Bad Dad. Alice Shane
make himself care. When was the last time he spoke with his son? Three, four years ago? Gloria was out of the way now. She could no longer drive a wedge between Danny and himself – an estrangement that intensified during a custody battle in which Gloria blamed their failed marriage on his frequent business trips to Wyoming and hunting expeditions to Africa.
The rupture in their relationship further deepened after Lester openly expressed his outrage over Danny’s fathering of little Charlie before they had gotten married.
“You threw away a chance to go to West Point or the Naval Academy,” he told Danny, exasperated that he had spurned these opportunities. For what? A fuck. That’s what it came down to, Lester concluded.
True, he sympathized with Danny’s predicament. He was lonely, needy of Mary Lou’s affection, a pawn in a crumbling marriage and a litigious divorce. Well, here was a chance for them to bury the hatchet, become a family again. He would make it up to Danny.
So what if Danny climbed power poles for a living, Lester now reasoned. At least he was taking care of his little family. And Mary Lou, well, she seemed pleasant enough. Had a cute Southern drawl. Ok, so she’s a manipulator, he mustn’t forget that. She shouldn’t have gotten pregnant at such a young age – she was only 16 or 17. he recalled. Wanted a lifetime meal ticket. But that’s how these poor little Southern girls were – not particularly industrious, couldn’t care less about getting an education. They’re not independent like the Northerners. But he was eager to see his grandson, Charlie. Nine years old now and he hadn’t seen the boy since he was a toddler. It was time.
As for Margo, he suddenly felt detached from her. He wondered how the return of the prodigal son would play out in their relationship. Was it fair to bring this brood into their lives four years after their marriage? After all, they had no prior discussions or agreements about how this type of situation might be handled. They would have to talk about it, he thought, uncomfortable with the probability that Margo, accustomed to being Number One in his life, would have to make adjustments. She wouldn’t like it, he knew.
Lester glanced at his watch. It was 5:30 pm. He could hear Margo in the kitchen. What was she preparing, he wondered? She wasn’t much of a cook. He surmised that she was defrosting something that Hilda, their housekeeper, had prepared earlier in the week.
He wondered what Danny would have to say for himself. Well, he would find out soon enough.
CHAPTER 9
“Who’s going to call whom?” Margo asked during dinner, knowing she sounded sarcastic. She had made a salad and warmed up chicken breast stuffed with mushrooms and mozzarella – one of Hilda’s more imaginative creations.
“I haven’t a clue. I’m assuming he’ll call me,” Lester said, eating the potatoes but hardly touching the chicken. “Otherwise, I’ll call him.”
“I hope you’re right. But, then, you haven’t heard from him in how many years? Four? Five? Certainly not since we were married. Well, I hope he doesn’t disappoint you – he might have evolved into King Kong, for all you know – climbing telephone poles, living with that welfare queen,” she remarked, hoping to bring him down to earth, knowing she sounded bitchy.
“Look. I need your support, not your disapproval,” Lester said impatiently, rising from the table, heading for the den where he intended to speak to Danny privately.
He needs my support! That’s rich, she thought, noticing that Lester had put on weight as he exited the living room. He had the beginnings of a paunch and his chinos had gotten tight, though at 57 he was still quite handsome. She had always been smitten with his aristocratic good looks – 6’2, light brown hair, pale blue eyes, a strong jaw, an aquiline nose. Well, most men begin to thicken at that age, she concluded. feeling smug about her own thinness which she carefully maintained by jogging and working out in their exercise room.
She would have to talk to Lester about being more physically active, getting back to playing tennis and squash, maybe jogging, spending less time at his Wall Street office where he monitored his company’s gas production and exploration activities and kept an eye on his investments.
But slowing him down wouldn’t be easy. Lester had become suspicious about the way his financial managers at Trent & Richards were investing his money, necessitating that he spend more of his own time scrutinizing monthly statements, tracking their trading activity.
“I’m beginning to suspect that the devious sons of bitches are trying to pull some fast ones, but I can’t prove anything yet,” Lester told Margo one evening after arriving home late for dinner. “That’s why I was late – it’s time consuming, checking their trades, trying to figure out what they’re up to,” he said, obviously exasperated.
“Can I help in any way?” she asked timidly, expecting the answer to be a resounding “no.” Lester was normally secretive about his financial affairs.
“I do know they’ve made several substantial trades without my authorization,” he said, ignoring her offer. “And there were some offshore transfers to banks I’m not familiar with.” The irritation in his voice became more pronounced. “I’ll call tomorrow, try to get some answers, although I don’t want it to appear as if I don’t trust them.”
He had been intending to hire an accounting firm to do an independent audit, but the process would take several months, he calculated. So far, he hadn’t uncovered any evidence of negligence or flagrant misconduct. He could only hope that his own vigilance would keep them honest and on their toes.
Occasionally, he expressed concern to Margo about millions of dollars that had been locked into hedge funds, or he would grumble about Trent & Richards’ miscalculations of market movements, prompting him to weigh the risk of staying invested versus pulling money out. Lester’s father had taught him from his earliest years that controlling and increasing his wealth was ultimately his responsibility and no one else’s – an ethic he took seriously. “Vigilance at all times,” his father would say.
Margo knew that Fuller Energy represented a major source of Lester’s largesse, but she didn’t know much more than that. Even after four years of marriage he was secretive about the details of his finances, prompting her to be cautious about appearing too curious.
But that was going to change. In less than a year, the big bucks guaranteed in their prenuptial agreement would kick in. She would acquire half of all of Lester’s assets, including Fuller Energy, their homes, the yacht, the 2,000 acre game preserve; other properties she may not be aware of. If he died, she would inherit everything. But if they split up before the prenup took effect, she would receive only $2 million for every year of their marriage – a sum she once believed to be munificent but now seemed paltry compared to what their prenup would provide. There was also a clause stipulating that she return a portion of the assets if the marriage dissolved within three years – something she didn’t want to think about.
Surely, it would have been unseemly of her to show too much interest in the minute details of Lester’s wealth, although, as his wife, Margo felt she had a right to more information. Yet, the last thing she wanted him to know was how much his money meant to her. Marrying someone as rich as Lester was her greatest achievement, prompting her to make sure all went well with their marriage – at least until their prenup kicked in.
The telephone rang. Margo glanced at her antique gold Patek Philippe watch, a gift Lester had given her as a Valentines Day gift early in their relationship. It was now 7:15 pm. It must be Danny, she surmised, wondering how all of this would play out.
CHAPTER 10
It wasn’t difficult for Margo to read the expression on Lester’s face as he emerged from the library after his conversation with Danny. It was all too apparent he was disappointed and angry. “Well. How did it go?” she inquired.
“How did it go?” he repeated. “ My long-lost son sounds like a Southern redneck which was a bit of a shock,” Lester said, obviously disgusted. “Otherwise, he’s fine. Says climbing power poles keeps him in