Bad Dad. Alice Shane
He, Danny, had light brown hair but was blonde as a child, as was his mother. Lester was also fair-haired as a child, Danny recalled, having seen old photographs. Mary Lou was fair-complexioned and blonde, with the help of peroxide. Charlie looked significantly different from himself and Mary Lou, he realized.
“It was getting late, so I thought I’d better stop by to pick you up, son,” Danny said, taking his hand, his fleeting observations of Charlie’s dusky skin evaporating. “Were you able to get any homework done?”
“Some,” Charlie said evasively. The boy squeezed his father’s hand tightly with a damp left hand.
“So what did you guys do?” Danny asked, sensing that the McGrath household may not be a wholesome environment for Charlie, or conducive to study.
“Nothin’ much,” Charlie said.
“What do you mean, “nothing much?” Danny probed. “You and Mikey were supposed to be working on a science project together! What were you doing?”
“Playing video games,” Charlie confessed.
“What else? No homework at all?”
“A little. I made a drawing of a bridge to show suspension. It’s for my science class, ” Charlie said, his voice barely audible.
“You look upset. What is it?” Danny asked. “I’m you’re father. I want to know what you do when you’re visiting your friends.”
Charlie took a deep breath, then expelled a long sigh. “Mrs. McGrath was naked,” the boy blurted out suddenly. He started to whimper.
“Naked! Do you mean she didn’t have any clothes on?”
His crying became louder, more like a wail. They were nearing their own home. “Don’t tell mommy! Please, don’t tell mommy!” he pleaded, fearing that his mother would ultimately embarrass him by marching over to the McGraths and making a scene.
They stopped in front of their house where Danny’s old red Dodge truck was parked.
“C’mon. Let’s sit and talk in the truck before we go in. Tell me what happened! Did she touch you? Did she touch your privates?”
“No. Nothin’ like that,” Charlie said, trying not to cry.
Danny was relieved. He apparently had not been molested. But the sight of a nude woman – the mother of a friend – surely must have been traumatic for the nine-year-old boy.
He had already talked to Charlie about sexual predators, but this was something he never anticipated, despite problems of his own with Mary Lou who sometimes wore a bikini while hosing the lawn. An exhibitionist if there ever was one, Danny thought, a surge of anger settling in his chest.
“Did she walk around like that in front of you?”
“No. But she left the bathroom door open and I could see her get out of the shower.” Charlie continued to whimper, but not as loudly.
Danny tried not to sound too alarmed. “Where was Mikey while this was going on?” Lester asked, wondering about the kid’s reactions to his mother’s nudity.
“He was sitting across from me,” Charlie said, no longer crying or as upset.
“Well, as long as she didn’t touch you, you’re ok. Do you think she forgot to close the bathroom door?”
“I don’t know. But Mikey said she does it a lot. It scares him.”
“Well, it wouldn’t make any sense for you to go over there any more. Do you agree?”
“Yes.”
“What I don’t understand is, why you didn’t come right home. Or call us on your cell phone. That’s what it’s for – emergencies.”
“How could I call you when they were right there; they would have been able to hear me! Besides, I didn’t want Mom to know – you know how she gets,” Charlie said.
“Well, you could have excused yourself and come right home – it’s only down the block. You have no idea whether the incident was accidental or if she was doing it on purpose. If you had any doubt, you should have left,” Danny said.
Charlie nodded in agreement. He would never go over to Mikey’s again, he decided. Besides, Dad wouldn’t allow it.
CHAPTER 14
It now occurred to Margo that sending $4500 to Lester’s son wouldn’t be such a bad move, particularly if she promoted the idea to Lester. It would make her look good, eradicate the impact of her earlier reactions that angered Lester so much. While she was resistant to the intrusion of these rednecks, she fully intended to conceal her true feelings by making it appear as if she had a change of heart.
Keep your eye on the ball, she told herself. Her primary interest was to keep her marriage intact. In less than a year, she could do what she damned well pleased once their prenup matured and she would be raking in all that money. If something went wrong now, Lester could easily buy his way out for only $8-million, Margo calculated.
She suddenly remembered other stipulations in the prenup. Under certain conditions, she would be required to return a portion of any assets she received. Funny. She couldn’t recall the details. She’d have to review the document again.
For the time being, she would be a good girl, Margo decided. She was pleased with her own cunning. She never thought of herself as a conniver, but here she was, calculating how she could maximize her take if ever a divorce ensued. She always hated that quality in other women, particularly her mother who was a manipulator on a grand scale, with three dead husbands, all leaving enough life insurance to guarantee her a financially carefree widowhood.
Was she like that? No different, no better, she told herself. Obviously, she, too, was a schemer. No different. But she honestly didn’t care. What mattered was that she was getting what she wanted from Lester and their marriage. That was the bottom line.
Of course, she genuinely loved Lester. His wealth was seductive, but he was, for the most part, a loveable man who provided her with a good life.
She had truly lucked out when she met him at that hedge fund conference five years ago. Finance was a new beat for her, a major change from having been a lifestyle reporter who focused on fashion and home decorating. She had campaigned for this change. Her editor, Jack Packard, finally reassigned her to the financial pages despite having no business background.
Clueless about the stock market or Wall Street, unable to analyze annual reports, Margo nevertheless produced credible stories, attributing this successful transition to a rigorous Ivy League education and an aptitude for collecting and absorbing complex information. However, Packard deserved much of the credit, she had to admit to herself.
Jack Packard had mentored her, edited her work, and pushed her stories through until she no longer needed his support. If she hadn’t met Lester, she would surely have fallen in love with Jack, a Philadelphia blue blood married to a du Pont heiress – a man too arrogant to conceal his womanizing. Well, she had the smarts not to become involved with him, Margo reflected smugly – unlike another reporter he relegated to the obituary pages because she was calling him at home and gossiping with staffers about their relationship.
Lester was strikingly attractive back then – slimmer, athletic looking, handsomer and taller than Jack Packard, she recalled nostalgically. Lester was still boyish looking, even now, in his late fifties, his hair light brown peppered with grey, offset by penetrating blue eyes and a ruddy tan, enhanced by sailing weekends in Maryland and golf. Was it her imagination that the blue of those eyes was fading? She couldn’t be sure. A more obvious change was the graying of his hair.
Lester was now more distinguished looking than ever. Wealth, social position and power contributed to an overall impression of calm and dignity. He was the best looking man she had ever known and still sexually exciting to her.
She, Margo, had always been confident in her appearance,