each bite. A small child, really just a toddler, was fussing, his parent losing patience and smacking him in the face. A shrill cry, the fried chicken, she was ready to barf. She thought of Pam. What would Pam do? The parent had the child in a grip, holding on to his arm so that he was barely touching the ground.