Authors: Kerry Reichs
W
yatt was not happy to be summoned to Webb Garner’s office. Webb was President of the Santa Monica/Malibu Unified School District Board by miracle of the fact that very few people paid attention to School Board elections. He rode into office on a wave of lawn signs.
Linda popped her head around his office door.
“Lunch?”
“I have a meeting with Webb Garner.”
“Bring plenty to read.” Her tone was amused. Among Garner’s many unappealing qualities was a tendency to make people wait. “What does he want?”
“Perhaps he wants to revise the curriculum to substitute abstinence instruction for sex education. He seems to have, overnight, embraced the right fringe.”
“It was rather sudden, wasn’t it? I never knew he was so conservative until he started campaigning for City Council.”
Wyatt suspected Garner’s values were tied to ambitions for higher office. “Let’s hope he hasn’t embraced Intelligent Design.
“I think he’s still smarting from your dispatch of his newer-than-new-math curriculum proposal.”
It was another reason Wyatt dreaded the meeting. The men got along like time and beauty, neither doing service for the other.
“His need to read his name in the papers costs me time, blood pressure medication, and microscopes. The Board has to burn valuable resources defeating Garner’s attention-seeking proposals instead of keeping our classrooms equipped.” Wyatt shoved reports into his bag with excessive vigor.
“Surely the Board knows this.”
“He has an exhaustive grasp of arcane rule making, and uses procedure to ransom support from other Board members.” No one could stall a meaningful initiative over something trivial like Webb Garner.
Wyatt hefted his satchel and checked his watch. “Raincheck?”
Linda stood, a daisy, tall and slim in cream knit, though she had dark circles under her eyes. “Good luck.”
Wyatt paused. “Linda . . .” She seemed troubled, but she slipped away efficiently. He vowed to follow up when he returned.
Wyatt arrived at Garner’s office on time. It went against his nature to be late, even though he was assured of cooling his heels.
“I’ll let Mr. Garner know you’re here, Dr. Ozols. You can step though there.” Garner’s receptionist gestured to an antechamber connecting her domain to Garner’s office. Wyatt settled into an uncomfortable-looking tapestry chair underneath an oil print of hunting dogs.
The secretary gathered her things and left for lunch, but Wyatt couldn’t concentrate on his reports. Part of Garner’s set piece was his open office door so visitors could appreciate the man’s important dealings. Wyatt couldn’t see the president, but his ranting carried. Wyatt was startled by the language.
“Tommy, that woman was a total fucking cunt. I have a mind to . . . what?” Pause. “Hell no! She was making fun of me . . . tax breaks for fertilized . . . What? No!”
Silence.
“Well, I don’t give two shits about her issues, or how sympathetic you think she is, she’s trouble. Donnie over at Fragile Voices is ready to pop a load over this one, so I say we go with it and . . .”
Pause.
“Fuck yeah it’ll be a circus! The bigger the better. Teach that shrew a lesson.”
Uncomfortable, Wyatt wondered if he should go for a walk.
“I can guarantee that bitch won’t lift a finger for Knox either, which is fine with me. I want them both to go down.”
There was a loud bang.
“Screw the locals—we make this
big
. Let’s get the evangelicals, the Southern Baptists, the Mormons, Westboro Baptist Church, Operation Rescue. I want Fred Phelps on her fucking lawn . . .”
More silence.
“Yes, I know the focus is Knox. We’ll expose them
both
as unfit, which is why the decision needs to be given to the state. The nationals can pay for it. It’s their issue, I just want Knox taken out.
And
that frigid bitch. What?” Pause. “Shit
I
don’t care. I’m not freezing my progeny.”
Long pause, then a lower tone.
“Look, kid, elections are your thing, and this is my thing. You get me the right media. Leave discrediting Knox to me. It’s not like I’m making this shit up. Mr. Clean-cut Midwestern fucked the chicken all by himself and put Excalibur right in my hands. I’m bringing useful information to the public.”
Pause.
“Well, hell, I don’t give a shit if it passes, but controversy’s good for the coffers. The religious right will give away their life savings and send their kids to school in paper shoes to get their issues on the ballot. I’m happy to take their money. This could be bigger than Prop 8. If we get national attention . . .”
Garner stopped and listened. “Fair point. We’ll start local and see how it spins while we control it. We can decide if we want to blow it up bigger.”
Chuckle.
“Sure, son, but there’s always Congress.”
The phone rattled into its cradle and footsteps approached the door. Wyatt gathered his things, disturbed by what he’d overheard.
Instead of opening wide, the office door snicked closed.
Wyatt was astonished. Garner had no compunction about airing his unsavory laundry to the world. What merited a
closed
door?
Two minutes later the door was thrown open.
“Ozols.” Webb Garner gripped his hand. “Come in.” He ushered Wyatt into an office soured with cigarette smoke. “Sit.”
Wyatt sat. Garner folded his hands. He was generically good looking, a game show host with rapey eyes.
“How’re things at PS 57?”
“Well.” Wyatt was guarded.
Garner flicked through a file on his desk. “I see Jim Lang was terminated.”
“The proper procedures were observed.” Wyatt relaxed. “The documentation is thorough.”
“Simmer down, son. I didn’t say it wasn’t.” The ‘son’ was a ridiculous device. Wyatt was several years older than Garner. “Turns out Jim’s a volunteer on my campaign. He’s concerned with the decline of Christian values in our schools.”
“That’s ironic considering he was bending his married coworker over the copier.”
“You refer to Ms. Paley. She too figures in here. They approached me with concerns about you.”
“They certainly couldn’t have a personal agenda where I’m concerned.”
“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”
“Indubitably.”
“Mr. Lang and Ms. Paley are prepared to publicly testify that you seek inappropriate contact with minor children.”
It was every educator’s worst fear. Wyatt refused to panic. His record was impeccable. He was popular with parents. They were bluffing.
“Have Mr. Lang and Ms. Paley considered that his termination and her probation for an extramarital affair on school property might tarnish their credibility?”
“They said you’d retaliate with rumors. Their ministers are prepared to speak to their character. According to your file, Lang was terminated for merit, not moral turpitude.”
Wyatt felt a net tighten.
“You can’t seriously support their fabrication?”
“I want to do the right thing at all costs. I ask myself, what would Jesus do?”
Give you better lines
, Wyatt thought. “Of course we can’t be guided by religious tenets on issues concerning the Santa Monica/Malibu Unified School District, as that would be a blatant violation of the constitutional separation of church and state.” Wyatt let his temper get the better of him. “Setting that aside, when would Jesus, or any other person of conscience, believe that telling a lie was the right thing to do? This is a rather elaborate, and risky, approach to revenge by Lang.” Wyatt was surprised by Garner. He thought him a more seasoned strategist. “My reputation is unassailable.”
“A single lie can destroy a reputation of integrity,” Garner paraphrased.
“I believe the speaker meant the teller of a lie would destroy his reputation, not the subject of one.”
“You seem confident that you’re above reproach.” Garner pretended to look down at a file, drawing out a pause. When he looked back up, his eyes gleamed, dirty.
“Dr. Ozols, are you currently negotiating to buy an infant child?”
Wyatt went cold.
“Not so righteous now?” Garner looked smug. “According to my information, you’ve paid an unlicensed broker over twenty-five thousand dollars to get you a baby girl.”
“No.”
“No?” Garner said with exaggerated confusion.
“I didn’t specify gender.” Wyatt stayed cool.
“Swing both ways, do you?” Garner’s grin was nauseating.
“Fuck you, Garner. What do you want?”
“I want to hear you say you’re buying a baby girl.”
“This isn’t Thailand. I’m adopting a baby, like a hundred thousand other Americans every year.”
“Most of those folks use regulated adoption agencies. You’re paying one Katherine Feely Jones, an unlicensed individual, to sweet-talk a pregnant girl into giving you her baby.”
Wyatt had a flash recollection of his disordered office. Amber Paley.
“Katherine Feely Jones is a reputable private adoption broker. The process is conducted with total transparency, the parties negotiate fair terms, a state-supervised home study is conducted, and documents are filed with the court.”
“Heidi Fleiss was reputable in her profession as well. Isn’t it true Mrs. Jones is arranging your adoption because most agencies have a strict policy against giving children to single men?”
“She prefers Feely Jones.”
“You’ve been shelling out a fair amount for several months to remove Miss Deborah Tanner from the bosom of her family in Fresno and tuck her away here in an apartment near you. What makes Miss Tanner so lucky? Is it that baby girl?”
Wyatt didn’t answer. He hoped this odious man wouldn’t cause trouble with Deborah’s family.
“I have to ask myself, why does an unmarried man want a little girl to himself? Seems odd to me.”
“My adoption is completely aboveboard.”
“You keep saying that. You also paid another young woman and rented another apartment hereabouts for six months. This Ilana Lloubina was not pregnant. She got too old for you, so you’re shopping for someone younger now? Much younger?”
Garner wasn’t interested in answers, so Wyatt refused to defend himself. The urge to punch Garner in the face was overwhelming.
“There’s nothing illegal in my actions.”
“Adult man and a baby girl. It’s against God’s law.”
“Then let God arrest me.”
“I have to protect the citizenry of Santa Monica.”
“You have no more interest in protecting the citizenry of Santa Monica than you have collecting Hello Kitty memorabilia. You don’t believe this crap.”
Garner pointed a manicured finger at Wyatt. “What I think doesn’t mean shit. I care about what voters think. I’m running for City Council guns blazing, and I won’t put weapons in the competition’s arsenal. As principal of PS 57, you work under my supervision. Whether I think you fondle little girl vagina doesn’t matter because someone will, especially if Amber Paley looks sad at the camera and tells them to. I refuse to get tainted by that mess because some bleeding-heart liberal wants to feel the joys of motherhood. You’ll drop this adoption, there’ll be nothing to speculate about, and we’ll all be happy.”
“You cannot dictate my private, legal actions.” Wyatt felt the walls closing in.
“Ozols, let me be clear how very little I think about you at all. But I’m not going to lose this election because one of my most active and recognized principals is exposed as a pervert under my supervising nose. You’ll call off the adoption or I’ll fire you myself before Knox’s people get wind of it.”
“You could expose Paley and Lang as the adulterous scam artists that they are, and publicly support your principal for providing a good home to a needy child as a shining example of pro-life Christian values in action.” It was as likely as a Charlie Sheen sainthood, but Wyatt was desperate.
“It doesn’t work that way, son.”
“How does it work? You trump up false witness against anyone who opposes you? I go along with your agenda or get smeared out of town?”
Garner looked at Wyatt in surprise. “You
do
get it. That’s exactly how it works.” He bared his teeth. “Of course, I can’t control what Mr. Lang and Ms. Paley say, but I’d wager if they weren’t troubled by the well-being of an innocent child, they’d be willing to hold their tongues. Drop the adoption and it’ll all go away.”
Wyatt was enraged and impotent at the same time. Maybe Garner wanted to keep his nose clean during the election or maybe he wanted to get back at Wyatt. Wyatt loved his job too much to risk it. He’d seen honest men eviscerated by a phone number on a matchbook, never mind a public smear campaign. His dad used to say,
A reputation once broken may possibly be repaired, but the world will always keep their eyes on the spot where the crack was
. The adoption could be twisted into a guillotine. Even if he won, his child would be surrounded by whispers and side eyes. How long until she feared him herself?