The Fox's Choice

by M A Simonetti

  “Richard is very fond of you, Alana,” Jorjana said unhelpfully.

  “That makes me sound like a casserole,” I said.

  “Nonetheless, he has your best interests at heart.”

  “Maybe that’s what she meant. I’m too tired to think about it any longer.”

  Ever the diplomat, she changed the subject.

  “David is certain the elephants will be available for my party! I am so delighted! I have requested the precise measurements for each elephant.”

  “What are you measuring them for?”

  “For their outfits, of course.”

  “You are dressing the elephants?”

  “Why, yes. It is traditional for the elephants to wear a headdress and draping.”

  “Who does this kind of work?”

  “I am well acquainted with a tailor in Sri Lanka.”

  Of course she was.

  We discussed the party plans at length and I was grateful for the diversion. In the end, I found myself with a strong opinion on the color of the elephant’s dress.

  “Purple and green, Jorjana. Red and gold is for royalty.”

  “Perhaps you are right. I will ask for a photograph of the elephants to make certain the colors suit them.”

  “God forbid we dress them in a color that is unflattering to them.”

  “I agree completely.”

  Of course she did.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next morning I was awakened by a knock on the door. I hoped the knock would bring coffee.

  It did. The tiny woman who bagged my shoes at the front door entered my room carrying a footed tray with a pot of coffee and a warm croissant and all the appropriate dishware. China and silver, of course. She placed the tray on the bed. She looked hard at me as if to determine how I felt. I half expected her to put a hand to my forehead.

  “Drink and eat. Hot food in kitchen. Thirty minutes. Not be late.”

  And she was gone.

  I sat up, scooted into a comfy position and poured the coffee. The first sip jolted me awake. The first bite of croissant settled my stomach. It occurred to me that a decent hot meal might not be a bad idea. I took a second sip of coffee and jumped in the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, I was dressed, fully caffeinated and starving. I straightened my room lest the household staff reported to Tina that I was a slob. Then I grabbed my handbag and left for the kitchen.

  A covered walkway connected the house and the guest wing. It was sunny and warm and the property was buzzing with activity. Gardeners trimmed and swept and raked. The horses had new bales of hay. Two guys tended the pool. Everyone was Asian and everyone wore holsters complete with guns.

  Except the horses. They were Arabian.

  Tina Lin’s kitchen was not as big as the York kitchen but it was one busy place. An Asian guy dressed in chef’s whites wielded an omelet pan like he meant it. Two young women dressed in black skirts and white blouses peeled vegetables and chopped fresh fruit and giggled when they saw me. The tiny woman shushed them.

  There were stainless steel counters and massive refrigerators and woks hanging from hooks on the ceiling. Richard and Tina sat at a wooden table at the far end of the kitchen. A coffee pot and a pitcher of orange juice and a plate of muffins sat before them. They each had an omelet the size of a pizza in fJimt of them.

  “Good morning Alana! Did you go to bed while it was still light out?” Richard seemed in good spirits.

  “I was beat. Jorjana says hello.” I took a seat and unfolded a linen napkin the size of a boat sail.

  “Did you sleep well?” Tina asked. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  The tiny woman asked me what I wanted in my omelet. She was fast becoming my most favorite person in Sacramento. I asked for tomatoes and mozzarella and basil. It was no problem. She poured a cup of coffee for me and then shuffled away while barking something in Chinese to the chef.

  “Our plans have changed a bit for today,” Richard said. “Linda called and said that your father was released from the hospital last night. He wants to meet you at his country club. He’s planned a luncheon for you.”

  I had to think for a second about who Linda was- I’d spent my entire life referring to her as That Woman. Then I was annoyed that she had contacted Richard instead of me. But then I remembered that I hadn’t given her my contact information. And then I was surprised that Richard had given his phone number to her. And then that annoyed me. It occurred to me that the day ahead was going to be filled with emotional ups and downs and now a luncheon was thrown into the works.

  “I don’t want to have a meal with him,” I protested.

  Richard shrugged. “Linda said that your father is in good spirits and is anxious to see you. You’ll get your answers sooner if you just play along with him.”

  Richard shoveled the last bit of his omelet into his mouth with one hand while scrolling through his phone with his other.

  “I’ve gotta take this call. Excuse me.” And he was gone.

  My omelet arrived- fluffy and hot and smelling like basil and tomatoes. It was accompanied by a bowl of blackberries and crusty sourdough toast. I was hungry enough to eat one of the horses outside so tucking into the meal in fJimt of me was no problem.

  “Are you looking forward to seeing your father?” Tina asked. “Richard tells me it has been some time since you last saw him.”

  “It’s been almost forty years,” I said. “I wouldn’t be here except his grandson stole money from me.”

  Tina blinked in surprise- a facial expression that I don’t see a lot of in Malibu. Women over a certain age in my neighborhood never show emotion given the amounts of Botox and fillers everyone uses. I liked that Tina was able and willing to show surprise. I found myself telling her the whole story of Zach and how I was drugged and my money stolen and how my half-brother Bradley turned up without notice in my office.

  “Alana, that is a frightening story,” Tina said. “You have no idea why this Zane person targeted you?”

  “None. And the cops aren’t interested in finding out why it happened. I came here to see if my father could shed some light on it.”

  “Be careful of what you wish for,” Tina said. “Whoever has your money will not give it up without a fight. People have been killed for a lot less.”

  She gave me a hug before leaving. And she took my appetite with her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The attendant at the gate to the country club was quite concerned.

  “I have Teresa Bennett and Richard Lafferty on the guest list. Who are you?”

  This was directed to the guy driving the SUV.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I asked from the back. “Leave him here and push the vehicle to the club?”

  I was bitchy. I intended to be. I was tired of being called Teresa Bennett. I’d worked hard to build my life as Alana Fox and I expected to being respected for that effort.

  “What are you going to do while they have lunch?” The attendant ignored me and spoke to the driver.

  “I will drop my passengers off and leave the premises,” the driver said. “Just make note of my license plate so I can pick them up after they have lunch with Dr. and Dr. Bennett and their family.”

  The driver put enough emphasis on ‘Dr. and Dr. Bennett’ to catch the attendants attention. He waved us through. Apparently the Bennett’s had some clout.

  “What was that all about?” I asked. Still bitchy. Still intentional.

  “It’s nothing, Mrs. Fox,” the driver said. “The guy is bored and wants me to think that he has some power.”

  “Where will you go then?”

  “ I will park outside the clubhouse and wait for you.”

  “Won’t that guy look for you?”

  “No. Would you?”

  Our driver was the size of three men. The gate attendant was the size of a chipmunk. I did the math.

  “I’ll send a sandwich out for you.” I felt a litt
le bad about my bitchiness.

  “Thank you Mrs. Fox. Just a cheese sandwich, please. I’m vegetarian.”

  Of course he was.

  The country club was as nice as any that I have seen and I have seen my fair share. Carved wood doors opened to a lounge area that looked out over the golf course. The lounge sported a nicely stocked bar with bartenders wearing vests and ties and white shirts. Plenty of chairs about to lounge in and lie about your game. The place was empty except for Jack and Bradley.

  Jack Bennett sat in a corner chair looking pretty good for a guy who had a hospital bed in his living room. He was a bit pale but he was dressed like in a polo shirt and slacks like he was ready to tee off. An oxygen hose was wrapped around his head. Bradley stood next to him, one hand on his father’s shoulder. I was struck by how much the two men resembled each other. It also struck me that I would have recognized my father anywhere. In spite of his silver hair, wrinkled skin and oxygen hose. I wasn’t prepared for that- I felt a bit off kilter.

  I didn’t know what to do. Shake my father’s hand? Hug him? Slap him? I was fairly certain my desire to turn and run away would be interpreted as rude.

  Jack raised both of his arms toward me.

  “Come. It’s been a lifetime.”

  The walk across the lounge to accept his embrace took long enough for forty years of memories to race through my mind. Father-Daughter dinner dances that I avoided because I didn’t have a Father to take me. Saturday Masses in Stockton when my mother was banned from our local church. Christmas mornings with just my mother and me. Birthdays. Summer vacations. Graduations. My marriage to Alan Fox. Every important milestone in my life from age eight until now. I now knew that he had tried to stay in contact with me, but that knowledge was new and those memories had been with me forever.

  I could not bring myself to return the hug. Nor could I think of what to say.

  Jack let me go. I stepped back. You could have heard a court ordered visitation document fall to the floor.

  “Bradley, give us some privacy,” Jack said.

  “Sure thing, Dad. Mom’s already in the dining room with Melissa and the girls. Richard, why don’t you come along?”

  “Are you OK?” Richard asked me.

  I nodded and took a seat across from Jack.

  Richard followed Bradley but not before holding up his phone. I knew he meant that I only had to text him if I needed help. I nodded my appreciation. I hoped he understood how much.

  Jack watched them go. I told myself to breathe.

  “Is that your fellow?” Jack asked.

  I shook my head.

  “He is smitten with you,” Jack said.

  I did not want to get into details on my life with him. I kept quiet and concentrated on breathing. Which was harder than I ever would have thought.

  Jack watched me for a long time. I suspected he had his own memories to sort through.

  “Let me tell you my side of our story and then we can address what brought you here. What do you say?” Jack said.

  I was curious in spite of myself. The disparity between what I was told as a child and what I had learned in the last few days seemed to be all anyone would talk about. I’d come to discuss something else entirely but I knew I would have to let Jack have his say before I could get the answers to my questions. I nodded. I still couldn’t bring myself to speak.

  Jack closed his eyes, cleared his throat and told me his side.

  “I went to Clarkstown as a favor to a mentor of mine from medical school. The town doc had a heart attack and needed to take a break. My mentor thought it would be a good experience for me since I was interested in family practice. So off I went with every intention of returning to San Francisco in six months. But then I met your mother, and Doc Hinshaw up and died. Before I knew it, I was the town doc. And I had married a Clark.”

  Jack looked at me as if for confirmation. Again, I nodded.

  “In my defense, your mother had agreed that we would move from Clarkstown eventually. But I had trouble finding someone to take my place and then you came along and Rosalie begged me to stay in town while you were little so she could have help from her mother and sisters.

  “So we stayed but I kept up my contacts in the Bay Area. Eventually, those contacts came up with a plan to form a holistic medical practice and they asked me to join. It was my dream job, Teresa. Everything that I believed in as a doctor- to treat the patient as a whole, not as a stack of symptoms.”

  Jack leaned forward as if to emphasize his point.

  “I found someone to take over the Clarkstown practice and my partners and I started the new practice. I managed to convince the others that it would be more economical in Sacramento but the real reason was so I could commute from Clarkstown. I’ll bet the Clark’s never told you that ten doctors moved their families from San Francisco to Sacramento because your mother wouldn’t move away from Clarkstown.”

  That was news to me. I must have looked surprised. Jack sunk back into his recliner. His face was red.

  “Linda and Bradley said they told you about our weekend trips to try and see you. You really never knew?”

  “You could have called to tell me you were coming.”

  It was the first time I had spoken to my father in forty years so I didn’t feel badly about being rude.

  “Your Aunt Lois would only put my calls through if your mother was home. And Rosalie would hang up on me.”

  Clarkstown was probably the last place on earth to have a phone system that operated through a central switchboard. And my Aunt Lois ran that office like a boot camp.

  “You could have written.” Less rude tone this time but I needed answers to all my questions.

  Jack pointed to the floor. A cardboard box sat next to him.

  “Go look through the box.”

  It was big enough to hold a microwave, which according to the printing on the box, was its original purpose. I pulled the flaps aside to find dozens of envelopes addressed to Teresa Bennett. Each one had “Return to Sender” written on the fJimt.

  “I wrote to you every Sunday,” Jack said. “From the time you said that you didn’t want to see me until you went away to college.”

  My Uncle Tom was the Postmaster. I recognized his handwriting on the envelopes. Phone calls diverted. Mail returned. The entire town collaborated on keeping Jack Bennett away. I felt my resentment to my father thaw just a bit.

  Then I remembered the accident.

  “Aunt Betty said that my grandparent’s accident happened after they came to see you.”

  “Yes, that is true. I wish to God that it wasn’t.” Jack paled even more. “Rosalie and I were both too stubborn for our own good and neither of us gave an inch. In the end it was too late. Your grandparents came to see me and asked me to give the marriage another try but Linda and I were already involved. Keith was only eight. We were a family, Linda, Keith and I and I wasn’t going to blow up another family. I told your grandfather that. I hate that my last words to him were so hurtful.”

  I closed the flaps on the box. I didn’t want to read the letters. It was painful enough just knowing they existed.

  “Aunt Betty said that Uncle Donald kept you away from town.”

  It was a relief to not have to explain who was who in the Clark family tree.

  Jack sighed. He seemed to shrink into his chair. He looked at me with regret that was almost palpable.

  “After your grandparents died the family imploded,” Jack said. “No one knew who was in charge and that was confusing for all of them. Grief does odd things to people. Donald got mean, really mean. He trained his deputies to keep me away.”

  “Why didn’t you go to court and fight them?”

  “I couldn’t afford an attorney. I hoped that over time the family would soften.”

  “Bradley said that you drove down to Stockton every Saturday.”

  “Did he?” Jack chuckled at that. “It may have seemed like every weekend to him but I can assure you it wasn’
t that often. But I persisted until you graduated high school. Then I lost track of you. Why did you change your name?”

  “When I left Clarkstown, I left for good.”

  I swallowed hard. Truth was that when I left I had hoped someone would go after me. But no one came.

  I grew up believing that my father turned his back on me when I was ten years old. I left for college at eighteen to escape the life my mother would have enforced on me with the full support of the Clarks. She and I were also a stubborn pair- neither of us could see the other’s side of things.

  In retrospect, my father’s example may have influenced how completely I left my childhood behind. The life I created for myself was of my own choosing. I loved becoming Alana Clark -a girl on her own, supporting herself and judged on her own merits. I answered to no one and no one judged me based on who my family was. At nineteen I married Alan Fox at the Santa Monica courthouse with two court clerks as witnesses. My mother never forgave me for not inviting her to the ceremony and the Clarks never forgave me for marrying outside of the Church. My mother and I never did reconcile our differences. She died when I was thirty. I returned to Clarkstown for her funeral but never again. My annual Christmas call to my Aunt Betty came more from guilt than the desire to keep in touch.

  I certainly never intended to contact my father. And yet, there I was sitting next to him and all but waxing nostalgic about the past. He could explain all he wanted about why he left and how hard the Clarks made it for him to see me but the fact of the matter was he did leave. He could have easily commuted from Sacramento to Clarkstown. But he chose to leave his wife and child. It was surprising to learn that he tried to see me but it didn’t change my mind about him. Or had it? Now that I knew my father had wanted to see me, I wondered why my mother hadn’t agreed to live in Sacramento during the week and return to Clarkstown on the weekends? It seemed the more I learned about my parent’s divorce and my childhood, the more questions remained. And I hadn’t even brought up Zane yet.