My thanks to MormonJack for his helpful suggestions and proofreading of this story. Don't blame him if you don't like it: that's all on me (well, maybe it's partly on you).
***
Yeah the women tear their blouses off
and the men they dance on the polka-dots
and it's partner found, it's partner lost
and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops:
it's CLOSING TIME
© 1992 Leonard Cohen
Thomas Firsten hit the "replay" button on his iPad, then turned his eyes back to the TV. Casting to a large screen was wonderful technology, giving him an almost life-size look at his four-year-old grandson Wilbur, and his two-year-old princess Jacinta. It had been almost a year since they visited Florida and he saw them in person. That was the first time since their birth.
Sarah and Albert's animosity had not faded away as Thomas had hoped. Sarah was angry over the destruction of her family; Albert for the destruction of his mother's sanity and his sense of self. Helen was almost back to normal, and Albert's motion to end his mother's conservatorship was scheduled to come before the courts within a couple of months. Helen lived happily in a townhouse across the street from Albert, getting to see their grandchildren just about every day. It wasn't fair, but Thomas' lawyer advised against pushing the issue.
The video began playing, with Wilbur singing his version of "America the Beautiful," and Jacinta merrily dancing along. Thomas laughed out loud at his grandchildren's antics. Jacinta's dancing had nothing to do with Wilbur's song, other than that they were enjoying themselves together.
Hopefully, Albert and Sarah would get over their snits sooner rather than later, and allow Thomas to enjoy his grandchildren in person.
The doorbell rang, but Thomas didn't want to interrupt Wilbur's song. It would be unpatriotic, among other things. The doorbell rang again, followed by a knock. It could wait until Wilbur finished the song.
Maybe not. "Mr. Firsten, this is the police. Please open the door now."
He paused the video. "Coming, coming. Hold your damned horses." He slipped the security chain into place and opened the door a crack. "Let me see your identification."
The man at the door showed him a badge.
"You could have gotten that at the dollar store for all I know. How about some official identification? Something with a picture."
"Mr. Firsten, we have a warrant. You don't want to interfere with the police."
"No, I don't want to interfere with the police, but first I have to know that you are the police."
"Show him your ID card," a voice from the back called out. Thomas took the opportunity to peer through the door opening. There were five of them, three in uniform.
The officer at the door produced a police photo ID. He definitely was a cop.
"Okay, I'll open. What's this about? You're interrupting my grandchildren." He slipped off the chain and let them into his condo.
"Mr. Firsten, we have a warrant to search your condo and all your electronic devices. Please have a seat while we do our work."
"What's going on? What are you looking for?"
The officer handed him the search warrant. "Mr. Firsten, we have reason to believe that you are engaged in the possession and distribution of child pornography."
"Are you fucking insane? Where do you come up with shit like that!"
"Mr. Firsten, please calm yourself. You're turning all red." An officer took his arm, trying to guide him back to the couch. Firsten swung at him, trying to push him off. Another policeman joined the fray, and they both held his arms as they led him to the couch.
"Get your hands off me. You can't abuse an old man. And get that god-damned elephant off of my chest."
The officer who had knocked on the door put down Thomas' iPad and looked at Firsten. His complexion had gone from red to pale in a matter of seconds. "Who knows CPR?" the officer shouted. "Call an ambulance, stat!"
Four months later:
Her phone read "private caller." Sarah Firsten hated when it was a private caller. She answered every one of them though, ever since her son had revealed himself as the private caller to The Hamptons club. It was more than six months since she last spoke with Kevin. She didn't want to risk missing him, so she picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi, Mom."
"Kevin, my darling, I've missed you so much. How are you?"
"Pretty good, ma. How are your lovers doing? Has the old man been sentenced yet?"
"Wha... what are you talking about, Kevin, my sweet boy."
"Child pornography's a pretty serious offense. He'll probably be put away for a very long time. Probably in protective custody, so the other inmates don't kill him."
"Kevin..." Sarah fell into, rather than sat down on the sofa. "Tell me--"
"I bet his kid, your other lover, is having a hard time with his dad being such a pervert."
"Kevin, how do you know about this? The accusation was just in the local Florida media."
He laughed harshly. "Because I put it there, darling mother. I hacked into his computer and planted the images. They're pretty sick. Somehow, wink wink, the authorities found out about it."
Pretty sick... The voice she was hearing, the brilliant son that she loved was pretty sick. Sarah started retching, ran for the bathroom and gave back most of her supper. The phone was still on the sofa when she returned, but the call had been terminated. She went to the kitchen and sipped some apple juice, just to get the bad taste out of her mouth.
She couldn't get the bad taste out of her heart, however, or out of her mind. Even if Kevin lied about planting the pornography on Thomas' computer, the way he reveled in the idea was horrific. And he probably hadn't lied. He was an expert in anything electronic, able to get computers, protected or not, to bow to his will. It was almost five years since she destroyed their family. Was Kevin so embittered that he would do something like this?
Clearly, he was. It was also clear he didn't know the consequence of his action: Thomas' heart attack and his swift death. Would he care? Probably not. Her wonderful, loving, clever son was on the way to becoming a sociopath, and Sarah was the one who set him on that trail with her pathological betrayal. She had to help her son off that path, but Kevin wouldn't even talk to her. She had to speak to Arnold.
She had to speak to her husband Albert as well. Ever since he had been told about why the police had visited his father's condo, he had gone into a deep depression. Albert didn't love his father. He didn't even like him. But hearing the charge of possession of child pornography made Albert think that he had been raised by a monster. Maybe the victim of a monster. Had his father molested him? Is that what drove him into his shell, or what sent his mother to an institution? Albert now avoided contact with his own children, fearing that he too was a monster.
The charges against her father-in-law were false. Sarah now knew that for a certainty. When they first heard about them, she had suggested to her husband that they were not necessarily true. "Innocent until proven guilty" and all that. Albert took no comfort from her suggestion, even when the police said there wasn't enough evidence to take it any further. They weren't going to jail a dead man anyway, so the lack of follow-up meant nothing to him. His paintings quickly descended into the gloom, the despair of his earlier works, if he painted at all. He had barely touched a brush to canvas in over a month. He had barely touched Sarah in four months; not even the affectionate little touches on the arm or back. Hopefully, this news would redeem his father's image and re-ignite his fervor for art, for life.
She stopped short at the door to his studio. What would Albert do when she told him her son Kevin framed his father? Would he want to exact vengeance, just as Kevin had? He might also contact the Florida police without a hint of malice in his heart, for the sole purpose of clearing his father's name. The result would be the same, regardless of motive. Kevin would undoubtedly be charged, his reputation ruined, his chance at future security clearance ruined, his dreams--his future--destroyed.
And if she didn't tell Albert, if she didn't prove that his father was simply an asshole rather than a monster, what would happen to her husband? Would he sink back into the shell he was in when they first met? And even if he didn't sink further would he be able to pull out of his current depression? There was only one course of action that wouldn't harm anyone in her family, old or new. With a sigh she opened the door, to find her husband playing one of Wilbur's video games.
"Hey babe." He didn't look up.
"Hey yourself. My stomach's a little queasy. I'm going outside for a walk; I need the fresh air. Keep an ear open for the kids." Sarah's eyes quickly swept the room, looking for any display showing the time. She saw none.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I just need to clear my head. I won't be more than twenty minutes. Call if either of the kids wakes up and you need me back."
"Uh-huh." Albert returned his attention to the game.
Sarah set a moderate pace, though she had no destination in mind. After about twenty minutes she started scanning the edge of the street until she found a sewer grate that sounded like there was water running below. She dropped her phone, wincing at the cracking noise it made as it hit the cast iron. Using her foot, she nudged it through the crack, wincing once again as she heard it splash in the water. She turned and walked slowly home.
Her husband was still at the video game when she returned home about an hour later. Sarah tried to sound panicked. "I got a frightening phone call while walking."
Albert didn't turn away from the game. "Robocall?"
"Look at me!" She snatched the controller from his hand. "It was a private caller. Some strange man started gibbering about how First Pharmaceuticals poisoned his child, so to get revenge he framed your father, placing child pornography on his computer and notifying the police."
Albert blanched. "Who could that be? And how did they get your phone number?"
"I don't know. Maybe when they hacked your dad's computer."
"That makes sense. He was never careful about security. Let me see your phone. Maybe there's some clue."
Sarah shook her head. "I freaked out when he called and dropped the phone. It went down a sewer grate."
Albert took her hand and squeezed it gently.
