Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child (42 page)

"You must have some personal funds," he pursued.

"Jimmy and I have personal funds," I corrected.

"So?"

"You expect Jimmy to approve such a thing?" Was there no end to his gall? I wondered.

Michael shrugged.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," he said.

I pulled myself back into a stiff, firm position and glared at him.

"Jimmy and I don't keep secrets from each other. Our marriage is built on trust."

Michael stared at me, his eyes growing smaller, the impish glint turning into something harder, something sly and conniving.

"Did you tell him you were coming here to meet me today?" he asked.

"Of course not. He would be furious, and he wouldn't have permitted it."

"So?" Michael said, lifting his arms and smiling again. "You've lied to him before."

I shook my head.

"You're despicable, Michael. I came down here out of pity. I thought it was horrible that you had never seen Christie, and now you're turning it into something sordid. I've got to go," I said. "Come on, Christie."

I took some money out and threw it on the table for the bill. Then I stood up and helped Christie out of the booth. "Wait a minute, Dawn," he said.

"No, Michael. There's no reason for me to stay here any longer."

"I need that money, Dawn," he said, his eyes fixed on me. "I need this second chance, and you are in a position to help me now."

"How can you ask me after what you did, no matter what your reasons were?" I said. I shook my head and started away.

"Dawn!"
he called, but I didn't turn back.

"Momma, that man is calling," Christie said.

"Just walk, honey," I told her. She turned around, and I dragged her along, fleeing from what seemed to me to be the evil side of the man I had once loved.

18

THE PHONE WAS RINGING IN MY OFFICE THE MOMENT I returned. Somehow I anticipated it would be Michael.

"Dawn, you had no right to run out on me like that," he declared angrily.

"I had no right to run out on you? You call that running out? How about the way you ran out on me?"

"I thought I explained all that," he said.

"Michael, there is nothing more to be said. We have to go on with our lives."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," he insisted, "and why I need the money."

"Michael, I can't—"

"I have some rights, you know," he said quickly.

"Rights?"

"To Christie. She's my daughter, too," he asserted.

"I was nice enough to play your little game, pretending to be someone else for now, but if I come around again . . ."

I sat down slowly.

"Michael, are you trying to blackmail me?"

"I just need a miserable five thousand dollars for now," he contended.

"For now?"

"And you can continue to pretend Jimmy is Christie's father, if you like. I won't contest the adoption."

"Contest the adoption? Do you think you would have any chance? A man who deserted a pregnant teenager?" I said, amazed he would even suggest it.

"Maybe not, but the trial would certainly bring me much-needed notoriety. As my agent says, publicity is publicity. There is no such thing as bad publicity in my business. That's why performers don't really mind it when they find themselves written up in the tabloids.

"Besides, a good lawyer could easily paint a different picture—the picture of a man who was going to do right by you. It was you who disappeared and then went and married the man who had lived as your brother. Can you imagine what the tabloids would do with that?" he asked in a laughing tone.

"You're despicable," I said. "Even more despicable than I imagined."

"All I want is a little money," he whined. "It's a drop in the bucket for you, but for me it's a chance to get back on my feet."

"It's not a drop in the bucket," I snapped. "And it's not just the money. Jimmy would—"

"Would be very angry to know you've been lying to him and meeting me on the side," Michael said, his voice dripping with erotic suggestion.

"My God, there is no limit to how low you will go," I said.

"I'll give you two days. Bring the money to the hotel," he ordered. "I'll need it to pay my bill. Two days," he repeated, and he hung up.

I sat there with the dead phone in my hand, my face flushed, my heart pounding. What was I going to do? Jimmy would definitely be enraged and very disappointed in me. And yet I knew if I got Michael the five thousand dollars, it wouldn't end. He would be at me continually for more, always threatening, always promising to bring us great emotional pain. I wanted so to protect Christie from the sort of misery and turmoil I had experienced. She had a wonderful, happy life with all her needs well provided for; she lived in a world of love and security, protected, never exposed to the bleak, dark forces that dwelt outside our gates.

If I told Jimmy about all this, there could be a terrible scene, and Michael might do just what he threatened to do anyway. I heard the desperation and the determination in his voice; he had nothing to lose, and in a sick way, he was right—he could gain some fame. Lawyers could distort the truth and make it look like I was the evil one. Christie would be considered no better than a freak. She would grow up with people always whispering around her. I knew firsthand how cruel other girls could be, especially when she became a teenager. How could I permit such scandal to follow her all the days of her life?

What was I to do?

I buried my face in my hands and started to sob. Would it never end? Would the sins and indiscretions of my youth follow me and those I loved forever? I felt exhausted, overwhelmed, defeated, and I sank back in my chair.

My gaze drifted to the portrait of my father. His eyes seemed to be locked on me, his wry smile an expression of anticipation. It was as if he were waiting to see what I would do, how I would contend with this new and great crisis. Would I be strong and win, or would I be weak and lose? I was sitting in Grandmother Cutler's chair, working at what had been her desk, overseeing the business she had built so well.

This sort of crisis wouldn't throw her into a desperate panic, I thought. She wouldn't sit there weeping and feeling sorry for herself. I hated to model myself after such a hard, cold person, but apparently there was a place in this world for such people and such behavior. Events dictated it.

I suddenly realized that sometimes we had to put on masks and become people we despised as well as people we admired. The more responsibility we had, the more chance that would happen. I could almost appreciate and understand Grandmother Cutler right now, I thought.

It was as if I gathered this desperately needed strength and resolve from the very walls of the office Grandmother Cutler had inhabited for so long and so well. I wouldn't permit Michael to burst into my life and destroy the happiness I had finally found. But more important, I wouldn't permit him to hurt our daughter. If he wanted to be ruthless and selfish, fine, but he would discover he was no longer dealing with an innocent teenage girl infatuated with his fame and glamour.

I straightened up in my chair, my back as firm and as stiff as Grandmother Cutler's had been whenever she sat there. Then I picked up the phone and called Mr. Updike. He listened carefully as I described the events and what demands and threats Michael had made.

"I'm sorry to thrust you into yet another Cutler family crisis, Mr. Updike," I concluded, "but I do rely on your good judgment and legal advice."

"That's all right," he said. I didn't like the long pause that followed. "These child custody cases can get very ugly, very ugly indeed, as you almost learned years ago when you went to retrieve Christie."

"But does he have any real rights after what he did?" I asked, growing frantic.

"Real parents always have some recourse in the courts. It's true he deserted you and the baby, but the situation gets complicated when you insert the fact that you were sent into hiding to give birth. I'm sure he will claim that once he learned of your pregnancy he tried to make contact but was unable to locate you."

"But what about all the time since?"

"It doesn't show good intention, but it doesn't eradicate his parentage or preclude his parental rights, if the court sees fit to grant him any. And there are, it is true, some unpleasant circumstances that would almost certainly be exposed in a court proceeding. A person with any sort of celebrity would draw publicity. In short, we couldn't stop him from initiating a litigation, and I think I'm correct in saying that the emotional strain and all the unpleasantness surrounding it would be quite distasteful for all of you, not to mention the effect it might have on the hotel."

I swallowed hard. It felt as if a lead lump had gotten stuck in my chest.

"Then what do you suggest, Mr. Updike . . . that I give him the money?"

"No. Let me find out a little more about him and call you back."

I tried to keep myself occupied with other work, but my mind continually drifted back to my discussion with Mr. Updike, and I couldn't keep my heart from racing. Whenever the phone rang I seized it instantly, hoping it was Mr. Updike. Finally it was he. He said he had an English friend who was a barrister in London, and he had finally gotten through to him to make some inquiries. Now he was calling me with his report.

"Michael Sutton's career," he began, "is going downhill. He was dismissed from one role after another during the past year because of his problem with alcohol."

"I suspected so."

"And as far as any sort of marriage and wife who died . . ."

"Nothing?" I asked.

"A complete fabrication, I'm afraid. If anything, he has a reputation for being something of a rake. His affairs with members of the casts and crews of his shows are infamous and have often been detrimental to the productions."

"What does all this mean?" I asked.

"Well, his lawyer would certainly have a difficult time presenting him as a reliable and responsible individual whose parental rights were abused. But there would still be the negative effects of a trial to contend with.

"No, I think our best course of action is to direct ourselves to this act of blackmail, for that is exactly what it is. I want you to meet with him again," Mr. Updike said. "By yourself," he added.

"Why?" I asked. "I can't stand the thought of it."

"I understand, but I want him to repeat his demands."

"But it's still his word against mine, isn't it, Mr. Updike?"

"No. I and one of my associates, a man I use as a private investigator, will be present, too. Unbeknownst to Mr. Sutton, of course," he said. "I intend to record what he says to you. Do you think you can do it?" he asked.

I hesitated. What if Michael saw through me and found out what we were up to? He would surely go ahead and make more trouble. I gazed at my father's portrait again. The wry smile was still there, but his expression was more pensive, even tense.

"Yes, Mr. Updike," I said, filling my voice with determination. "I can do it. How do we proceed?"

Mr. Updike said he would get back to me with the details after he had spoken to his associate. Needless to say, I was on pins and needles the rest of the day and all night. Fortunately, Jimmy was distracted with some mechanical problems at the hotel and didn't notice my nervousness.

Late the next morning Mr. Updike called.

"Arrange to meet him in the hotel restaurant again. We will be sitting in the booth behind you. I'll come to your office this afternoon and go over the things I want you to say in order to draw out his blackmail," Mr. Updike explained.

"I'd rather come to your office, Mr. Updike," I said quickly. He was silent a moment.

"You haven't told Jimmy about any of this?" he asked perceptively.

"No, I was hoping I could end it without involving him. He has a temper, and . . ."

"I understand," Mr. Updike said. We arranged to meet at two o'clock.

At Mr. Updike's office I met his associate, Mr. Simons, a stout, tall man in his late thirties. Mr. Updike explained that Mr. Simons had once been a policeman, but an injury had caused him to go on disability. He did his investigative work to supplement his income. He had a slight limp, but other than that he looked strong enough and big enough to be a nightclub bouncer.

After I went over the things Mr. Updike wanted me to say, Mr. Simons showed me the battery-operated tape recorder they would use to record Michael's threats.

"Don't worry about looking nervous to him," Mr. Simons said. "He'll probably think you're that way because of the situation. Just forget about us, if you can, and let the man do himself in. That's usually what happens in cases such as these," he assured me. He spoke with a quiet confidence that gave me reassurance.

When I returned to the hotel I phoned Michael and made arrangements to meet him in the restaurant at one o'clock. "Will you bring the money?" he demanded.

"I'll see you at one, Michael," I said, and I hung up the phone quickly.

I arrived at the hotel a few minutes early. I saw Mr. Updike and Mr. Simons in the lobby. Mr. Updike nodded reassuringly. A few moments later Michael appeared. He looked more dapper and better dressed. He wore a light blue sports jacket and slacks with new loafers.

"How do I look?" he asked me instead of saying hello. "I bought this new outfit this morning in the hotel clothing store."

"You look very nice, Michael."

He smiled and gazed at me licentiously.

"Well," he said, "let's go have a cup of coffee together." He held out his arm for me to take, but I walked ahead of him. Mr. Updike had already arranged for the two booths, so when the hostess saw me she smiled and led Michael and me to ours.

"Just coffee for me," I told the waitress.

"Just coffee?" Michael said, looking at the menu, "I'm feeling a bit hungry. I think have the shrimp special, please, and a cup of coffee."

The waitress took our menus and left. Michael folded his hands on the table and smiled at me again.

"I hope you didn't bring it all in cash," he said.

"I can't believe you've come here to demand money from me, Michael," I began. He shrugged.

"You won't miss it."

"What if I don't give you this money?" I asked. His eyebrows lifted.

"You think I was kidding? I told you, I'll get a lawyer and start a legal action for custody of Christie," he said.

"You don't have a chance of winning."

"What is this? I told you, I don't care if I win. It's the publicity that will do the damage to you, but it'll help me."

"Don't you care what it would do to our daughter?" I asked.

"She'll get over it," he said. "Children forget."

"You don't know how wrong you are about that, Michael. She would hate you for what you'd done."