WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19 – With the morning came the familiar routine that smoothed the peaks and valleys of the emotions from the evening before. It also brought the possibility of a new beginning, combined with the necessity to get ready for school and for work. Like families everywhere, the Sullivans began this day with an unspoken willingness to look to the future and to temporarily, at least, forget the unpleasant past.
As Janet returned to their bedroom with two cups of coffee, Richard sat up in bed. “I'm really sorry I was so late and missed the game. Bruce's contract had to be completely rewritten. How did Tommy do?”
“OK. He made a great catch, but then threw the ball away. He never did play in the infield.” If Richard had been home the previous evening, she would have said much more; but now they were all in their usual morning rush, and Janet just wasn't up to a battle. It occurred to her that they had many other issues to discuss, but later. Then the telephone rang.
“Oh, my heavens,” she exhaled. Covering the mouthpiece, she said to Richard, “It's Nancy Bryant. She just got a call that Hugh McEver died last night of a stroke!”
Richard was shocked and told Janet about the ambulance. He thought for a moment about Hugh, who was a friendly competitor with another law firm. What a shame.
“He was four years younger than you,” Janet said, hanging up the phone. “I think Betty has some family here in town. Nancy is going to call me later at work to let me know what we can do for them. Those three sweet young children!”
The death of their neighbor filled what passed for discussion at family “breakfast.” More correctly it was a loose twenty minutes when the four Sullivans passed each other in the kitchen and breakfast room, each fixing and eating some sort of prepackaged morning food. Richard did ask Tommy about the game and told him that he hoped they could hit some balls together next weekend following his business trip. Tommy said something in reply that only another teenager could perhaps have understood. Richard surmised that it was a short sentence, but it sounded like a grunt.
He was about to ask for a repeat when Susan walked in with her books and told him she had enjoyed a short date with Drew Davidson after the game. As the two of them began talking together, Tommy withdrew to get his school work.
“Isn't it awful about Hugh?” Bruce McKinney asked, as he and his partner, David Smith, entered Richard's conference room that morning.
“He and I talked together on Saturday afternoon. He was out working in their yard, and I had just finished jogging. I guess you never know.”
Each man gave a respectful shrug or glance at the floor. Death was just not something anyone lingered on. Better to avoid the thought and get on with business—something each one could understand.
“Parts of this contract look like they were written for another deal,” Richard began after they were seated. “I had to rewrite several sections to match what you've told me. Are you sure you and Patrick Tomlinson had a meeting of the minds on his investment in your company?”
“Of course,” Bruce replied. “I bet it's all just his lawyer, Marty Tsongas, trying to earn his keep. Give us some examples.”
“Well, the closing can't take place until his father's estate is settled. Frankly, that could still take months. His father was very wealthy and has a complicated estate, as you know from your work with him. And then it's further contingent on the price of Fairchild Textile stock being at twenty or better for the week before the closing. Did you agree to that? And they want your personal guarantees on the accounts payable disclosure schedule.”
David and Bruce looked at each other. David spoke. “Those are specific points we had not discussed in detail, but Tomlinson did mention in general that the money had to come from his father's estate. I guess that's just his attorney's way of protecting him.”
“I wish we could close much sooner, like tomorrow,” Bruce added. “We really need his capital, Richard, and Patrick Tomlinson is the only investor we've found who will put up all the money we need for expansion and still let David and me continue to run the company as we think best. It's a deal made in heaven for us. I guess we'll just have to work with the conditions. Fairchild Textile is at thirty-six now, and hasn't been below twenty in years, so I'm not worried there. And David and I will just have to guarantee whatever he wants. But can't you push them on the closing date? We really need his money.”
“I'll try, but if the money is coming from the estate, and he won't borrow it, then I'm afraid we're all at the mercy of the estate process.”
After another twenty minutes of discussing the details, Richard promised that he would call Tomlinson's attorney and do the best he could to win some concessions, without killing the deal.
As they rose to leave, Bruce asked, “Have you and Janet been up to Tom and Nancy Bryant's new mountain house yet?”
Richard had heard that their mutual neighbor's new home was well done, but they had been busy the month before when Tom had invited them up. “No, not yet. How is it?”
“Spectacular. Really nice. I don't know how Tom does it with real estate development the way it is today. Those of us in securities are just scraping by. But if we can close this deal, Richard, maybe David and I can also do something big for our families. Maybe Diane and I can get a beach house for the whole neighborhood to enjoy!”
“I hope so,” said Richard. Incredibly, as he smiled to himself, what popped into his mind was a vision of Kristen, sprawled seductively on the deck of Bruce's new imaginary beach home. “I sure hope so,” he repeated with a visible grin.
“Please, Susan,” Amy Bryant asked, as they walked to their lockers between classes, “Billy asked me to go out Saturday night, to a party at his fraternity house. He has a friend who he says is a cute guy for you to go with. My parents want to spend the weekend at our new mountain house, but I'd rather stay here and go out with Billy. They'll let me stay with you, if you invite me, and we can meet Billy and his friend at the restaurant. We'll be home on time. You'll love the party. No one will ever have to know.”
“Well, my folks don't want me dating college boys yet, and I've never really lied to them before on something like this.”
“You don't have to lie. We'll just tell them we're going out for dinner. We don't have to tell them that there will be a little detour from the parking lot!” Amy smiled. “And besides, we're almost seniors now. We drive ourselves. What right do our parents have to tell us we can't date college guys? They're just guys. Believe me, you'll really have a great time.”
Susan thought for a minute about her parents and their icy relationship, which seemed to be falling apart. “What do they really know about dating and kids these days?” a voice asked her, echoing Amy's logic. “Why should you suffer because they can't agree on anything?” the voice added in righteous indignation.
“OK,” Susan agreed, to Amy's delight. “But let's keep it under control and be in on time. I don't want a hassle. Tonight I'll ask my mom if you can spend the weekend with us. And let's not tell Bobbie. She won't understand.”
“I know you probably think I'm crazy,” Tom said, after he and Janet had ordered sandwiches at the cafe around the corner from the television station. “But I've been at this for more than twenty years. A lot has changed. It's not the way it used to be, I know. But this ‘911 Live’ is just too much. Have you seen the promos? Do you know they're already outfitting several ambulances and police cars here in our city for a test run this spring, before the show starts in the fall? Can you imagine what might wind up in people's living rooms at 7:30?”
Janet had known Tom Spence for almost five years; she respected his professionalism as the head of their promotion department. His job was to promote the station, to increase their ratings, and thereby to increase their advertising income. She had begun her career at the station as his assistant. He had been her early mentor, but now the student had equalled the teacher. The fact that he was opposed to this new show was particularly troubling to Janet because she knew in fact that he was not crazy. His opposition virtually demanded her attention.
“Tom, I don't know as much about it as you do, but I must say that what I've seen so far does trouble me. Are they not going to have any controls at all on what is televised?”
“Not according to Network, and I've called the people who should know. They're just going to let it all happen, in the name of realism and ‘true life in the city’.”
“What about the FCC? Aren't there some standards?”
Tom laughed, as the waitress brought their iced teas. “Are you kidding? There used to be. This show would have been impossible just a few years ago. But the American Civil Freedoms League brought all those lawsuits, and the networks and cable stations have been competing with each other to push beyond the old standards. The result is that there aren't any standards at all any more. If you'll excuse a quote from the Bible, Janet, it says at the end of Judges, ‘In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes.’ That seems to be about where we are today.”
The quotation reminded Janet of the other thing about Tom: she knew that he was a Christian. Despite herself, a voice warned her that she should watch out; he probably had some hidden religious agenda.
“It does seem like Network may be going too far with this one. I certainly would not want my kids, much less younger children, seeing firsthand, live and in color, the worst scenes of what happens in our city. Without any editing or masking or explanation. But what do you expect to do about it?” They paused while their sandwiches arrived.
“I asked you to lunch because you obviously have Bill Shaw's ear and his confidence. A group of us feel so strongly that, if something doesn't change, we may threaten to quit if our station carries this show. It would be better if it could be stopped at Network, by opposition from enough local stations. But if that's not possible, at least we can stand up here for what's right. We would like you to join us—or at least be helpful and run interference for us with Bill.”
“Good grief, Tom. You're willing to lose your job over this one show, in a sea of other shows which are almost as bad? What about Sandy and your two girls? You know jobs are not easy to come by now.”
“I know. It's tough. A group of us are praying.” Janet raised her eyebrows. “Sandy is praying too. She feels just as strongly as we do. I don't know what will happen. But I do know that this show is not right, and someone has to try to stop it. I guess we feel that if it is not us at this station, then who will it be?”
“Well, I doubt I'll be praying,” Janet smiled, and a voice laughed quietly within her at her little put-down. “But I do agree that this show, if it's as you say, seems to be going too far. I tell you what I'll do: you get me the details that you have from Network on the format. I'll read it over and discuss it again with you. If I still agree that the show is lousy, then I'll set up a meeting for your group with Bill, and I'll attend and add my voice. But I don't plan to risk my job over this show or over any other show.”
“Fair enough,” said Tom. “We appreciate whatever help you can give us. I'll make you a copy of the information right after we get back.”
“Can you come over and spend the night on Saturday?” Brent asked Tommy as school was letting out. “You can come home with us after the game. We'll probably all go to the pizza place. My brother is having a friend over too. Maybe we'll get to see some of those movies!” With that he rolled his eyes and grinned.
“Sounds good to me. I'll check with Mom when I get home and call you. I think my dad is going somewhere this weekend, so she probably won't mind.”
“Mr. Sullivan, it's a gentleman named Robert Meredith on line three,” Mary, his secretary, announced on the intercom.
The name was familiar, but he could not place it. “OK,” he said, “I'll take it.”
“Richard, this is Robert Meredith, Bobbie's dad. How are you today?”
“Fine,” Richard replied, but a voice was already screaming inside to watch out; he vaguely remembered something unpleasant.
“Remember a while back when we were at that parents’ meeting at school, and I mentioned that this spring we were going to have a men's prayer breakfast with Benjamin Fuller as the speaker? Well, it's coming up in two weeks. You said you'd like to hear Fuller, and I'd like to invite you as my guest. It's two weeks from Thursday at 7:30 at the Palace Hotel. Can you make it?”
Oh great, Richard thought, a prayer breakfast. Just what I need at 7:30 in the morning! A voice was telling him to make an excuse, but for some reason it had a little less volume than usual. Perhaps it was Hugh McEver's death last night; maybe that made him pause. But he was still about to say no, when he thought again about Benjamin Fuller. Richard had practiced corporate law for years, and Ben Fuller had been one of the premier merger and acquisition lawyers in the nation for two decades. Richard had always wanted to hear him. He finally decided that he could sit through whatever else happened at a prayer breakfast in order to see and hear Ben Fuller firsthand.
“Oh, sure, Robert. I remember. I guess I've never been to a prayer breakfast before, but I'd like to hear Benjamin Fuller. So count me in.”
“Great, Richard. I know you'll enjoy it. It will be in the Grand Ballroom at the Palace. I'll have them send you an invitation. See you there.” And they said goodbye.
Richard couldn't even remember what Robert Meredith did for a living. He would have to ask Susan, so he could carry on a civil conversation at that early hour. He wrote the meeting in his appointment book, wondering as he did what sort of businessman had enough spare time to invite other men to prayer breakfasts!
* * *
As Janet worked in the kitchen that evening preparing their supper, she shook her head and smiled to herself, thinking back on her short conversation with Richard that Wednesday afternoon. They usually checked with each other to find out what, if anything, had come up to modify the family's routine for that particular evening. She smiled because for the first time in weeks, they were all four actually going to be home, and they might really sit down to a meal together. No baseball practice, no cheerleading assignment, no late taping session at the station, no crisis in the law practice.
With a hint of sadness, Janet reflected through her smile that a supper together had become the exception. Whatever else had been wrong in her own home growing up, at least they had almost always dined together as a family. Oh, well; thank God for small blessings.
Susan and Tommy had been home from school for some time, doing their homework. Now Susan was on the phone, as usual, and Tommy was two blocks away at Brent's house. Janet was not only cooking supper, but also preparing a casserole to give to Nancy Bryant to deliver to Betty McEver tomorrow. She wanted to talk to Betty and ask about the children, but she decided that she should wait a day or two.
Tommy came home as it started to get dark, and Richard was virtually on time, right behind him. A few minutes later, Richard sat at the breakfast room table, looking at the paper with one eye and the evening news with the other. When Susan and Tommy came in, Richard asked them about their days at school and listened to brief reports. He then reminded Janet that he had to leave late the next day for the law conference in Atlanta, returning home Sunday afternoon.
Susan used that opening to ask if Amy could spend the weekend with them, since her neighbor didn't want to go to her family's new mountain house again. And Tommy asked if he could spend Saturday night at Brent's, after their baseball game. Janet agreed to both requests, and as she dished up supper, there followed a general discussion about their weekend schedules, all of which Richard would miss.
They ate dinner together, interrupted only once by the telephone. And during the rest of the evening, each Sullivan pursued his or her own activity, from homework to the newspaper to the television. Richard reviewed another draft of the McKinney contract and some other work he had brought home. Janet read through the material on “911 Live” which Tom Spence had given her. She was appalled by some parts of it, and she made some notes to discuss with Tom in the morning.
It was a thoroughly normal evening, partly because they were all a little exhausted from the hectic night before. Later, as they sat together in the den, watching a television show, Susan asked her father what would happen to the McEver children. He replied that it depended a lot on how much life insurance McEver had. Between programs, Tommy asked both parents whether they thought McEver's soul had gone to heaven. Richard and Janet looked at each other briefly. Richard responded that he believed everyone probably went to heaven: how could a just God do anything else? Tommy thought about it for a moment and then nodded.
Nepravel, who had been listening from the ceiling, smiled hideously and gave a thumbs up to Richard; he couldn't have said it any better himself! If only Richard could have seen McEver as he had last seen McEver! Sometimes this was almost too easy, with the fathers teaching the children the same lies it had taken the demons years and years to build up. Could Richard still repeat the lie which Confusion had fed him way back in college? “Yes,” chortled Nepravel, as Richard looked right at Tommy and told him with the voice of parental authority that the Bible never really mentioned hell anyway, so he didn't have to worry about it. Fantastic! Confusion was passing from generation to generation, and all Nepravel had to do was watch. Weren't these voices just incredible, when nothing interfered with them?
Later that night, after the kids had gone to bed, Janet reflected in the bath on how wonderfully sane and normal their evening together had been. Not a single argument. They'd actually talked about issues of life and death. The dark note was that Richard was going away for the weekend, but even he had seemed a little sad about it, like he wanted to stay home. Why couldn't they have more times like this?
After her bath, she selected a particularly revealing nightgown, which she had not worn in a long time, and she put on Richard's favorite perfume. He was already in bed, reading. She turned off all but one light in their bathroom—she knew that he liked a little light—and sat down on the bed next to him.
When he looked up, she smiled and said, “I really enjoyed having you home with us tonight. It was great just talking together. I wish we had evenings like this more often.”
Janet meant her words as a genuine compliment, trying to break the ice between them with words and with looks, reaching out to her husband as best she knew how. Trying desperately to use the good fortune of a pleasant evening together to bridge the widening gulf. But Richard saw her, and instead thought of Kristen, fifteen years and two children younger. He heard Janet's words, but a voice told him that it was an attempt to make him feel guilty for not being home more often. And the involuntary guilt over his affair with Kristen, whom he would see again in just twelve hours, touched off that volatile mixture. His words exploded out too quickly, almost as if they were spoken by someone else in advance: “Janet, you look so cheap in that get-up. I'm glad we were all home, too. But I'm tired tonight, and I have to travel tomorrow. Let's just go to bed. OK?”
His words stung her, and he knew it. He wanted to take them back, and he almost reached for her. But a voice told him that after years of ignoring his needs, trying to be a big executive, she had some nerve suddenly getting dolled up, rolling her eyes at him, and expecting him to respond like Pavlov's dog! Well, he wouldn't do it. He had pride too. What about all the times he had almost begged her, only to be told that she was too tired? Let's see how she likes that line for once! So the emotion that began as remorse only a second before was whipped instead into a self-righteous put-down. Score one for him.
She recoiled, his reaction so contrary to her own feelings of the past hour that she was genuinely speechless. “But, Richard …” she finally started, not knowing how to finish. Uncertain of her feelings. Uncertain of his motives. Uncertain of her femininity. Not trusting her senses with him. Feeling terrible, as if the wind had been kicked out of her. For an instant she almost started crying; she almost reached for him. But the look in his eyes raised her own defenses. Pride started to take over. She would show him! But then she simply couldn't do it. It had all just been too much, all these many months. She caved in. She did start to cry. She did reach for him. She lay down on his shoulder and sobbed, saying nothing, not knowing what to say.
And, as he lay there, his book on the bed, Janet's tears wetting his shoulder, Richard's heart melted. A new image came to his mind, of Janet in their college days. Of their great times together, before law firms and television stations. Of Susan and Tommy being born. Of tricycles and swing sets. Of a simpler and happier life. His hand came up to stroke her head, and he whispered two very difficult words: “I'm sorry.” And he meant it.
He turned her to him and cupped her face in his hands. “I'm sorry. We've both just been too busy for each other. I did have a great evening tonight with you.” Smiling, he added, “And you don't look cheap…You look great.”
Janet smiled, tears still all over her face. “I'm sorry, too. Let's try harder, both of us, to be together. OK?” “Yes,” he replied, feeling better than he had for months. “We will.”
They went on to make love together that night, for the first time in a very long time. The release, particularly for Janet, was overwhelming. She cried and laughed and hugged him to her.
Once the lights were completely out and he lay with his arms around her, Richard wondered to himself what on earth he was going to do with Janet and Kristen.
At midnight's unholy meeting above the north side of the city, the news from eight different demons was about the upcoming prayer breakfast. Sectorchief Balzor fumed. “It's one thing when one or two of those pastors preach their cursed Word about Jesus in churches; we can contain that. But when they come outside where we're in control, it really makes me angry. Does any one of you know yet what they're really up to?”
“They've invited in Benjamin Fuller. He can be very dangerous,” snarled Tymor, one of several menacing demons who everyone knew was vying for Balzor's position, should he ever make a slip. “In Pittsburgh last year a revival started in the financial sector and in two big downtown churches when he spoke. We're still having big problems up there. We even lost some of our strongest voices when several young ministers became Christians.”
“That won't happen here!” railed Balzor. “What else?”
Abalat, another pretender to Balzor's power, said, “It's those three ministers—Stephen Edwards, Jim Burnett, and Michael Andrews—who are behind this. There hasn't been a move toward the businessmen in this city in years, and they're pushing it.”
“But we've got them separated in different denominations! Two are white, and one is black. How did those three get together?” Balzor looked around accusingly, as his assembled cadre of people haters and family destroyers writhed in anticipated pain. But no one spoke. Any one of them would have sold his fellow demon back to hell to escape that fate himself, but no one answered.
After a long pause, Balzor continued, “This is potentially very dangerous. If business leaders find out the Truth and then repeat it, others will listen to them. And you all know what usually happens to families when the husband goes over. We almost always then lose the wife, the children, friends, and others. It's a mess! We've got to go to work to make this prayer breakfast ineffective. How are they preparing for it?”
“That,” answered Tymor, rising to his full height in front of the ranks, “is the good news so far. This is their first stab at a prayer breakfast. They don't really know what they're doing. Thankfully there has been almost no prayer support, just a few general statements, but nothing by name. Their follow-up committee hasn't even met yet; I've kept the chairman out of town on business all week. I recommend that we get Discouragement and Fear in here immediately to work on the hosts. Then even if Fuller does come and speak well, we can contain their paltry results, and they'll never try another one.” He ended his recommendation with a nod toward Balzor, who had been listening along with the others.
“Yes, yes, right away. Get them here tonight so we can plan,” Balzor ordered Tymor, reclaiming his position of authority by turning the suggestion into a command. “And,” he said, looking out at all of his demons, “put the usual measures into effect at once: illness, telephone confusion, concern about the costs, missed meetings, schedule conflicts. And, of course, the voices. You've got to redouble your attention and be sure that all the voices on your streets and in your businesses are operating at full volume. We don't know who might be invited to this thing, or when. We've got to be sure they don't go; but if they go, we've got to be sure they don't hear! We've perhaps grown a little too soft in the past few years with all the help from the media; but this is a real test, and I want every one of you on the alert. We will not lose souls that belong to us to an old attorney and three amateur preachers! I want a report from each one of you, every night, until this is over. Now go!”
Nepravel and Zloy again flew back to their neighborhoods. Tonight it was Nepravel's turn to worry. “Just as I was leaving Devon Drive a little while ago to come up to our meeting, I flew through the Sullivans’ house for a final evening check. I couldn't believe it! I came in on the tail end of a reconciliation! They both told each other that they were sorry. They held each other. She cried. He felt bad about his affair with that real estate agent. It was sickening. Balzor has big things planned for them, and now this! I'm glad our exalted leader was so upset about the prayer breakfast that he didn't even ask for our usual reports. I've got to do something, and quickly.”
“Hold on,” breathed Zloy as they neared the familiar rooftops of the commercial district between their two neighborhoods. “Was He involved?”
“I don't think so, from what I could see in those few minutes. This wasn't about faith; they just looked at each other for the first time in many months and realized how, one inch at a time, they had moved miles apart. They longed to get back to where they were years ago, and they both said they would try. But neither of them talked about Him,” Nepravel replied, with a derisive slight to the final word.
“Then don't worry. If they're trying to fight you themselves, relying on their own power and ability, you know they'll fail. How can they battle against the voices and the lies and the pride that you've sown in them over the years? They may reconcile for a while, but on their own they're too far gone to ever get back. You've done a good job—I've watched. If I can just confuse that Bobbie Meredith into stopping her prayers for that family, there will be no interference at all with your work.”
Once Nepravel considered Zloy's words and agreed with them, he smiled again his malicious grin. “Thanks. I hope so. We've got a lot invested in them. He's well respected in the legal and business communities. When we bring him down, it will discourage hundreds of others. And speaking of sowing and reaping,” Nepravel added, “would you like to hear about McEver last night? He was truly one of the most surprised I've ever seen! I think it must be this new generation. They really believe what we've been telling them, because they hear it all day, every day, from every imaginable source. Like Balzor was saying, maybe it is getting too easy for us, with the media and the movies and the records, but I sure do like it! And are they ever surprised when they find out that all of that has been lies!
“And then when He tells them from the judgment seat that the Bible really is Truth, and asks them why they haven't believed it, it's almost too funny to watch. They feel so betrayed. McEver pleaded for another chance in his next life! Can you believe that? More and more they tell Him that same New Age stuff we've been feeding them about reincarnation. Since I hate Him so much, after what He did to us, I do like to watch Him when they try that. I'm almost feeling sorry for Him; how must it feel to lose so many of your own creation? They're all so stupid! You're right, Zloy. Thanks. The Sullivans haven't got a chance on their own.”
* * *
THURSDAY, APRIL 20 – The next morning Janet awakened with more energy than she had felt in months. Before Richard awoke, as she packed his necessities in a small suitcase for his trip to Atlanta, she was actually excited about the challenges on her “do list” for the day, and she was already thinking about Richard's return on Sunday. One new item for her executive goal list was going to be “Spend more time with Richard.” She felt she had a small opening to save their marriage, and now she had to make a conscious effort to work on it.
Richard also awoke that morning feeling better than he had in a long time. He lay in bed and listened to Janet humming softly as she moved around their room, back and forth to his suitcase, and he thought back happily to how this habit had begun. When they had only been married about a month, he was called to an interview with a big law firm, and he had to be gone over the weekend. Janet, who had grown up with only one sister and no brothers, was intrigued by all things male; and she had asked him to show her exactly what he would take for his trip. So they had packed his bag together, laughing as he pulled out and explained each item. Unknown to Richard, she had slipped love notes into the folds of his underwear and the pockets of his trousers; he found them during that weekend, reminding him of her. There was even a photo of herself, which he happened to pull out of his pocket in the middle of his interview. They had laughed about that for months. The love notes had long since stopped, but Janet still always packed his bag for him.
He rolled over and smiled. She pecked him on the cheek and smiled back. “I bet you need some coffee, after I kept you up all night. How ya feeling, ‘boy attorney’?” It was a name she had not called him in years.
“Fine. Just fine. You need to take it easy on this old man, though,” he added.
“No way,” she smiled over her shoulder as she headed to the kitchen for two cups of coffee.
But Richard wasn't really fine, and he knew it. He lay quietly in bed, thinking. What had happened last night? Was Janet a new woman; was he a new man? Was she really going to work less, to spend more time with him and the kids? Was he? Was last evening the dying gasp of an impossibly wrecked marriage, or a new beginning? And, more to the immediate point, what was he going to do about Kristen, whom he was supposed to see in a few hours?
The next hour went according to the Sullivan household routine, and soon they were all headed for their destinations. As he said goodbye, suitcase in hand, Janet gave him a warm hug, looked up into his eyes, and said, “I really do love you, Richard. Last night was wonderful. Come home as early as you can, and let's do it again!” He smiled a genuine smile, hugged her back, and promised that he would.
As he drove to work that morning, the competing voices in Richard's mind threatened to cause him sensory overload—the debate was almost audible. Should he stop seeing Kristen? Was Janet really going to be different? Was he going to be different? Shouldn't he wait and see? Should he call Kristen and make an excuse for today? What if Janet found out about them? What if he lost both of them? What about the kids? Could he really try hard with Janet, while still seeing Kristen? Was that fair to Janet? If Janet hadn't really changed, what if he dumped Kristen too quickly? Then where would he be? The voices kept up at this pace all the way downtown, through the parking garage, and even into the elevator, as he rode up to the thirty-seventh floor.
But in the hundreds of questions he asked himself that morning, not once did he push past the most cursory thought about his own responsibilities. Richard had grown up in a generation quick to claim its rights, but slow to face its responsibilities. He was convinced that Janet didn't understand him or his “needs,” that she had changed once she had gone back to work. Only the dimmest of voices got through, once or twice that whole morning, that perhaps he also had responsibility for their relationship over the past few years. But another voice always countered that it was primarily the wife's job in a marriage to work on keeping them happy. It was hard to imagine that he had to do anything or change anything about himself.
He felt badly about his betrayal of Janet; but, doggone it, she had asked for it, by ignoring him for what seemed like years, working so hard on her job at the station. But on the other hand, she was his wife, and they had shared so much together. This morning he found himself imagining for a moment that their marriage might just really work out. He would have to say something to Kristen, to put some distance between them. But now Kristen loved him, too, she said. And did he love her? He didn't really want to; he hadn't originally planned to; he simply didn't know.
In the end, the only decision he could make was to wait and see. He would try to back Kristen off a bit, if the opportunity presented itself, to buy some time with Janet. And that thought made him wish that the problem could just somehow go away. His life was getting very complicated, almost too complicated. He was debating with himself, and he could see both sides very clearly. How had he gotten into this mess?
“Tom, my problem is that I can see both sides of this issue very clearly,” Janet frowned, as they talked in her office with the door closed. “Certainly there is the public's right to know, even if the communication of that knowledge is not particularly attractive.”
He started to protest her choice of words, but she held up her hand. “But I also appreciate your concern about showing this program unedited to an audience which will almost certainly contain children. Especially when they're already exposed to enough violence on television and in real life.”
“That's important, Janet,” Tom finally replied, “but just as important is the precedent. I mean, look how far we've come from just a few years ago; and we've done it one small but significant step at a time. If I had told you when Susan was born that on television today we'd have male and female nudity, couples obviously having orgasms in bed, gays hugging and kissing, bloodbaths on every local news show, and almost every comedy hit dripping with sexual double entendres, would you have believed it?
“Of course not, but here we are. How did it happen? One show tries something as a daring ‘experiment,’ and the next season everyone is doing it. A year later it becomes the new norm.
“Now if this show gets on as another ‘experiment,’ where do we go next? Public executions? Broadcasts of graphic evidence during trials? Teenage suicides videotaped and shown on the six o'clock news? Satanic rites with animal sacrifices? Janet, we have to stop this somewhere. Draw the line and say, ‘Not here, not on my watch. I won't be part of this.’ If we don't, then in a few years there will be a 911 channel, broadcasting the worst moments and most devastating personal tragedies from across our nation—and from around the world—for all to see, twenty-four hours a day.”
“OK. OK. I know how you feel, and as I said, I agree. It's probably too much. But I can also see the other side. The anti-censorship side. And I can understand how the show could boost our ratings. We have to think of that in this economy.”
“Censorship? We're not talking about censorship. I almost wish we were, but the government weenied out on this one years ago. We're talking about our own network, or at least our own station, making the corporate decision that this show is not appropriate. And the ratings argument is all wet. If this goes on, then in six months the other networks will copy it, and we'll be right back where we were—except that we've torn away another brick in the foundation holding up our society.”
“Now, Tom, don't get too philosophical on me.”
“I happen to believe that very strongly. We in the media have been tearing away those bricks for the last twenty years, until there's almost no foundation left. And someday, just maybe someday, there might actually be a backlash, if people ever wake up and realize how far we've sunk, and why. Then what about the ratings? I hate to think.”
“I'm not too worried about that; but, again, I do share your concern about this show. I'll set up a meeting with Bill for early next week. Besides the two of us, who else do you want to attend?”
Richard had devised a simple but virtually foolproof ruse to carve out his Tuesday and Thursday “lunches” with Kristen, thanks to technology. Janet had been bugging him about his waistline. So he joined the Downtown Health Club, conveniently located near Kristen's top-floor apartment at Park Place. He told Mary, his secretary, and Janet that he would probably be jogging or working out in the weight room, so he bought a telephone pager he could wear as he exercised. He told both of them not to bother to call the club if they needed him. It would be much quicker and simpler just to page him directly, and he would return the call.
In the almost three months that they had been meeting, he'd only been to the health club two times. He had returned several calls to his secretary, and one to Janet, from Kristen's bed. And he had smiled to himself, a month later, when he realized that by just eating some fruit on those two days and by “exercising” as they did, he had actually lost a few pounds! And the health club cover explained his shower in the middle of the day. On several occasions a voice had congratulated him for being so clever with these arrangements; they had certainly worked well so far.
But today he wasn't feeling very clever, as he walked toward Park Place a little before noon. The catharsis—a word he remembered from English lit in college—with Janet last night, and the debate in his head that morning, had drained his emotions. He even wondered if he could perform as expected. All morning he had been thinking of Janet, of how they had loved and laughed together for so many years. Of how beautiful she really was, even now; of how she had suffered the pain of childbirth twice for them; of their real joy until…when? Several years ago. What had happened? Was it really just boredom? Was it her new job? Was it his job? With all their other responsibilities, had they both just forgotten to try? The little extra things they used to do for each other, the glue that said “I love you.” When had they stopped doing them? Who had stopped first? Did that even really matter?
And then he had met Kristen. He occasionally handled real estate closings, and Kristen had been the agent on a big home purchase for one of their firm's corporate CEO clients. Richard still remembered the electric effect she had on him when she first came to see him with some documents, the day before the closing. She had been dressed in a smart suit, all business in its cut, but all female in its shape. Her brown hair was piled behind her head; and her freckles added an incongruous impishness to an impression which was otherwise one of intelligence and vitality.
That day she had deferred to his legal authority and treated him with respect, asking him questions and seeming to be genuinely interested in his answers. It had been late in the afternoon, and Richard heard the voice of Lust, which Nepravel had been nurturing regularly, as his marriage with Janet began to unravel. “Why don't we adjourn to the pub across the street, and I'll finish the explanation? “he said suddenly, when that thought first entered his mind.
She agreed, and they sat and talked quietly for over an hour. The next afternoon was the real estate closing, and she asked him to lunch on the following day, as a professional gesture of thanks for help on her biggest sale so far. He gallantly accepted in front of the other participants at the conference table. That had been their one and only real lunch together. On their second “date,” at a noisy bistro, they had not even read their menus when Kristen mentioned that her apartment was just around the corner and that it was much quieter there.
From that afternoon on, he had been lost in her. It had started as simple passion, ignited, he thought, by her attractiveness and by the inattention, he felt, of his “executive” wife. It never would have occurred to Richard to imagine where the voices that egged him on were coming from, or what was producing those powerful rationalizations whenever a more quiet voice tried to tell him that he was terribly wrong. And it certainly never occurred to him that someone was trying to help him destroy his life, his marriage, and his children. Whenever he was with her, it simply seemed “right.”
This seed of passion, once planted and nurtured by their long afternoons together, soon grew into a real relationship. Richard quickly learned to respect Kristen's mind as well as her body. Not as old or as experienced as Richard (or Janet, for that matter), Kristen naturally deferred to him, which he loved, and which further fed his fast-ripening ego. But she had a quick intellect. What's more, they were interested in many of the same subjects, in real estate, law, and other areas. Here was a beautiful young woman, who told him that she liked him, talked intelligently with him, and shared many of the same interests. Soon Nepravel did not even have to maintain the voices at night; Richard was doing quite well with his own library of lies, all by himself. And there were no other voices in his recent past to diminish the volume of the lies he told himself. So he carried on, seeing her at least twice a week.
But today, for the first time, he had some slight doubts. Maybe there was a downside. Maybe he and Janet could and would get back together. How much better for the kids? What would Kristen do? Probably better for her, actually, because he never really intended to leave Janet or to marry her, anyway.
Those were his thoughts as he rode the elevator to the twelfth floor, knocked once, and let himself in with his key. She was barefoot, putting a fruit bowl on the table in the dining area, dressed in a tight khaki skirt and a crisp white blouse, unbuttoned halfway down. She smiled when she saw him, and all the debates and all the arguments of the last three hours were instantly drowned out by the singular howl of his lust for her. He smiled back and shut the door.
Afterward, as they shared the same fruit bowl in bed, and the complexities of the last half of his day broke through his mind, he began to think of things he might say to slow down their relationship a bit. Not stop it, of course, but just apply some gentle brakes, in case he later had to force a full stop.
Before he could begin talking about all the work he had to do in the upcoming weeks, to hint that he might have to miss some of their lunches, Kristen turned to him, many more freckles now visible, and asked, “When are you going to tell Janet that you're leaving her?”
He gulped and drew back a bit. Sensing his reaction, she continued. “You told me a month ago you thought it was over between you two. You said it would be better for your kids if you stopped fighting at home with each other. And you've told me that you love me.” Richard cringed inside—he had told her once or twice lately, in the middle of their passion, that he loved her. The words had just come from nowhere, but now they were being fed back to him by someone who remembered very well. “So when do I get you all to myself, every day, instead of just being an afternoon romp?” She leaned over on his shoulder and looked up at him with her bright brown eyes.
“I don't know, Kristen. That's a big step. I'm not so sure now about what it would do to the kids.” Sensing an opening to turn the conversation more the way he had intended, he added, “I've really got to spend more time with them, especially Tommy. It's not their fault that Janet and I are so unhappy, and they shouldn't be punished for it.”
“Well, when we're living together, you'll have plenty of time to be with them. Probably more time than now. I won't mind sharing you with your children. It's just Janet who bothers me.”
This was the first time that either of them had mentioned living together. It occurred to him that two days before he probably would have been flattered and happy. But today it sent a cool chill down his back. Before he could respond, Kristen continued, “And I've figured out how to give you a first taste of what it will be like for us to live together all the time. I've got a surprise for you, Richard: I'm coming to Atlanta with you!”
His shock was apparent. She laughed. “I called your secretary, pretending to be a travel agent, to confirm your accommodations. Now we're booked on the same flights and in adjoining rooms at the same hotel. What do you think about that? We can do this again tonight! What will it be like for us to make love when it's dark outside?” she laughed again.
Knowing that he was licked, he caved in. Anyway, it was past time to get back to the office for a couple more hours of work before the flight. He had tried. He told himself that he really had tried. And he would try again, some other day. But now to the inner voice of Confusion there was added the mental picture of himself and Kristen alone for a weekend in a strange hotel. It was just too much. As Zloy had predicted, Richard was no match for the voices and his own visual images. He was trying to fight a forest fire with a bucket of water.
“And, oh, while I'm thinking about it,” she said, reaching across him to take her purse from her night table, “I'd better leave this here.” Lifting out a chrome Sig Sauer P-230 automatic pistol, she added, “It wouldn't do too well through airport security.”
“Good gracious, Kristen. Why do you carry that?”
“Richard, I show houses at all hours of the day and night, and on the weekends, to I don't always know who. I just hope that this gun will give me a little edge if someone ever tries something. But I'll have you to protect me this weekend!” she said, as she leaned provocatively across him again to put the gun in her drawer, and then kissed him deeply.
Walking back to his office, Richard shook his head in disbelief. What do you do when two women love you? He conveniently skipped over the fact that one of the women he had only known for two hours at a time over just the past few months. The other he had solemnly promised before God, eighteen years before, to love, to honor, and to cherish, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for the rest of his life. The lawyer in him might have asked to see that agreement in writing, if one still expected to enforce it today. He certainly no longer felt that particular promise to be binding or important. “After all, who else did?” he asked himself. And that particular voice sounded very reassuring. He began to look forward to their trip to Atlanta.