Dead Wrong Page 15

  “Other plans!” Ted sounded genuinely surprised. “Other plans for Father Art? You don’t mean that you’re going to let Father Koesler take care of your—”

  “Koesler!” Nash almost spat the word. “Let’s get something clear. I called on Koesler. I called on him to talk to his ‘cousin,’ your lover. He was supposed to talk turkey to her and get her to leave you alone. Instead, the jackass talked to you!”

  “How did you know that?”

  Nash shook his head angrily. “I know what goes on at Nash Enterprises. I know what goes on in your life.”

  Ted wondered whether his father knew about Nebo, the secret hideaway. He doubted it. Just once, Ted wanted to think that he had outfoxed the old fox. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said. “It wouldn’t have mattered which one of us Koesler talked to. There isn’t anything that could separate Brenda and me.”

  “That so?” Nash looked piercingly from under his once thick black eyebrows. “Think again, sonny.”

  “Never!”

  “I’ll give it to you straight,” Nash said. “For one, you’re asking for it. Two, you deserve it. And three, I haven’t got time to pussyfoot around. “Thirty-three years ago, I had an affair with Maureen Monahan.”

  “Brenda’s—?”

  “For want of precise terms—her mother. She got pregnant and we broke it off.”

  The fact that his father had had affairs did not surprise Ted. He wouldn’t have guessed that one of those was with Maureen Monahan. Nor was he at all troubled by his father’s choice of words. Of course she got pregnant. No Nash had anything to do with it. And we broke it off. Charlie Nash didn’t discard her.

  But there was more.

  “She had the baby,” Charles said. “God knows whose kid it was. Could have been mine. But I’ve never admitted it. The thing is, the kid became a public ward, until Maureen took it in and raised it.”

  “If you think,” Ted said, “that I’m going to believe that Brenda is that kid, you’re sicker than I thought.”

  “No, Brenda’s not the kid. Mary Lou is. Mary Lou Monahan is the kid.”

  “Brenda’s sister? You can’t believe that I’m going to accept all this! Out of the blue—all of a sudden? Why should you dump this garbage on me now?”

  “Because Maureen dumped it on me earlier today.”

  “What?!”

  “I’ve been waiting all these years for her to bring it up. Why she didn’t try to blackmail me earlier—years ago—I don’t know. But, for her own reasons, she picked today.”

  “But … if this is true, why haven’t you ever told me? Why did you wait until now to clue me in?”

  “You didn’t have to deal with it. You don’t even have to take care of it now. Maureen’s not the only one who’s been making plans.”

  “You …?”

  “Of course. I’m not about to be blindsided by some conniving slut. Okay, so she’s going for the jugular now. She’ll find that we’re ready.

  “But first, I gotta tell you what we’re going to do. I gotta show you how to handle this thing. After I tell you all this, you decide for yourself how important Brenda is to you. If you don’t break it up, you’re a greater fool than I thought.

  “This is where you come in, Deacon. Now, pay close attention, both of you. I’m gonna tell you just what happened thirty-three years ago. And, after that, I’ll tell you all that has to be done now.

  “And this, Deacon, is how I’m preparing for my death. Now, listen.”

  1960

  C H A P T E R

  15

  HE DIDN’T NEED HELP. He was very good at just about everything he did.

  Maureen Monahan indulged in comfortable thoughts about her man as she slowly came more fully awake. It was such a gorgeous beginning to a sunny June Saturday. All seemed right with the world.

  She rolled over and looked at her partner in bed.

  Charlie Nash slept like a baby, on his back, lips slightly parted, breathing regular.

  She smiled. She remembered last night. She remembered all the “last nights.” And she wondered again why they didn’t just get an apartment, a flat, a house. Or why they didn’t simply move into his place or her place. This flitting from motel to hotel was wearing.

  Charlie had explained it all, of course. He was a rising young executive in the Lowell Development Corporation. He was moving up the corporate ladder and he had to be focused in his ambition. Competition at his level was intense. Any flaw, no matter how insignificant, or even if not actual but merely perceived as such, could tip the scales the wrong way. The slightest distraction might spell disaster.

  It was, he had explained, something like a protagonist in a mystery novel—Sherlock Holmes, for instance. The sleuth could not be involved with anything except the solution of the plot. The hero had to sift through the clues, casting aside the red herrings and eventually coming up with whodunit. Having Holmes emotionally involved in a love affair was out of the question.

  “Well, my dear,” he had concluded, “that’s about the way it is with me … with us. Everything is on track. I’m on top of everything at the company. I am the embodiment of a superbly functioning mechanism. I have the solution to anyone and everyone’s possible problems. Everyone thinks of me as a machine. No one would think of asking how’s my love life. I’ve got to maintain that image till I really make it. Meanwhile, my dear, we could scarcely want for anything, now, could we?”

  She had to agree with at least the final statement. They wanted for almost nothing. Of course, there was this nagging sense of instability. But, outside of that, yes, their life together was good.

  This was not the first time for him.

  He had admitted as much. He’d had to; there could be no other explanation for his skill at lovemaking. But having owned up to a past, he was disinclined to amplify. And she did not press.

  On her part, she was much more open. She had told him of her rigid and restricted upbringing and of her two sisters, the once and future virgins.

  He was her third … well, actually her first. The prior two could only generously be described as love affairs; they were more extended trysts … and she never had gone all the way herself. Nonetheless, they had given her some experience in physical relationships.

  She’d had no way of knowing at the time, but her first two men were the training wheels of sex. Charlie Nash was postgrad all the way. It was as if Charlie had taken a vow never to leave his partner unsatisfied or unfulfilled.

  That was a happy thought. She stretched blissfully, as she recalled all the times—all those times. She flutter-billowed the sheet and watched as it floated down unevenly, outlining the nude contours of her generous curves. Charlie was by no means alone in bringing something to this relationship!

  She felt playful. She tried a few maneuvers designed to wake him. Rocking the bed slightly, a foot pressing against his knee, humming softly. Charlie’s mouth closed. He licked his lips. He stretched like a large cat getting comfortable. His eyes opened. He looked at her and smiled. “What day is this?”

  “Saturday. All day. Even if it rains.”

  “Do we have anything on today?”

  “We have nothing on today.” She ruffled the sheet, momentarily exposing their naked bodies. “And we have nothing on right now.”

  “Then, by all means, let’s get something ‘on,’” he said, as his head disappeared beneath the sheet. Slowly he lowered the cover, his head preceding its edge as he kissed his way to her toes.

  They enjoyed each other leisurely in familiar ways. His satisfaction came first, but he made sure hers followed and was complete.

  Now she lay against his side, one leg thrown across his body, her head on his shoulder as he held her and they relaxed together wordlessly.

  It was his turn to be lost in thought and memory.

  There was no doubt that he had been less than ingenuous with her. Putting aside, for the moment, all the lies, evasions, and inventions, he tried to think of those truths he ha
d allowed to enter their relationship.

  He was forty-two years old, a little more than ten years her senior. He did work for Lowell Development Corporation. He had had previous romantic liaisons. Charles Nash was his real name. In his own way, he did love her. By which he meant that he enjoyed her and, clearly, he gave her pleasure on a regular basis. And revealing their relationship in any way would have been disastrous—but hardly for the reasons he had expressed.

  That was about it.

  All the rest was deception. And he didn’t really care. Charlie was familiar with the ethical maxim that the end did not justify the means; he considered whoever had concocted that observation to be an idiot.

  The musical comedy How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying had not yet been born, but it could have been based on Charlie’s life. The title was misleading. The principal character did, indeed, succeed. But he tried. He deliberately, painstakingly, pulled the rug from beneath the feet of each of his superiors, one by one, as he took over their respective positions.

  And this was the basic formula Charlie Nash had followed in his ascension at Lowell. But Charlie’s willingness to do whatever it took to win, to climb, to succeed was by no means confined to his business life. For Charlie, that method of operation was all-encompassing. It applied to Maureen Monahan as handily as it did to Lowell Development—and everyone and everything else that entered his life.

  He would have been dumbfounded had he been asked if he felt sorrow for anything he’d done that had advanced his career or served his pleasure. Remorse was an emotion reserved for advantages not seized or people not manipulated.

  Charlie could feel the swell and fall of Maureen’s breathing. She wasn’t sleeping, just relaxed.

  He’d never met or even seen Maureen’s sisters. But from her description, he felt he could pick them out of a lineup.

  The priest cousin was another matter. From the first moment Maureen had mentioned Koesler—“Father Bob”—Nash had expected him to cause problems. After all, theirs was an illicit relationship. Nash had anticipated some determined interference from the priest. He was surprised when none came.

  Eventually, in general and self-confident terms, he commented on the absence of any judgment from her priest cousin. Maureen assured him that not only had she little contact with Father Bob lately, but that further, her cousin was preoccupied with parochial responsibilities and demands. Indeed, she would have been surprised to hear anything at all from him.

  In time, Nash learned to live with this shadowy priest so unconcernedly that he, like Maureen, would have been astounded had Koesler appeared on their scene.

  All in all, life was very good at this moment. And self-satisfaction was about all for which Nash lived.

  Maureen stirred. “Have you given any thought to dinner?”

  “Dinner! We haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  Maureen propped herself on one elbow and squinted at the travel clock on the bedside table. “It’s too late for breakfast. How bout we have a light brunch and then a big dinner later.”

  “Okay. You got any more ideas?”

  “Uh-huh. I’d like to go to the Chop House.”

  “Carl’s?”

  “London.”

  “What? The London Chop House! Did you win big at the track or something?”

  “No.”

  “The telephone company come up with that promotion you’ve been expecting?”

  “Ma Bell may do that one of these days. But not yet.”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s a surprise. I want to save it for dinner.”

  “Gimmee a hint. Is it a good or a bad surprise?”

  “It’s a glorious surprise. But I want to save it for just the right time.”

  “You know I can’t wait that long for news!” Nash pressed her down by lying atop her. Then he began to tickle her. “What is it? You know I’ll never be able to wait till dinner. If you weren’t going to tell me till then, you shouldn’t have said anything now.”

  “All right! All right!” she gasped between pleas for him to stop. “All right! I’ll tell! Just let me up!”

  He pulled back and sat against the headboard. He waited. Without specific reason he was suddenly apprehensive.

  She pulled the sheet up, covering herself. “We’re going to be parents.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “You can’t be.”

  “I am. I missed three periods. I went to the doctor this week. He confirmed it.”

  “You can’t be pregnant. You’re on the pill!”

  He was losing control; that frightened her. Charlie Nash, who had written the book on controlled emotions, was losing it.

  “I was.” She was getting defensive. “Then I started having these side effects—nausea, splitting headaches, bleeding. It was scary. So I started skipping days.”

  “But you know you can’t do that. You know you have to take them every day or it doesn’t work.”

  “I thought I could get away with it …” She shrugged. “I guess you’re right. But I was still getting the side effects, so last month I went off the pill completely. But it was earlier—in March—when I started skipping. And that’s when I got pregnant. So,” she concluded, looking at him imploringly, yet trying to sound confident, “we’re going to have our baby in November.”

  There was no immediate response. He just sat there. She had expected something. Initially she’d talked herself into believing that he’d be happy. As she had explained her condition, hope for an encouraging reaction dimmed. Now, nothing. He just sat there.

  AT FIRST it was as if there were a tiny crack in the brick wall that represented his future. As Maureen talked, the crack widened, then split and fanned out in myriad directions.

  His plans, all those carefully constructed plans! In his imagination, they seemed to crumble.

  His deep, sustained depression lasted actually only briefly. Then he began to function in his customary way. It was a battle between fate and his will, a fate that would shape his destiny, or his invincible will that would conquer, overcoming every obstacle and controlling his future.

  In the end, it was no contest: Charlie Nash would be the master of his fate no matter the cost to others.

  HE GOT OUT OF BED and reached for his clothes. “How do I know it’s mine?”

  “How do—? Are you saying—?”

  “You’re saying it’s impossible for it to be anyone else’s?”

  “You’re goddam right that’s what I’m saying!” She never blasphemed. “How can you even suggest you’re not the father!?”

  “You were willing to sleep with me without any guarantees, without being married to me. Why couldn’t you do the same with somebody—anybody—else? Besides, you told me that I wasn’t your first. How about one of the other guys? I mean, if you can go to bed with other men, why can’t one of them be the father?”

  “You bastard! I told you about them just to be honest with you. They were long gone before I even met you. I can’t believe you’d accuse me of being unfaithful. I can’t believe it!”

  “I don’t give a damn whether you can or can’t believe it. Our agreement was that we weren’t going to have a kid.”

  “There was no agreement!”

  “Not on paper. But then we didn’t have any papers saying we were married or could live as if we were. What do you think all that talk was about that you would go on the pill? Once you started fooling around with the pill, you weren’t protected any more. I, or any of your lovers, could have fathered a child with you.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying these things!” If she hadn’t been so angry she would have wept.

  “You knew! You knew I didn’t want a child. You knew that was the last thing in the world I wanted. I don’t give a fat damn who the father is. I’m not going to be it. Not by a long shot!

  “Besides, if you were having all those problems with the pill, you, I, we, your other studs,
could have taken some other precautions.”

  Maureen began to feel guilty again. “It was no use,” she almost whispered, “nothing else we could have used would have been as reliable as the pill. And the pill was driving me nuts.”

  “It wasn’t up to you to make that decision by yourself. You led me to believe that you were safe. And you weren’t using anything. You trapped me!”

  “We never gave ourselves a chance,” she said quietly. “Neither one of us ever had a child. One or both of us could have been sterile. We had no way of knowing. It could have been.”

  “Now there’s a great gamble: Two healthy, normal people and you presume that one or both of them is sterile!”

  “Wait a minute”—her tone became more aggressive—”what is it with you, anyway? What’s so horrible about our having a baby? We love each other … or, I thought we did. There’s no reason we can’t get married: People do it every day. You’ve got a great job, and you’ve got nowhere to go but up. Where’s the catastrophe?”

  “And then, what would your next little surprise be: Your family coming to live with us?” He was now fully dressed. “Your virginal sisters would be pregnant with a double virginal birth? Your boyfriends add babies to our little family? It could become a guessing game: I could try to guess which of the kids were mine.” He slipped his watch onto his wrist. “Well, no, thanks. No, thank you, dear. This stud is getting out. Now!”

  He scooped up his overnight bag and left, slamming the door without a backward look.

  NEVER IN HER LIFE had her emotions been so stretched.

  When it had happened the first month, she hadn’t been unduly concerned. After all, it wasn’t the first time she’d missed her period— although that, for her, was extremely rare. But heightening her uneasiness was the fact that she and Charlie were freely, sexually active, paying no attention whatsoever to her rhythm of fertility. And she had been skipping days she was scheduled to take the pill.

  It was with some anxiety that she had gone to the doctor for tests. When the results were affirmative, she was thoroughly ambivalent.