San Francisco, 2058
IN FEBRUARY 2058, THREE THINGS occurred in rapid succession. I received a report from my lawyer and private investigator; Leo Frase made me an offer that I decided to accept; and my relationship with Allison McLean reached a bittersweet climax.
On Monday, February 11, I received a call from my lawyer. He had not called me in a few weeks, and I feared he was trying to avoid me. "James, we have some news for you."
"About Jane?"
"Sure, what else would it be? Rather than talk on the phone, can you come over around four. The investigator will be here."
I looked at my calendar. A staff meeting was scheduled to begin at three. Normally it would last until five. But hearing from the investigator took top priority. Keith could take over running the meeting. "Yes, I'll be there."
I left the office at three forty-five and practically jogged to the lawyer's office, arriving five minutes early. When I was ushered into Grant Sherwood's office, I was introduced to Baylor Bixby, who didn't look much like a private investigator. He looked about forty-five years of age, quite bald, and rather short and paunchy. He extended a flabby hand, which gripped mine weakly.
Sherwood got down to business promptly. "Tell Mr. Lendeman what you found."
The detective was not about to be too concise. Since his investigation amounted to seventy billable hours, he wanted to make sure that I knew I was getting my money's worth.
"First, I had to find out when and how your wife and son got out of San Francisco. I went under the assumption that they didn't have the resources to take a private car and probably not even a commercial flight. I concentrated on train and bus stations. I knew within a few days when they left. But I had to talk to many ticket agents. Finally I found one who recognized your wife and son from the picture I showed them.
"Even then, she wasn't sure where they went. I had to go through a bunch of records to find the ones where an adult and a child under the age of five were ticketed, making payment by cash, since you never received a credit card charge.
"I checked about ten leads. The most promising one led to Mendocino. Now Mendocino could have been the end of the line. Or they could have gone on from there.
"One possibility led farther north to Eureka. Finally I found a person in Eureka who thought she saw your wife and son get in an old panel truck and head south of town. Now such trucks are unusual and may not even be hybrids. I asked about such a truck around town. I thought a few people knew about it but were afraid to say.
"Finally, I found one old mechanic who had the guts to tell me. The truck belonged to a cult called 'The Great Diviners.' They claim to be intensely religious. But people think they engage in group sex. They grow pot; even sell some of it under government seal, but quite a bit more that's illegal. They also possess a hefty arsenal—rifles, automatic weapons, maybe even hand grenades. There are about thirty men, sixty women, and a hundred children. Neither the local police nor the state troopers want to mess with them. They're happy to leave them alone so long as they don't cause problems outside of their own commune.
"I took a car as close as I could get to the area. I saw the truck come and go. I couldn't get close enough to identify your wife. But I'm sure she's there."
At this point the investigator concluded his narrative. The lawyer added, "So now the investigation phase is concluded, and we have to decide what else we want to do."
"What else?" I asked, not understanding.
"Well, for one, you probably want to pursue a divorce. Then there's the custody of your son to consider. Although everything will be complicated, not being able to serve papers."
"I see. I guess I'll have to think about what I want to do."
"Sure. Take some time. But I suggest you don't put it off for too long."
I didn't ask what "too long" meant.
The night after finding out about Jane and Mark, I barely slept. My mind was churning. I tried to figure out what made Jane take such a desperate and ridiculous step. Had Mark's illness totally destroyed her sense of logic? I had forgotten to call Jane's mother and tell her what I had learned. I made a mental note to call her the following day. I looked at the clock. It was already the following day.
I arrived a little late at the office, and immediately called Keith into the office. I thought he deserved to hear what I had learned, especially since he was covering for me more and more.
The tale I told surprised him. "Wow. Where do you go from here?"
"I'm not sure. I guess I could get a divorce. But, frankly, that's not very important to me. I'm more concerned about Mark. But even the investigator wouldn't go near the compound."
"It's confusing and complicated." Keith's summation echoed my own thoughts.
"I've decided not to make any decision right away." I realized the statement sounded stupid, but I let it stand. "Maybe I'll find some inspiration or revelation."
"Good luck."
I struggled through the day. I sat in on a meeting Keith chaired. I yawned all too frequently and lost the gist of the discussion. After the meeting, I asked my admin assistant to screen calls and told her I had not slept because I had a stomachache. I'm sure she knew I was prevaricating.
By three in the afternoon, I was trying to figure out how to struggle through another hour or so. Then a phone call came in which my admin assistant indicated I needed to take.
"How you doing?" Leo Frase asked.
"You probably don't want to know. I'm bummed out. I found out that Jane took Mark to some kind of cult compound in an inaccessible part of California."
"Nonsense. All of California is accessible. It's all urban or farmland."
"Leo, in this case you don't know what you're talking about. The police don't even mess with these people."
"Really?"
"Absolutely."
"Shit. I'm sorry to hear this. What are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure. I'll think about it for a while. There might be nothing to do until she chooses to come out."
"I wish I could give you some sage advice, but I'm drawing a blank. And here I was calling to make you an exciting offer."
"What's that?"
"I want to move you to the position in New York. We're thinking of doing a three-way rotation. We think Boykin would be a better match for Dallas. Biondi would take your job in San Francisco. But now with what you just told me . . ." Leo's voice trailed off.
"So you're withdrawing the offer?"
"Well, considering the problem with Jane ..." Again a sentence was left incomplete.
"Do I need a wife to do the job in New York?"
"Of course not."
"Unless I'm going to storm the compound and rescue my wife, who, I'm sure, wants no rescuing, I might as well go to New York. There's nothing to keep me here."
"You're making a decision just like that?"
"Why not?" And then the thought of Allison crossed my mind. Not Jane, but Allison.
"James, I'm about to have dinner. Let me call you in the morning. Sleep on it for one night. You've evidently absorbed a lot of information recently."
Sleep I did, despite the importance of the decision facing me. I was sure that it was best to move on—escape, some might say.
The next morning, I passed Allison's desk. She looked carefully at me. She knew something was happening. There were no people close by, so I said quickly, "I'll call you tonight." She handed me some papers, as if she was delivering a report she owed me. I took the papers into my office. They were blank.
Leo's call came in a few minutes later. "Have you reconsidered your decision?"
"I've reconfirmed it," was my simple reply.
"Can you get to New York by March fourth?"
"I think so."
Leo continued to talk about the assignment and what he hoped I could accomplish in New York. In turn, I told him that I was excited about the prospect of returning to the East Coast and assuming responsibility for the New York office. He went on to speculate on the wonderful opportunities that could open up to me by being in New York. He continued to sell me on a proposition that had already been sold. I listened politely. He concluded by warning me not to communicate anything in the office before one o'clock West Coast time on Friday. A few loose ends still needed to be tied up.
After ending the call with Leo, I remembered that I had once again forgotten to call Jane's mother. I reached her immediately and explained what I had learned from the private investigator.
"This is preposterous. I know my daughter. She couldn't do anything like that."
I thought, She knew her daughter but that was a few years ago. I had thought that I knew Jane, too. I did not try to refute her. Instead I replied simply, "Well, that's the information I received."
"Maybe you should get another detective."
"I really couldn't afford the first one. You can get one if you wish."
She had no retort.
Now that I was leaving the San Francisco office, each additional meeting and task seemed irrelevant. I glided through the day, delegating even more work to Keith. Allison and I made an appointment to meet for dinner on Thursday after work. We left the office late—and separately—and then met at an out-of-the-way Chinese restaurant a block off of Grant Avenue. Near the end of the meal I mentioned that an announcement would be made the next afternoon that I would be transferred to New York.
Allison absorbed the information. I could not tell what she was thinking. "I hope this will be a good opportunity for you."
"I was told it should be. It will be a matter of what I make of it." Without hesitating, I added, "I'll miss you."
We both realized that we didn't know each other well enough to say more. I walked Allison to the BART station. We kissed like a husband and wife parting at a train station.
Friday night, after the announcement about my transfer was made, I called Allison. "I'd like to take you out to dinner. Since I'm leaving, maybe you won't want to bother."
"Bother is hardly an appropriate term. I'd love to."
We made a date for the next night. She told me there was a nice Italian restaurant near her apartment, and she would make a reservation for seven. Allison made another suggestion: "Instead of going back to your place, why don't you plan on staying over? My couch converts to a bed."
On Saturday, I arrived at Allison's apartment at six. She kissed me warmly. "I guess you're not my boss anymore." She kissed me again, with more fervor. A bottle of wine was already opened. We drank half before heading for dinner.
The restaurant menu was enticing from appetizers through dessert, but we each ordered only a main course. We knew dinner was not going to be the highlight of the evening.
At one point, Allison declared, "I'm glad you're not my boss anymore."
"I suppose I am for another few weeks."
"Not as far as I'm concerned. It's been announced. We're free to do what we want."
"And what do you want?" I asked, feigning innocence.
"The same thing you do."
We returned to Allison's apartment and grabbed the remains of the wine. As we sat on the couch, I gave Allison one last chance to depart from the path we were heading down. "It seems like this will make a very comfortable bed."
"For whom? You know you're not sleeping here."
"Not if I get a better invitation."
"Consider yourself invited."
We went to bed incredibly early.
That weekend I learned something from Allison that I hadn't learned from Jane or Kate or anyone else. When you're with someone appealing, it's touch—skin to skin, lips to lips, fingers to flesh—that's erotic. Proportions and contours matter much less.
Allison's body was thin, but not thin like Kate's. It was firm and angular. Her breasts were small. When she lay on her back, they nearly disappeared. Perhaps this is what her husband found unattractive, but I did not. I found her athleticism and flexibility exciting. When she was on top of me and let her long brunette hair cover both our heads, her sensuality was at its peak.
Our sex might even have been enhanced by the knowledge that we had so little time left together and had to make the most of it.
When I left for New York I took a picture of Allison with me. It showed her face, hair and shoulders. In the photo it was not apparent that she was nude, but I knew that she had been when it was taken, and that fact would help me when we separated.