Authors: Sidney Sheldon
Jennifer Parker’s sudden disappearance had created a spate of rumors around Manhattan law offices.
When word got out on the grapevine that Jennifer was back, the interest was enormous. The reception that Jennifer received on the morning she returned kept swelling, as attorneys from other offices dropped by to visit her.
Cynthia, Dan and Ted had hung streamers across the room and a huge
Welcome Back
sign. There was champagne and cake.
“At nine o’clock in the morning?” Jennifer protested.
But they insisted.
“It’s been a madhouse here without you,” Dan Martin told her. “You’re not planning to do this again, are you?”
Jennifer looked at him and said, “No. I’m not planning to do this again.”
Unexpected visitors kept dropping in to make sure Jennifer was all right and to wish her well.
She parried questions about where she had been with a smile and “We’re not allowed to tell.”
She held conferences all day with the members of her staff. Hundreds of telephone messages had accumulated.
When Ken Bailey was in Jennifer’s office alone with her, he said, “You know who’s been driving us nuts trying to reach you?”
Jennifer’s heart leaped. “Who?”
“Michael Moretti.”
“Oh.”
“He’s weird. When we wouldn’t tell him where you were, he made us swear you were all right.”
“Forget about Michael Moretti.”
Jennifer went over all the cases that were being handled by the office. Business was excellent They had acquired a lot of important new clients. Some of the older clients refused to deal with anyone but Jennifer, and were waiting for her return.
“I’ll call them as soon as I can,” Jennifer promised.
She went through the rest of the telephone messages. There were a dozen calls from Mr. Adams. Perhaps she should have let Adam know that she was all right, that nothing had happened to her. But she knew she could not bear hearing his voice, knowing he was close and that she would not be able to see him, touch him, hold him. Tell him about Joshua.
Cynthia had clipped news stories she thought would be of interest to Jennifer. There was a syndicated series on Michael Moretti, calling him the most important Mafia leader in the country. There was a photograph of him and under it the caption,
I’m just an insurance salesman.
It took Jennifer three months to catch up on her backlog of cases. She could have handled it more rapidly, but she insisted on leaving the office at four o’clock every day, no matter what she was involved in. Joshua was waiting.
Mornings, before Jennifer went to the office, she made Joshua’s breakfast herself and spent as much time as possible playing with him before she left.
When Jennifer came home in the afternoon, she devoted all of her time to Joshua. She forced herself to leave her business problems at the office, and turned down any cases that would take her away from her son. She stopped working weekends. She would let nothing intrude on her private world.
She loved reading aloud to Joshua.
Mrs. Mackey protested, “He’s an infant, Mrs. Parker. He doesn’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Jennifer would reply confidently, “Joshua understands.”
And she would go on reading.
Joshua was a series of unending miracles. When he was three months old he began cooing and trying to talk to Jennifer. He amused himself in his crib with a large, tinkling ball and a toy bunny that Ken had brought him. When he was six months old, he was already trying to climb out of his crib, restless to explore the world. Jennifer held him in her arms and he grabbed her fingers with his tiny hands and they carried on long and serious conversations.
Jennifer’s days at the office were full. One morning she received a call from Philip Redding, president of a large oil corporation.
“I wonder if we could meet,” he said. “I have a problem.”
Jennifer did not have to ask him what it was. His company had been accused of paying bribes in order to do business in the Middle East. There would be a large fee for handling the case, but Jennifer simply did not have the time.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not available, but I can recommend someone who’s very good.”
“I was told not to take no for an answer,” Philip Redding replied.
“By whom?”
“A friend of mine. Judge Lawrence Waldman.”
Jennifer heard the name with disbelief. “Judge Waldman asked you to call me?”
“He said you’re the best there is, but I already knew that.”
Jennifer held the receiver in her hand, thinking of her previous experiences with Judge Waldman, how sure she had been that he hated her and was out to destroy her.
“All right. Let’s have breakfast tomorrow morning,” Jennifer said.
When she had hung up, she placed a call to Judge Waldman.
The familiar voice came on the telephone. “Well. I haven’t talked to you in some time, young lady.”
“I wanted to thank you for having Philip Redding call me.”
“I wanted to make certain he was in good hands.”
“I appreciate that, Your Honor.”
“How would you like to have dinner with an old man one evening?”
Jennifer was taken by surprise. “I’d love having dinner with you.”
“Fine. I’ll take you to my club. They’re a bunch of old fogies and they’re not used to beautiful young women. It’ll shake them up a bit.”
Judge Lawrence Waldman belonged to the Century Association on West 43rd Street, and when he and Jennifer met there for dinner she saw that he had been teasing about old fogies. The dining room was filled with authors, artists, lawyers and actors.
“It is the custom not to make introductions here,” Judge Waldman explained to Jennifer. “It’s assumed that every person is immediately recognizable.”
Seated at various tables, Jennifer recognized Louis Auchincloss,
George Plimpton and John Lindsay, among others.
Socially, Lawrence Waldman was totally different from what Jennifer had expected. Over cocktails he said to Jennifer, “I once wanted to see you disbarred because I thought you had disgraced our profession. I’m convinced that I was wrong. I’ve been watching you closely. I think you’re a credit to the profession.”
Jennifer was pleased. She had encountered judges who were venal, stupid or incompetent. She respected Lawrence Waldman. He was both a brilliant jurist and a man of integrity.
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Off the bench, why don’t we make it Lawrence and Jennie?”
Her father was the only one who had ever called her Jennie.
“I’d like that, Lawrence.”
The food was excellent and that dinner was the beginning of a monthly ritual they both enjoyed tremendously.
It was the summer of 1974. Incredibly, a year had flown by since Joshua Adam Parker had been born. He had taken his first tottering steps and he understood the words for nose and mouth and head.
“He’s a genius,” Jennifer flatly informed Mrs. Mackey.
Jennifer planned Joshua’s first birthday party as though it were being given at the White House. On Saturday she shopped for gifts. She bought Joshua clothes and books and toys, and a tricycle he would not be able to use for another year or two. She bought favors for the neighbors’ children she had invited to the party, and she spent the afternoon putting up streamers and balloons. She baked the birthday cake herself and left it on the kitchen table. Somehow, Joshua got hold of the cake and grabbed handfuls of it and crammed it into his mouth, ruining it before the other guests arrived.
Jennifer had invited a dozen children from the neighborhood, and their mothers. The only adult male guest was Ken
Bailey. He brought Joshua a tricycle, a duplicate of the one Jennifer had bought.
Jennifer laughed and said, “That’s ridiculous, Ken. Joshua’s not old enough for that.”
The party only lasted two hours, but it was splendid. The children ate too much and were sick on the rug, and fought over the toys and cried when their balloons burst, but all in all, Jennifer decided, it was a triumph. Joshua had been a perfect host, handling himself, with the exception of a few minor incidents, with dignity and aplomb.
That night, after all the guests had left and Joshua had been put to bed, Jennifer sat at his bedside watching her sleeping son, marveling at this wonderful creature that had come from her body and the loins of Adam Warner. Adam would have been so proud to have seen how Joshua had behaved. Somehow, the joy was diminished because it was hers alone.
Jennifer thought of all the birthdays to come. Joshua would be two years old, then five, then ten and twenty. And he would be a man and he would leave her. He would make his own life for himself.
Stop it
! Jennifer scolded herself.
You’re feeling sorry for yourself.
She lay in bed that night, wide awake, reliving every detail of the party, remembering it all.
One day, perhaps, she could tell Adam about it.
In the months that followed, Senator Adam Warner was becoming a household word. His background, ability and charisma had made him a presence in the Senate from the beginning. He won a place on several important committees and he sponsored a piece of major labor legislation that passed quickly and easily. Adam Warner had powerful friends in Congress. Many had known and respected his father. The consensus was that Adam was going to be a presidential contender one day. Jennifer felt a bittersweet pride.
Jennifer received constant invitations from clients, associates and friends to dinner and the theater and various charity affairs, but she refused almost all of them. From time to time she would spend an evening with Ken. She enjoyed his company immensely. He was funny and self-deprecating, but beneath the facade of lightness, Jennifer knew, there was a sensitive, tormented man. He would sometimes come to the house for lunch or dinner on weekends,
and he would play with Joshua for hours. They loved each other.
Once, when Joshua had been put to bed and Jennifer and Ken were having dinner in the kitchen, Ken kept staring at Jennifer until she asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“Christ, yes,” Ken groaned. “I’m sorry. What a bitch of a world this is.”
And he would say nothing further.
Adam had not tried to get in touch with Jennifer in almost nine months now, but she avidly read every newspaper and magazine article about him, and watched him whenever he appeared on television. She thought about him constantly. How could she not? Her son was a living reminder of Adam’s presence. Joshua was two years old now and incredibly like his father. He had the same serious blue eyes and the identical mannerisms. Joshua was a tiny, dear replica, warm and loving and full of eager questions.
To Jennifer’s surprise, Joshua’s first words had been
car-car
, when she took him for a drive one day.
He was speaking in sentences now and he said
please
and
thank you.
Once, when Jennifer was trying to feed him in his high chair, he said impatiently, “Mama, go play with your toys.”
Ken had bought Joshua a paint set, and Joshua industriously set about painting the walls of the living room.
When Mrs. Mackey wanted to spank him, Jennifer said, “Don’t. It will wash off. Joshua’s just expressing himself.”
“That’s all
I
wanted to do,” Mrs. Mackey sniffed. “Express myself. You’ll spoil that boy rotten.”
But Joshua was not spoiled. He was mischievous and demanding, but that was normal for a two-year-old. He was afraid of the vacuum cleaner, wild animals, trains and the dark.
Joshua was a natural athlete. Once, watching him at play
with some of his friends, Jennifer turned to Mrs. Mackey and said, “Even though I’m Joshua’s mother, I’m able to look at him objectively, Mrs. Mackey. I think he may be the Second Coming.”
Jennifer had made it a policy to avoid any cases that would take her out of town and away from Joshua, but one morning she received an urgent call from Peter Fenton, a client who owned a large manufacturing firm.
“I’m buying a factory in Las Vegas and I’d like you to fly down there and meet with their lawyers.”
“Let me send Dan Martin,” Jennifer suggested. “You know I don’t like to go out of town, Peter.”
“Jennifer, you can wrap the whole thing up in twenty-four hours. I’ll fly you down in the company plane and you’ll be back the next day.”
Jennifer hesitated. “All right.”
She had been to Las Vegas and was indifferent to it. It was impossible to hate Las Vegas or to like it. One had to look upon it as a phenomenon, an alien civilization with its own language, laws and morals. It was like no other city in the world. Huge neon lights blazed all night long, pro-claiming the glories of the magnificent palaces that had been built to deplete the purses of tourists who flocked in like lemmings and lined up to have their carefully hoarded savings taken away from them.
Jennifer gave Mrs. Mackey a long and detailed list of instructions about taking care of Joshua.
“How long are you going to be away, Mrs. Parker?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Mothers!”
Peter Fenton’s Lear jet picked Jennifer up early the next morning and flew her to Las Vegas. Jennifer spent the afternoon and evening working out the details of the contract.
When they finished, Peter Fenton asked Jennifer to have dinner with him.
“Thank you, Peter, but I think I’ll stay in my room and get to bed early. I’m returning to New York in the morning.”
Jennifer had talked to Mrs. Mackey three times during the day and had been reassured each time that little Joshua was fine. He had eaten his meals, he had no fever and he seemed happy.
“Does he miss me?” Jennifer asked.
“He didn’t say,” Mrs. Mackey sighed.
Jennifer knew that Mrs. Mackey thought she was a fool, but Jennifer did not care.
“Tell him I’ll be home tomorrow.”
“I’ll give him the message, Mrs. Parker.”
Jennifer had intended to have a quiet dinner in her suite, but for some reason, the rooms suddenly became oppressive, the walls seemed to be closing in on her. She could not stop thinking about Adam.
How could he have made love to Mary Beth and made her pregnant when…
The game Jennifer always played, that her Adam was just away on a business trip and would soon return to her, did not work this time. Jennifer’s mind kept returning to a picture of Mary Beth in her lace negligee and Adam…
She had to get out, to be somewhere where there were noisy crowds of people.
Perhaps
, Jennifer thought,
I might even see a show.
She quickly showered, dressed and went downstairs.
Marty Allen was starring in the main show room. There was a long line at the entrance to the room for the late show, and Jennifer regretted that she had not asked Peter Fenton to make a reservation for her.
She went up to the captain at the head of the line and said, “How long a wait will there be for a table?”
“How many in your party?”
“I’m alone.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m afraid—”
A voice beside her said, “My booth, Abe.”
The captain beamed and said, “Certainly, Mr. Moretti. This way, please.”
Jennifer turned and found herself looking into the deep black eyes of Michael Moretti.
“No, thank you,” Jennifer said. “I’m afraid I—”
“You have to eat.” Michael Moretti took Jennifer’s arm and she found herself walking beside him, following the captain to a choice banquette in the center of the large room. Jennifer loathed the idea of dining with Michael Moretti, but she did not know how to get out of it now without creating a scene. She wished fervently that she had agreed to have dinner with Peter Fenton.
They were seated at a banquette facing the stage and the captain said, “Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Moretti, miss.”
Jennifer could feel Michael Moretti’s eyes on her and it made her uncomfortable. He sat there, saying nothing. Michael Moretti was a man of deep silences, a man who distrusted words, as though they were a trap rather than a form of communication. There was something riveting about his silence. Michael Moretti used silence the way other men used speech.
When he finally spoke, Jennifer was caught off guard.
“I hate dogs,” Michael Moretti said. “They die.”
And it was as though he was revealing a private part of himself that came from some deep wellspring. Jennifer did not know what to reply.
Their drinks arrived and they sat there drinking quietly, and Jennifer listened to the conversation they were not having.
She thought about what he had said:
I hate dogs. They die.
She wondered what Michael Moretti’s early life had been like. She found herself studying him. He was attractive in a dangerous, exciting way. There was a feeling of violence about him, ready to explode.
Jennifer could not say why, but being with this man made her feel like a woman. Perhaps it was the way his ebony black eyes looked at her, then looked away from her, as though fearful of revealing too much. Jennifer realized it had been a long time since she had thought of herself as a woman. From the day she had lost Adam.
It takes a man to make a woman feel female,
Jennifer thought,
to make her feel beautiful, to make her feel wanted.
Jennifer was grateful he could not read her mind.
Various people approached their booth to pay their respects to Michael Moretti: business executives, actors, a judge, a United States senator. It was power paying tribute to power, and Jennifer began to feel a sense of how much influence he wielded.
“I’ll order for us,” Michael Moretti said. “They prepare this menu for eight hundred people. It’s like eating on an airline.”
He raised his hand and the captain was at his side instantly. “Yes, Mr. Moretti. What would you like tonight, sir?”
“We’ll have a
Chateaubriand
, pink and charred.”
“Of course, Mr. Moretti.”
“
Pommes soufflées
and an endive salad.”
“Certainly, Mr. Moretti.”
“We’ll order dessert later.”
A bottle of champagne was sent to the table, compliments of the management.
Jennifer found herself beginning to relax, enjoying herself almost against her will. It had been a long while since she had spent an evening with an attractive man. And even as the phrase came into Jennifer’s mind, she thought,
How can
I think of Michael Moretti as attractive? He’s a killer, an amoral animal with no feelings.
Jennifer had known and defended dozens of men who had committed terrible crimes, but she had the feeling that none of them was as dangerous as this man. He had risen to the top of the Syndicate and it had taken more than a marriage to Antonio Granelli’s daughter to accomplish that.
“I telephoned you once or twice while you were away,” Michael said. According to Ken Bailey, he had called almost every day. “Where were you?” He made the question sound casual.
“Away.”
A long silence. “Remember that offer I made you?”
Jennifer took a sip of her champagne. “Don’t start that again, please.”
“You can have any—”
“I told you, I’m not interested. There’s no such thing as an offer you can’t refuse. That’s only in books, Mr. Moretti. I’m refusing.”
Michael Moretti thought of the scene that had taken place in his father-in-law’s home a few weeks earlier. There had been a meeting of the Family and it had not gone well. Thomas Colfax had argued against everything that Michael had proposed.
When Colfax had left, Michael had said to his father-in-law, “Colfax is turning into an old woman. I think it’s time to put him out to pasture, Papa.”
“Tommy’s a good man. He’s saved us a lot of trouble over the years.”
“That’s history. He doesn’t have it anymore.”
“Who would we get to take his place?”
“Jennifer Parker.”
Antonio Granelli had shaken his head. “I told you, Michael.
It ain’t good to have a woman know our business.”
“This isn’t just a woman. She’s the best lawyer around.”
“We’ll see,” Antonio Granelli had said. “We’ll see.”
Michael Moretti was a man who was used to getting what he wanted, and the more Jennifer stood up to him, the more he was determined to have her. Now, sitting next to her, Michael looked at Jennifer and thought,
One day you’re going to belong to me, baby—all the way.
“What are you thinking about?”
Michael Moretti gave Jennifer a slow, easy smile, and she instantly regretted the question. It was time to leave.
“Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Mr. Moretti. I have to get up early, so—”
The lights began to dim and the orchestra started an overture.
“You can’t leave now. The show is starting. You’ll love Marty Allen.”
It was the kind of entertainment that only Las Vegas could afford to put on, and Jennifer thoroughly enjoyed it. She told herself she would leave immediately after the show, but when it was over and Michael Moretti asked Jennifer to dance, she decided it would be ungracious to refuse. Besides, she had to admit to herself that she was having a good time. Michael Moretti was a skillful dancer, and Jennifer found herself relaxing in his arms. Once, when another couple collided with them, Michael was pushed against Jennifer and for an instant she felt his male hardness, and then he immediately pulled away, careful to hold her at a discreet distance.
Afterward, they walked into the casino, a vast terrain of bright lights and noise, packed with gamblers engrossed in various games of chance, playing as though their lives depended
on their winning. Michael took Jennifer to one of the dice tables and handed her a dozen chips.
“For luck,” he said.
The pit boss and dealers treated Michael with deference, calling him
Mr. M.
and giving him large piles of hundred-dollar chips, taking his markers instead of cash. Michael played for large stakes and lost heavily, but he seemed unperturbed. Using Michael’s chips, Jennifer won three hundred dollars, which she insisted on giving to Michael. She had no intention of being under any obligation to him.
From time to time during the course of the evening, various women came up to greet Michael. All of them were young and attractive, Jennifer noticed. Michael was polite to them, but it was obvious that he was only interested in Jennifer. In spite of herself, she could not help feeling flattered.
Jennifer had been tired and depressed at the beginning of the evening, but there was such a vitality about Michael Moretti that it seemed to spill over, charging the air, enveloping Jennifer.
Michael took her to a small bar where a jazz group was playing, and afterward they went on to the lounge of another hotel to hear a new singing group. Everywhere they went Michael was treated like royalty. Everyone tried to get his attention, to say hello to him, to touch him, to let him know they were there.
During the time they were together, Michael did not say one word at which Jennifer could take offense. And yet, Jennifer felt such a strong sexuality coming from him that it was like a series of waves beating at her. Her body felt bruised, violated. She had never experienced anything like it. It was a disquieting feeling and, at the same time, exhilarating. There was a wild, animal vitality about him that Jennifer had never encountered before.