Prizes (9 page)

“He’s probably intimidated by you, Adam. But you mustn’t let him make you resign. Do some clinical work to bolster your income.” She placed her hand firmly on his arm. “Just promise you won’t give up.”

“No, Lisl,” he said with fervor. “I won’t. This is something I’ve got to do for Max.”

“No,” she said emotionally. “You have to do it for
yourself.
”

Adam was determined to protect whatever little territory he still possessed in Max Rudolph’s former laboratory. To make up the shortfall in his salary, he signed on as a supervisor in obstetrics at the Lying-in.

This meant the senior men could rest secure while the lowly residents handled the routine cases—with Adam close by to step in for the emergencies.

Moreover, since the terms of Adam’s new employment required him merely to be in the medical school area, he could actually work in the lab, able to sprint to the delivery rooms of either the Lying-In or Brigham & Women’s Hospital in less than five minutes. And whenever he was dejected by the enormity of his research, the part-time job gave him an emotional uplift.

His spirits were always buoyed by the sight of the
wriggling, wailing, red-faced newborn creatures destined to change the world of their new parents.

And perhaps even change the world.

And yet he found it hard to discuss this aspect of his work with Lisl. He felt that, if anything, Max’s death had exacerbated the pain of her childlessness. But as the months passed, she had begun to come to terms with her loss. At least enough to realize that
he
had not.

“Trust me, Adam. Max wouldn’t have wanted you to retreat from life. You’re a young man. You should be thinking about your own babies, not just other people’s.”

Adam shrugged. “Give me a little time, Lisl,” he replied evasively. “Cavanagh’s still doing his best to make life difficult for me.”

“Incidentally, how do things stand between you and that nice girl from Washington?”

Adam shrugged. “What can I say, I’m here, she’s there. Geography just about sums it up.”

“Why don’t you see if you can dislodge her?”

Adam didn’t wish to go into details about Toni’s complicated social nexus. But he allowed Lisl’s pressure to tip the scales in favor of his own inclinations. When he got home that night, he telephoned Washington and invited himself for the weekend. Toni did not hide her delight.

She met his flight. Something about her seemed different. Was he right in thinking she was more sedate? They sped off back across the Potomac in her car.

Though they had kissed perfunctorily at the airport, there was an uneasy silence for the first minute or so. After which she remarked, “Thank you.”

“What exactly for?”

“For what you’re thinking but are too shy to say—that you’re glad to see me.”

“What makes you so sure?” he asked.

“Most people don’t smile when they’re
un
happy.”

In her apartment, Adam took off his jacket, donned an apron, and helped her prepare the salad. They worked like lab partners.

“Why are you so incredibly talkative?” she joked.

“I’m a scientist,” he said as he patted the lettuce leaves dry. “I’m just trying to analyze the data.”

“And what is your conclusion, Doctor?”

Adam turned and gave vent to the feelings of frustration that had seized him once again since he had entered her apartment.

“I’m confused, Toni,” he said candidly. “I mean, you give off all kinds of different signals. On the one hand you have this incredible ability to make me feel like I’m the only man in the world. And yet we both know you have this commitment.”

“To my job, Adam. To the Department of Justice. You, if anyone, should appreciate that.”

“You mean your employer, don’t you?”

Toni did not disguise her irritation.

“If you don’t mind, I run my own show. Believe it or not, I employ two paralegals and two secretaries. How I spend my spare time is none of your business. I never asked what kind of involvements you have back in Boston.”

“They’re not married women, I assure you,” he retorted.

“Well, good for you, Adam.” She gave a sarcastic laugh. “You live in a town where the ratio of women to men isn’t five to one. In case you haven’t noticed, this village is not only our nation’s capital—it’s a political harem.”

She paused for a moment and then commented, “Did you come all the way down from Boston just to bicker? You must be trying very hard not to like me.”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “In my game I’d call it an ‘autoimmune reaction.’ ”

Suddenly she put her hand gently on the back of his
neck and whispered, “It’s all over with him, Adam. It’s been over since the minute I got back from being with you in Boston. I was going to tell you but when Max died it hardly seemed the moment. I’d discovered the difference between a man wanting you and
needing
you. I hope it doesn’t sound presumptuous, but I honestly felt I made a difference in your life.”

“You did. You do. I only wish you’d told me sooner.”

“Well, for once, the timing was right. Have I changed anything?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I’d say it sort of changes everything.”

The rest of that weekend was a kind of prologue to commitment. Toni finally felt secure enough to open her psyche as well as her heart.

Her childhood had been antithetical to his at almost every point. While he had climbed above his father by mounting the diving platform, she had viewed the world from the height of the pedestal on which Tom Hartnell had placed her.

He had divorced her mother and married twice more thereafter—being sure to synchronize one of his nuptials with his ambassadorship to Great Britain. He had two sons, but neither had the fire of his daughter Toni.

Buried somewhere in the Levittown of middle management at the Bank of America, there was even a Thomas Hartnell II. He had sorely disappointed his namesake by opting for the quiet life. Young Norton Hartnell was still more retiring than Tom Junior and had chosen an even quieter existence—teaching English as a second language in a Texas hamlet.

Understandably, Toni—or “Skipper” as her ex-Navy father loved to call her—was far and away his “favorite son.”

Adam realized that her predilection for mature men was an inevitable continuation of her deep attachment to the Boss.

He understood what he was up against, but he was man enough to confess his qualms. “Look, Toni. Nobody knows better than I how close you are to your father. Do you think your relationship with him would allow you to forge another?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Why don’t we try taking things one day at a time?”

“Well,” he answered with a smile, “I was working within the parameters of ‘the time being’ and ‘forever after.’ Does that seem too onerous?”

“To be honest,” she replied, “I can’t even imagine being lucky in love.”

“Actually, neither can I—which gives us yet another thing in common,” he confessed. “Why don’t we go on a honeymoon this summer? Take a house on Cape Cod maybe. Then, if we like it, we can get married.”

“That’s a novel idea,” she said, her face radiant.

“Well,” he smiled, “I am supposed to be a scientific innovator.”

9
 

March 16

Just after turning eleven, Isabel passed the final high school equivalency exams, theoretically making her eligible to go directly to college, depending of course on how well she scored on the Scholastic Aptitude Tests.

One rainy Saturday morning in October 1983, Ray and Muriel—who was struggling to maintain a role, however minor, in the drama of her daughter’s developing psyche—drove Isabel to the local high school. Here, alongside students five and even six years older than herself, she took the SATs that would evaluate her verbal and mathematical capacities. Then after a lunch break during which Ray fueled his daughter with brownies, she took three achievement tests: in physics, mathematics, and Latin.

On the first page of the questionnaire, she requested that her results be sent to the admissions departments of the University of California at San Diego and at Berkeley.

The second application, Ray explained, was just an exercise to see how she would be judged by the state’s finest university. Obviously there was no question of her being sent away at so early an age.

At the end of the afternoon, she walked out as fresh as she had been early that morning.

Her good humor proved justified when the results arrived.
Isabel scored a perfect 1600 on the two aptitude tests, and had done so well in the achievement tests that—although it was the last thing in the world she needed—both schools offered her advanced standing.

Yet no conscientious, self-respecting admissions committee could avoid taking the applicant’s age into consideration. In fact, both directors wrote to the da Costas suggesting that Isabel wait a year or two—perhaps pick up a foreign language.

Undaunted, Ray even proposed driving all the way from San Diego to Berkeley for her interview.

“Isn’t that a little beyond the limits of an exercise?” Muriel objected. “I mean, there’s no point in going all that way when Isabel’s not going to accept the place.”

She looked into her husband’s eyes and immediately understood his entire game plan. She took a deep breath and said firmly, “No, Ray. This is where I draw the line. We’re not moving to Berkeley.”

And then he shook her. “I’ve never said
we
were.”

“Jesus,” she exploded. “I don’t think you’re in your right mind. Do you imagine any court in the state would grant you custody of a twelve-year-old girl?”

Ray maintained a serene calm. “Who said a word about custody? We’re not divorcing, Muriel. We’re just doing what’s best for our daughter.”

“Do you regard taking her away from her mother at that terribly crucial age in a girl’s life as best for her?”

“Intellectually, yes.”

“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Muriel demanded furiously. “Well, I’m not going to let you twist her personality any further. I’ll go to court and get an injunction.”

Ray smiled with an unmistakable touch of cruelty. “No, you won’t. Because if you meant what you said about wanting her to be happy, you know damn well that taking her away from
me
will have the opposite effect. Think about it, Muriel, think about it long and hard.”

He paused and then added, “Meanwhile, I’ll take Isabel to San Francisco.”

The Berkeley dean of admissions had in his portfolio not merely ecstatic letters of recommendation, but also two confidential and somewhat disturbing communications. The first was from a high school examiner who had questioned Isabel orally. The second came from the girl’s mother. Both warned in similar terms that there was “an unnaturally close relationship between the girl and her father.”

These unhappy predictions were borne out the minute Dean Kendall opened his door and beckoned Isabel inside. He pulled up short when he noticed that Raymond was tagging along after her. Faced with a diplomatic crisis, he addressed Raymond in an unmistakably chilly tone. “Mr. da Costa, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to your daughter alone.”