Substitute for Love (31 page)

“But it’s all about me.”

She should never have told Marc Ivar the truth. Damn him, he had had no right. He didn’t know anything about her mother’s condition or what the stress of this encounter would do to her. “You don’t need to worry.”

“I thought after we talked last week that I would see you happy again. But you only look worse. I’ve never seen you so depressed. I knew there was a reason and I knew I’d never find out from you. You keep secrets, just like your father. I didn’t know he was married for the first three months we were together.”

“I’m not like him.” The very idea was repellent.

“When it comes to the stupid certainty that nothing can be done in this world unless you do it yourself, you are exactly like him.” Her mother stopped abruptly and turned her gaze toward the water. Holly brought it to her without speaking. “Thank you,” her mother said again.

There was a knock at the door. Reyna hurried to tell whoever it was to go away.

“If that’s the stenographer, have him or her come in.”

Stenographer? Mother of God, what was going on? It was a stenographer. He was neatly dressed, and tucked under one arm he had a transcription machine like those used in courtrooms. She let him in because he was expected, but she didn’t know for what.

Holly gave up the chair as he settled in.

“I’m afraid I racked up quite a phone bill this morning.” Her mother introduced everyone to the stenographer, whose name was Scott, then said to him, “When we’re done each day how long will it be before I get copies back?”

“Less than twenty-four hours if you like.”

“If I asked you to deliver another copy to someone else, could you do that?”

“Certainly. It’s often done.”

“That’s wonderful. Let’s begin then.”

Holly was standing in the corner near the window and she looked as dazed as Reyna felt. Reyna was furious with her for staying when she had pleaded with her to go. Her mother didn’t have energy like this to spare. She was all stirred up because of Marc Ivar and now meeting Holly. She didn’t know what was going to happen when her father discovered what had transpired. And he would find out, and when he did, everything would shatter, starting with her.

“Why couldn’t you have just left?”

“Because she asked me not to. And I didn’t want to.” Holly wouldn’t look at her.

“Mom, my father is not going to like this.”

“And he holds the purse strings, I know that now.” She glanced at Reyna, and Reyna knew the pain had to be bad if she wouldn’t even turn her head. “Scott, please go ahead now.” She paused while he lifted his hands to the keys. “My name is Gretchen Langston, and when I was twenty-three I met Grip Putnam for the first time. I was a small-town girl, and I’d never heard of him, or his father, or his grandfather. I didn’t know he was married. But I knew that I loved him from the moment he stopped to help me change a flat tire.”

“Mom, what are you doing?”

There was a knock at the door. Reyna threw her mother a helpless glance.

“That’ll be your father. Let him in.”

She was so stunned she couldn’t move at first.

She reminded herself that he would never make any threats in front of witnesses. Her mother had no idea what she was getting into. She had never seen Grip as he really was. Reyna let him in, but turned her head away when he looked to her for some sort of explanation. She felt utterly helpless, with nothing left to defend either her mother or Holly. Holly — she had no idea what was about to happen to her, just as Margeaux hadn’t known.

He glanced about curiously as he walked toward the bed. Reyna knew he would forget nothing he saw, including Holly’s ashen face. “Gretchen, you are looking lovely for someone in the hospital.”

“Thank you, Grip.”

“What did you want to see me about? Is there something you need?” He looked pointedly at the stenographer.

Reyna watched her mother raise her hand in a graceful gesture that must have cost her an enormous toll in sheer agony. None of it showed in her face. She looked as if she had an inexhaustible supply of energy. From very far away, she heard her mother say, “Grip, this is Holly Markham. She is studying to be a conceptual mathematician. She’s Reyna’s lover. And this is Scott. He’s a stenographer — well, you can see that. I’m writing my memoirs.”

Holly wanted to tell Reyna she now understood, but the room was filled with a furious crackle of silent conflict. She had not expected Grip Putnam to be so dynamic in person, and she could see that Reyna’s incredible eyes came from him. He was flustered. Gretchen appeared to have caught him completely off his guard.

“I know that all my life I’ve let you take care of me. When you didn’t, Reyna did. But things have changed for me.” Gretchen gestured broadly at her body, and Reyna made a sound that might have been a whimper. “Both of you have to realize that I have changed. I want what concerns me to be discussed with me.”

“Of course, Gretchen. We were wrong not to discuss how your bills would be paid with you.”

Gretchen gave him an exasperated but fond look. “You’re not going to tell me what I want to hear and then make some sort of deal with Reyna when you leave. Either you commit to paying the bills — and truly, Grip, I wish I didn’t have to ask, but you’re the only wealthy person I know — or I shall sell my memoirs and pay them that way. You probably didn’t know that I had turned down offers to sell them in the past. I’ve read hints that you’re considering running for office. I’m sure I’ll get a good advance.”

“That sounds suspiciously like blackmail.” Grip didn’t seem angry, though. It was as if he accepted that matters are sometimes resolved through coercion. They were communicating in a language Holly had never wanted to understand.

“No, dear. It’s your choice. I’m happy either way. And either way Reyna is free to live the life she chooses.”

Reyna made a helpless gesture. She took a step toward her mother, and then like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. she collapsed. Her head hit the floor with a frightening crack.

“Reyna!” Holly’s cry was a match to Gretchen’s. Holly was instantly at Reyna’s side. She didn’t know what to do. A bruise was forming on her forehead.

She was suddenly pushed aside by nurses and then she made way for a gurney. Grip Putnam kept saying, “She’s my daughter, only the best.”

Reyna came around while they were wheeling her away. “I’m okay,” she said weakly. “I don’t need to go anywhere.”

Holly wanted to follow the gurney but she had no right. Reyna wouldn’t want her there. She had been so angry about Holly’s even being at the hospital in the first place.

“What have you done to my daughter?” Gretchen, who had managed to pull herself to the edge of the bed, sounded irate and exhausted. The stenographer had retreated to a corner and both Gretchen and Grip ignored him.

“I’m only trying to give her the best in life, including a Putnam name worth having.”

They had forgotten she was there as well, and Holly decided that she was far better off with Reyna’s anger than a bitter family quarrel. She ran after the gurney and squeezed into the elevator at the last minute.

The doctor was shaking his head over Reyna’s answers to his questions. “I thought you were going to make an effort to eat more regularly.”

“I tried.” Reyna’s voice was steadier. “No food and a shock, that’s all it was.”

“We’ll see about that,” the doctor said. His eyes narrowed as he realized Holly was listening to every word. “Can I help you?”

Holly shook her head and then felt Reyna’s attention shift to her.

Reyna held out her hand for something. Holly looked around, wondering what it was she could get for Reyna in the elevator.

Then she realized what Reyna wanted. She took her hand in her own and felt a rapid shifting of the puzzles she had been trying to solve. The equations resolved themselves. Chaos became predictable, all because she held Reyna’s hand.

So it seemed, for a moment. Then chaos ruled again.

When the elevator doors opened, Reyna dropped her hand. “Please go. Don’t make me ask again.”

“I understand,” Holly said, and she did. Reyna was done with her old life and she was a part of that. She watched the hospital staff wheel Reyna through an employees-only door. She had told herself that if she understood Reyna’s behavior she would be able to cope with the rejection. Understanding did not help one bit.

She made herself go home. Reyna didn’t want her there. Reyna didn’t want her.

Australia wanted her, and right away. She read the e-mail again slowly. In a fog she sent back her acceptance. She hoped that being on the other side of the planet would be far enough away to forget.

Like many times before, Reyna and her father stood outside the institute’s main conference room and prepared for an entrance. Today was different. Reyna smoothed her plain black suit with shaking hands. Today was so very different.

Paul wouldn’t look at her as he signaled that it was time to begin. Reyna faced the doors and lifted her chin.

“Wait,” her father said. “One last thing.”

She turned to him, wondering what more there could be after four days of endless strategy meetings and draft after draft of press releases, talking points and position papers.

“I really did want what was best for you.”

She looked at him, noting again the similarity of their eyes. “Only when what was best for me was also best for you.”

“I thought they were the same thing.”

He embraced her for the first time in a very long time. She couldn’t bring herself to return the show of affection. “There aren’t any cameras.”

“I’m well aware of that.” He let her go.

“I can’t forgive you yet,” she said baldly.

“So be it.” His eyes narrowed and she realized that when she walked through those doors she would on her own for the first time in many years. “Good luck,” he added.

“And to you.” It was as close to forgiveness as she could get, at least today.

“Miss Putnam! Miss Putnam!” The blinding pops from camera flashes punctuated the hubbub. Reyna blinked in the white glare of television lights.

She let the noise subside and steadied her nerves, then pointed to the woman in the front in the yellow suit.

“Miss Putnam, how do you feel about your father’s chances in the New Hampshire primary?”

“At this stage, his intention to run is mere speculation, but if he should decide to do so, I would wish him the best of luck. For now, however, I’d like to address questions about my past and future. By the way, my name is now Reyna Langston in honor of my mother. Reyna Putnam no longer exists.”

The reporters went on asking questions, and Reyna went on answering them as she had agreed she would.

She never dreamed she’d see her father beaten, but even if she had thought it possible, she would never have conceived that it would be by her mother. Her mother hadn’t been able to cope with burnt toast, sometimes, but her illness had completely changed her. It had taken a monumental effort of will to orchestrate her coup d’Putnam.

She called on the reporter from the Register next. “What did you mean when you said that Reyna Putnam no longer existed?”

“I am honoring my mother by changing my last name back to hers. At the same time I’m changing my life focus. Reyna Putnam’s work is over. I’ll be stepping away from politics for a while.”

“Is it because you don’t want to support your father?”

She had a carefully scripted answer for that question, the one her father had dreaded most. She was aware that many of the press representatives were here hoping to catch a nuance of his future intentions. “My father will not be surprised to learn that my ideology differs from his on many issues, particularly those surrounding full and equal civil rights for gay Americans. Nevertheless, as I said, I wish him the best of luck should he decide to run for public office.”

When she had gone back to her mother’s room, after a completely unnecessary CAT scan and other obnoxious tests, an armistice had been reached. Her father had only one stipulation. Reyna’s coming out would be handled carefully, allowing him time to prepare. They had spent the next three days overhauling all of the Putnam Institute’s position papers on gay rights, moving carefully toward more moderate positions. Reyna still hated the words she wrote, but there had been some healing for her in the exhausting process. On Thursday afternoon she had given an exclusive interview to The Advocate, which had then leaked it to the Los Angeles Times in time for the Friday morning news cycle. Her announcement of a 3 p.m. press conference had brought the media running, eager for a story for the evening news.

“Now that you’re a lesbian, do you have a girlfriend?”

Reyna knew for a fact that the A.R reporter who asked the question was a lesbian. She happily told her the truth. “I have been a lesbian for my entire adult life. I’m not answering any questions more personal than that.”

Reyna had not wanted a media circus, but her father had convinced her that if she wanted to be left alone she had to get the inevitable confrontation with the press out of the way. Grip Putnam’s daughter coming out of the closet was news enough, given his well-known ties to groups like Danforth Hobson’s. But the media interest had been carefully stirred up by persistent rumors that her father was going to run for president. Reyna thought of it as the beginning of her penance. After all that she had done to lure gay people to ex-gay ministries, to argue against their rights to legalize their relationships and form their own families, becoming an emblem of the changing times was fitting. If her father was lauded as an example of compassionate, tolerant, loving fatherhood, then so be it. Let him be an example to other parents. The irony would always secretly amuse her.

The A.P. reporter lobbed follow-up questions at her. “Didn’t you do research for American Values for Family? Didn’t you write position papers on their behalf against same-sex marriage, against gay adoptive parents and against hate crimes legislation?”

“Reyna Putnam wrote those on behalf of clients whose politics mirrored that of the Putnam Institute’s.” What a cop-out, she thought. She quickly added, “Those groups are no longer clients and I disavow every word I ever wrote on those issues. I say that personally. I am not speaking for my father. As I said, there are some issues we disagree about.” She shot him a glance where he stood unobtrusively to her right.