The Secret Keeping

by Francine Saint Marie

  Helaine frowned. It was unlikely to impress Mrs. Beaumont, considering what she had learned about the woman. She could suddenly see herself in a different light. Quite an unflattering one. “What else did she say, Lydia?”

  Lydia sat up and put her hands through the blond hair, her mouth against a concerned brow. “She has her opinions. She’s entitled to them, I’d say.”

  “What do you think? Is Marilyn right?”

  Lydia sighed. “You look quite smart in that black turtleneck, Dr. Kristenson. Like a spy. Makes me weak for some reason. How would a therapist interpret that?”

  Helaine smiled. “I love you. You believe me?”

  “I do.”

  “She said what that makes you wonder? Do you want to discuss it?”

  Lydia toyed thoughtfully with the turtleneck. Rolled it up. Rolled it down. “Will you go back to your super-model, Helaine? Is that ultimately how a situation like this gets resolved?”

  “Lydia? You have to believe me. The more I’m with you–”

  “Tell me when I’ll see you again. Tell me what we’re doing. That’s what I need to know. I need to know when I can freely see you. When will that be, Helaine? When can I ask you how your day went, meet you for dinner, that kind of boring stuff?”

  “Boring?”

  “Boring, I suppose, compared to the charismatic Sharon Chambers.”

  “Lydia. Which do you want me to answer? You ought to know you’re fabulous in bed. I’ve never been happier.” She held her by the arms. “How was your week? When do you want to have dinner? Nothing about those things could bore me. Tell me now how your week went, Lydia. Tell me that this was the best part of it.” She could hear the panic in her voice and fell silent.

  “I have no intention of being the other woman, Dr. Kristenson. Is that what I am here?”

  “Oh, Lydia.”

  “Okay. But do we know what we’re doing, Helaine? It wasn’t easy for me to–I hate to see myself hiding like this. It makes me doubt myself. And I hate to make mistakes. I don’t think you know that about me, but it’s relevant. I don’t want this to be a mistake I can’t live with.”

  “Is it?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Helaine studied her face. “What do you want out of this?”

  Lydia laughed acidly. “Out of this? You need me to say it?”

  “I do.”

  “I want Sharon-fucking-Chambers out of this. Right now.”

  “I thought she was, Lydia, or I wouldn’t–is this why you’re leaving so soon?”

  Lydia left her lap and started dressing. “I promised Mom I’d make Sunday brunch today,” she said hastily buttoning herself. “She’s on my way home.” She threw her bag on the bed, tossed her clothes into it, and tried to force the catch. “You don’t have to worry about my mother. I can’t remember the last time she had an influence on me.”

  (Yah.) Helaine stood in the doorway and smiled bleakly. The Beaumont women having a little get together. There was something frightening in the prospect. “Let me help,” she said, without commenting.

  She closed the bag and set it on the floor.

  Lydia stood beside her luggage, her jaw suddenly hard.

  Helaine leaned into her, weightless. “You can if you want, Lydia–throw me down. I don’t mind. Just don’t leave me unsure.”

  “Throw you…?” Lydia brought her hands to her forehead and dropped them to her sides again, turning her face away. “I just love you, Helaine. Come. It’s all right. Walk me to the car. I have to say goodbye to Robert and Kay.”

  Neither one made a move.

  “Lydia…Robert is very competent, I can assure you. He’ll take care of this as quickly as possible. Tell her that for me, Lydia. Look at me.”

  Lydia turned to face her.

  “Things aren’t always as they appear. Tell your mother that, too.”

  “Okay. I will. And you tell me, when will I see you again?” She slid her arm around Helaine’s waist, unzipped her pants and slipped her hand inside them. “Ah…you like me. When?”

  Helaine took a deep breath and shut her eyes. She was falling. Lydia prevented her from lying down.

  “I don’t know,” Helaine murmured.

  “Say soon then.”

  Helaine leaned against her. “Soon.”

  Lydia zipped her up and grabbed the suitcase.

  _____

  “Slow,” Lydia said, as she was pulling out of the Keagans’ driveway.

  “What?” Helaine asked.

  “My week. You asked how it went.”

  Helaine nodded and waved.

  “This was the best part of it,” Lydia called. She honked the horn just before her descent and Helaine crossed her arms and smiled, content for the moment.

  Back in the guest house Lydia had left another note on the pillow. This time it was stuffed with money.

  Helaine’s.

  “Thought you might be needing this. She sounds rather expensive. Love you, L.”

  _____

  “It’s called a general denial, Helaine. Standard procedure. Trust me.”

  “It’s called a lie, Robert. I won’t sign it.”

  “Look. Have you ever supported the woman? Do you think you owe her half your life’s earnings? It’s the substance of the complaint that we’re denying. It’s not a lie.”

  “Not a lie? This I-know-thee-not isn’t a lie? We lived together, Robert. We were lovers. She was my only lover, even after I moved out. No, I didn’t support her–she’s lying–but essentially I did provide for her. I asked her to take the lease over, she refused, probably with this in mind, who knows? But the fact is that I didn’t force the issue on her and the lease remained in my name. I paid the rent. My mistake. I admit it. I had no idea that she had those other properties and I firmly believed the waterfront was her only home. Where does our answer say any of those things?”

  Kay listened quietly. They say that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. She wondered what they might say of one who represents an old friend.

  Robert paced. “Helaine, this Jane Doe allegation, that you cheated on Sharon. You’re going to qualify that, too? I mean, we’re going to go into explanations here?”

  “No, that’s a lie, an excuse to suck Lydia into it. We deny that, of course. But this answer here will prevent me from sleeping at night and I don’t believe it will serve me well in the long run.”

  “You’re sleeping well now?”

  “A lot better than I expected to. Besides, that’s not that point. What will Lydia think if I deny something she already knows is true? And how could I defend it later when Sharon proves it?”

  “So you admit that a relationship such as the one the plaintiff describes existed and that you provided for her domestic needs to a limited extent?”

  “I will be satisfied with that, Robert, and deny the rest.”

  “Dr. Kristenson, you’re giving them half their case!”

  “If they have a case, it’s my fault. I’m not going to lie about it. Personally, I don’t agree with you. I did not support her as she claims and she manipulated me about the flat–and other things, as well, but they’re not worth going into.”

  “But they will go into it if we have to go to trial. It’s likely to happen even before then. You’ve heard of oral depositions?”

  Helaine’s voice softened. “Robert, I’m not trying to be difficult, a client from hell or whatever you call them. For the past year, maybe longer than that, Sharon has threatened to ruin me if I leave her. I left her. If she can ruin me now by exploiting our relationship, so be it, but I will not ruin myself by denying one existed.

  That is plainly the trap that has been set here.”

  “You’re right.”

  She had braced herself for more argument. “What?”

  “He said you’re right.”

  Helaine relaxed into her chair.

  “We’ll modify it and you’ll sign it and Sharon will have her day in court.”

&nbs
p; “I don’t want to fight her. I want to settle this. When can we begin to do that, Robert?”

  “We’ll send them our answer and take it from there. After that we’ll drown them in discovery demands until they say uncle. They’ll settle, Helaine. She has no case and they know it.”

  _____

  She had no case and they knew it. Willard Hathaway was not pleased when he got the defendant’s reply.

  Yes, Dr. Kristenson had an “on-again-off-again” relationship with Sharon Chambers. Who hadn’t? Yes, she had even allowed the model to stay at her waterfront flat whenever she was in town, which was, as a matter of record, very infrequently. The rest was a denial with no specific reference to Jane Doe.

  It was important to bolster the plaintiff’s position somehow because at this rate there was no impetus for the defendant to compromise and she obviously wasn’t worrying about the affects of a public disclosure of her private acts as it was apparently not a big secret that the well-known sex therapist was bisexual. The general public’s reaction to that information would be too unpredictable, Hathaway reasoned. She was, after all, not the head of state or some other high ranking public official where it might matter. She was not married and never had been, not running for public office, not a member of the clergy. The firm had made a bundle on those kinds of guys, on low crimes, indiscretions and misdemeanors. And lies, lies, lies.

  Everybody lies a little in these disputes and in the end it’s the lie they buy that really counts and while he couldn’t be sure what the actual truth was in this case, it was still Sharon Chambers’ version that Willard Hathaway gave the most credence to. After all, she may have had a reputation as a bad girl, but it didn’t include lying. That she was clearly obsessed with Helaine Kristenson and that the doctor admitted having had a relationship with her, supported his hunch. Moreover, that relationship had spanned nearly a decade. An awful long time for someone like Sharon Chambers. Awful long tryst for Dr. Kristenson, as she more or less seemed to be swearing to in her papers. He scowled at her signature on the bottom of the page. She was not lying perhaps, but she was certainly not telling the whole truth.

  Still, palimony, though it held out the largest award, was a blatantly dubious claim no matter what their relationship had been. He hadn’t gone in too far with Sharon Chambers about that. Wouldn’t get that complicated he had hoped. In any event, Hathaway seriously doubted that the super-model was interested in the doctor’s money although her ulterior motivations didn’t concern him as long as they didn’t interfere with the settlement, if he could get one, which he was not so sure about today.

  He slid the defendant’s papers across the table without speaking and his eagles perused its meager contents.

  Despite his convictions and his fighting stance, Hathaway had no intention of taking this flimsy issue to trial. He wanted a settlement and he needed to act fast in order to get one because he knew by experience that Keagan intended to bury him alive in paperwork and to make him work like a dog. Willard Hathaway possessed a different kind of ambition than that. He liked the easy money the best. He glared at the photos the plaintiff had sent.

  Jane Doe. He believed Sharon Chambers about her, too, and even if the suit against the woman was baseless, he was fairly certain Dr. Kristenson would rather she remain anonymous. It would be devastating to their budding romance if she was joined in the matter. Ms. Deep Pockets. He wondered what her stake in the matter really was. How guarded was she about her privacy? Boy-oh-boy, didn’t she look familiar? Where the hell had he seen that face before?

  “Any luck with Miss Universe here?” he asked, displaying one of the photos.

  The table grumbled and sputtered in a succession of no’s and excuses.

  “Well, she obviously exists,” he interrupted, pounding the table with his fist for silence. “Find her or you’ll all be flipping burgers by the end of the month.”

  _____

  Not worried about the effects of a public disclosure of her private acts? Wrong!

  “Robert?”

  “I know, Helaine. I read the papers.”

  “How did this happen? I can’t even work without hearing about it!”

  “It’s public record, Helaine.”

  “But who cares? It can’t be important enough to be on the goddamned front pages!”

  “Above the fold no less. You rank.”

  “Robert, you knew this would happen?”

  “I hoped for the best, Helaine. They go through the records looking for people like you. It was only quiet while they waited for your answer. I think you’ll have to get used to it.”

  “And my goddamned picture, too–with Sharon’s! Robert, I have to live here. I work here. How am I going to live with this everyday? There are reporters waiting outside my office building right now. I passed them this morning. They were still there at lunch hour. All day, Robert. And I’ve got clients coming in who can’t concentrate on their own problems. They sit and stare at me. I just went for a walk–wisecracks, come-ons, indecent proposals. Reporters! And this–quoting my papers out of context. And this here. I didn’t even say that. And Jane Doe this, Jane Doe that and what I’m worth, like I’m on the auction block or something. I can’t be worth that anyway and where are they getting this stuff from?”

  “Well, you are worth that and now you’re public property for a while.”

  “What does that mean? You can’t stop this? There’s a camera crew out front. They’re trying to shoot tits and ass. My tits and ass for godsakes!”

  “No, Helaine, not this I can’t. So be very careful now. You know?”

  And that was only Monday. Think how she felt by Friday.

  “Robert?”

  “You’re handling yourself beautifully, Helaine. Just as I expected.”

  She started to cry.

  “Helaine, are you at work? Helaine? Speak to me.”

  “Robert, what is their problem? Why are they harassing me?”

  “You’re the expert, you need me to tell you? Are you at the office?”

  “Yes,” she sobbed. “Tell me what’s going on here.”

  “These people have no lives. They’re the little gnomes who never got picked for the team, the goofs nobody wanted to go to the prom with, the dorks that didn’t lose their virginity until they were thirty years old, if at all. Losers getting their revenge by dragging the ‘most popular’ and the ‘most likely to succeed’ through the mud.”

  “Look at this guy editorializing here,” she sniffed. “In today’s Herald. Look what he says, that pig! He’s a client of mine–I saved his fucking marriage!”

  “Cancel your appointments for next week. Do you have sunglasses you can wear right now? I want you to put them on and smile as you leave. We don’t want the bad guys thinking they’re getting to you.”

  She was weeping uncontrollably.

  “Helaine…put Jenny on. Please, Helaine. Do as I say.”

  There was a moment of relative silence, then, “Mr. Keagan?”

  “Jenny, are there any more appointments this afternoon?”

  “None. I’ve tried to send her home but she says she won’t have her schedule disrupted like this.”

  “Well, it is disrupted, isn’t it? Get her a pair of cheap sunglasses and cancel next week’s appointments.”

  He heard her discussing it with Helaine. “Okay, Mr. Keagan. She’s agreed to that.”

  “Tell her to meet me out front in a half an hour with the glasses on and one of her fabulous smiles. I’ll make a brief upbeat statement to the press and then I’ll drive her home.”

  And that was just Helaine’s reaction. Think how Lydia felt observing the fracas all week from her fifteenth-story perch amongst the storm clouds. Even she had seen the tabloids.

  Friday at three. She stood across the street from Helaine’s building watching Robert Keagan handle an impromptu press conference with Helaine standing like a stone pillar beside him, her eyes hidden behind dark shades, her smile taut. Lydia knew what was behind th
e glasses. It did not portend well.

  “What do they call you, other than Helaine, other than doctor?” she had asked her in bed the last time they were together.

  “I used to be called Lana when my parents were alive. No one’s called me that in years.”

  “Lana,” Lydia had whispered back to her as they made love. It suit the blond better than the vulgar title of LOVE DOC splashed across the headlines all this week. She hadn’t mentioned that nickname, nor the book she had authored that had started it all.

  A sex therapist. Well, that explained the stunning lovemaking. That information had caught Lydia by surprise. How little she knew about the woman she was sleeping with. Her own fault for not asking, for not wanting to know anything that might have dissuaded her. Maybe Del was right. Maybe she was from another planet. Look at this: two larger than life women and she hadn’t recognized either one of them. And there were going to be other revelations to come, she feared. But it was too late for factoring in Helaine’s negatives now, she reminded herself as she crossed the street and mixed with the excited crowd. She needed her. And she needed her.

  “There is no other woman,” Robert Keagan declared, emphatically waving away one of the most asked questions. “Ms. Chambers is lying,” he elaborated, “to herself at least.”

  That caused a hum.

  “Dr. Kristenson, were you in love with Sharon Chambers or was it just good sex?”

  Lydia saw Helaine lift her head to the sky, her lips barely moving as she spoke to Robert. He paused, shook his head and asked for the next question.

  Lydia pushed forward and Robert nearly choked mid-sentence when he spotted her. He glanced furtively at Helaine to see if she had seen her yet.

  She hadn’t. Helaine’s gaze was fixed on the building across the street, searching the upper floors. Perhaps it had been a mirage all along, the idea that she could leave Sharon, the idea that she could find love again.

  “Dr. Kristenson?” she heard someone call above the din. She searched the mob for the owner of the very familiar voice.

  “I was wondering how your week went?” Lydia asked.

  A smile came across the doctor’s lips and her worried face relaxed a bit, then a barrage of bulbs went off igniting the sidewalk. She sheltered her eyes with her hand. Click, click, click, click, click went a cacophony of cameras, their shutters sounding like an army of mechanical termites, chewing, chewing, chewing.