Sleeping Beauty (80 page)

“God damn you—!” Charles shouted, starting for him.

“Wait,” Anne said. “Let me answer that.” She stood up. Her back was to the window and Vince could see only her silhouette, not her face. “It doesn't do any good,” she said to
him, her low, clear voice carrying the length of the room. “All your foul words can't touch me, or my father, either. Everything you've done to this family has been as foul as your tongue, but when it doesn't get you what you want, all you can think of is more foulness. Do you really think we don't know what you've done? You've left a trail of evil; it was there for us to follow. You've connived and manipulated, you've lied, you've used people and tried to frighten and divide them,
and kill them;
you've made a mockery of the idea of family . . . all for yourself, to get whatever it was you wanted when you wanted it. You don't have the right to call yourself Ethan Chatham's son. He built towns; all you can do is try to destroy one. But Tamarack is still there, and the family is still there, and it's gotten stronger. People learn to live with evil because there's so much of it in the world; they learn to deal with it, and sometimes even ignore it. There are always scars left when evil has been done, but we survive, and a lot of the time we become stronger because we have to, in order to go on. And because there's a satisfaction in knowing we've faced the worst in people, and triumphed.”

“Get out,” Vince rasped. “I don't have to listen to this. You're in my home. Get out.”

“The amazing thing about evil people like you,” Anne went on evenly, “is how much you're like babies. All you really think about is what you want. You want, you want, you want, and you think no one has a right to stand between you and what you want, because the most important thing in the world to you is satisfying your appetites. Not family, not friends, not work, certainly not the welfare of the country, just your own appetites, that seem to grow larger the more you satisfy them. So you lash out with your fists, and have tantrums, like a baby, but you do far more dangerous things, too, up to murder, or attempted murder. That's another way you're like a baby: you foul yourself. Only you foul others at the same time—”

“You goddam bitch, I should have—”

“What?” Anne flung at him. “Should have what? Hired
someone more efficient to make the gondola crash? You always do hire other people to do your dirty work, don't you? Like Ray Beloit and Keith Jax. You don't do any of it yourself; you talk a lot and make threats, but you don't
do
anything. You're a little man, and a coward, and you hide behind people who are even littler than yourself.”

Vince gave a strangled cry. His face was taut with rage, and he stood in a half crouch, prepared to leap. His breathing was loud and fast, with a faint whistle, as if his throat were too tight to let it through. Then, slowly, he straightened up, and his face twisted in what Anne knew he meant to be a smile.

At that moment, she thought he was probably at his most dangerous, and she knew Charles thought so, too, because he came to stand beside her. But she could not stop talking. Her own anger and pain were pouring out as she had never allowed anything to break out of the frozen depths within her, and as they did, her feelings began to awaken and break free. With her father beside her, with her family and Josh waiting for her, with the strength she had built within herself for so many years, she took her longest steps to being free.

“Except for one time,” she said with icy contempt, “when you did your own dirty work. You were so brave, overwhelming a
child,
humiliating a
child,
vanquishing a
child.
You must be very proud to have that memory. It's amazing, the memories some people hold close; evil people treasure memories that would give most people nightmares and send them into hiding in shame and self-loathing. But not you; you have no shame; you love yourself for what you do. And you think no one can stop you, or even slow you down, because you're smarter than everyone else. But you're not smart, you're only sly. And that's why this family will beat you.”

Vince was walking toward her. “Bitch,” he said. “Bitch.” It was as automatic as a chant.
“Bitch.”
He walked stiffly, rigid with the effort not to leap at her and feel her throat between his hands. “All that talk, but there's no audience to hear your lies. You've been waiting for that, waiting for an
audience, putting it off to make me worry when you'd start babbling to anybody who'd listen. All this other crap—murder, dynamite, the gondola—it doesn't mean a fucking thing; you just used it to get a hold on Charles. You're out to ruin me the way you tried before; that's all you care about. But who'd believe a cheap little lawyer against a U.S. senator? So you're lining up the family to be on your side, with this other shit. Listen, you bitch, what I did to you you had coming—”

Charles closed his eyes, cold and sick. He had believed Anne; he knew Vince had lied. But now it was Vince who was saying it, and Charles could hear Vince's voice threatening Anne, he could see Vince forcing her . . . He bent over; he thought he was going to throw up. I can't, he thought, can't look weak, can't let Anne down. He straightened up.

Vince was still talking. “—smart-ass kid. You weren't a
child,
for Christ's sake, you
went after me,
you
wanted
it. But you decided you didn't like it—cold bitch, Jesus were you cold—and you've been waiting to use it against me ever since, keeping track of me so you could choose your own time to try to destroy me.”

Anne shook her head.

“Well, when?” The word tore from him. “When, you bitch?
When?”

She shook her head again. “I told you I would not do that.”

“But I would,” Charles said abruptly.

Anne looked at him, alarm in her eyes.

Vince wheeled about to face him, his mouth working. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I'd tell the world,” Charles said. There was a sour taste in his mouth, but his voice was steady. “Whatever reasons Anne has for keeping quiet, they're hers, not mine, and they have nothing to do with me. And I think it's about time we stopped hiding it.”

Anne was staring at him. He would not do that to her; she knew he wouldn't. But she could not tell for sure, from his face or his voice. She thought he must be bluffing, but if she
could not be absolutely sure, neither could Vince. He was so good, she thought with pride. As good as Vince. Perhaps better.

Charles did not look at her, his eyes were steady on Vince.

“Bullshit,” Vince said, but his voice was thin. “If she doesn't want it talked about, you wouldn't do it.”

“I'd do it for me,” Charles said. “My God, how could I sit back and see you elected president? How could I even let you have a shot at it?”

Vince felt as if the ground had shifted and something was sliding out from under him. He had never thought of this. “What the hell does politics have to do with this?” he shouted. “This family scores a lot of points because of me; you've got more status and clout than you ever had, because of me. The higher I go the better off you are. You'd be a damn fool to throw that away.”

“I've been a damn fool about a lot of things, mainly you,” Charles said. “I don't want your status and clout, Vince; so far all they've done is make trouble for me and my family. I don't want to score points because of you. What I do want is to keep you out of the White House. It's as simple as that. And I have ways of doing it. I'll go public with Anne's story; she can't stop me, and she'll learn to live with it. And I'll give the reporters the story of what you did to the highway and how you manipulated a decent little guy in the EPA so he'd hit Tamarack a lot harder than he had to. And I'll tell them everything we've put together about the contamination of the reservoir, and the gondola, including which car was targeted. Even the best newspapers never turn down sensational guesswork, you know; the best thing that ever happened to them was the word
alleged.
They don't even have to put it all together; their readers will do that, and put your name on it. You've been screwing this family for a long time, Vince; why shouldn't I make sure the world knows it?”

Everything was sliding away. Vince shook his head, trying to steady it.

Charles still had not looked at Anne, but he knew her eyes were steady on him, and he felt her strength. Never in his life
had he done anything like this, or even thought of trying anything like this, and as he saw Vince weaken, he was astonished and exhilarated. We should never see anyone as a god, he thought; we give them far more power than they would ever have if we treated them like human beings.

He knew that what he was doing was flawed—it would be far better if he could get Vince out of the senate and out of public life entirely—but he thought it was the best he could do for now. He had no idea what Vince might do if everything was taken from him at once, leaving him no reason to be cautious. And Charles knew he could go only so far with his bluff. He would not force Anne to deal with her pain in public; he would do nothing to upset the balance she had created for herself. This is the best I can do, he thought. And then another thought came to him, a more cheering one.
He could lose the election this fall. And have nothing.

“You wouldn't do it,” Vince said shrewdly. He was studying Charles through narrowed eyes. “She just said she wasn't going to do it. She
just said
it. You haven't talked to her about it; you don't know what she wants. You wouldn't force her into it if she doesn't want it.”

“I told you I would,” Charles replied. He was very calm, but his exhilaration was growing. He knew he had won. “Anne will understand. And she'll find ways to deal with it. After all, she isn't the one who has something to be ashamed of.”

“It's been twenty-five years,” Vince said. “Nobody gives a damn.”

“Then it won't matter. We'll find out.”

Their eyes met, and for the first time in their lives, Vince was the one who looked away. His shoulders were slumped. He went to a nearby armchair and dropped into it. There was no sound in the room.

He sat in a slouch, his arms outstretched on the arms of the chair. The ground had stopped sliding away; everything seemed frozen in place. He knew he should be thinking of the future, of the steps he had to take in the days to come, but he could not. He could not focus on anything. But then
he became aware of the silence in the room. It was as heavy as a blanket. He felt smothered by it. He had to cut it away; he couldn't breathe. He was about to be destroyed. Charles was about to destroy him. And Vince knew he would do it. He knew Charles better than anyone in the world, he had always seen through him, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Charles was not bluffing. Charles would do it.

Without warning, Vince thought of Beloit, admitting he would never be secretary of state or ambassador to Great Britain.
You get involved in things, you don't know what's gonna come back fifteen, twenty, thirty years later, and it's like you've been carrying this bomb around in your pocket all those years, and then all of a sudden you know it'll go off if you do one particular thing, and it's always the thing you fucking most want to do, only now there's no way you can do it. Ever. You know?

So Vince had no choice.

“Those were only rumors, about the White House,” he said. His voice was a monotone. “They kept asking me, but I never promised. I always felt I owed it to the people of Colorado to work for them. I told a reporter that, just the other day, that the voters need me, and I wouldn't let them down.” His voice slowed, then dragged out. “It's a question—of—priorities.”

No one spoke. Not enough, Vince thought. The son of a bitch wants more. His thoughts twisted this way and that, looking for a way out, but he could not see one. Money. For Christ's sake he'd be damned if he'd bail Charles out; if Charles wanted money, he could damn well go crawling to Beloit and try to put that deal together again.

Even the best newspapers never turn down sensational guesswork, you know . . . they don't even have to put it all together; their readers will do that, and put your name on it.

No place to hide. No place to hide. It beat within him. After a moment, he shrugged. Fuck it. Ethan had always said Vince knew better than anyone when to cut his losses. He'd find a way to get everything back; it would just take a while.

“The most important thing,” he said at last, “is Chatham Development.” He was looking past Charles and Anne, at the black expanse of his windows, with the bright lights of the harbor like small, scattered stars filling his vision. “We mustn't ever forget that. Dad's company.” His voice dropped. “Sixty million dollars,” he murmured. “I'm sure I could manage that.”

T
his is truly the man of the decade!” exclaimed the host of the Sunday-night news show. “Folks, Senator Vince Chatham has made just about the greatest sacrifice a man ever made for his family, and believe you me, for those of us who believe in the sanctity of the family, nothing could be more thrilling!”

“I'm glad you think so,” Vince said with a smile of such sweetness that the director told the cameraman to move in for a tight close-up. “It's thrilling for me that I'm able to do it.”

“And we're grateful to you for coming in like this at a minute's notice,” the host went on. “Let's tell our audience exactly what you've done, in case there's one or two people who haven't heard yet. This is it, folks: Senator Vince Chatham is giving his entire fortune to save his family!
Sixty million dollars
to keep one of his family's companies from going bankrupt, and to keep the other one out of the clutches of people who would have ruined it. We're going to talk about all of that tonight. Senator, first of all, that's quite a fortune. Where did the money come from?”