Enemy of My Enemy (16 page)

 

Sam's eyes swung from Ann, seated on one side of the living room, to Sarah seated on the other.
These two are so much alike that it's scary,
he decided.

"Looky here," he said. "You have to eat. I'm taking the two of you out to dinner."

Ann raised her hand. "Leave us be. You go out yourself. We'll be all right."

Still frantic with worry about Bobby, but feeling better to be away from Terry, Sarah overruled her daughter. "He's right, Ann. We're not doing a thing for Bobby by starving ourselves. We need our strength to cope."

Ann smoothed down the side of her hair and gave a deep sigh. "Getting the two of you together may have been a mistake on my part."

Sam booked a table at The Square on Bruton Street off Berkeley Square, a restaurant at which he had clout because he frequently brought U.S. clients there. What he liked about it for this evening wasn't only the superb French cuisine and professional service, but the comfortable ambience of the high-ceilinged, wood-paneled modern room. The decibel level was low, and the tables were widely spaced.

Initially, when Sam had heard that Sarah was coming to London to stay with Ann in her flat, he was fearful that his effort to bring Ann out of the deep depression that had engulfed her was doomed to failure. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Sarah asking Ann about the status of the research in her postgraduate study at the University of London on the causes of the decline of British influence in the Middle East in the twentieth century. The relationship between mother and daughter intrigued him. Ann, who had always clashed with her father, had fought with her mother as a child as well, because she saw her mother as the agent who willingly implemented her father's arbitrary demands. Late in her teens she began to see her mother as a victim of her father, just as she and Robert were. With that reassessment, a close bond between mother and daughter developed. In Ann's mind, they were coconspirators with a common enemy. Sam had first seen the two of them together when he and Ann were already dating, and Sarah had come alone to visit her daughter. "Of course, I won't tell your father that you're seeing him," Sarah had said.

"If I thought you would, I would have never have told you," Ann had replied.

Under the overhead lights of The Square, Sam was struck by how wan and pale Ann was. When he had first met her, she had her mother's good looks, the soft brown eyes that sparkled, the wide smile, the wavy brown hair. Now for both of them all of those were eclipsed by a tightly closed mouth, a long face, and bloodshot eyes. Anxiety about her brother had taken its toll on Ann as well as Sarah.

During cocktails Sam tried to steer the conversation to topics other than Robert, including Ann's work at the university, his own law practice, and the London theater. By the time their first course arrived, a fabulous foie gras with rhubarb that all three had ordered, Ann had turned the conversation back to her brother. "What's so frustrating is the helplessness of it all. There has to be something else we can do for Robert. Somebody we can talk to."

Sarah shook her head in disbelief. Ann's speech was one she had heard frequently from Terry before he decided that they should go to Washington. Trying to help her daughter cope, she said, "Believe me, honey, we tried everyone back home. Your father and I have met twice with the president himself and three times with Jimmy Grange, his close adviser."

Ann rolled her eyes. "Father probably pissed off everyone so badly they won't lift a finger."

Sarah smiled despite herself. "That's true. There was some of that."

Ann's face lit up. She turned to Sam. "Hey, I've got an idea. Your law firm has an international practice. There must be one of your clients who does business in Turkey."

"I've already made those calls," Sam replied, sounding sympathetic. "I came up empty."

"We're not thinking creatively enough," Ann insisted.

A waiter clad in a black jacket was clearing their first courses.

"There must be something you can do," Ann pleaded in a way that tore at Sam's heart.

He paused to sip some wine. He loved her so much and wanted her to know he had done everything he could. He realized that telling her about his trip to Tel Aviv meant walking into a minefield, but he had to do it.

Sam sighed. "I even went to Israel to talk to my brother, Jack, in the hope that he might know somebody there who could help."

Sarah, who had been slumped in her chair, shot to a straight position, her back rigid, her facial muscles tense. "What did he say?" she asked before Ann could respond.

Sam didn't want to tell them the truth. "There's nothing he can do. He said he was sorry."

Sarah snapped at Sam. "He wasn't sorry at all. You were nice to try that approach, but I could have told you that Jack will never lift a finger to help."

Sam felt the need to defend his brother. "I'm sure if he could—"

Sarah cut him off with a short, sardonic laugh. "Ha! C'mon, I know Jack a lot better than you do. In everything he did, he played to win. Losing was something he would never accept. So the idea of him helping Terry McCallister's son is preposterous."

Sarah's tone upset Ann even more. "Mom, what's wrong? What exactly was the deal with you and Father and Jack?"

Sam was fidgeting in his chair. Though he had always wanted to know the details of what had happened between Sarah and Jack, he was now sorry he had opened this can of worms. Miraculously, a waiter arrived with their main courses on a tray under metal domes. As another waiter removed the dishes from the tray and placed them on the table, turbot for Ann and Sarah, roast squab for Sam, he tried to change the subject. "What I like about this restaurant is—"

Ann cut him off. "What exactly was the deal with you and Father and Jack, Mother?" she repeated.

"He was the boy next door," Sarah said, trying to recover and brush her off. "We dated in high school. We both went to Michigan together. Freshman year I met your Dad. Jack moved to Israel. End of story."

Ann was smart and knew her mother too well to believe that was all there was. "C'mon. The details."

Ann didn't make a move to lift her fork. Sarah took a deep breath. They were both weakened emotionally. "Leave it alone, Ann."

"I want to know."

Sam's eyes moved from one to the other, as if he were watching a Ping-Pong match.

"This isn't the time."

"I want to know now. I
need
to know."

Sarah didn't have the strength to resist Ann's demand. She knew that her daughter wouldn't give up until she was satisfied. In desperation, she looked at Sam for help, but he knew how strong-willed Ann could be. He wasn't about to try to block her in her current state.

With a sigh, Sarah yielded and began talking in a slow, halting voice. "From the time we moved in next door to the Coles, Jack and I were inseparable. He was not only the first boy I ever dated and kissed, he was the only boy until I got to Michigan."

She turned to Sam. "I'm sure that you don't remember, because you were only three at the time, but I went with my parents to Israel with your family for Jack's bar mitzvah. He and I slipped out of the hotel at night and explored the city. It was a marvelous time to be in Israel in 1969, two years after the 'sixty-seven war. Euphoria was the mood. Peace seemed likely. Everything was possible. Jack fell in love with the place. He wanted us to move there after high school, go to Hebrew University and spend the rest of our lives in Israel."

"You were only thirteen at the time," Ann said.

"I know, but we assumed, both of us, that we would get married one day. Although I have to admit I was less than enthused about the living-in-Israel part. So we compromised. First we'd go to college in the United States. After graduation we'd get married, try Israel for a year, and see if we liked it."

Ann was surprised. "You were so young. How could you be talking about marriage with any man?"

Sarah took a bite of her fish, remembering how magical their relationship had been in high school—the high school prom at Senn, where she had been selected prom queen and Jack was class president. Ah, the promise of youth.

"It was a different time, Ann. We were in love. The sexual revolution was just starting. Your generation knows a great deal more about sex then we did. A lot less about love."

"So then what happened to this great love affair?" Ann asked. She and Sam were staring at Sarah, who needed a good slug of wine before she could continue.

"In the fall of 'seventy-one, we went off to the University of Michigan together, Jack and I. We both enrolled in the R.C., a small liberal-arts college within the university made up mostly of liberals, which we were, and intellectuals, which we wanted to be. In the first couple months I met Terry and got caught up in the radical politics of that time. I became an officer in the new left student movement. We were activists. Our focus was not only on the campus, where students wanted a greater say in running the university, but on national issues. The goal was to avoid the 1968 debacle of Humphrey and move the Democratic party to the left at the 'seventy-two convention in Miami Beach."

"What about Jack?" Sam asked. "Was he involved, too?"

"Not at all. He tried to discourage me. We had some huge fights. All he cared about politically was Israel, which I thought was ridiculously narrow."

Sam looked startled. "He was religious in those days?"

Sarah smiled. "Jack didn't even believe in God. He believed in Israel and the Jewish people. He was studying Hebrew and heading up a group of pro-Israel Jewish students."

Ann raised her eyebrows. "Did you guys ever go to class?"

Sarah laughed. "Not very often. Most of us were too busy for that. Besides, we were convinced that we knew more than the teachers. But Jack was different there, too. He refused to miss classes. He did homework, wrote papers, and studied for exams. Other students laughed at him. He didn't care."

"So where did Father fit into all of this?" Ann asked.

Sarah did her best to conceal the pain she was feeling. The decisions you made when you were young, you had to live with your whole life. "Terry was a senior when Jack and I were freshmen. He was the president of the new left student movement."

Ann picked up her fork and smashed it against the plate, causing everyone in the dining room to stare at them. "You mean to tell me that Mr. Right-wing Republican Investment Banker was a pot-smoking pinko? How hypocritical can you get?"

Sarah didn't respond. She, who had never abandoned the liberal leanings of her youth, had often asked herself the same question. She had no desire to defend or justify Terry.

Ann was now nodding her head up and down. "I can probably fill in the rest of the picture. I bet Jack was wonderful, just like Sam. You ditched the nerdy geek for the older, charismatic rabble-rouser."

Sam interrupted. "Hey, I'm no nerdy geek."

Sarah didn't hear what Sam said. Ann's words sliced through her like a knife. "You have a wonderful way of expressing yourself."

They had eaten so little that a waiter came by to inquire, "Is there something wrong with the food?"

Sam waved him away. "We're just talking. The food's superb."

"How would you put it?" Ann asked her mother.

"I had never dated anyone other than Jack. I was swept up in passion with your father. I thought we had a lot in common."

"Not religion."

"Obviously."

"Did Grandpa really sit shiva for you when you married Father?"

Ann knew how to cut to the core. This was the hardest part to recall. Neither her nor Terry's parents had come to their wedding. "Let's just say that they liked Jack, and they didn't like the idea of my marrying outside the faith."

Ann pushed on. "So why'd you marry him?"

"Well, in August we went off to the Democratic convention in Miami Beach."

"You and Terry?"

Sarah nodded. "Once the school term was over, Jack went to Israel to live. Terry and I hung out in Ann Arbor for a while. Then we flew down to Miami, where we met other left-wing student leaders from around the country. It turned out to be a big dud. Nothing exciting, like the 'sixty-eight convention. In the auditorium, the delegates were nominating George McGovern. On the sands of South Beach at midnight, surrounded by hundreds of radical students, many of whom were stoned out of their minds, a campus chaplain from some university I can't remember married your father and me."

Ann pulled back as if she had been shot. Her mouth was agape. Her arms flew up involuntarily above her head. "What did you say?"

"Oh, my God," Sarah said, realizing immediately the dreadful slip. The horrible, horrible mistake she had just made. She had been thinking about Jack, remembering what had happened. She hadn't been paying any attention to what she was saying. She wanted to die. She didn't know what she could do to rectify it.

As Sam looked from daughter to mother, one face more contorted in pain than the other, he knew something serious had happened. At first he didn't realize what it was. Then he did the math in his head. Ann's birthday was March fifth.

"So you lied to me all these years," Ann said in an accusatory tone. "You celebrated your anniversary in April because you didn't want me to know that you were pregnant when..." Ann's face turned deathly white. "Oh, God. I ruined your whole life." She sprang to her feet. "I think I'm going to be sick." Covering her mouth with her hands, she raced toward the rest room, past the entrance to the restaurant, with Sarah two steps behind.

At the table, Sam wanted to cry for both of them.

A few minutes later Sarah returned. Sam jumped up. "How is she? What can I do?"

"She'll be okay. She wants to be alone for a while."

"Maybe I should go to her."

Until he began dating Ann, Sarah hadn't seen Sam since he was seven years old, during winter break her first year at Michigan. That was the last time she had ever set foot in her parents' house. Despite all the baggage, she had to admit that she liked Sam. He had Jack's concern and sensitivity. Terry would have been eating his dinner right now. "That would be a little difficult. She's locked in a stall in the ladies' room. Leave her be."