Prodigal Son Page 2

  By the time Michael joined their father in his practice, Peter was already a whiz on Wall Street, and rarely went home. He had given up trying to sway his parents’ opinion of him, and his relationship with his twin brother was a lost cause. Michael had caused him too much grief, they had shared too many bad times, and Peter blamed him in great part for his parents’ poor opinion of him. Michael had put too much energy into it for too long. The chasm between Peter and his family was too wide by then, and he put his energy into other things, like making money and becoming a legend on Wall Street, not for them, but for himself. He told himself that what they thought of him no longer mattered to him, and he no longer cared. Appearing indifferent to them and seeing them as seldom as possible put balm on years of hurt. It irritated him even further that when he did go home to see them, it was Michael who pretended to have been the injured party of their youth, when the truth was the reverse. Peter had been blamed for everything, even when it was undeserved. Michael had seen to that.

  One of the worst incidents Peter remembered of his childhood happened when they were twelve. The boys had shared a beloved dog, a shaggy mongrel that was part husky and part golden retriever. He was mostly white and looked like a wolf, and he had been Peter’s devoted companion much of the time. He had taken him camping to a river with friends of the family the summer they were twelve. Scout, as he was called, had followed Peter into the river, and been swept away by the currents, while swimming only a few feet from them. Michael had been nearest the dog in a small inflatable boat, and Peter had screamed to him to grab Scout’s collar and stop him, and Michael let the dog sweep past and never held out a hand. Scout was killed going over a waterfall, despite Peter’s frantic efforts to reach him in time, to no avail. Peter had been heartbroken over it, and when they went home, Michael told their parents that it was Peter’s fault the dog had drowned. Peter had been too devastated to counter what he said or try to explain it. They never listened to him anyway, only to Michael, even then. Peter had never forgiven him, and for their parents, it was just one more on Peter’s list of sins at the time. The family had mourned the dog for months, and Peter had never wanted another dog after that. Whatever Michael said to their parents, both boys knew the truth. Their parents were all too willing to believe Michael a saint, and Peter the devil in their midst. Michael had appeared to be heartbroken over the lost dog, but it was Peter’s heart that had ached for months, over that and so many other things.

  The experiences of Peter’s childhood had made him determined to make it on his own, with no help from anyone. And he had succeeded remarkably, until his whole world had just come tumbling down. Until then, Peter had been a star in his field for two decades. He had made more money than he’d ever dreamed of. His mother had followed his achievements in the business press. She was happy for him, although sometimes even she found it hard to believe. And given what they read of his immense good fortune, his parents had quietly decided that it made no sense to leave Peter the little they had saved. Michael needed what they had far more than his fabulously successful twin. Michael was a country doctor like his father, with a wife and two children, barely eking out a living. Peter had not yet married by then, and had more money than he could possibly need. As a token gesture, they left Peter their small summer cottage on a nearby lake.

  His father explained in a long letter written shortly before he died that it would have been coals to Newcastle to leave Peter any money, and they didn’t have a lot anyway. And Michael needed it far more than his twin. In response to that, they were leaving Michael their house in Ware, Pat’s medical practice, and whatever they had managed to save. They were pleased and proud, the letter said, that Peter needed nothing from them. They hoped he’d be happy with the cottage on the lake as a token of their love.

  There had been unpleasant words exchanged between the brothers after their father died, and again when their mother died the following year, when Peter accused his brother of manipulating them and turning them against him all his life. He had done it right to the end.

  Peter had never gone to see the cottage after he inherited it, and paid a small fee to have it maintained by a local realtor. It was where he had spent his boyhood summers. He had never had the heart to sell it, and it was worth very little. Its value was mostly sentimental. His only pleasant memories of his childhood had happened there. But in the years since, Peter had nothing more to say to his brother. By now, the two men were enemies and strangers. His brother’s constant lies and manipulations when they were children, always to implicate Peter as the one committing the crimes, however menial, had ultimately destroyed Peter’s desire to remain involved with his family, and had destroyed his parents’ faith in him. He had been to see his mother on her deathbed only once before she died. He felt guilty about it now, feeling he should have done more to repair the damage. But Michael had been entrenched, too determined to cut Peter out of everything, and most particularly out of their parents’ hearts, not just their wills, and he had succeeded. Peter had never been able to win them back after the failures in his youth. His mother had been upset by him, and his father had never tried to understand him. Sharing a career in medicine with Michael, they had so much in common, and Peter had never succeeded in forming a bond with his father. All Peter had ever been was a disappointment to him, and a problem.

  Peter hadn’t been home, nor had contact with his brother, in fifteen years, and he didn’t miss it. It was a part of his life, and a painful history, he never wanted to revisit. And surely not now that he was suddenly a failure all over again. Now once again, it was Michael with the steady small-town life who was a success, the beloved country doctor whom everyone adored. Anytime Peter ran into someone he grew up with who had moved to New York in recent years, he heard all about it. Saint Michael, who had been the nemesis of Peter’s youth, since the day they were born. He had been the permanent wedge between their parents and Peter. It was embarrassing to admit now, but for years Peter had hated him, and he had no desire to ever see him again.

  Michael had seen to it that Peter was viewed as the “bad guy” by everyone who knew them, and even by their parents. Michael had put a lot of energy into it, and God only knew what he would say about him now, if he heard about Whitman Broadbank folding and Peter’s life dissolving into nothing—probably that he deserved it. Michael had compassion and empathy for everyone in the world, except his twin brother. Michael had been consumed by jealousy of Peter. When they were young, their father had called them Cain and Abel, and said he wouldn’t have been surprised if they killed each other. They didn’t. Peter just took off, and made his way in an entirely different world. A world that had just collapsed around everyone’s ears, like a hovel in an underdeveloped country during an earthquake.

  Peter parked the car in front of their building on Fifth Avenue, opened the trunk, and showed the doorman the boxes. He said he would send them upstairs with a porter, as Peter slipped a twenty-dollar bill into his hand and strode inside. The doorman had already heard rumors that the apartment was going to be put on the market shortly—the housekeeping couple who had left had told him. He was sorry for the McDowells. There were people like them whose lives would be changing all over the city, and in the suburbs. All the hotshots in the financial world had been instantly ruined. Some had made better investments than others, or were with firms that were holding on or had been rescued. But for the partners and employees of Lehman Brothers, Whitman Broadbank, and the firms, banks, and institutions that had closed, life as they had known it was over.

  Peter let himself into the apartment and went to look for Alana. It was still warm outside, and she was lying on a deck chair on the terrace, talking on her cell phone. She ended the call the minute she saw him. She hated to look into his eyes now, there was so much pain there, and the acrid smell of defeat seemed to hang all around them. She dreaded seeing him now, and was terrified of what new horrifying announcement he would make. She looked at him with terror as he gently put a hand on
her head. They had been married for fifteen years. He had met her right after his parents’ deaths, and married her a few months later, dazzled by her beauty. And he had already been a huge success at thirty-one when they married.

  Alana had been twenty-three years old, fresh out of USC, and the most beautiful girl he had ever seen when he met her. She was the only child of Gary Tallon, one of the biggest music producers in Hollywood. Her father’s career had started with the Beatles, and he had been vocal and unhappy when Alana moved to New York and married Peter. He had spent years trying to convince his son-in-law to move to L.A. and come to work for him. But it was a world and city that didn’t appeal to Peter. The thrill of the financial world was a drug to him, and he was addicted to it. Peter knew nothing about the music business. The tinsel of Hollywood and her father’s scene was entirely foreign to him, although he was well aware that Alana always missed it. She flew out to see her father regularly in L.A. and took the boys with her. Her mother had died when she was fifteen, and she was unusually close to her father because of it. Gary liked Peter, but Peter was an unfamiliar breed of animal to him, and over the years, Gary had always acted slightly suspicious of him.

  Peter appeared to be conservative in his looks and demeanor, but his father-in-law was also well aware of the enormous risks he took in business. They had always paid off for him and his investors. His father-in-law had placed a few million dollars with him over the years, and had done well with the investments. Until now. He had lost all of it when Whitman Broadbank declared bankruptcy. It had been only play money to him, so it was going to have no impact on his life, but he had been calling his daughter every day to ask what Peter’s plans were. All she had been able to tell him so far was that Peter was planning to sell everything, which didn’t surprise her father. He knew how heavily Peter’s fortune was involved in the stock of the firm. When that went, Peter would have almost nothing. It was no mystery to him or anyone who knew their business. And no one expected this to happen. Peter had almost no liquidity as a cushion and too few other investments. He had taken better care of his clients.

  “Well, that’s it. It’s over,” Peter said as he sat down in a deck chair next to her, looking grim. “I brought all my stuff home. Twenty-one years in six boxes.” He looked pained as he said it. It was an ignominious end to a brilliant career, for now at least. He wanted to go down fighting, but there was no fight here. “I’ve got to go out to Southampton and meet the realtor tomorrow. I’ll leave my car on the lot there. You can follow me in the Bentley and drive me home. I’m going to sell that next week too.” The Ferrari was at the house in the Hamptons, and he was planning to give that up to the dealer too. He had released his time share in the plane earlier in the week, at a huge penalty, which was still better than the expense they could no longer afford.

  Alana’s breath caught as she looked at her husband. At thirty-eight, she was just as beautiful as she had been at twenty-three, maybe more so. She knew everything about her father’s business, but very little about Peter’s. And she thought the world of finance was boring. It was a lot more fun being in L.A., when Stevie Wonder or Mick Jagger came to have dinner with her father. She had grown up around all of them. And Peter had always known what his parents would have thought about her, she was spoiled, and she had grown up in a rarified glitzy atmosphere light-years from their conservative small-town world. But Peter knew that there was more to her than his parents would have noticed. She was intelligent as well as beautiful, and she was a good mother to their boys, and had been a good wife to him. She had always been willing to meet his investors and put on a good show when they entertained them. Her father had sent her to boarding school in Europe for two years, and she spoke French and Spanish fluently. She had enrolled their boys at the Lycée, so they spoke French too. And she was on the boards of Juilliard and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Before she had married Peter, she had wanted to become a dramatic agent, but had become Peter’s wife instead. And after fifteen years, he was still in love with her.

  Alana was a spectacular-looking woman, immaculately groomed, with a model’s body, and always expensively dressed, thanks to him. Alana was no stranger to luxury or money, and had never been denied anything. All the love Gary had once lavished on his wife before she died, he poured into Alana once he was alone with her. And before Peter had married her, her father had informed him that if Peter ever broke her heart, he would kill him. Peter had no doubt that he meant it, he was a little rough around the edges, but a brilliant businessman, and he had an incredible talent for and insight into the music business, of which he was the indisputable king.

  “I’m sorry,” Alana said sadly, as she looked at her husband. She knew how hard all this was for him, but it was for her and the boys too, or it would be, once all the changes in their life became evident. She had no idea where they were going to live, and neither did Peter, which was frightening for all of them. Being poor in New York didn’t sound like fun to her. Alana had never been poor for an instant of her life, and her father had a Midas touch in business. He had never been through anything like what had just happened to Peter. She reached out and touched his hand, and he smiled ruefully at her.

  “I’m sorry too. We’ll put Humpty Dumpty back together again sooner or later. I promise. It’s just going to be a little rocky for a while.” He was trying to wrap his mind around it too. “At least we have each other.” That was still what mattered most to him. Alana and their children. This was tough, but it wasn’t a tragedy, just a very trying period to get through, and a whole life to rebuild.

  She looked deep into Peter’s eyes then. “I was talking to Daddy today, and I think he had a pretty good idea,” she said, trying to look hopeful. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy to convince Peter. He was a proud man, this was a hard blow for him, and he had never been crazy about L.A. It was a foreign land to him, too far from New York, which had always been the hub of his career. But now everything had changed. And she didn’t want their sons living in poverty while Peter struggled. “He thinks we should come out and stay with him for a while. He says we can have the guest house.” It was a house bigger than most family homes in the Hamptons, and Peter knew what came with it. An army of servants, every luxury imaginable, and a fleet of expensive cars.

  Her father had always been very generous with them, but Peter didn’t want to be beholden to him, and never had been. The only way to survive with a man like Gary Tallon was to be independent of him, and Peter no longer was. That was a very dangerous position to be in, and he didn’t want to hurt Alana’s feelings when he said no, but she could already see it in his eyes. Peter had no desire to move to L.A., and stay in her father’s guest house, or worse, be supported by him while he was out of a job. For a long moment, Peter said nothing, while Alana went on. Her long blond hair fell heavily past her shoulders while she lay on the deck chair in short white shorts with a pink T-shirt. He could see her nipples through the shirt, and her long legs on the deck chair. She flew to L.A. every three weeks to get her hair colored, and every three months, they wove in extensions to thicken her mane of silky blond hair. After fifteen years in New York, she was still deeply attached to L.A., and everything about it.

  “Daddy says you can work for him, if you want to. Or you can just take it easy for a few months. He’s going to call you about it. And there’s a Lycée in L.A., so the boys will hardly notice the change, and they love Grampa Gary,” she pleaded. He was the only grandparent they had, and their grandfather doted on them. They were the sons he had never had, and they loved meeting all the rock stars in his business. He arranged backstage passes at every concert they wanted to go to. For them, it would be like moving to Disneyland. But for Peter, it sounded like moving to hell, and selling his soul to Alana’s father, which was something he was determined to avoid at all costs. He was going to extricate himself from this mess. He didn’t want her father’s help, however well intended.

  “I appreciate it, sweetheart,” Peter said calml
y, “but I need to stick around here while everything gets settled. I can’t just run off to California, and live off your father. And I need to see what opportunities open up here.”

  “Daddy says there won’t be any decent jobs for you here for the next year or two. We might as well be in L.A. until things get better. He says there’s nothing for you here. Why not work for him? He’ll find something for you to do.”

  “I don’t want a mercy job, Alana. I want a real one, in my business. I don’t know a damn thing about the music business. I have nothing to offer your father.”

  “You can help him with his investments,” she said, still pleading, but she could see she wasn’t winning.

  “I’m sure he’d be thrilled,” Peter said cynically. “I just lost him a bunch of money when Whitman folded. He doesn’t need me for his investments.”

  “He wants to help us,” she said quietly, with a look of determination in her eyes. This was a battle she didn’t intend to lose. “We’re not going to be able to afford a decent place to live, once you sell the apartment,” she said with a tone of desperation. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’ll figure out something,” he said softly. He felt beaten as he sat watching her. He was beginning to realize just how unhappy she was going to be without money, and he didn’t want to be on the dole to her father. Peter had no idea how long it would take him to get back on his feet. And her father was right, it might take him a year or two to find something in his line of work. People were being fired at all levels in the financial world. “I want us to stay here,” he said firmly, as Alana looked at him with sorrow in her eyes.

  “I want to go home,” she said quietly, and just as firmly. “I told my father we would. You can’t support us here, and I don’t want to move to some shit place where we’ll all be miserable. They boys will hate it, and so would I. That’s not fair to them when my father wants to help us.”