Back Afraid of the Light
Chapters (29)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Douglas Kennedy
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. one
  7. two
  8. three
  9. four
  10. five
  11. six
  12. seven
  13. eight
  14. nine
  15. ten
  16. eleven
  17. twelve
  18. thirteen
  19. fourteen
  20. fifteen
  21. sixteen
  22. seventeen
  23. eighteen
  24. nineteen
  25. twenty
  26. twenty-one
  27. twenty-two
  28. twenty-three
  29. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

I heard myself take a sharp intake of breath. So did Jackie.

‘You don’t like my descriptive language, mister?’ she asked me. I felt myself tense. Elise jumped in.

‘He said nothing, Jackie. And regarding your husband … you don’t have to let him have sex with you if you don’t want to.’

‘You don’t fucking understand. He’s sure I’ve been seeing someone else here in LA. But the guy I love lives in New York.’

‘Are you sure your husband doesn’t know about him?’

‘No, I’m not sure. But he’s been so obsessed with having me watched in LA …’

‘Does the New York guy know he is the father?’

‘I haven’t told him. I’m not going to tell him until after the fact. I’m not risking losing my son.’

‘What’s your son’s name?’ Elise asked.

‘Anton. He just turned twelve last week.’

‘Do you really feel you have to terminate the pregnancy to protect your relationship with Anton?’

‘I have no choice.’

‘There is always choice. Couldn’t you now file for divorce and move out and bring Anton with you and have your lawyer arrange a strict co-parenting agreement, insisting that Anton resides principally with you, and –’

‘You sound as if this is all going to play out rationally. Trust me it won’t. I got fired off the last show I was on and my professional stock is low right now. I’m also running out of money.’

‘And your friend in New York …?’

‘It’s possible he might just insist that I keep it,’ Jackie said. ‘Which would create even more complications. Especially if he also declared that he wanted me to move to New York.’

‘You mean he hasn’t definitively ruled out having a child with you?’ Elise asked, her voice calm.

‘He just intimated …’

‘Intimated isn’t the same as him conclusively saying –’

‘Thank you for the fucking lesson in semantics, Professor.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘What? That you are a retired UCLA prof? I think it’s called Google. Let me ask you something: why are you doing such dismal work? Your idea of do-good charity? Some way-past-menopause notions of feminism?’

In the rearview I could see Elise studying her with almost clinical detachment. Then:

‘I hope you feel better for having said all that.’

‘Cunt.’

‘I hope you feel even better for having said that too.’