Authors: Kerry Reichs
“No one likes a pervert, son,” Garner prompted him.
“Jim Lang will not be rehired. Amber Paley must be transferred to another school.” Wyatt would not harbor poison.
“I believe there’s an opening at PS 41.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.” Wyatt despised himself for his words. “I’ll need time to look into this matter.”
“I’ll bet you do,” the tan man said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to give a speech to two hundred folks in half an hour.”
Wyatt concentrated on keeping his hands loose as he put one foot in front of the other so he didn’t strangle Garner’s smug head right off his pencil neck. He concentrated on finding his keys and sliding one into the car door. He secured his seat belt. Bound securely, he exhaled without fear that his rage would lead to a rash act. He sat, unsure of where to go next. Thoughts were swirling in his head like winged insects at a porch light, but one buzzed to the top.
What drove a man who loved a stage, even when he was the villain, the liar, the blackmailer, the crook, to seek privacy long enough for a single phone call? Wyatt’s cricket hairs were on alert, as if he was about to make a trip behind the Field House.
Watching the news later, Wyatt wasn’t surprised to see Webb Garner gesticulating in front of a crowd of agitators. He was relieved it had nothing to do with him. He was astonished that it had everything to do with his new friend Maryn.
I
t seemed karma was not a vengeful warrior. Andy didn’t get hit by a bus or attacked by a rabid bald eagle all week after filing the countersuit against Maryn. Not, Andy reminded himself, that he had done anything meriting reprisal. The only mildly interesting deviation from normal was this morning’s protest outside Andy’s office. There were some Social Security Administration offices in his building, so it wasn’t unheard of to find angry Tea Partiers agitating against taxes. Andy kept his head down.
“Candidate Knox, do you have a comment?” Someone shoved a mike in his face. He was startled but plowed through the lobby doors. He wasn’t going to connect himself to antiestablishment protesters. He was relieved when the elevator doors slid closed behind him and a paralegal.
“Irresponsible of the media to give voice to factions on the fringe.” Andy had taken to speaking in sound bites.
The girl didn’t say anything, but Andy sensed recrimination. Perhaps she had been raised on a compound. She wasn’t wearing a linen bonnet or anything, so how could he know?
When the doors opened, the girl hurried off and huddled with the receptionist. Andy strolled to his office. He almost ran into his softball co-captain.
“Hey, Jonesy! Looking forward to tonight!”
The man looked uncomfortable. “You’re playing?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Andy was confused. “Scared I’ll burn through your mitt with my line drive?”
The lawyer shrugged. Andy continued down a hall as quiet as heavy snow. His secretary averted her eyes. She probably wanted to call her sister to talk about
The Bachelor
. He shut his office door, wondering why everyone was being weird.
His cell phone rang. Summer. He felt guilty when he ignored it, but on the move-a-potted-plant-to-hide-the-wine-you-spilled-on–the-neighbor’s-rug level rather than the oh-god-I-ran-over-your-cat level.
He tossed his briefcase on the couch. He hadn’t bothered to put anything in it last night. From the outside, an empty briefcase looked the same as one full of gold.
His office phone rang. “Andy Knox.”
“Why didn’t you answer your cell?” Shit.
“Sorry, honey. I must’ve left it in my coat pocket.”
“Turn on the TV.”
“What?”
“Andrew! Turn on the TV, NOW!”
Andy pointed the remote at the small television on his bookshelf. The screen popped to life, splashing a
BREAKING NEWS
banner across a reporter in a throng.
“Is that my office? I saw them on the way in. It’s no danger, pigeon,” he reassured her. “The TV makes it look bigger than it is.”
“Shut up and listen.”
“. . .
if it wasn’t bad enough that the sanctity of life is perverted by creating it in a petri dish, Andrew Knox wants to destroy the very life he created
.”
Andy’s blood curdled.
“
His lawsuit is an abomination against God. Fragile Voices believes it’s our duty to ensure that these frozen embryos realize their ultimate purpose—life—while sharing the hope of a child with a loving, married, Christian couple. Proposition 11, will give Santa Monica an opportunity to value human life even at the smallest stages.”
The camera focused on a reporter with a grave expression and inoffensive brooch. “
The
Proposition 11 ballot initiative referenced by Fragile Voices leader Donnie Brownlow would give frozen embryos in the city of Santa Monica the legal right to adoption in accordance with the laws of California, and treat human embryos identical to a child. This little-publicized initiative languished on the ballot before local attorney Andrew Knox’s lawsuit provided supporters with the platform they needed.”
Andy couldn’t swallow.
“
While Proposition 11 is not the first proposal of its kind, it certainly goes the furthest. Georgia recently became the first state in the nation to pass a law allowing embryo adoption, but that Act’s language does not specifically define an embryo as a person. More than a dozen states are considering similar laws. None, however, has such a large target as Andrew Knox. His opponent, School Board President Webb Garner, had this to say.”
The camera cut to footage of Webb Garner leaving City Hall. Andy knew Webb had no reason to be at City Hall unless he was paying a traffic ticket. The staged shot told him better than a signature who was responsible for pinning the crosshairs on his dirty laundry.
“
The Lord commands us in Proverbs 31:8 to ‘Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those who are perishing.’ ”
Webb looked directly into the camera as he delivered his campaign bullet. “
If Andrew Knox would destroy his own offspring, what would he do to his constituents? The only thing Knox can be trusted to do is show us the error of our current system. As Councilman, I’ll return to a government that looks after your family.”
A numb Andy could only admire how Garner radiated earnestness with a squint.
The scene cut to Andy, head down, muscling through the crowd.
“Knox declined to give a comment.”
The camera returned to the reporter.
“Back to you, Daphne.”
The screen dissolved to some hamsters listening to iPods but Andy stared, unseeing.
“Andrew.” He’d forgotten Summer.
“I’m here.”
“You need to respond immediately.”
“Respond?” Andy was terrified. “I can’t.” Garner was a pro. Andy was a schoolboy knocking over vases with his hockey stick.
“You must. Write this down.”
“Summer, I don’t think—”
“Andrew. Get a pen.”
He got a pen.
“I’m a churchgoing man and I’ve read the Bible,” Summer dictated. “Webb Garner and Proposition 11 are blasphemous. The Bible connects life with breath, and God gives life when he causes a newborn baby to breathe. To equate frozen cells with life is a transparent manipulation of Santa Monica voters for personal gain.”
Summer spoke slowly so Andy could write it down.
“How’d you come up with this?”
“A website. Keep writing. Moreover, the women of Santa Monica have a constitutional right to privacy . . .”
When Summer was finished, she instructed, “Straighten your tie and comb your hair in the mirror. You don’t want to look like a third-grader who just rolled out of bed. Get down there now.”
She hung up, and Andy reluctantly got to his feet. There was a knock at his office door, and Jacque Mann entered.
“May I have a word?” She sat without waiting. Andy sat as well. “Quite a furor downstairs.”
“I’m so sorry,” Andy apologized, though he wanted it least of all.
“You’re not responsible for the actions of others,” she reassured him. There was a pause. “It’s troubling to have the firm name connected to a controversial matter, however. Proposition 11 is certain to inflame.”
Andy didn’t know what to say.
“Cayce, Lanfranco and Moody’s main concern is our clients. As you know, important firm client Cornin values being perceived as a Christian-oriented company. They‘re just one example. We’d hate to jeopardize any firm relationship with the perception of a position on a controversial religious and moral issue.”
“I go to church.”
“Andy, no one doubts that you’re a good man. Your religious character is not in question, and the firm has no position on what you do outside these walls. As long as it’s legal.” She smiled. “I expect Summer will want you to make a statement to the press, and you should speak freely. Cayce, Lanfranco and Moody does not muzzle its employees.”
Andy knew there had to be a “but.”
“We’re faced with a question of first impressions here, and the partners don’t know how to manage any more than you do.” She continued, “We think it’s laudable that you’re running for City Council, and unfortunate that the corollary to the campaign is a character attack.”
She folded her hands, gaze kind. “While we respect your rights outside the office, we must protect the firm. Until this blows over, I’m taking you off the Cornin case. It’s a high-profile matter and we can’t risk it being sullied by association.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong.” Andy protested the unfairness.
“A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes,” Jacque said.
Andy was crushed. He’d liked the Cornin case. A lot better than going to Denny’s to shake hands with people bitching about street cleaning.
“I’m curious, Why are you running for this office?” Jacque asked.
Andy suspected she knew.
“I believe in public service.” He delivered his rote answer.
She waited.
“I want to make Santa Monica as close to a perfect place to raise our kids as I can. We need to address transportation and homeless issues.” He floundered in campaign speak. “I want more green spaces.”
Her smile widened. “That last one, at least, sounds like the Andy I know. Today must’ve been a rude awakening for a boy from Nebraska looking to make Santa Monica a greener place.”
She was teasing him, but he clung to the sympathy.
“It’s horrible. My poor wife.” He realized what he’d said. “I mean, my ex-wife.” What was he saying now? “I mean, both,” he concluded miserably.
“I’m very fond of you, Andy.” Jacque’s eyes were warm. “If you win, a sitting council member will be a feather in the cap of the firm. I just wonder if you know what you’re getting into.”
“I don’t.” It burst out of him.
She laughed. “Who could? Today’s circus is unfortunate, and it’s only going to get worse. Yet it goes hand in hand with a life in public office. Is that what you want?”
No way, thought Andy. “I’m prepared for the downsides,” said Andy.
“Best of luck to you, then.” Jacque stood and left Andy alone with her thoughts.
His cell phone rang.
“Why am I not seeing you on the news?” Summer cracked the whip.
“Ease up. Jacque came to see me.”
“Andrew, you cannot let this settle into the minds of the voters, and that news crew won’t wait around all day. GET MOVING.”
Andy didn’t know how he did it, cameras edging close to his face like predatory aliens. He delivered his statement, hesitating only once.
“I believe in family, and my wife, Summer, and I hope to have children soon.” His notes read,
As a family man, I cannot condone my ex-wife using science to sully our understanding of family and raise a child of mine in a fatherless household
.
He looked into the expectant cameras. “I stand for family and for honesty.” He skipped to the end. “I will serve the people of Santa Monica with courage, unlike my opponent, who hides behind deceit.” He forced himself to smile and look relaxed as he ignored questions and sauntered back into the lobby with a confident wave. His hair formed a cowlick where he’d forgotten to comb it. The urge to run was overwhelming.
M
aryn had lost her virginity in college to
Led Zeppelin IV
and a box of Franzia Pink Zinfandel. She’d later learned the trusted knight she’d chosen for initiation was nicknamed “the de-virginator,” and she’d vowed never to be duped again.
Andy thought his mother had picked her, but the truth was, Maryn had picked him. She’d been at the horse auction in Ojai when she’d seen him race around the car to help his mother out of the passenger side. She’d decided that he was the one, and staged herself against the rail, sure of being approached.
“You fly horses? Like Pegasus?” he’d asked. He’d been in law school, and boyishly handsome.
“Like you,” Maryn answered. She gestured toward the horses in the exercise pen. “You might’ve shared a plane with one of these ladies on your flight here.”
“Do they pay for extra leg room?”
“Lots of passenger planes hold transport stalls in the back, and passengers up front. Occasionally we get a sports car back there too.”
“Does it get all trash talky over who has more horsepower?” Andy teased.
“My horses would win.” Maryn was all confidence.
“And horses like equine weekend retreats in Ojai for the art galleries, spas, and natural beauty?” He worked hard to charm her.
“Only if they get the bridle suite. The rest of the time, I’m in L.A.” She’d ascertained that he attended USC. “There are only three places the USDA will allow you to import horses—New York, Los Angeles, and Miami.”
They went for a drink and she sat with her body angled in his direction, leaning in to hear his stories. One drink turned into three, which turned into love, which turned into a marriage. Maryn
had
loved Andy. The fact that they divorced didn’t change the Andy who lived in Maryn’s mind. He’d always be a Peter Pan.
She found it surreal, therefore, to be watching the man she married dominating the six o’clock news, quoting a Bible he didn’t read while discussing his intention of destroying the embryos they’d made together.
The phone rang. She lifted the receiver a centimeter then dropped it back in the cradle.
The phone had been going berserk over the Proposition 11 thing. When she’d first seen the news report, she’d thought a geyser of blood would burst through the top of her skull and her eyeballs would pop out and roll under the table. Once her hysteria subsided, an unnatural calm had settled in, like the death of the wind right before a tornado.
Her first call was to Selena.
“Right now, Prop 11 has no legal import,” Selena said.
“But,” prompted Maryn.
“It could affect your case,” the lawyer conceded, “if it passes. Andy would be prevented from destroying the embryos.”
“I’d have to have seven children or give the embryos away?
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t mean you’d be entitled to
use
the embryos. Just that Andy couldn’t destroy them.”
It made Maryn’s head hurt thinking about it.
After the news broke, she’d been surprised to find a reporter on her lawn. After a week, there were several. Maryn had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that her private business was news. When she thought about it, it made her angry, so she stopped thinking about it to avoid saying something rash. She hurried by them without so much as a “No comment.”
She tried to convince herself it had nothing to do with her. It was a political initiative unrelated to any individual. But she couldn’t relax. The tornado was just a whisper away. When she saw Webb Garner’s face on TV, or message slips from Andy, the winds started picking up and she had to take deep breaths to stay calm and bring six mares over from Cambridge, England.
Maryn was a rational person, but she couldn’t think rationally about Prop 11. She worried that if her mind explored her feelings, it would discover a sinkhole of guilt and fear that would swallow her. A part of her was awed by Andy’s audacity, quoting the Bible and fighting back at these people. As un-Maryn-like as it was, she just couldn’t. She’d put all her reserves into one fight, and there were none left for this one. She told herself it would be fine, cooler heads would prevail, it would not pass. Then, she picked up the phone and called Amanda Clark, in Cambridge, to see about the six mares.