Michael's Secrets (15 page)

“Then there’s the height. Adam was shorter than you, Hannah, especially when you wore heels,” Rona said as she put out her cigarette and turned to look at Michael.

“Hannah, he must look like someone on your side,” Doreen said as she also looked up at Michael. The four girls were examining Michael while his mother kept her focus on building her wall.

Hannah asked without looking up, “Doreen, do all of your kids look like Sammy?”

The women grew silent, as his mother made one of her usual snide comments. It was no secret that Doreen was always having affairs, and although her sons looked like Sammy, her daughter looked like Dr. Lawrence Eidleman, a man she had a long-term affair with and would eventually marry after Sammy died in 1992.

They remained silent and resumed building their walls, until Arlene started again as she was the only one looking at Michael now, “I still say, Hannah, he reminds me of someone.”

Rona, Florence and Doreen looked at Michael again, but his mother continued to concentrate on building her wall.

Rona then spoke, “He looks like that Seymour fellow who used to work with Adam.”

Hannah was clearly annoyed at this point and stopped building her wall. She looked up at the girls and said, “Don’t be ridiculous, he looks like my mother’s father, see the picture over there?” She pointed at an old photograph on the bookshelf, having already contradicted herself by saying he looked like his father and now her grandfather. It was a wedding picture from 1895, taken in Russia. Nana Mary’s father was tall with dark hair and a mustache. Michael did not think he looked like him, and something told Michael, neither did the other girls.

“Can we change the goddamn subject and play some Mah Jongg. This conversation is annoying me,” Hannah said.

Rona, Doreen and Florence resumed building their walls. Hannah had to maintain control, and for some reason, everyone did as she ordered when she got into one of these moods.

* * * * *

Michael stood there in the living room, staring at them and asked Mr. Sagman calmly, “Did you work with my father?”

He spoke up, “Yes, I did, until we moved up here in the summer of 1962.”

“And, you knew all along you were my father?” Michael asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Mr. Sagman looked down at the floor and nodded yes.

Michael grew angrier and yelled at him, “And, you knew what a controlling abusive bitch my mother was, and you did not even come to see me to check on me? You allowed me to grow up in that hellhole, not knowing what became of me? And, I am supposed to accept this as if everything is springtime and roses? I should kick you two out of here, but it is your son’s apartment. I wish to fuck I never came to Washington. I don’t fucking believe this! Do you know how horrible my childhood was? Do you have any fucking idea? Do you know how screwed up I am to this day because of that living hell? Do you? Do You?”

Neither said anything as their eyes opened in horror, as they were not expecting such an outburst. Michael imagined Eric never lost his temper, since he seemed in the few minutes he met him to be a happy-go-lucky guy. Michael was shaking uncontrollably at this point, so he walked into the kitchen, reached into the cabinet above the refrigerator for his emergency pack of cigarettes and walked out the front door.

He stood there smoking for a while before Mrs. Sagman came out to check on him.

“You really shouldn’t smoke, it’ll kill you,” she said as if she were his mother.

He looked at her and said, “You are not my mother. I had a mother, and God knows I don’t want another one.”

“Look, Michael, I know this is difficult. Believe me. I wanted for years to contact you, but Seymour wouldn’t let me. He was afraid of your mother. From what you just said in there, you probably were, also. I didn’t know her well, but I knew she was secretive and controlling with a horrible temper. She probably preferred to keep your father’s identity a secret also.”

He blew the smoke in her face. “My mother was only concerned with herself. She never answered questions. Never! She would lie right in front of me and everyone for that matter. And, no one knew what it was like in that house because we had to put up a front. She controlled everything, including what she believed to be the truth,” Michael said as he put out the cigarette and immediately lit another one.

“I know,” she said.

“She also hated me,” he said.

Michael bent down and grabbed her hand. She appeared nervous as he did this, but Michael placed it on the back of his head anyway.

“Do you feel that bump?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice shaking.

“That’s from when my mother’s second husband shoved my head through a wall while she watched.” He then took the same hand and put it on his wrist. “Feel this bump on my wrist?” She nodded her head yes again. “That is where he twisted my hand until the wrist broke in three places.” Then he told her to look at his nose. She did, and he saw tears welling up in her eyes. “That is where her third husband punched me in the face repeatedly.” Michael then pulled out the bridge work that held in his front teeth. She looked at him and started to cry. He then put his teeth back in place. “I wish you could look inside my ears,” he continued. “When I was three, they had to reattach my ear drums, and I have always suspected that was due to a head injury I sustained at my mother’s hands.”

She was clearly upset at this point and pulled a tissue out of her sleeve. That little act made Michael sympathize with her.

“Mrs. Sagman, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just in shock,” Michael said, now worried he had acted like a lunatic.

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said. But for some reason, Michael always did apologize even when he was not wrong.

“Look, I’m not upset that I found out he was my father. I really don’t care to tell you the truth. I never really had a father, and at this age, I don’t want one. I’m just upset that I could have had a different life.”

But Michael
was
upset to find out Seymour Sagman was his father. Why did he always hide his true feelings?

“Michael, I think we should go. You need time to digest this, and Seymour is an old man, and I am not sure if he’s up to any more excitement today,” she said as if Seymour were more upset than Michael was.

“Can I ask you a question?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” she said as she opened the screen door.

“Does Eric know?”

“We plan to call him as soon as we get home,” she said. She went inside to get her husband, while Michael lit yet another cigarette. As they walked outside, Seymour grabbed Michael’s hand and said he was sorry before they walked to their car, but Michael just nodded.

Michael was numb, he was upset, he was in shock, and he needed to call Dr. Mikowsky. He went back into the apartment and called Sharon first.

“Hi, Michael,” she answered cheerily.

“Sharon, did you know?” Michael asked as if she knew about the Sagman’s visit.

“Know what?” she asked.

“That Eric and I are brothers, and his father is my father?” he asked.

“I didn’t know that, but I had my suspicions that you were somehow related,” she began speaking quickly, knowing Michael would get upset. “Hear me out. I thought it was creepy when I first met Eric sixteen years ago, but everyone it seems has a twin. He did not look that much like you then because he wore glasses and his hair was really long. You had a goatee, and he didn’t. But, when I saw you last, and you had shaved your goatee, and he had cut his hair, I knew there was something odd there. So, I called his mother and told her I had a friend who looked almost exactly like Eric. I told her your name, and she wanted to know your mother’s maiden name, but I couldn’t remember it. When I sold the movie rights to my book and asked you to help me write the screenplay, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for you two to meet. I figured if you were related you would figure it out, but you just found it curious. So, I called his mother and told her if she wanted to see for herself, she should give you a call,” she finished without taking a breath.

“That’s it?” Michael said expecting more.

“Yeah, I didn’t know much about your family history and you are pretty closed-lipped about your childhood, only telling funny, happy stories about it, so I figured I would just let things happen,” she said, hoping Michael would not get mad at her.

“So, I didn’t have to move here to help you with the screenplay?” Michael asked, getting angry again.

“Oh, no, I do need you here, as it takes place in D.C., and I think it helps you get a feel for the book,” she said trying to assure Michael that he made the right decision to come to Washington.

“Sharon, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the years, and you have been a good friend, but this is just a little too
Parent Trap
for my taste,” he said, wondering if he should just pack up and go home immediately.

“I know, I know, but I couldn’t think of a better way to get you two to see each other. If your plane had been late, you never would have met,” she said, knowing Michael was thinking of leaving.

“I guess it’s all about timing,” he said. “But maybe I should go back to California.” Had Michael not moved here for a year, he would never have found out about his real father, and he never would have met Steve. What else could possibly happen?

“Michael,” she pleaded. “Don’t be rash. Stay a little longer. I like having you here. Please.”

“OK, I just need some time to think this over,” he told her, said goodbye and hung up the phone.

He then dialed Dr. Mikowsky, and he hoped he had two hours to talk to him. He had an hour.

“Michael, why are you upset that you got angry? You had every right to be angry,” he said as Michael imagined him writing on one of his legal pads.

“I just don’t like losing control of my emotions like that. I never yell. I never get like that. They must think I’m nuts,” Michael told him again worrying about upsetting them and putting his feelings aside.

“It is not important what they think. They kept a secret from you for over forty years. They come in and give you life-altering news, and you can allow yourself to feel,” Dr. Mikowsky said. Michael always liked him because he never said, “What do you think?” He expressed his opinion.

Allow myself to feel?
Michael thought about this. Did he not allow himself to feel? He liked being in control. People thought he was easy-going, calm, rational, and that is how he wanted to be perceived.

“Michael, is there anything else I need to know that has happened since you moved east?” he asked as their time wound up.

“No, that is the only shocking news I have,” Michael told him. He didn’t want to mention Steve or even his visit to Rona and Doreen. He then realized he also never told him about Sam.

Around 6:00 pm, Michael’s cell phone rang, and the caller ID said it was Eric. He hesitated before picking it up.

“Hello,” he said as if he didn’t know who was on the other end.

“Michael, it’s Eric. How are you?” he asked cheerily in what Michael presumed was his normal mood. He really was a happy person. Michael thought Eric couldn’t possibly be related to him.

“I’m fine. Did your mother tell you about our little visit today?” Michael asked, knowing the answer.

“Yeah, what a bombshell, huh?” Eric replied, using the same adjective Michael used to describe the news to Dr. Mikowsky. “I have a brother. This is too cool.”

“Cool?” Michael questioned while he walked toward the kitchen to get his cigarettes. “What makes it cool?”

“I always wanted a brother, but when my parents realized I was, how shall we say, ‘special,’ they decided I was enough of a handful. Didn’t you always want a brother?” he asked as if Michael dreamed of the day a sibling would arrive.

Michael thought about the question. He knew that if his mother had another child, he or she would be a Shimmer, Bart’s baby, and things would have been worse for Michael if that were possible. They would favor that baby and forget Michael existed, or worse, there would be two children in the house to be mentally and physically abused. However, at the time, Michael thought all children were treated as he was. He figured once the doors were closed, all kids were beaten until they submitted and all families kept their secrets.

“Michael, did you hear me?” Eric asked.

Michael purposely ignored the question. “Eric, tell me. What was it like growing up in your house?” he asked, fearing the answer. Maybe his childhood was as horrible as Michael’s, and it would not make a difference.

“I had a pretty good childhood. My parents did their best to provide me with a happy life,” Eric answered.

Michael’s heart sank as Eric confirmed his belief that his childhood could have been different had Eric’s mother not been pregnant.

“My mother told me about what you said about your growing up,” Eric continued, trying his best to be sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Michael. I don’t know what to say.”

By now, he was standing outside smoking cigarette after cigarette. “You don’t have to be sorry. It had nothing to do with you,” Michael answered. He wanted to blame Eric’s father, but what good would that do, now? “Did they ever spank or hit you?”

“My parents? Never,” he answered as if it were a ridiculous question. “They didn’t believe in spanking and hitting children. I was grounded a lot for doing stupid things, but I was never hit.”

“And you turned out all right?” Michael asked.

“Well, if you say so. I
am
pretty weird,” Eric said with a laugh.

Weird was good. Living in fear of breaking the rules was not. Apologizing and begging for forgiveness to avoid a beating was not. Carrying the scars and memories for a lifetime was not.

“Michael, you turned out all right from what Sharon has told me,” Eric continued. “You’ve won awards and have a great career.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Michael replied. “I have managed to create a persona of a normal, well-adjusted guy, but I’m pretty fucked up when you peel away the layers. But hey, you don’t need to hear about that.”