Authors: Jean Stone
She sat on the bare floor of the Hineses’ apartment over the garage, carefully pinning the tissue pattern to the rust-colored wool, thinking about her father, knowing he didn’t care that it was her birthday.
There had been only once when Jess had felt close to her father, had felt truly loved by him. She was six years old, and she was going to be in a ballet recital. Father had never taken an interest in Jess’s dancing, and though he always said he was too busy, Jess had sensed it was really because he thought dancing was silly. But on this one night, as Mother adjusted a braid of sparkling rhinestones on Jess’s pink net costume, Father had stepped into her dressing room.
“Are fathers allowed at these recitals?” he’d asked, with a half-pleasant look on his face that, even at her young age, Jess knew was the closest he could come to a smile.
Jess had wanted to shriek,
Are you coming? Are you really coming?
But instead, she’d lowered her eyes and whispered, “Yes, Father.”
What had previously been just another recital became a magical night for Jess. She’d danced the very best she could, and she’d even smiled for the audience the whole time just as she had been taught. After all, Father was there, and she wanted to make him proud; Father was there, so she wanted to be perfect.
Afterward, Jess overhead Mother tell her maid the only reason Father went was because his mistress was out of town. At the time Jess didn’t understand what that meant, and it didn’t matter. The closeness she’d felt that night was a feeling too wondrous to be darkened. Such a moment had never happened again.
“Ouch!” Jess said aloud, then looked down at a spot of blood trickling from her index finger. Then, as though the straight pin had stabbed her heart, Jess started to cry. She knew she’d lost whatever chance there might be for her father to love her on the day she defied him and got pregnant. And now Richard—the boy she’d given up her father’s love for—seemed to have disappeared. But Father was still alive. And Jess needed to see him.
The next morning Jess hurried through breakfast, then checked her gold watch. Finally it was nine o’clock.
“Miss Taylor, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make a private phone call,” she said. “To my father.”
“Certainly, dear. You may use the one in my office.”
“Thank you,” Jess quickly answered, and excused herself from the table, grateful it wasn’t her turn to help with the dishes.
She walked into the library and closed the French doors. She looked around the room and thought it was not unlike the library in their Manhattan town house. Jess had always felt comfortable in that room, where the walls were thick with books and the smell of her father’s pipe tobacco lingered on the pages. But she was only comfortable there when she was alone; as soon as she heard Father’s footsteps in the hall, she’d sneak out so he wouldn’t catch her in there. Not that she been doing anything bad … it was just that the fewer confrontations with her father’s coldness there were, the better.
She went to the desk and sat down, staring at the black phone. This was the right thing to do. She was going to beg Father’s forgiveness. She was going to promise never to see Richard again. Slowly she picked up the receiver and dialed 0.
“Operator,” she heard.
“Yes. I’d like to call New York,” she said, then reeled off her father’s calling-card number from memory. Jess had no idea how many times she’d used that number, calling home from London to talk with her mother. Had she ever actually called her father? Well, certainly she’d called his secretary a number of times. “Please have Father put another five hundred dollars in my account.” “Please tell Father to have the chauffeur pick me up at Kennedy at seven-thirty.” “Please tell Father I opened an account at Harrods.” Never “Hello, Father, I just called to say hi.”
“Thornwald and McCrutcheon,” the sharp-tongued receptionist answered.
“Mr. Bates, please.”
“I’ll connect you.”
Jess’s heart raced. Would her father talk to her? If he did, what would she say? What would he say?
“Mr. Bates’s office,” his secretary said.
“Margaret, hello. It’s Jessica. Jessica Bates.”
There was a slight pause. “Hello, Jessica. What can I do for you?” Aside from the hesitation, there was no tone in the woman’s voice that led Jess to think anything was different, that Margaret
knew
.
“Is my father there?”
The voice on the other end of the line paused again. “Not right now.”
Her heart sank. “When do you expect him?”
“That’s hard to say.” She offered no other information.
“Do you think he’ll be back after lunch?”
“He’s out of town.”
Jess didn’t believe her.
“Is he really out of town, Margaret?”
There was silence.
“Should I call back later?” Silence. Jess swore she could hear her heart thumping. “Or shouldn’t I bother?”
Margaret cleared her throat. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Margaret. He’s there, isn’t he?”
“No, Jessica. But, well, I may as well be honest with you. He told me that if you called, he didn’t wish to speak with you. That was a few months ago. He hasn’t told me otherwise since then.”
Jess felt her throat swell. “Oh, Margaret.”
“I’m sorry, Jessica. I assumed you two had an argument.”
“Something like that. Never mind, Margaret, it’s all right. Good-bye.” She hung up the receiver. So he wouldn’t even talk to her. Damn. How could she patch things up if he wouldn’t even take her phone call? But as certain as the growing baby inside her, Jess felt an increasing knowledge that her father was all she had now. Soon she’d be out of Larchwood. Soon she’d be back on her own … with the comfort of Larchwood Hall only a memory. She must talk to her father. And if he wouldn’t talk to her on the phone, she’d go to New York. She’d confront him face-to-face and
get this over with, once and for all. If he wouldn’t see her, at least she’d be no further behind than she was now.
Would she?
Her next call was to the train station.
Thankfully Miss Taylor had gone out for the day. That would make the trip easier. She put on a sleeveless tent dress, glad it was raining, for the green rubber poncho would help to cover her five-and-a-half-month bulge. She dug through her wallet. Odd, she didn’t have as much cash as she’d thought. She must have spent too much on the fabric. But how much could it have been? Jess quickly closed her wallet. There was no time to think about that now. Besides, she could always get more cash out of Margaret. Or Father, if he would see her.
Pop brought the car around front to take her to the train station. “I have to go into the city, Pop,” she had lied to him. “My father needs me to sign some papers.”
“Are you sure you should go alone, Miss Jess?” he had said, scowling.
“Oh, Pop!” She laughed. “I live there! New York doesn’t frighten me. Besides, I’ll be back tonight. Pick me up at the seven-thirty train unless you hear from me otherwise.”
“Well, okay, Miss Jess.” He hesitated. “But I still feel funny doing this without Miss Taylor’s permission.”
“It’s all right, Pop, honest. I’ll take full responsibility if Miss Taylor is upset. But she won’t be. Believe me. My father really needs me to sign those today, because they have to do with”—Jess paused and dropped her eyes, trying to look sad—“my mother’s estate.”
As she expected, Pop melted.
They made it to the station just in time for her to buy a ticket and board the train. She found a seat by the window and waved to Pop. Wouldn’t it be something if that was the last time she saw Pop? If, when she talked with her father, he forgave her and told her he wanted her to be home where he could look after her? Where she could have the baby, give it up for adoption, and they could be
a family once again? Or maybe he’d want her to keep the baby? Did she want to do that? Oh, yes, that would be wonderful, and if Father wanted her to, she would. She did, after all, love this baby. Just as she had loved—still loved—Richard.
Jess watched the landscape as it clacked by. Through the filmy window she saw the remnants of life: discarded tires, rusted-out cars, and hunks of appliances littered the embankments. Used-up, cast-off things. Would Jess be like that? Or would there be a new beginning for her now?
She dozed until she heard the bark of the conductor. Grand Central. New York City next stop. Grand Central.” The familiar words seemed to be only for her, and she smiled at her sense of fulfillment. Jess was home.
With determination in her stride she pushed through the crowds up the dark stairs, into the terminal, and passed by the long rows of wooden benches. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting a cab: Her father’s office was in the PanAm Building, which towered above the station. She rode up the huge escalator that led to the office building, then marched to the bank of elevators. She pushed the Up button and closed her poncho around her middle.
On the ride up the elevator panic shot through her. What if Father told her to go away? What if he told her he didn’t want to see her—now or ever? What if she made him so angry, he would never let her go home again? She tried to think about Richard, but now that, too, only made her hurt.
The doors opened, and the white-carpeted reception area was in front of her. Jess stood, staring straight ahead. The doors started to close. No! Father was more important. She pushed her hand between the doors and forced them back, then stepped into the office.
She smiled at the receptionist. “I’ll just go down to my father’s office,” she said quickly, and before anyone could stop her, Jess went down the hall. By the time she got there, she knew the receptionist had phoned to tell Margaret that Jess was there.
“Jessica, I didn’t expect to see you,” Margaret said curtly. “I thought you phoned from London.”
“No, Margaret. Has my father returned?”
The woman rolled a pencil between her palms. “No, he hasn’t. Actually he’s out of town. I wish I’d known you planned to come by. I could have saved you the trip.”
“Margaret, please. I must see him.” She had come this far; there was no turning back. She had to talk with him. She had to get this over with.
“And I told you …” The phone on Margaret’s desk buzzed. She sighed heavily, then picked up the receiver. “Mr. Bates’s office,” she answered. “Oh, yes, sir. Mr. Bates gave me that report to type, and I’m working on it now.…”
Jess saw her chance. She rushed past the woman’s desk and pushed the door to her father’s office open, fully expecting to see him sitting behind his mammoth desk, his concentration buried in a pile of papers. The room was empty. She checked his sitting area. His private bath. Even behind the elaborate wet bar. He was nowhere around. Jess turned to leave, and it was then that she caught the scent of his pipe tobacco. It wasn’t a stale scent, like at home when he’d been away on business for a while. It was fresh. He had been here. Today. Maybe as recently as a few minutes ago, maybe even since she’d gotten off the elevator.
She slumped into the leather desk chair. She ran a finger across the glass-topped wood. She was alone. Forever. She pulled open the top drawer, looking for something, looking for nothing, aimlessly hoping for a clue, an insight into his thoughts. She rifled through meaningless papers, then saw the checkbook.
“LH,” read a small square of paper taped to the vinyl cover.
She took out the book. It fell open to the register.
LH. One thousand dollars
.
LH. One thousand dollars
.
The entries were neat, precise. LH, Jess realized, stood for Larchwood Hall. Then her eyes fell on one entry that was different. It didn’t say “LH.”
It read
Bryant
.
Bryant
. Richard’s last name.
Her heart raced. Jess scanned her eyes across the page. She froze. Beside the name “Bryant” the entry was clear:
Two hundred thousand dollars
.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jess jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. The checkbook fell to the floor. He crossed the room and stood before her, hands clenched at his sides. Jess started to tremble.
“Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want to see you until this was over?” His voice was low and rough, with an animal-like tone Jess didn’t recognize. “What right do you have to come here?” He jabbed a finger at the air. It was pointed at her stomach. “To be
anywhere
in public. After all I’ve been through …” His words broke off. He clenched his fists more tightly.
Jess’s eyes locked with his steel gaze. After all he’d been through? Fear penetrated her. But beyond the fear, there was something else. Some other discomfort, some other unsettling sense that things were wrong. Very wrong. She remembered the checkbook. She looked down to the floor. The checkbook was there. She looked back to her father. He was staring at it too. He was unflinching, unmoving.
“Why?” she finally asked, her voice cracked with tears. “Why did you pay Richard’s family this money?”
He smiled an I-told-you-so smile. “You needn’t worry about that boy ever again. As I suspected, he was only after you for your money.”
“That’s not true. Richard loves me.”
He laughed. “He’s gone, Jessica. He and his lowlife family took the money and ran. They’ll not bother us again. Now I suggest you get yourself on a train and go back to where you belong until this is over. Before someone sees you. Before anyone notices.” His angry eyes returned to her stomach.
Jess rose from the chair, wondering why she couldn’t feel her legs beneath her. She walked past Father, out of the office, toward the elevator. She stared at the split door of
the elevator, waiting for the car to arrive. The doors finally opened, and she stepped inside. She turned, and just as the doors began to close, she looked out into the office and saw the icy-cold stare still on her father’s face.
The next train to Connecticut wouldn’t be leaving for an hour. Jess stood beside the Merrill Lynch concession inside the terminal and studied the massive train schedule high up on the wall. She couldn’t read it through her tears; she wasn’t really interested in what it said, anyway. There was an emptiness inside her such as she’d never felt before. Then the baby began to kick.