The Wisdom of Perversity

by Rafael Yglesias

  “Yeah, you bet. I like notes. Unlike you. If they’re good, I use them. If not, I ignore them. I’ve never understood why writers get so upset about notes.” He came to a halt and stared provocatively at Brian as if this were a long-standing quarrel he wanted settled. As far as Brian knew, they had never discussed the value of notes.

  “This is your life story, Jeff. I don’t see how I can give you notes on your life. What you feel is what you feel, what you say happened is what you say happened. It’s not a plot point that’s up for a vote.”

  The room had fallen silent again, Jeff’s entourage watching them with fearful expectancy, as if they were about to draw six guns. Jeff threw up his hands. “Just watch and tell me what you think, okay?”

  Grace started the video. Brian did his best to concentrate while feeling everyone’s eyes on him. Jeff’s brisk, brash tone and manner distracted him at first. It was hard to believe Jeff could speak so blandly and efficiently about it. First Jeff explained the family relationships, said that his mother was a very neurotic and troubled woman who today would probably be diagnosed as chronically depressed, that his father worked a hundred hours a week trying to make his failing stationery store a success, and that Richard Klein pretended to be a caring relative, loaning Jeff’s father money and offering to take Jeff and his friends out to ball games, museums, Broadways shows, and the like while taking advantage of those occasions to sexually abuse Jeff and later his best friend, Brian, and eventually his cousin Julie. Jeff buried and whitewashed the depth of his mother’s complicity, Brian believed, by briefly mentioning that when his mother found out, she stopped Klein from bothering him but didn’t go to the authorities because by then the family was completely dependent on Klein financially. Jeff went on to explain about Klein’s “adopting” Sam Rydel. Without other specifics, he said that Klein raped him in front of Rydel and ordered him to sexually service Rydel. He raised his voice when he said rape, fairly shouting it. Afterward, Klein threatened Jeff that he would bankrupt his father’s store if he told anyone. Jeff said being raped had happened only once because he was injured by the experience and Klein became frightened that he would be discovered. Once he reached puberty, Klein seemed to lose all interest in him and his friends and left him alone. Jeff said his shame and concern for his parents’ feelings, especially his mentally unstable mother, prevented him, while he was a child, from believing he could safely tell the world about what had happened, and after the sexual abuse stopped, he went into a state of complete denial that he was still struggling to overcome. He said he convinced himself that Klein had stopped bothering everyone, that he was ashamed to admit that he had agreed initially to be on the board of Klein’s broadcasting school as part of his severe and crippling state of denial and also to mollify his mother who was still living at the time. He said he had had no dealings with Klein after Harriet died in 1988 and that he had not seen Sam Rydel since then, other than a recent face-to-face urging him to confess to his crimes. Jeff explained that as part of his condition of living in severe denial he had convinced himself Rydel was solely a victim of Klein’s and never suspected that Rydel was a danger to anyone. He regretted his silence, but it was part of his nearly total repression about what had happened to him as a child. He said his own trauma had made relationships difficult, saddled him with anxiety attacks that required medication, had ruined two marriages, and left him, to this day, with nightmares and insomnia. He went on to explain that although the statute of limitations had run out on what Klein and Rydel had done to him, he believed he needed to speak up now that it had become clear Rydel was a continuing danger to society. He concluded by saying he would be going into therapy to fully explore his memories, some of which he assumed he was still suppressing, and that he hoped this public statement was the first step toward healing.

  His loud, irritable tone of voice as he hurried through the painful words combined with a blank expression throughout, as if he were giving a weather forecast, made his unemotional, pop-psychology statement profoundly moving.

  Jeff, Brian saw out of the corner of his eye, was watching him. He wasn’t sure he could talk without yawning into tears, so he cleared his throat a few times. Still, he couldn’t speak.

  “Well?” Jeff asked. “What do you think? Sugarman hasn’t cleared the legal language. But how do you think it plays?”

  “Could I talk to you alone?” Brian managed to speak without his voice quavering.

  “Give us the room, please,” Jeff said.

  Most of the assembled left as from a burning building. The quartet of lawyers lingered, slowly packing up their laptops and scanner. Grace got them to hustle out by saying, “Just leave everything where it is. Jeff and Brian won’t steal your stuff.”

  Once they were completely alone, Brian said, “You say Klein raped you, but you don’t go into any detail.”

  “Jesus Christ, isn’t saying ‘rape’ enough? Anyway, what’s the point of itemizing? Everyone’s going to hear whatever the hell they can stand to disgust themselves with. They won’t hear what I’m actually saying. The only thing that’s going to matter to anyone today is that Klein and Rydel are sick fucks. Besides, you’re giving all those details about Cousin Richard and how he involved Rydel into his sick games. And Julie’s gonna talk about that stuff too. It’s just repetitive. Less is more, right?”

  “No. Less is less and more is more. If more is tedious, you don’t say more, but if more is new information, you do. What things did Klein force you to do with Rydel? Did Sam do things to you? Klein tried to force me to give him a blow job. We heard Julie say he made her do it to both of them. Did he make Rydel do that to you? Or was Rydel a willing participant? I mean, set the scene. Say what the fuck happened.”

  “I can’t.” Jeff strode two steps toward the window, then back to the couch, then toward the door, then stopped where he had started. “I can’t even think about it. I know you’re able to remember every fucking detail, but I can’t.” He folded his arms over his chest as if ready to be buried. “Every time I try to remember, I can’t breathe . . .” He dropped to his knees and rocked back onto his ass, propped against the wall, a hand clutching his throat. “I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

  Brian searched for a crack in this facade of panic. Jeff’s face was flushed. His chest was heaving. His eyes were wild with fear. He gasped, breathing faster and faster, gulping air. Still Brian wasn’t convinced. But what was he going to do, keep pressing Jeff until he had a persuasive heart attack? “Okay,” Brian conceded. “You don’t have to.”

  That didn’t stop Jeff’s distress. “I’m hyperventilating,” he said. He doubled over. “Get Grace,” he gasped.

  Brian was persuaded. He ran down the hall, opened the door, almost laughed at the sight of the mob standing in the hallway like school children being punished for talking in class. “Grace. You. Just you,” he said, and let her in.

  She came prepared. She produced an airplane sick bag from her purse. Jeff breathed into it, slower and slower as he calmed. Grace rested a hand on Jeff’s head and stroked, a maternal gesture. She grinned at Brian. “Sometimes I’m asked to talk to film students about what a producer does exactly. I tell them to be ready for anything.”

  Jeff lowered the bag. “I’m okay,” he said hoarsely.

  “Sure?” Grace asked. Jeff nodded. “Okay, boys,” she said, adopting them as her children. “Sugarman wants to talk to both of you.”

  “He’s not going to try to talk us out of it, is he?” Brian asked.

  “Yes,” Grace said. She raised a hand defensively. “I told him that was useless. But it’s his job to advise you about the law. So you have to listen. You don’t have to agree, but you have to listen.” She looked at Brian. “If you get on the extension in the bedroom, we won’t have to use a speaker.”

  Brian was glad to be alone again in the bedroom, but he soon regretted that he couldn’t keep an eye on Jeff’s reaction to what Sugarman had to say. The lawyer got right to the point: “These s
tatements leave you both vulnerable for being sued for slander and defamation of character and they don’t qualify as evidence of anything to do with the charges the state AG might bring against Rydel. Or Klein. But if Klein’s senile, then it’s really just Rydel we’re talking about. All you’re doing is handing Rydel a court case he can actually win. He can divert all the bad PR about what he allegedly did to those disadvantaged boys to make the conversation about the senile Klein, who isn’t going to be able to contradict anything Rydel says, so Rydel can turn what you can testify to into how Rydel was a victim and keep the press focused on Jeff’s childhood. This is a win for him, in my opinion. If I were representing Rydel, I’d tell him this was a blessing in disguise.”

  Brian had thought he was prepared to hear any legalistic discouragement, but Sugarman’s take was far more disheartening than anything he had imagined. He hoped Jeff would respond, but there was only silence from his end. Brian took on the lawyer himself: “You haven’t seen a statement from Julie, correct? She’s also going to say Sam Rydel molested her, specifically that he put his penis in her mouth.”

  “I don’t have any paper from her, but I’ve been briefed by Jeff about her story. This is your cousin, Jeff, whom you were talking about earlier, is that correct?”

  “Uh-huh.” Jeff’s response was barely audible.

  “And what Rydel did to her, as with what he did to you Jeff, was at the instigation of Richard Klein, correct?”

  “Uh-huh,” Jeff mumbled.

  Brian said, “Yes, but Julie will say that Rydel was a willing participant and that corroborates Jeff’s account that he was molested by Rydel. I know my statement isn’t that on point when it comes to Rydel, so I thought hers would make a difference.”

  “Well, you’re certainly right, Brian, that your statement is completely irrelevant,” Sugarman said. “In fact, I think you are the most vulnerable to a lawsuit for slander, invasion of privacy, and defamation of character. My advice to you is that you drop out of this altogether, whether or not Jeff and his cousin go forward.”

  Brian was staggered by this dismissal, hurt and shamed to hear that the deep wound of his life, the distorting event that had colored every relationship, was irrelevant and inconsequential. He had struggled for forty years to have the courage to talk about what Klein had done to him, and now he was told that if he insisted on telling his story he would be sued into penury or humiliated into conceding that his precious truth was slander. Like a child, all he wanted to do was cry and go home.

  It was Jeff who answered Sugarman. “I think we need Brian. He confirms our stories about Cousin Richard and also he backs up that Rydel was part of it all.”

  “Frankly, I don’t think it’s prudent for any of you to go public. But especially not Brian. You asked me to act as his attorney as well, and my best advice is that what he’s got to say, in the context of your statements, defames Rydel without proffering an account of any wrongdoing on Rydel’s part. So, in effect, Brian is slandering him through guilt by association. I believe Brian’s statement plays into Rydel’s hand. If I were Rydel’s attorney, I’d pursue a separate suit against Brian for slander and invasion of privacy, making it as expensive and embarrassing as possible for Brian to go through the process. Meanwhile I’d privately offer to drop the lawsuit in exchange for Brian’s retracting his public statement, in effect recanting. And as Brian’s attorney, I’d have to advise him to grab that offer. That would take Brian’s statement out of evidence in the lawsuits against you and Julie and also look bad for your PR. Classic divide and conquer.”

  “I’ll pay Brian’s legal bills,” Jeff said.

  “He’d still get dragged through the courts, having to repeat again and again that Rydel did nothing to him and making his private life subject to investigation.”

  Brian interrupted. “I’m making my . . .” He had to swallow down whatever it was that wanted to erupt. Tears? Rage? He cleared his throat. Still couldn’t talk. He cleared it again. “Excuse me. I’m making my statement, all alone if I have to. And I won’t settle if Rydel sues me. Jeff doesn’t have to pay a nickel. I’ll go bankrupt, live on the streets. I won’t settle. Hear me? I’m not fucking settling!” Rage, that’s what had come out of him.

  “I’m just giving legal advice,” Sugarman said, maddeningly free of emotion. “It’s my responsibility to provide you and Jeff the best counsel I can. What you do with it is your decision, of course.”

  “Listen, Ed.” All of a sudden Jeff sounded relaxed and confident. “We can’t do nothing, okay? It’s out there. We’ve told enough people so that it’s sure to leak out. I have no illusions about that. So we have to go forward with some kind of statement. My question is, what can we do to lessen our exposure?”

  “Don’t hold a press conference. That’s over the top, anyway, in my view. Maybe go on a talk show like Oprah. Better yet, have Brian write an article about what happened to him. Let Rydel come into the story gradually, as a bystander. In Brian’s piece, he wouldn’t be accused of anything other than being used by Klein. It might even read as an apologia for him. That would insulate Brian from being accused of defamation of character. Then we let Rydel’s attorneys know that you and Julie are about to come forward, as if Brian’s article encouraged you and your cousin to tell your stories. In the interval, I could start talking with Rydel’s lawyers, coax them into his making a deal with the attorney general. If you haven’t gone public, I can turn a lawsuit threat from him around, that if they respond by suing, we will countersue him, and then we can call witnesses, including his alleged victims, and basically try him in civil court, the way the families nailed O. J. In other words, doing a slow rollout allows Rydel time to see he’s doomed eventually, and so he might as well make as favorable a deal as possible with the attorney general. After all, what you all have to say is a mitigating circumstance for him. He was a vulnerable, orphaned boy who was abused. But if you start out with a full-blown news conference, damning him as a sex abuser forty years ago, before he can negotiate with the AG, then he’s got no choice but to fight you to the last dollar. And he’s got thirty million of ’em.”

  “Julie won’t agree to that,” Brian said. He was hiding behind her skirts, but he had to; he wasn’t impressing this lawyer at all.

  “Yeah, she won’t agree to that, Ed,” Jeff said. “She thinks every day we don’t say anything, we’re responsible for every bad thing Rydel does.”

  “And she’s right,” Brian said.

  “That’s another point I want to raise,” Sugarman said. “You have to be very careful here, Jeff, you in particular. You were on the board of the American Broadcasting Academy.”

  “I wasn’t paid!” Jeff said, voice rising with outrage. “In fact, my crazy mother made me give Cousin Richard money to start the fucking thing and I never took a penny. I was long gone when he took it public.”

  Sugarman chuckled. “I’m not talking about who gave what to whom, Jeff. Your name on the board makes it conceivable that Klein’s or Rydel’s victims could sue you for failing to do your due diligence—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Brian’s temper took over. Words rasped out of him recklessly. “Even for a lawyer, this is chickenshit bullshit. Jeff cut off all communication with Klein and Rydel twenty-five years ago, right, Jeff? Are you telling the truth about that? ’Cause if you’re not, then fuck you. I hope they all sue you. I hope you fucking lose everything.”

  “Okay, let’s settle down,” the high-handed lawyer said.

  Nothing came from Jeff’s end. Brian soon discovered why.

  The bedroom door flew open. Jeff, red-faced, screamed at Brian: “FUCK YOU!” He slammed the door behind him. “HOW DARE YOU FUCKING ACCUSE ME. NOTHING HAPPENED TO YOU, YOU FUCKING WHINER. HE TOUCHED YOU A FEW TIMES, SO THE FUCK WHAT! HE SHOVED HIS COCK IN MY MOUTH OVER AND OVER. HE MADE ME—” He stopped as if shot. He was tilted forward, arms akimbo, a teetering statue.

  “Jeff?” Brian said.

  Jeff straightened, face blank. He b
acked up into a chair by a small desk, facing the bed. He sat erect, avoiding eye contact, a passenger in a crowded subway car. There was a long silence. A fan buried somewhere in the ceiling turned on. Brian felt hot air drift down to them. He was sweating. He thought about lowering the thermostat but didn’t want to disturb whatever was happening inside Jeff. His mind drifted, wondering how Julie was doing.

  Eventually someone knocked timidly.

  Jeff didn’t move, fixed on a inner landscape.

  He hoped it was Julie. “Come in?” Brian said.

  Grace entered. She looked at Jeff. He didn’t acknowledge her presence. “Should I tell Ed you’re done talking?” she asked his profile.

  Jeff blinked, his nose twitched; otherwise he didn’t move.

  “Yeah,” Brian said.

  Grace nodded. She seemed hesitant to go. She looked at Brian. “Are you going to write a play about this?”

  Startled, Brian laughed. “What?”

  “I think you should write about this. I know it’ll be very painful, unimaginably painful, but it’ll be your best work.” She opened the door and added as she left, “Make a great movie too.”

  Brian asked Jeff, “Can you believe that shit? Child molesters—producers. Is there really a difference?”

  No laugh from the grim Jeff, agape at nothing. Was he catatonic?

  Eventually Jeff crossed his legs, took a deep breath, and fixed on Brian. “We’re gonna do this, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “All of us, just like we agreed before?”

  “Julie’s not gonna back out. And I’m not.”

  “My mother loved me,” Jeff said. “Lots of people say they love me. Maybe they do. But I know, I fucking know, my mother loved me. She was the only person I can be sure really, really loved me.”

  Brian nodded. “I loved you, Jeff.”

  “As long as I was a good friend. But Ma loved me no matter what.”

  Brian nodded. The buried fan shut off. The funnel of heat stopped. From the other room, Brian smelled fresh coffee. More room service? He supposed he had to say the obvious, but he took no pleasure in telling Jeff, “But your mother was a monster.”