Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

"And you can continue to pretend Jimmy is Christie's father, if you like. I won't contest the adoption."

"Contest the adoption? Do you think you would have any chance? A man who deserted a pregnant teenager?" I said, amazed he would even suggest it.

"Maybe not, but the trial would certainly bring me much-needed notoriety. As my agent says, publicity is publicity. There is no such thing as bad publicity in my business. That's why performers don't really mind it when they find themselves written up in the tabloids.

"Besides, a good lawyer could easily paint a different picture—the picture of a man who was going to do right by you. It was you who disappeared and then went and married the man who had lived as your brother. Can you imagine what the tabloids would do with that?" he asked in a laughing tone.

"You're despicable," I said. "Even more despicable than I imagined."

"All I want is a little money," he whined. "It's a drop in the bucket for you, but for me it's a chance to get back on my feet."

"It's not a drop in the bucket," I snapped. "And it's not just the money. Jimmy would—"

"Would be very angry to know you've been lying to him and meeting me on the side," Michael said, his voice dripping with erotic suggestion.

"My God, there is no limit to how low you will go," I said.

"I'll give you two days. Bring the money to the hotel," he ordered. "I'll need it to pay my bill. Two days," he repeated, and he hung up.

I sat there with the dead phone in my hand, my face flushed, my heart pounding. What was I going to do? Jimmy would definitely be enraged and very disappointed in me. And yet I knew if I got Michael the five thousand dollars, it wouldn't end. He would be at me continually for more, always threatening, always promising to bring us great emotional pain. I wanted so to protect Christie from the sort of misery and turmoil I had experienced. She had a wonderful, happy life with all her needs well provided for; she lived in a world of love and security, protected, never exposed to the bleak, dark forces that dwelt outside our gates.

If I told Jimmy about all this, there could be a terrible scene, and Michael might do just what he threatened to do anyway. I heard the desperation and the determination in his voice; he had nothing to lose, and in a sick way, he was right—he could gain some fame. Lawyers could distort the truth and make it look like I was the evil one. Christie would be considered no better than a freak. She would grow up with people always whispering around her. I knew firsthand how cruel other girls could be, especially when she became a teenager. How could I permit such scandal to follow her all the days of her life?

What was I to do?

I buried my face in my hands and started to sob. Would it never end? Would the sins and indiscretions of my youth follow me and those I loved forever? I felt exhausted, overwhelmed, defeated, and I sank back in my chair.

My gaze drifted to the portrait of my father. His eyes seemed to be locked on me, his wry smile an expression of anticipation. It was as if he were waiting to see what I would do, how I would contend with this new and great crisis. Would I be strong and win, or would I be weak and lose? I was sitting in Grandmother Cutler's chair, working at what had been her desk, overseeing the business she had built so well.

This sort of crisis wouldn't throw her into a desperate panic, I thought. She wouldn't sit there weeping and feeling sorry for herself. I hat

ed to model myself after such a hard, cold person, but apparently there was a place in this world for such people and such behavior. Events dictated it.

I suddenly realized that sometimes we had to put on masks and become people we despised as well as people we admired. The more responsibility we had, the more chance that would happen. I could almost appreciate and understand Grandmother Cutler right now, I thought.

It was as if I gathered this desperately needed strength and resolve from the very walls of the office Grandmother Cutler had inhabited for so long and so well. I wouldn't permit Michael to burst into my life and destroy the happiness I had finally found. But more important, I wouldn't permit him to hurt our daughter. If he wanted to be ruthless and selfish, fine, but he would discover he was no longer dealing with an innocent teenage girl infatuated with his fame and glamour.

I straightened up in my chair, my back as firm and as stiff as Grandmother Cutler's had been whenever she sat there. Then I picked up the phone and called Mr. Updike. He listened carefully as I described the events and what demands and threats Michael had made.

"I'm sorry to thrust you into yet another Cutler family crisis, Mr. Updike," I concluded, "but I do rely on your good judgment and legal advice."

"That's all right," he said. I didn't like the long pause that followed. "These child custody cases can get very ugly, very ugly indeed, as you almost learned years ago when you went to retrieve Christie."

"But does he have any real rights after what he did?" I asked, growing frantic.

"Real parents always have some recourse in the courts. It's true he deserted you and the baby, but the situation gets complicated when you insert the fact that you were sent into hiding to give birth. I'm sure he will claim that once he learned of your pregnancy he tried to make contact but was unable to locate you."

"But what about all the time since?"

"It doesn't show good intention, but it doesn't eradicate his parentage or preclude his parental rights, if the court sees fit to grant him any. And there are, it is true, some unpleasant circumstances that would almost certainly be exposed in a court proceeding. A person with any sort of celebrity would draw publicity. In short, we couldn't stop him from initiating a litigation, and I think I'm correct in saying that the emotional strain and all the unpleasantness surrounding it would be quite distasteful for all of you, not to mention the effect it might have on the hotel."

I swallowed hard. It felt as if a lead lump had gotten stuck in my chest.

"Then what do you suggest, Mr. Updike . . . that I give him the money?"

"No. Let me find out a little more about him and call you back."

I tried to keep myself occupied with other work, but my mind continually drifted back to my discussion with Mr. Updike, and I couldn't keep my heart from racing. Whenever the phone rang I seized it instantly, hoping it was Mr. Updike. Finally it was he. He said he had an English friend who was a barrister in London, and he had finally gotten through to him to make some inquiries. Now he was calling me with his report.