Case of Lucy Bending (47 page)

It was not an easy process—painful, in fact—and it revealed to her how many of her judgments were dictated, how many opinions were borrowed. She had to slough off a lifetime of mental baggage she now found irksome and disadvantageous. "Propaganda," she called it.

Like a surgeon, she sliced away all that was extraneous in her life, all that had swaddled and smothered her. She came to self-recognition, the essence. She examined herself, stripped bare, and was not daunted by what she saw.

Finally she knew who she was and what she wanted. Everything else was bullshit.

"If there's any trouble with my husband," she said firmly to Jimmy Stone, "I can deal with it."

"Yeah," he said, looking at her admiringly, "I bet you can."

"What are you offering?" she asked him.

"Thirty-five K a year," he said. "For starters. Then, as you take ovei; more and more of the operation, we can talk more bucks."

"No," she said definitely. "Fifty thousand the first year. That's what Empt is taking down right now to honcho the whole thing, and I'm smarter than Luther."

"Jane," Diedrickson started, "don't you think—"

"Pardon me, senator," she said sharply, "but let me handle this. I want fifty thousand for the first year. Then, after you see what I can do, I want a hundred thousand against five percent of the profits."

"Five points!" Rocco Santangelo burst out. "Lady, are you crazy? Uncle Dom will never go for that!"

She whirled on him. "You'll never know until you ask, will you? And what have you got to lose? You can dump me anytime you like—you know that. Look, taking on this job will represent a big personal sacrifice on my part. I don't expect that to influence your decision. But I have to feel I'm getting something for what I'm giving up."

"We'll talk to Uncle Dom," Jimmy Stone said slowly.

"Do that," she told him. "And if he wishes, I'd be happy to meet with the gentleman personally and, ah, explain my position. But you can tell him that if he agrees to what I'm asking, I'll work my ass off for him and make a classy, profitable business out of this schlocky operation."

Stone looked at her, brooding. "Yeah. I'll tell him what you said. You'll be hearing from us."

He stood up. Santangelo immediately leaped to his feet. The two men shook hands with Jane, then leaned across the desk to shake Diedrickson's big mitt.

"Thanks, senator," Stone said. "We'll be in touch." He paused at the door, then turned back. "About that young guy in Okeechobee County. The assistant DA ..."

"Yes?" Diedrickson said, not hiding his eagerness.

"We sent a man up there to check him out. It looks good. Uncle Dom will contact you."

"Excellent!" the senator cried. "Delighted to hear it! Give my very best to the dear man."

When the door closed behind the two guests, Diedrickson wheeled his chair around until he was facing Jane Holloway.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, my dear, if you were a man, I'd say you have balls."

"Do you think I'll get what I asked for?"

"No," he said promptly. "To give you everything would signal weakness on their part, that they need you desperately. They don't want you to get that idea. In my judgment, they'll agree to fifty thousand for the first year, but hold off on any future commitments until they can ascertain just how well you handle your responsibilities."

She thought about that. "All right. If they offer the fifty, I'll take it. But I'll make myself so indispensable that eventually I'll get what I want."

He boomed a laugh. "Ah, the optimism of youth! Not, I am sure, misplaced in this case. Jane, when you alluded to a personal sacrifice on your part to accept this position, were you, perhaps, thinking of divorce?"

She nodded. "I think it will come to that, senator. Bill is a very
proper
man. He's in this business only because I nagged him into it. But it sticks in his craw, I know. He'll never go along with my taking over the whole thing."

"And then you'll leave him?"

"Yes."

"And the children?"

"He can have the monsters," she said.

He drew in a deep breath, then blew it out noisily with a burbling of thick lips. He toyed with his untasted tumbler of bourbon, turning the glass in his puffy fingers. Then he pushed it away from him. He gave Jane one of his benign smiles.

"Would you, my dear, refurbish me with a vodka in a tall glass with a great deal of ice, a wedge of lime, and just a splash of water? I thank you."

She went to the sideboard and fixed his drink. She was surprised to see that her hands were trembling slightly, so she poured a vodka over ice for herself. She brought the drinks back to the desk.

The senator hoisted his glass. "To your new career," he toasted. "I wish you every success."

"Thank you," she said faintly. "But it's not certain yet that they'll want me."

"They will," he assured her. "I can practically guarantee it."

"But I've had very little business experience, and none in this, uh, field. How can you be so sure?"

He didn't answer her question. But his beamy smile faded, eyes narrowed. When he stared at her, all glower and menace, she felt a vague unease and wondered if that was the look he gave his enemies jijgt before their heads rolled.

But when he spoke, his voice was gentle enough. Cajoling, in fact . . .

"Let's talk about us," he said softly. "You and me. It would be quite natural that, with your new responsibilities and independent income, you should begin to question if our, ah, unique relationship is advantageous to you."

"Senator," she began, "I swear I—"

But he held up a meaty palm to interrupt her. "Perhaps not yet, but eventually you will ask yourself what on earth you are doing providing pleasure for a dilapidated old man who, unfortunately, cannot extend to you the same courtesy. That would be a very normal question for you to ask yourself. Hav-■ achieved your objectives, why waste time on an occasional activity that would seem to have no discernible profit?"

"I never thought—"

"However," he continued inexorably, "since you are about to dip your toes, so to speak, into the world of money and power, I think it only kindly on my part to warn you in regard to those customs by which that world endures. Briefly, my dear, your success, or lack of it, depends to a great extent on your financial or political clout. Since, at the moment, you have neither, nor can you reasonably expect to accumulate a great deal for some time to come, you are still in need of, ah, a protector."

"I understand, senator."

"Of course you do," he said heartily, then took a deep swallow of his vodka and smacked his lips. "As Mr. Stone remarked at a previous meeting, you are a smart broad. And being smart, you will endure the ignominy of being the protegee of a ruined gaffer with good grace as long as you feel you may benefit from such a relationship."

"I entered into our relationship of my own free will, senator."

"Of course, of course," he rumbled. "I understand that, and cherish you for it. And you may end it of your own free will, may you not? But before you do that, I suggest you consider carefully my comments about the need of clout in a world that worships money and power. And that, in my circumlocutory manner, brings me back to your original question: How can I be so sure that Uncle Dom will offer you employment?"

"Yes," she said, "how do you know?"

"These men are not stupid," he intoned. "Crass, perhaps. Maybe uneducated. But they are shrewd. I am certain they have perceived that you and I enjoy a personal relationship, and this fact has been brought to Uncle Dom's attention. It is true the dear man has done me many favors. It is also true that I am not yet so toothless that I cannot assist him, in varied ways, when the need arises."

"Are you saying that I will get the job only because Uncle Dom wants to do you a favor?"

"Oh no," he protested. "No, no, no. That is but
one
factor. I am sure Mr. Stone has reported on your interesting ideas to improve their, ah, product. And you are a personable young lady with obvious ambition and drive. You are tough-minded; they can see that. All these things will go into Uncle Dom's final decision. His desire to please me will be only one of his considerations. But, without wishing to boast, I believe it will be the deciding factor."

"I see," she said.

He gave her a bleak smile. "I knew you would. I wanted to bring all this to your attention merely to make you aware of the way things get accomplished in this brave new world you are about to enter."

"Something to think about," she said, staring at him, "in case I get ideas about ending our relationship?"

"Precisely," he said, showing his tarnished teeth. "Since you have little or no clout of your own at this moment, I think it would be most unwise to reject that of a good friend."

"I think you're right," she said thoughtfully. "As always, your advice is very practical."

"You are kind," he said with a wave of his hand. "I merely try to assist my friends. My entire career in the Senate of the United States of America was based on that belief. Help your friends and, if they are worthy of your assistance, they will help you."

"A noble sentiment," Jane Holloway said, no irony in her voice, and she reached out and pulled Randolph Diedrickson's wheelchair closer until their knees were touching. "Now, senator," she said, "tell me how I may assist you."

He told her.

In the case of Lucy B., Dr. Levin was suffering a preoccupation that, he admitted, came perilously close to an obsession. He feared he might be neglecting his other cases, so intense was his fascination with the puzzle of this hypersex-ual child.

When he expressed his fears to Dr. Mary Scotsby, she attempted to reassure him, with little success.

"Ted, has it occurred to you that your interest in this girl may be sexually oriented?"

"Come on!"

"Ted, I've seen her. She's gorgeous. Is it so far from normal for any man to be attracted to such physical beauty?"

"That's nonsense," he said angrily. "It's a professional problem; I don't want to bed the girl. I'm convinced I'm on the right track—the psychic trauma. But it's not working out the way I thought it would."

"You'll get it," she told him.

"I wish I had your confidence," he said gloomily. "I keep thinking I'm close to it, but I need more time. Did you ever dream that you'd be able to devote your entire professional career to one case? Your whole life spent in studying just one human being. Wouldn't that be grand?"

"We all do that," Dr. Scotsby remarked. "Ourselves."

Levin went back to his brooding, convinced his premise was correct, but frustrated in his desire to nail down exactly what had driven Lucy to such deviant behavior.

Now he saw his world as not unlike that of a detective. A crime had been committed. For was it not criminal to bend a child's psyche? All clues pointed to the guilt of the father. Not premeditated, of course. Unintentional. An accident. Not homicide but manslaughter. The result was the same.

A party at the Bendings' home. Everyone drinking, happy, laughing. A little girl dancing with her father for the first time. Then going up to bed. And later, a befuddled father coupling with a strange woman in the bedroom alongside that in which the child lay wide-eyed in the darkness, listening. Then running out to find the source of those frightening cries and moans.

Levin could see the entire incident so clearly. It was a porn film that played over and over in his mind's eye. He knew the players, heard their speeches. It was a believable plot; all the actors played their parts. It was so
complete
he could not doubt it.

But its very perfection worried him. He had learned long ago that human troubles did not lend themselves to neat solutions. There were always loose ends, slubs. In fact, there were no solutions to human ills; there were arrangements, deals, that no one could label victory or defeat.

When Ronald Bending came lounging into Levin's office, the doctor inspected him closely, as if physical examination might reveal the man's guilt. But Bending was his usual ebullient self, nattily dressed, his wry, ironic smile set firmly in place.

"Ted," he said, "how're you doing?"

"Fine, Turk," Levin said, motioning him to the armchair. He started the tape running, then noticed a fading bruise on Bending!s face. Leaning forward, peering, he saw half-healed scratches. "What happened to you?" he asked.

"A slight altercation," Bending said, grinning. "A dingo jumped me in a parking lot. He marked me up some before I could break free and run like hell."

"Did they catch him?"

"Nah. He was long gone by the time the cops got there."

Levin knew the man was lying; he was too glib. The doctor wondered if there had been a fracas between husband and wife. He doubted it; he didn't believe Grace was capable of physical violence. Still . . .