Grand Avenue

by Joy Fielding

  “Which is why, when she came to see me last month, I couldn’t just turn my back on her.”

  “You could have told her you had a conflict of interest. For God’s sake, Vicki. We were next-door neighbors, classmates, for how long? My mother was always there for you, especially after your mother left.”

  Now Vicki was on her feet as well, pulling her skirt toward her knees. “None of this is relevant,” she said impatiently, picturing her mother, still as young and beautiful as she’d been the day she walked out on her family almost three decades ago, on a beach in Spain cavorting with someone named Eduardo Valasquez.

  “This isn’t right,” Paul Moore was muttering. “It isn’t fair. How can you hurt my mother this way?”

  “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I’m merely trying to do my job.” Vicki was amazed at the coldness in her tone. She and Paul had been buddies since childhood. She was friends with his wife. Still, did that give him the right to dredge up the past, to use it against her, as if it were some sort of bargaining chip? What right did he have to make this personal, to talk of fairness? It was the law, for God’s sake. It had nothing to do with fairness.

  There was a slight tapping on the door before it opened and Vicki’s secretary proceeded timidly into the room, round shoulders caving toward her flat chest, head down, thin brown hair falling across her face as she deposited the two mugs of hot coffee on the desk and quickly exited the room.

  “Look, let’s take five minutes and catch our breath,” Vicki said, her eyes following her secretary out of the office. “Neither one of us can be enjoying this.” She hoped her voice didn’t belie her words. The truth was that she was enjoying herself immensely. This scene was exactly why she’d chosen the law as a career in the first place. Doors bursting open, voices raised in fury, raw nerves jangling, high drama unfolding. The glorious, unmitigated, unscripted chaos of it all.

  Why do you want to be a lawyer? her husband had asked when she was still dating his son. It’s so much work, and most of it is so dry and boring.

  Only as dry and boring as the lawyer involved, Vicki had shot back.

  That was the moment he’d fallen in love with her, Jeremy had confided later.

  “Adrienne is a nutcase, and you know it,” Paul Moore was saying, still pleading his case.

  “Adrienne is a very unhappy woman. She doesn’t want to go to court any more than you do.”

  “And that’s why she’s suing?”

  “She’s suing for her fair share of her father’s estate. I’m sure she’d be willing to settle out of court.”

  “I’m sure she would.”

  “Then perhaps you could talk to your mother and your brother and have your attorney get back to us with a reasonable offer.”

  “No chance,” Paul Moore said angrily.

  “Then you leave us with no options.” Options, Vicki repeated silently, thinking of Chris, glancing toward the phone.

  “You’re really going to do this?” Paul Moore began pacing back and forth in front of Vicki’s desk, disrupting the steady flow of steam rising from the two untouched mugs of coffee, causing it to ripple, like smoke rings, in the air. “You’re really going to drag my family through the mud? You’re going to let my sister get on the stand and lie her goddamn head off?”

  “I would never allow your sister to lie on the stand.”

  Paul Moore stopped dead in his tracks. “What are you saying? That you believe the things she’s been telling you?”

  “You know I can’t discuss our conversations.”

  “You don’t have to. I know exactly what she’s been saying. I’ve been hearing the same crap out of her mouth all my life: my father never loved her; nothing she did was ever good enough for him; he called her ‘dummy’ because she wasn’t as smart as me or my brother; he didn’t take her seriously, wouldn’t let her into the family business. Forget about the fact she refused to go to college and never showed the slightest interest in the family business. That’s beside the point. That’s irrelevant, as you would say. And let’s not forget that he didn’t approve of her wardrobe, her boyfriends, or her husbands. Doesn’t matter that he was right, that she dressed like a whore, that her boyfriends were a bunch of pathetic losers, and that my father footed the bill for both her divorces. She probably forgot to mention that. Just like I’m sure she’s conveniently forgotten about the hell she put my parents through all those years she was living at home, the horrible lies she told that finally got her kicked out of the house.”

  “What kind of lies?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Where to begin, where to begin?” Paul Moore sank back down into the waiting chair, lifted the coffee to his lips. “There was the time just after Adrienne turned sixteen that my father caught her out with some lowlife he’d expressly forbidden her to see, caught her in the elevator of a hotel as she and this guy were going up to his room.” Paul shook his head, cool green eyes burning with disbelief. “And is she at all apologetic? Is she at all contrite? No. What’s little Adrienne’s response to being caught red-handed in the elevator of some out-of-the-way hotel with some scruffy drug dealer? She accuses my father of being at the hotel with a paramour of his own, says this right in front of my mother, mind you, doesn’t give a damn who she hurts. Doesn’t care that my father was at the hotel on business, that the woman was a client in town overnight. None of that matters. And when he punishes her by grounding her for a month, what does she do? She sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night, steals the car, smashes it into a neighbor’s fence. Spends time in Juvenile Hall. Comes home, drops out of school, sits around drinking, doing drugs, telling more lies.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as the reason her father hates her isn’t because she’s wasting her life, or that she’s a druggie or an ingrate, but because she’s got his number, because she knows all about his secret life. His women. She’s heard him talking on the phone, arranging secret rendezvous. She knows about the mistress in Dayton, his affair with her old baby-sitter, the pass he made at one of her friends. Lies, lies, and more lies. The real surprise here isn’t that he cut her out of his will, it’s that he didn’t cut her out of his life much sooner than he did.”

  Vicki chose her next words carefully. “I think you should think long and hard about settling this case out of court.”

  Paul Moore lowered his coffee to the desk without having taken a sip. “And why is that?”

  “It’s expensive to go to court, Paul. You know that. Expensive and messy. I think we have a good case. I also think it could get very ugly. I don’t want to see your mother hurt any more than you do.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Make your sister an offer, Paul. Don’t let this thing go to trial.”

  “What are you trying to tell me? That you found the mystery mistress in Dayton? That you unearthed the phantom baby-sitter?” He laughed, but the laugh was forced, hollow, scared.

  “Talk things over with your wife, Paul,” Vicki answered cryptically. “Then get back to me.” She lowered her eyes to her lap, as if signaling the meeting was over.

  “What do you mean, talk things over with my wife? She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Joanne has a lot to do with this,” Vicki said evenly, looking Paul Moore straight in the eye. “If this goes to trial, I’ll have to call her as a witness.”

  “What are you talking about? What lies has Adrienne been feeding you about my wife? Don’t tell me she’s accused my father of making a play for Joanne!”

  “No,” Vicki admitted. “I don’t think Adrienne has any idea about what happened between your father and Joanne.”

  For a moment, the air was so still and heavy it felt as if Vicki were standing underwater. There was no motion, no sound, no breath. And then suddenly, Paul was on his feet, and the room was spinning and swirling around her, as if someone had pulled the plug and she were being sucked into a giant vortex. Vicki grabbed hold of her desk, hung on tight, lest she be swept away by the
angry current radiating from his eyes.

  “My father and Joanne! What kind of sick joke are you playing?”

  “It happened a long time ago, just after the two of you were married. Apparently your father had sent you out of town on business.”

  “Something happened while I was away?”

  “Your father showed up at your apartment. He tried to force himself on your wife. She was able to fend him off, but just barely. Needless to say, she was pretty shaken up by the incident.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “And you know all this because …?”

  “Because Joanne told me about it.”

  The color drained from Paul Moore’s face in a sudden rush, as if a major artery had been severed and he was rapidly leaking blood. His arms fell limply to his sides, as if the muscles had been cut. His knees buckled visibly beneath crisp navy trousers, and he had to grab the back of his chair to keep from sliding to the floor. For a minute, Vicki was afraid he might faint. “My wife told you?” he repeated, his tongue having trouble with the words, as if they were stuck to an unruly wad of bubble gum.

  “Yes,” Vicki said, afraid to say more.

  “When?”

  “Soon after it happened. She needed someone to talk to; I happened to be there. She swore me to secrecy. Said she didn’t want to create any problems for the family. She especially didn’t want to hurt your mother.”

  Paul Moore shook his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said, although the sudden appearance of tears indicated otherwise.

  “Settle this out of court, Paul.”

  “You’d really use this? Something my wife told you in confidence nearly eight years ago? Something no other lawyer would be in a position to know? That can’t be ethical.”

  “It’s perfectly ethical. How I obtain my information is not relevant.” That word again.

  “Neither is what my father might or might not be guilty of. He had every right to cut my sister out of his will.”

  “A judge might disagree,” Vicki told Paul plainly. “It’s a crapshoot, of course. A judgment could go either way. But do you really want all this to come out? Do you want it aired in open court? Settle, Paul. Settle this before it goes any further, before anyone else gets hurt.”

  Paul Moore’s head slumped against his barrel chest, almost as if he’d been shot. He stood this way for several minutes, Vicki monitoring the ragged rise and fall of his shoulders for signs he was still breathing. Then, without saying another word or even looking in her direction, he spun around on his heels and walked out of the room.

  “Are you all right?” Michelle asked timidly from the doorway after he was gone.

  “Get Adrienne Sellers on the phone for me,” Vicki instructed her secretary by way of a reply. “Oh, and did you have any luck with Chris’s number?”

  “Still busy.”

  Vicki shook her head as Michelle left the room. Who the hell could Chris be talking to all this time?

  “I have Adrienne Sellers on line one,” her secretary informed her minutes later.

  “Adrienne,” Vicki said, a sudden rush of adrenaline pushing her shoulders back, her head high. “I think I might have some good news for you. Looks like we might be talking settlement.” Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and laughed out loud.

  Eight

  Someone was laughing.

  Or maybe it was shouting. Shouting her name. Chris tried turning her head, but a sharp pain at the base of her neck warned against further movement. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but the only sound she heard was a low, ragged wail. Someone’s in terrible trouble, she thought, wondering why she couldn’t make out who it was. “Chris!” she heard from a distance, someone pulling on her arms, as if she were a rag doll. “Chris, open your eyes. I know you can hear me. Please, baby. I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t mean it. Please, Chris, open your eyes. Stop playing around.”

  Playing around? she repeated, strange arms tugging her this way and that, adjusting her shoulders, slapping gently at her cheeks. What was she doing? What kind of game was she playing? Why did her head ache? Why couldn’t she see anything?

  “Please, Chrissy, open your eyes,” the voice pleaded.

  The voice was growing increasingly desperate, and Chris struggled to obey. But her eyes refused to cooperate. All Chris saw was darkness. It must be her brother. He’d locked her in that old chest again, and even now he was sitting on its lid triumphantly, refusing to let her out. Let me out of here! Chris hollered, though no sounds emerged from between her swollen lips.

  What happened here? Chris wondered, bringing a hand to her mouth, feeling something sticky against her fingers.

  Gerry, you let me out of here right now! Chris yelled, swatting at the air. When I get out of here, you’re going to be sorry. You’re going to be very sorry.

  “I’m sorry, Chris,” someone was saying. “I’m so sorry.”

  What was happening? Why couldn’t she open her eyes? Why did her shoulders ache and her jaw throb? Had she been in some kind of accident? Had she fallen? Hit her head? Been hit by a car? Think! she told herself, trying to gather together the thoughts that were bouncing wildly around in her brain. Try to piece together what’s happening. Try to get it together, she repeated, her head lolling off to one side, eyes blinking open, seeing nothing, before rolling back in her head.

  “Don’t pass out on me again, Chris,” the voice begged, panic underlining every word.

  She felt a strong kick to her stomach, and then another. From the inside, she realized with growing horror. Somehow, someone had reached inside her body, was pummeling her from the inside out. Chris tried to scramble to her feet, to run, to get away, but her ankles only twitched and her legs went nowhere. She couldn’t get away. She was going nowhere.

  Help me! she called toward a group of women watching from the shadows. Please do something. Get me out of here. Tell me what’s happening.

  The largest of the silhouettes stepped forward. He keeps track of your periods? Susan asked, round face pushing through the darkness.

  Barbara was immediately at her side. Maybe you should go home. They’ll be coming for me any minute now. There’s no reason for you to stay.

  You were calling me? Vicki asked, pushing her way in front of the other two.

  Yes, I was calling you, Chris answered in her mind, fighting to remember why. She’d been at the hospital. With Barbara. Without Tony. Oh, God. Barbara having some surgical procedure. Me there to lend moral support. Tony out of town on business. Oh, God. The baby kicking. Feeling queasy. Coming home. Tony away on business. Oh, God. No car in the driveway. Montana at school. Wyatt with Mrs. McGuinty. The house empty. The phone call to Vicki. Need to know my options. Tony’s reflection in the window. Oh, God. Hang up the phone, Chris. Oh, God. What’s the matter, Chris? Aren’t you happy to see your husband?

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

  “Wake up, Chris. Please, honey, open your eyes. Goddamnit, Chris!”

  Chris saw Tony’s fist flying toward her, braced herself for the wallop of his knuckles as they smashed against her jaw, was surprised by a splash of cold water instead, filling her nostrils and seeping into her mouth. Her eyes shot open as she sputtered into full consciousness. “What’s happening?” she cried, feeling the baby inside her trying to push her to her feet.

  “It’s okay, babe,” Tony was saying, an empty glass in his hand. “You’re gonna be fine now. Everything’s gonna be okay. You just had a little accident.”

  “An accident?”

  “You know I didn’t mean it, sweetheart. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you or the baby.” His hands were all over her. On her face. In her hair. On her stomach.

  Chris tried pushing his hands away from her, but they kept coming back, as if she’d stumbled blindly into a spider’s web. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Oh, please, baby. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to help you, sweetheart. You know I did
n’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You hit me, Tony.” Chris struggled to stand up, teetering on knees that threatened to give way. “You knocked me unconscious.”

  “It was an accident. You know that.”

  Chris stumbled into the bathroom, stared at her battered face in the mirror over the sink, Tony right behind her, his reflection hovering over hers in the glass. Who are you? Chris asked the frightened woman staring back at her. Who is this pathetic lost soul?

  I vaguely remember you, one set of eyes cried out to the other from atop a jaw that was scratched and discolored, cut and swollen lips dripping blood onto the white collar of her navy sweater, her hair dripping with the water Tony had flung in her face to revive her. What’s happened to you? What happened to the feisty little girl who used to chase her older brother around the house, who regularly caught him and wrestled him to the ground? Where had she disappeared? “Oh, God. How could you do this? You promised me it would never happen again.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you it was an accident?” Anger suddenly replaced the concern in Tony’s voice. “It never would have happened if you hadn’t lied to me.”

  “Lied to you?” Chris was incredulous. What was Tony talking about? “When did I lie to you?”

  “You lied to me about going to the hospital.”

  “I never lied to you.”

  “You said you wouldn’t go.”

  “You said you were going out of town.”

  “What difference should that make?”

  “You weren’t here,” Chris argued, trying to turn around, to escape the confines of the small bathroom. “I didn’t see the harm.”

  “You didn’t see the harm?” He spun her back toward the mirror, forcing her face toward her bruised reflection. “You didn’t see the harm? Do you see it now? Do you?”

  “Tony, please,” Chris whimpered. “You promised after the last time you wouldn’t hit me anymore.”

  Immediately Tony dropped his hands to his sides, walked from the room, began pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door. “Why do you make me do these things? You know I don’t want to hurt you. Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?”