"And then?"
"Well, blocking the sale didn't solve Fairchild's financial problems. The company was still in trouble. And it eventually had to be sold. There was a rumor it was going to be bought by Bull, a French company that didn't compete in supercomputers. That sale might have been permitted by Congress. But in the end, Fairchild was sold to an American company."
"And MicroCon is another Fairchild?"
"Yes, in the sense that MicroCon will give the Japanese a monopoly on vital chip-making machinery. Once they have a monopoly, they can withhold the machines from American companies. But now I think– "
That was when the phone rang. I left it on the speakerphone.
It was Lauren. My ex-wife.
"Peter?"
I said, "Hello, Lauren."
"Peter, I am calling to inform you that I'm going to pick up Michelle early today." Her voice sounded tense, formal.
"You are? I didn't know you were picking her up at all."
"I never said that, Peter," she answered quickly. "Of course I'm picking her up."
I said, "Okay, fine. By the way, who's Rick?"
There was a pause. "Really. That is beneath you, Peter."
"Why?" I said. "I'm just curious. Michelle mentioned it this morning. She said he has a black Mercedes. Is he the new boyfriend?"
"Peter. I hardly think that is on the same level."
I said, "The same level as what?"
"Let's not play games," she said. "This is difficult enough. I'm calling to tell you I have to pick up Michelle early because I'm taking her to the doctor."
"Why? She's over her cold."
"I'm taking her for an examination, Peter."
"For what'?"
"An examination."
"I heard you," I said. "But– "
"The physician who will examine her is Robert Strauss. He is an expert, I'm told. I have been asking people in the office who is the best person. I don't know how this is going to turn out, Peter, but I want you to know I am concerned, particularly in the light of your history."
"Lauren, what are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about child abuse," she said. "I'm talking about sexual molestation."
"What?"
"There's no getting around it, at this point. You know you've been accused of it in the past."
I felt churning nausea. Whenever a relationship goes sour, there's always some residue of resentment, some pockets of bitterness and anger – as well as lots of private things that you know about the other person, that you can use against them. If you choose to do that. Lauren never had.
"Lauren, you know that abuse charge was trumped up, You know everything about that. We were married at the time."
"I only know what you told me." Her voice sounded distant now, moralistic, a little sarcastic. Her prosecutor's voice.
"Lauren, for Christ's sake. This is ridiculous. What's going on?"
"It is not ridiculous. I have my responsibilities as a mother."
"Well, for God's sake, you've never been particularly worried about your responsibilities as a mother before. And now you– "
"It's true that I have a demanding career," she said, in an icy tone, "but there has never been any question that my daughter comes first. And I deeply, deeplyregret if my past behavior in any way contributed to this unpleasant circumstance now." I had the feeling that she wasn't talking to me. She was rehearsing. Trying out the words to see how they would sound before a judge. "Clearly, Peter, if there is child abuse, Michelle cannot continue to live with you. Or even to see you."
I felt pain in my chest. A wrenching.
"What are you talking about? Who told you there was child abuse?"
"Peter, I don't think it's appropriate for me to comment at this point in time."
"Was it Wilhelm? Who called you, Lauren?"
"Peter, there's no point in going into this, I'm officially notifying you that I'm going to pick Michelle up at four p.m. I want her ready to go at four this afternoon."
"Lauren– "
"I have my secretary, Miss Wilson, listening on the line and making stenographic notes of our conversation. I'm giving you formal notice of my intention to pick up my daughter and take her for a physical examination. Do you have any questions about my decision?"
"No."
"Four o'clock, then. Thank you for your cooperation. And let me add on a personal note, Peter, I'm truly sorry that it has come to this."
And she hung up.
I had been involved in sex abuse cases when I was a detective. I knew how it worked. The fact is, you usually can't determine anything from a physical exam. It's always equivocal. And if a kid is questioned by a psychologist who hammers her with questions, the kid will eventually start to go along, and make up answers to please the psychologist. Normal procedure requires the psychologist to videotape the kids, to prove that the questioning wasn't leading. But the situation is almost always unclear when it finally comes before a judge. And the judge must therefore rule conservatively. Which means, if there is a possibility of abuse, to keep the child away from the accused parent. Or at least, not allow unsupervised visitation. No overnight visits. Or perhaps not even—
"That's enough," Connor said, sitting beside me in the car. "Come back now."
"Sorry," I said. "But it's upsetting."
"I'm sure. Now: what haven't you told me?"
"About what?"
"The molestation charge."
"Nothing. There's nothing to it."
"Kohai," he said quietly. "I can't help you if you won't tell me."
"It had nothing to do with sexual molestation," I said, "It was something else entirely. It was about money."
Connor said nothing. He just waited. Looking at me.
"Ah, hell," I said.
And I told him.
You have these times in your life when you believe you know what you're doing, but you really don't. Later on, you can look back, and you see you weren't acting right at all. You drifted into something, and you were completely screwed up. But at the time, you thought everything was fine.
What happened to me was, I was in love. Lauren was one of those patrician-acting girls, lean and graceful and understated. She looked like she grew up with horses. And she was younger than me, and beautiful.
I always knew it wouldn't work between us, but I was trying to make it work anyway. We had gotten married and had begun living together and she was starting to be dissatisfied. Dissatisfied with my apartment, where it was located, how much money we had. All of that. She was throwing up, which didn't help. She had crackers in the car, crackers by the bed, crackers everywhere. She was so miserable and so unhappy that I tried to please her in little ways. Get her things. Bring her things. Cook her meals. Do little domestic things. It wasn't my usual way, but I was in love. I was drifting into this habit of pleasing her. Trying to please her.