Don't You Forget About Me (4 page)

“What’s keeping you from foreclosing?” Sandra had asked Pam. “You have every right to, especially after the shitty way your mother-in-law has treated you. I’m not as forgiving as you are.” Sandra could feel the heat spreading through her body after she made that faux pas.

“What do I want with that moldering place?” Pam had retorted, ignoring the other remark. “I could never live there year round, and it certainly wouldn’t sell in this real estate market. No, I don’t think so.” She often fantasized about what would have happened if Bernice had died first.
Jack would have insisted we move into the mansion—or would he have?
“I don’t want to talk about that place anymore today, okay?”

Sandra was ready to change the subject, too. But it would be another topic that Pam was beginning to find irritating.

“Did you think any more about telling the kids about the baby?” Sandra was not about to let this issue get swept under the rug.

“I did, actually. I decided that I am going to wait until you are further along. You’ll be showing, and they won’t have long to stew about it.” Why Sandra thought it was necessary to make her announcement so soon after Jack’s death continued to puzzle Pam. Was she trying to stake her claim in his life while everyone was an emotional wreck?

Pam tried to not examine the situation too closely because she wanted to keep peace. Plus, she needed Sandra. She would do what was necessary to keep Sandra in her life—for now.

This weekend, Sandra decided she was not going to Long Island or to the Smith Mansion. She planned on cleaning her apartment, reading trashy novels, and watching TV. She had missed Jack all week, waking up crying twice, unable to find joy in any of the things that used to bring her happiness. She had an appointment with her obstetrician and blurted out the story of the baby’s father dying before he knew she was pregnant. Did the doctor look at her with skepticism?
Oh, so what
, she thought to herself. The doctor was being paid to take care of her health, not question her moral standing in the community.

The shocker was that she was a full four weeks further along in her pregnancy than she had thought originally. Jack might have known about the baby if she were more
in touch with her body. The knowledge may have changed the entire outcome of their lives together; he would have told Pam, they would have separated, Sandra and Jack would have moved into his apartment on Madison Avenue together. He wouldn’t have taken that final train ride and would still be alive. It would be a daydream repeated from time to time when the pain of his absence grew to be too much for her. It was easier to fantasize a different ending than to accept that she was having his child alone, to raise by herself over the years to come. Having Pam as a friend and supporter was lovely. But she was no replacement for Jack.
Face it, s
he thought to herself,
sometimes you just have to press a little flesh
.

William Harold Smith was finding it difficult to relax in his jail cell. His restlessness could stem from either the prospect of being set free for the first time in two months or from a deep desire to kill his sister-in-law Pam. Each night, two scenes alternately ran through his mind. He couldn’t get the vision out of his head of his mother crying as the police dragged him from the hospital, his arm in a cast after surgery to repair a shattered elbow. They were taking him to a black van with the words “Prisoner Transport” decaled on the side to haul him to jail. The second was the scene of Pam standing over him after she had aimed her gun, Jack’s gun, at him and fired, hitting his arm.

He hadn’t intended on hurting her stupid mother, Nelda. It was ridiculous that anyone would think he was capable of cutting a human being’s throat, even with the knife pressed up against her skin. He was just trying to
scare her, trying to elicit sympathy from Pam so she would hand over some money. He realized now that it was a contradiction. He was frantic, not thinking straight. You should either scare the hell out of someone or make them feel sorry for you, not try for both. It won’t work.

Pam was so angry with him she pressed charges against him, too. His attorney said it wasn’t over with yet; there was a trial coming up regarding some credit card charges—and worse. Because Pam had identified him as the person who had stolen Jack’s wallet after he collapsed on the train, Bill was being charged with theft and assault.

He had been so confused and wasn’t making the right decisions about anything. His financial status had him in a vice grip. He had been desperate. He knew Jack was still in the city because they had fought over the phone Friday night. Bill threatened Jack with driving to Long Island to get money from him, and Jack told him he was staying in the city that night. They arranged for Bill to meet Jack on the train at Grand Central at 10:00 on Saturday morning. He’d be waiting for Bill in the second car, and Jack would give him a check at that time. He said that it was going to be the final one, that if Bill couldn’t find a way to make his business solvent, he better get another job. Jack had called Bill’s cell phone Saturday morning.

“Okay, Buddy-boy, I’m stepping on the train right now. Meet me at Grand Central. I’m not getting off the train, so this better be fast.” He could hear Bill breathing into the phone, but so far, he had said nothing after his hello. “I know you’re there. You better answer, Buddy, or I’m hanging up and the deal is off.”

“I’m here, Jack! Why are you rushing me? And stop calling me Buddy! Can’t we be reasonable about this?” Bill was feeling wild; he had to get Jack to understand how dire things had gotten, to get him to feel the same hysteria Bill was feeling. “Dad destroyed the business; he drove it into the ground. There is nothing left. We are ruined. I need more than a loan. I need a job!” Bill was wailing now. But Jack was not moved.

“I know all this, Buddy-boy. It’s not my problem. I said I would help you out, and I have. Meet me on the train or forget it.” He hung up.

Bill ran out of his house in the Village without saying good-bye to his wife, Anne. She was used to his theatrics by now, but was worried because she wasn’t sure if she was going to be blamed for whatever was happening.

Bill just made it onto the platform, having paid a fare that wouldn’t be used. Jack was where he said he would be, but he didn’t have a check ready as he had said.

“I decided that you aren’t going to bully me anymore,” Jack said. “Here’s a restraining order; if you come near me or my family, I’ll press charges, do you understand me?” The bell whistled, indicating the train was about to leave the station. Jack was reaching into his jacket to grab the envelope containing the restraining order when he fell over. No indication that anything was wrong had been given, no grabbing of the chest or contortion of the face; he silently fell.

Bill reached into Jack’s jacket and grabbed the envelope, and his fingers touched the wallet; he didn’t plan to take it, but it was right there, waiting. At the last moment, he was able to leap to freedom before the train doors
closed. Just seconds had passed, less than a minute for the entire scenario to run through. He didn’t think Jack would die! He loved his brother! At the very worst, he thought he may have simply fainted.
But a fatal heart attack? No fucking way!

Their mutual friends and relatives always said Bill looked up to Jack with reverence. “My brother, Jack,” Bill would say when he was introducing him to friends. He’d have a big smile on his face and a hand outstretched worshipfully in Jack’s direction. No other words were necessary; it was clear what Bill thought of his older brother. Bill was bigger than Jack, but only in physical stature. Jack eventually escaped their nightmare of a childhood. He left Bill behind, but not before threatening Harold with death. He did it the day he left home to move in with Pam.

“If you touch Bill again, I will kill you,” he had said to the old man. “I’ll make sure that your clients, your staff, and my mother knows the truth.” And he was serious. It worked, because Harold never came near his son again, unless it was in the presence of other people. He avoided being alone with Bill because the temptation to abuse his own flesh and blood was strong. His compulsion was magnified by habit. The boys were always there and available to him, so whatever his impulse, be it to beat and cause physical pain or to force himself sexually on his sons, once they were no longer available to him, the habit of it was the toughest to overcome.

His wife, Bernice, was overjoyed to be the recipient of so much attention from her husband. They hadn’t had sex for years. Suddenly, after having left her bed to sleep in his study for the past decade, he was coming to her night
after night and making love to her with such passion and physical aggression she was afraid he might have a heart attack.

Sixty-four days, twelve hours, and sixteen minutes after he was incarcerated, Bill was released from Rikers Island Prison into the custody of his angry wife, Anne. He smelled bad and looked thin, haggard, and contrite. She was livid. Anne hated driving in the city, and this was the worst time of day to do so. Traffic into Queens had been horrendous, and by the time she got to the prison parking lot, her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t get the keys out of the ignition.

They walked out of the prison’s main building side by side, Anne not having made eye contact or directly speaking to him once. Now there didn’t seem to be a way she could avoid it. Opening the trunk, she pointed to its interior before walking around to the driver’s side to open the door.

“Put your stuff in there,” she growled. “None of that crap is coming into the house without being fumigated.”

He did as he was told, closing the trunk with a thud. Having been pushed around and told what to do every second of every day for the past two months, he hadn’t noticed yet that his wife had crossed that imaginary line drawn on their wedding day fifteen years ago:
Never, ever talk disrespectfully to Bill Smith, or suffer the consequences
.

At that moment, she cared less if he were to haul off and smack her across the face. She would gouge his eyes out if he dared to get smart with her. She bristled at the memory of him standing in a bright-orange jumpsuit with his head bowed, listening to the judge read off the charges
against him and then, three days later, his sentencing. Now that they were alone, the torrent of words she had practiced throwing at him didn’t come. The only thing she could muster up was disgust. If their marriage could survive this, if there was a marriage left at all, he would have to make restitution to his sister-in-law. Anne tolerated her, and she loved Pam’s children, Lisa and Brent. Would they ever be able to forgive Bill for what he had done?

They put their seat belts on, and Anne went to put the key in the ignition, when Bill reached over and put his hand over hers.

“Not just yet, okay, Anne? Can we take a minute and talk before we head for home?”

They didn’t move. She pitched forward slightly to reach the steering column; he turned toward her, holding on to her hand. She started to pull away, and he released his grip.

“Look, let me try to explain.” He was beseeching her, trying to get her to look at him by hanging on to the steering wheel. “I won’t make excuses, but I do have an explanation.”

Anne was incredulous. She turned to look at him with wide eyes. Finally, she spoke up. “I don’t think I want to hear what you have to say. I know we’re broke. Why I had to find out from the police is beyond me. I am not sure you can explain that away.” She turned from him, giving up.
It’s hopeless
, she thought to herself.
He’s going to try to weasel his way out as he always does
. And she would be paralyzed and unable to leave him.

“I’m so sorry about it! I was too embarrassed to admit it to you. And then when that happened on the train, there
didn’t seem to be anything to say because he was going to save us. I never dreamed he was going to die! I thought he had just fainted! He promised me that he would help me. And then to go and die without having settled anything? Well, it just took me by surprise. I loved Jack! He was my big brother!” And for the first time since he had been shot by Pam, shot with a gun right in the elbow with a force that knocked him to the ground, he started to cry.

It had the opposite effect on Anne, however. “Stop it, Bill! Crying is not going to help, and it will only make things worse for me. I’m pissed!” she yelled. “You are such a goddamned liar! Pam said you went to this Sandra girl’s apartment. Jack’s girlfriend. Why the hell would you do that? Why would you harass Pam when she had just lost her husband? Who are you, anyway? Jesus Christ! A butcher knife against her mother’s throat? You are so lucky you didn’t get an attempted murder charge! The only reason you didn’t is because Pam’s dating one of the detectives and he asked for leniency.”

This news blew Bill Smith away.
My brother has only been dead for a few weeks, and she’s dating already?
Now it was his turn to be livid. “What the hell are you talking about?” he yelled at his wife. “She is an idiot! Goddamned Pam, dating a cop? Jack deserves better than that! I tell you he would kill her if he could!”

Anne looked over at her husband like he had two heads.
Who the hell is he kidding?

“Do I have to remind you that that snake of a brother of yours was having an affair with someone half his age and that she is pregnant? She is practically living with your mother, I better tell you!” Anne had waited to use that
little juicy bit of gossip for just the right moment. Possibly, her timing was off. Bill was staring at her with bugged eyes, sweating, and mouth hanging open. Anne had to look away; she was afraid she would start laughing at the vision.