8

Tuesday, September 19, 1989

Tuesday afternoon, I closed the office at five. I had toted my portable Smith Corona as far as the door, and I was about to punch in the alarm code when the telephone rang. I was tempted to let the machine pick up, but my conscience got the better of me. I dumped my shoulder bag by the typewriter and went back to my desk, picking up the handset on the third ring.

“Kinsey, it’s Lauren. I wasn’t sure I’d catch you.”

“I was just on my way out.”

“Well, I’ll try not to keep you long. We have a problem.”

“You heard from the extortionist?”

“It’s not that. It’s Fritz. Last night we told him what was going on and he’s not happy with us.”

“Unhappy with you? How so?”

“He’s angry because we’re unwilling to meet the demand. We’ve gone over our reasoning countless times and we’re getting nowhere. We thought he should hear it from you. Is there any way you could pop over here tonight?”

“Of course, though I’m not sure what good it will do. I’ve never met him and I don’t see why my opinion would carry any weight.”

“He says he’ll take off if we don’t come through for him.”

“What, like he’ll run away from home?”

“He says he can’t handle another legal battle.”

“You’re not fond of the idea yourself.”

“I know, but we’re not the ones who’ll end up in jail. He’s come up with a claim about the tape that we think he’s fabricated, but there’s no arguing the point. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

I could feel myself rolling my eyes. I pictured myself in a verbal tussle with the kid, which would be a colossal waste of time. Then again, she’d written me a check for twenty-five hundred bucks, and so far I didn’t feel I’d earned my keep. “What time?”

“Seven, if that works for you.”

“Sure. I’ll return the tape while I’m at it. I’ll see you then.”

I brooded about the idea during the drive home. To me, it sounded like Fritz was taking control, asserting his point of view over the objections of his parents, who seemed to be throwing up their hands. Did they have no authority? Granted, the kid was twenty-five years old and by rights should have been out on his own, but his years in prison had set him back. With no job and no prospects, he was living with his mommy and daddy again and probably chaffing at his dependency.

I found a decent parking space, hauled the typewriter out of the backseat, and took it with me, pausing at the mailbox on my way through the gate. I extracted a fistful of junk mail, bills, and catalogues, separating my mail from Henry’s as I rounded the corner to the backyard.

This is the sight that greeted me.

Pearl was barefoot, wearing a bedsheet wrapped around herself toga-style. Her shoulders and arms were exposed, her boobs threatening to flop out if she didn’t watch herself. She’d apparently done a load of laundry and she was hanging wet clothes on a makeshift line she’d strung between two of Henry’s fruit trees. She navigated a short path back and forth, bending down to retrieve garments from the laundry basket as she swung herself across the dirt on her crutches. Either she was extremely adept at such maneuvering or she wasn’t as incapacitated as she implied. Her jeans were the size of denim sails and the bra trailing down from the line was large enough to store watermelons. The two shirts she’d pegged to the clothesline looked too small for her, but I wasn’t well acquainted with her wardrobe.

I set the typewriter on my front step, the better to deal with her.

She caught sight of me, but didn’t seem to feel her near-nude state required apology or comment. “I don’t know why Henry don’t plant grass. Look at this dirt ever’where. My feet’s a mess.”

“He’s conserving water. Or trying to,” I said.

“He said I could warsh my stuff, so don’t look at me like that.”

“I was explaining, not criticizing,” I said. “Is he home?”

“He went to the store.”

At that moment, her pup tent gave a shudder and a fellow crawled out through the flaps. Pearl must have done his laundry along with hers, or that was my guess since he wore jeans and nothing else. With my highly developed detective skills, I deduced the shirts hanging on the line were his. He struggled to his feet in a manner that suggested he’d had a bit to drink.

I looked from him to Pearl. “Who’s this?”

“Name’s Lucky. He’s a good friend of mine.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“What’s it look like? He’s hanging out.”

I took in the whole of him with a flick of my eyes, not wanting to stare. I placed him in his sixties. He was a scrawny man, but I could see he’d been muscular once upon a time, his frame now diminished by the years. He was so papered over with tattoos it looked like he’d plastered himself with a soggy sheet of Sunday funnies. The tattoos must have been done when he was in his teens because maturity had added a thick mat of chest hair that obscured some of the art. Age had loosened his skin and several sections of his human sketchbook had sagged, spoiling the effect.

He settled into one of Henry’s Adirondack chairs and extended his legs and bare feet. Beside him, there was a Styrofoam cooler filled with ice and packed with cans of a generic-brand beer. He removed one, popped the tab, and sucked down the contents. I expected an unceremonious belch, but his dainty manners prevailed.

I turned to Pearl. “Does Henry know about this?”

“What’s it to him? This guy’s broke and he’s got no place to stay, so I made room in my tent. Henry ain’t out anything and besides, he hadn’t said no.”

“Have you asked?”

“I will as soon as he gets home.”

“Lucky wasn’t here when he left?”

“He was asleep inside and I guess Henry didn’t notice him. Anyways, it’s none of your business if I entertain my friends. I got rights same as you.”

“Now we’re talking about rights?”

Lucky said, “Now, ladies, there’s no need to fuss. I’m only here for the night on account of the fella at Harbor House kicked me out. And before you ask, I’ll tell you straight out. I was drunk and unruly and the shelter won’t put up with that. Tomorrow, I’ll go back.”

“Good of you to own up. What makes you think they’ll take you?”

“Why wouldn’t they? Sober, I’m gentle as a lamb. It’s only eight or nine beers makes me surly and cantankerous.”

When he grinned, he showed dimples and dark gaps where the better part of his back teeth had been. “I wouldn’t have had them beers in the first place except my dog disappeared. He’s been with me twelve years and now I don’t know where he’s at.”

“That’s too bad,” I said. “Have you called Animal Control?”

“No, but that’s a fine idea. Do you mind if I use your phone?”

“I do mind.”

“Said like someone with a stick up her butt,” Pearl remarked.

I took that moment to escape.

I unlocked the studio and let myself in, placing the mail on my desk and the typewriter underneath. The cat streaked out of nowhere and beat me to the finish line. I might have shooed him out again, but he was good company and put me in a better mood. I closed the door and scooped him up, perched myself on a kitchen stool, and settled him in my lap. Ed was a talkative little fellow and he seemed happy for the audience. Having expressed himself in full, he put his chin on his paws and went to sleep. I moved him to my sofa, where he remained.

I changed into my running clothes and headed for the bike path. My three-mile run is a wonderful way to erase stress. I’m not always in the mood, but I push myself anyway for the relief. I finished my cooldown and came back to the studio, where I showered and dressed.

At six forty-five, having savored a peanut butter and pickle sandwich and tossed my paper towel in the trash, I grabbed my shoulder bag and keys and locked the door behind me. I carried Ed back to Henry’s place and set him inside the kitchen door. I could hear Pearl and Lucky and Henry chatting in the living room while the evening news blasted from the television set. I smelled beef stew and homemade bread, feeling ever so faintly put-upon at the meal I’d missed. Having been raised as an only child, it’s not in my nature to “share.”

The days were getting shorter as autumn crept in, but it was still light outside and the air was pleasantly warm. The drive into town was quick and there was ample parking behind the condominium. I cut through the covered vestibule and emerged onto State Street, where a quick left turn put me at the wooden door that opened onto the stairs. I trotted up to the second floor and knocked.

Hollis answered the door. “You must be Kinsey. I’m Hollis McCabe. We appreciate your stopping by.”

He extended his hand as he introduced himself. We made the usual polite mouth noises while he ushered me in. He appeared to be older than his wife by a good ten years, his once light-brown hair dusted with gray. He was tall and stoop-shouldered, casually dressed in a brown velour sweat suit. I picked up the scent of the cigar he’d smoked, but the effect wasn’t unpleasant.

He led the way into the living room. I took a seat on the couch while he crossed to a wet bar adjacent to the dining room. He poured bourbon over ice. “How about a drink? You’ll probably need one.”

“Sure. Chardonnay if you have it.”

“Of course.”

I could see then an open bottle of white wine, sitting in a cooler that was silvered with condensation. Lauren approached from the corridor that led to the library and the bedrooms. She wore a hip-length embroidered tunic over tight jeans and she carried an empty wineglass that Hollis topped off at the same time he poured wine for me. She crossed to the couch and settled at the other end.

“Thanks for making the trip.”

“I’m not far. Fifteen minutes max.”

I reached in my bag and removed the tape, which I held out to her.

“Thank you. I’m not sure what I’ll do with it, but it’s probably a good thing to have it in my control.” She set it on the end table beside her.

Hollis carried his bourbon to a chair and sat down, placing his drink on the end table next to him. “You want to fill her in before we get Fritz out here?”

“She should hear the story from him. It will save us the repetition.”

“Your call,” he said.

Lauren set aside her wineglass and walked down the hall. She paused at the first door on the left and knocked. “Fritz? Kinsey’s here.”

His reply was muffled and the tone was argumentative.

“Five minutes, please. She’s doing this as a courtesy,” she said.

“I said I’d be out in a bit!”

“I heard you the first time. Quit being a pill.”

There was silence. I thought she’d start counting like mothers do with children who misbehave. “One, two . . . I’m warning you . . . I’m going to swat your behind . . . three, four . . .” The strategy is weak unless the point is to teach kids to count.

Fritz emerged, banging the door open. “Fine.”

I wasn’t sure how he managed to cram so much rebellion and ill humor into one word. He was no longer the lean boy I’d seen on the tape. He’d filled out, adding the sort of weight that starchy food produces. This was the first time I’d laid eyes on the kid in person. I associated him with the four minutes of tape, complete with saucy weenie-wagging, an image I struggled to repress.

“Why don’t you tell Kinsey what you told us?” she said.

Fritz flung himself into a chair and crossed his arms. “Jeez, Mom. Why don’t we jump right in? We haven’t even been introduced.”

“Kinsey, this is Fritz. Fritz, Kinsey. Now let’s not waste any more of her time.”

“You’re happy enough wasting mine.”

Lauren closed her eyes. “Fritz.”

“What a bitch! If you don’t believe me, why should she?”

Hollis crossed the distance between them in two steps, his fist cocked. “I’ll knock the shit out of you if you talk to your mother that way. Use that tone again and you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor.”

The eruption caught me off guard. I’d assumed Hollis was a mild-mannered middle-aged man who favored the same ineffective parenting techniques his wife employed. Her method entailed wheedling, nagging, coaxing, and expressing her appreciation for any semblance of obedience. I couldn’t believe Hollis had threatened to deck his own kid in front of company. The threat made my nerves crackle, and the hair on my arms lifted as though from static electricity. My heart gave an uncharacteristic thump in case I was next.

Fritz was apparently a past recipient of his father’s blows because he dropped the attitude. His manner was still sullen, but he wasn’t “acting out.” I was horrified by the exchange and sat still as stone, waiting for the tension to dissipate. Lauren didn’t bat an eye. Meanwhile, Hollis lowered his fist and picked up his drink again as he sat down. Conversation resumed without further reference to parental abuse.

Lauren turned to me. “Fritz tells us it was a lark. He says the tape was made all in good fun.”

I said, “I had a conversation with Iris yesterday and she said much the same thing.”

“Because it’s true! We were just horsing around. We were laughing our asses off. It was Austin’s idea and Iris jumped on the plan. She loved the notion of a porno film, which she thought was a hoot. She faked everything, acting like she passed out when she was in on the joke, right?” he said, looking to me for confirmation.

“She didn’t actually go that far. She referred to it as ‘messing around.’”

“That’s what I’m talking about. A put-on.”

Hollis said, “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“Because I knew you’d do this. I’m telling the truth and you’re calling me a liar.”

Lauren said, “Your father’s asking why you’d offer such an explanation at this late date.”

“You only told me about the blackmail yesterday.”

“I’m talking about ten years ago when the tape first came to light.”

“You said you didn’t see it, so how was I supposed to explain? You swore you didn’t watch it.”

“Because you accused me of taking it,” she said. “What could I do except plead ignorance? I certainly wasn’t going to offer up the sordid details once this whole business went to trial. I was trying to protect you, not make matters worse.”

Hollis said, “Let’s back up a bit. We didn’t see anything to indicate Iris was ‘horsing around,’ and what you and Troy did could hardly be classified as high jinks.”

“The tape was edited. We stopped five or six times deciding what we’d do next. Those scenes were cut. There wasn’t a script. We were making it up as we went along.”

Hollis said, “Look, Fritz. We’re willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but just for the sake of argument, where is all of this edited material? Alleged edited material.”

“There you go again. ‘Alleged edited material,’” he repeated in a mocking tone, his expression sour.

“Just answer the question.”

“How would I know? Bayard worked on the edits and then gave the tape to Austin for his review. When I got it back, the scenes were gone. You can see the jumps on the tape. There must be three or four. Austin must have kept the outtakes.”

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere. He told you that?”

“Not in so many words. I assumed he had the footage because he was the director and he had the final word. That’s how it’s done in Hollywood, is what he said.”

“Oh, right. A Hollywood production. I can see your point,” Hollis said.

“You’re doing it again. Being all pissy. Why don’t you ask Bayard? He’ll tell you the same thing.”

“I’m sure he would. Otherwise, what we’re looking at is the vicious abuse of a young girl. What is she, fourteen?”

“We didn’t force ourselves on her. It was consensual and it wasn’t even real sex. It was a game and she agreed. She wasn’t drunk and she didn’t pass out. In between the camera rolling, she was cracking up.”

“Son, we’d like nothing better than to take your word for it. But the way things stand, if that tape reaches the DA, you’re in very deep shit.”

“I know! God. You don’t have to repeat yourself. We’re in trouble. I get that. What do you want me to do?”

Lauren spoke up, saying, “Providing us with proof would be nice. So far, that seems to be in short supply.”

“I don’t have proof!”

“Which leaves us in a precarious position, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Shit, Mom. If you’d just pay the guy, this would all go away, so why don’t we talk about that for a change?”

“Your mother told you before. We’re not going to pay.”

“Why not? Twenty-five grand is nothing to you, so why not do what he says?”

“Because we have no guarantee that would be the end of it. We pay and who’s to say the crook won’t come back and insist on more? We could live the rest of our lives with the same threat hanging over our heads.”

“If Troy and I get nailed on this stuff, we’ll be tried as adults. You don’t pay, we could spend years behind bars. Is that what you want? Because if you ask me, that’s really fucked up.”

Lauren turned to me. “Why don’t we hear what Kinsey has to say?”

“Who cares about her opinion? You’re picking up the tab, so she’ll say anything you want.”

Lauren said, “We’ll be picking up the tab regardless. At least give her the courtesy of listening.”

“What for? Why not support me for a change? It’s my life on the line.”

Hollis said, “Fritz—”

I cut in, hoping to head off another verbal slugfest. “I understand your point, Fritz, but there’s more to their decision than you may be aware,” I said. “The first thing your parents did when this business came up was to consult a criminal attorney. He strongly advised them not to pay for the same reasons they’ve already given you. You have to draw the line somewhere and this is as good a place as any. The minute they pay, all they’ve done is open up a can of worms.”

“Well, I disagree and I should have a say in this, don’t you think?”

“Only if you have twenty-five thousand dollars to spare,” Hollis interjected.

“Great. Put it all on me. I’ve already got my nuts in a vise, so pile it on.”

“Darling, since you don’t respect our point of view, what do you suggest?”

“Quit farting around. Give the guy what he wants and tell him that’s the end of it. Say you won’t pay another cent and he can like it or lump it. I don’t understand why the idea is so hard to grasp.”

Lauren leaned forward. “Do you know how much we’ve already shelled out for your legal bills? Half a million dollars. We had to sell the house to come up with it.”

“You never bitched about the money before.”

“Fine. You pay if you think it’s such a good idea,” she said.

“How am I supposed to come up with money like that? News flash. I’m unemployed and I’m an ex-con, so no one’s going to hire me no matter what. Even if I had a job, I couldn’t earn dough like that in a million years.”

Hollis said, “We don’t feel it’s our responsibility. You put us in this position. Yet again, I might add.”

“Fuck you.”

Hollis closed his eyes, working to control his temper. “You know, son, it’s this attitude that got you in trouble in the first place. You act without any thought to the consequences.”

“You’ve told me that before, Dad! And what am I supposed to say? The past is the past. It’s over and done. I can’t change anything.”

Lauren said, “Let’s deal with the here and now.”

“There isn’t any here and now. I’m out,” Fritz snapped.

He jumped up and headed for his room, his face suffused with fury. He turned back once, saying, “Do anything you want, but I’ll hang myself before I go back to prison, so factor that into the equation.” He banged into his room and that was the end of that.

The door slamming was the perfect punctuation mark to a scene that already felt overplayed. One thing about uproar: it’s useful in diverting attention from issues you’re hoping to avoid.

Hollis caught my eye. “You can see what we’re dealing with,” he said, sounding strangely satisfied.