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  “That was a long time ago.” He was thinking back. About thirty years, now.

  “Yeah, well. They kept the blood, Dad.”

  Again, he heard that conviction in her voice. “Meaning what?”

  She shifted in her seat. “You want to hold your granddaughter?”

  “Not at the moment, thank you.”

  She gave a crooked smile. “You’re not what I expected. I thought a doctor would be more…sympathetic. They’ve got more sympathetic people at the methadone clinic in Bellevue.”

  “Miss Murphy,” he said, “let me—”

  “But when I got off the drugs, and I had this beautiful daughter, I wanted to make sense of my life. I wanted my baby to know her grandparents. And I wanted to finally meet you.”

  It was time, Bennett decided, to cut this short. He stood up. “Miss Murphy, you realize that I can have genetic testing done, and it will show—”

  “Yes,” she said. “I realize that.” She tossed a folded sheet of paper onto his desk. He opened it slowly. It was a report from a genetic laboratory in Dallas. He scanned the paragraphs. He felt dizzy.

  “It says you are definitely my father,” she said. “One chance in four billion that you are not. They tested my genetic material against your stored blood.”

  “This is crazy,” he said, dropping back in his chair.

  “I thought you would congratulate me,” she said. “It wasn’t easy to figure it out. My mom was living in St. Louis twenty-eight years ago; she was married at the time…”

  Bennett had gone to medical school in St. Louis. “But she doesn’t know me?”

  “She had artificial insemination from an anonymous donor. Which was you.”

  Bennett felt dizzy.

  “I figured the donor must have been a medical student,” she continued, “because she went to the clinic at the medical school. And they had their own sperm bank. Medical students donated sperm for money back then, right?”

  “Yes. Twenty-five dollars.”

  “There you go. Good pocket money in those days. And you could do it, what, once a week? Go in there and pop off?”

  “Something like that.”

  “The clinic burned down fifteen years ago, and all the records were lost. But I got the student yearbooks and searched them. Each year the class was a hundred and twenty students, half female. That means sixty males. Eliminate Asians and other minorities, you have about thirty-five a year. Back then sperm didn’t keep for more than a year or so. I ended up with about a hundred and forty names to check. It went faster than I thought.”

  Bennett slumped down in his chair.

  “But you want to know the truth? When I saw your picture in the medical yearbook, I knew immediately. Something about your hair, your eyebrows…” She shrugged. “Anyway, here I am.”

  “But this was never supposed to happen,” Bennett said. “We were all anonymous donors. Untraceable. No one would ever know whether we had children or not. And back then, our anonymity was a given.”

  “Yeah, well. Those days are over.”

  “But I never agreed to be your parent. That’s my point.”

  She shrugged. “What can I say?”

  “I wasn’t having a child. I was helping infertile couples so they could have a child.”

  “Well, I’m your child.”

  “But you have parents…”

  “I’m your child, Dr. Bennett. And I can prove it in court.”

  There was a silence. They stared at each other. The baby drooled and squirmed. Finally, he said, “Why did you come here?”

  “I wanted to meet my biological father…”

  “Well, you’ve met him.”

  “And I wanted him to fulfill his duties and obligations. Because of what he did to me.”

  So there it was. Finally out on the table.

  “Miss Murphy,” he said slowly, “you’ll get nothing from me.”

  He stood. She stood, too.

  “The reason I’m an addict,” she said, “is because of your genes.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Your father was an alcoholic and you had drug troubles of your own. You carry the genes for addiction.”

  “What genes?”

  “AGS3. Heroin dependence.DAT 1. Cocaine addiction. You have those genes, and so do I. You gave me those genes. You never should have donated defective sperm in the first place.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said, suddenly agitated. This woman was clearly following a memorized script. He felt danger. “I donated sperm thirty years ago. There were no tests back then…and there is no responsibility now…”

  “You knew,” she snapped. “You knew you had a problem with cocaine. You knew it ran in your family. But you sold your sperm anyway. You put your damaged, dangerous sperm on the market. Not caring who you infected.”

  “Infected?”

  “You had no business doing what you did. You’re a disgrace to the medical profession. Burdening other people with your genetic diseases. And not giving a damn.”

  Through his agitation, he somehow found self-control. He reached for the door. “Miss Murphy,” he said, “I have nothing more to say to you.”

  “You’re throwing me out? You’ll regret this,” she said. “You’ll regret this very, very much.”

  And she stormed out of the office.

  Feeling suddenly drained,Bennett collapsed into the chair behind his desk. He was in a state of shock. He stared at his desk, at the files for his waiting patients. None of it seemed to matter, now. He dialed his attorney, and explained the situation quickly.

  “Does she want money?” the attorney said.

  “I assume so.”

  “Did she tell you how much?”

  “Jeff,” Bennett said, “you’re not taking this seriously?”

  “Unfortunately, we have to,” the attorney said. “This happened in Missouri, and Missouri had no clear laws regarding paternity from artificial insemination back then. Cases like yours were never a problem until quite recently. But as a rule in paternity disputes, the court orders child support.”

  “She’s twenty-eight.”

  “Yes, and she has parents. Still, she can make an argument in court. Based on this gene thing, she can claim reckless endangerment, she can claim child abuse, and whatever else she can pull out of a hat. Maybe she’ll get something from a judge, maybe she won’t. Remember, paternity rulings are stacked against males. Say you get a woman pregnant and she decides to have an abortion. She can do that without consulting you. But if she decides to give birth, you’ll pay support, even though you never agreed to have a child with her. The court will say it’s your responsibility not to have gotten her pregnant in the first place. Or suppose you do genetic testing on your kids, and discover they’re not yours—your wife cheated on you. The court will still require you to pay support for kids that aren’t yours.”

  “But she’s twenty-eight years old. She’s not a child—”

  “The question is, does a prominent physician want to go to court on a case that involves not supporting his own daughter?”

  “No,” Bennett said.

  “That’s right, you don’t. She knows that. And I assume she knows Missouri law, too. So wait until she calls back, arrange a meeting, and call me. If she has an attorney, all the better. Make sure he comes. Meanwhile, fax me that genetic report she gave you.”

  “I’m going to have to pay her off?”

  “Count on it,” the attorney said, and hung up.

  CH062

  The deskofficer at the Rockville Police Station was an attractive, smooth-skinned black woman of twenty-five. The desk plate readOFFICER J. LOWRY . Her uniform was crisp.

  Georgia Bellarmino pushed her daughter close to the other side of the desk. She set the paper bag of syringes in front of the policewoman and said, “Officer Lowry, I want to know why my daughter has these things, but she refuses to tell me.”

  Her daughter glared at her. “I hate you, Mom.”


  Officer Lowry showed no surprise. She glanced at the syringes. She turned to Georgia’s daughter. “Were these prescribed to you by a physician?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they involve matters of reproduction?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Can I see some ID?”

  “She’s sixteen, all right,” Georgia Bellarmino said, leaning forward. “And I want to know—”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the policewoman said. “If she is sixteen, and these drugs involve reproductive issues, you have no right to be informed.”

  “What do you mean I have no right to be informed? She’s mydaughter. She’ssixteen. ”

  “That’s the law, ma’am.”

  “But that law is for abortions. She isn’t having an abortion. I don’t know what the hell she is doing. These are fertility drugs. She’sshooting up fertility drugs. ”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you on this.”

  “You mean my daughter is allowed to inject drugs into her body, and I am not allowed to know what is going on?”

  “Not if she won’t tell you, no.”

  “And what about her doctor?”

  Officer Lowry shook her head. “He can’t tell you, either. Doctor-patient privilege.”

  Georgia Bellarmino collected the syringes and threw them back in the bag. “This is ridiculous.”

  “I don’t make the laws,” the policewoman said. “I just enforce them.”

  They were drivinghome. “Honey,” Georgia said. “Are you trying to get pregnant?”

  “No.” Sitting there with her arms folded. Furious.

  “I mean, you’re sixteen, that shouldn’t be a problem…So whatare you doing?”

  “You made me feel like anidiot. ”

  “Honey, I’m just concerned.”

  “No you’re not. You’re a nosy, evil bitch. I hate you, and I hate this car.”

  It went on like this for a while, until finally Georgia drove her daughter back to school. Jennifer got out of the car, slamming the door. “Andyou made me late for French!”

  It was anexhausting morning, and she had canceled two appointments. Now she had to try and reschedule the clients. Georgia went into the office, set the bag of needles on the floor, and started dialing.

  The office manager, Florence, walked by and saw the bag. “Wow,” she said. “Aren’t you a little old for this?”

  “It’s not me,” Georgia said irritably.

  “Then…not your daughter?”

  Georgia nodded. “Yeah.”

  “It’s that Dr. Vandickien,” Florence said.

  “Who?”

  “Down in Miami. These teenage girls take hormones, pump up their ovaries, sell their eggs to him, and pocket the money.”

  “And do what?” Georgia said.

  “Buy breast implants.”

  Georgia sighed. “Great,” she said. “Just great.”

  She wanted her husband to talk to Jennifer, but unfortunately, Rob was on a flight to Ohio, where they were making a TV segment about him. That discussion—which was sure to be fiery—would have to wait.

  CH063

  Riding theunderground tram from the Senate Office Building to the Senate Dining Room, Senator Robert Wilson (D-Vermont) turned to Senator Dianne Feinstein (D-California) and said, “I think we ought to be more proactive on this genetic thing. For example, we should consider a law that would prevent young women from selling their eggs for profit.”

  “Young girls already doing that, Bob,” Feinstein said. “They sell their eggs now.”

  “Why, to pay for college?”

  “Maybe a few. Mostly, they do it to buy a new car for their boyfriend, or plastic surgery for themselves.”

  Senator Wilson looked puzzled. “How long hasthat been going on?” he said.

  “A couple of years now,” Feinstein said.

  “Maybe in California…”

  “Everywhere, Bob. A teenager in New Hampshire did it to make bail for her boyfriend.”

  “And this doesn’t trouble you?”

  “I don’t like it,” Feinstein said. “I think it’s ill-advised. I think medically the procedure has dangers. I think these girls may be risking their reproductive futures. But what would be the basis for banning it? Their bodies, their eggs.” Feinstein shrugged. “Anyway, the boat’s sailed, Bob. Quite a while ago.”

  CH064

  Not again!

  Ellis Levine found his mother on the second floor of the Polo Ralph Lauren store on Madison and Seventy-second. She was standing in front of the mirror, wearing a cream-colored linen suit with a green scarf. She was turning this way and that.

  “Hello, dear,” she said, when she saw him. “Are you going to make another scene?”

  “Mom,” he said. “What are you doing?”

  “Buying a few things for summer, dear.”

  “We talked about that,” Ellis said.

  “Just a few things,” his mother said. “For summer. Do you like the cuffs on these pants?”

  “Mom, we’ve been here before.”

  She frowned, and fluffed her white hair absently. “Do you like the scarf?” she said. “I think it’s a bit much.”

  “We have to talk,” Ellis said.

  “Are we having lunch?”

  “The spray didn’t work,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She brushed her cheek. “I felt a little moisturization. For about a week afterward. But not a great deal, no.”

  “And you kept shopping.”

  “I hardly shop at all anymore.”

  “Three thousand dollars last week.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I took a lot of those things back.” She tugged at the scarf. “I think, that green does a funny thing to my complexion. Makes me look sick. But a pink scarf might be nice. I wonder if they have this in pink.”

  Ellis was watching her intently, with a growing sense of foreboding. Something was wrong with his mother, he decided. She was standing at the mirror, in exactly the same place she had been weeks before, when she showed a total indifference to him, to his message, to her family situation, to her financial situation. Her attitude was completely inappropriate.

  As an accountant, Ellis had a horror of people who were inappropriate about money. Money was real, it was tangible, it was hard facts and spreadsheet figures. Those facts and figures were not a matter of opinion. It didn’t depend on how you looked at it. His mother was not recognizing the cold reality of her financial situation.

  He watched her smile, asking the salesgirl if the scarf came in pink. No, the salesgirl said, he didn’t make pink this year. They only had green, or white. His mother asked to try the white. The salesgirl walked away. His mother smiled at him.

  Very inappropriate. Almost as if…

  It might be early dementia,he thought.It might be the first sign.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  “What way, Mom?”

  “I’m not crazy. You’re not putting me in a home.”

  “Why would you even say that?”

  “I know you boys want the money. That’s why you’re selling the condos in Vail and the Virgin Islands. For the money. You’re greedy, the bunch of you. You are like vultures waiting for your parents to die. And if we won’t die, you’ll hurry it up. Put us in a home. Get us out of the way. Get us declared insane. That’s your plan, isn’t it?”

  The salesgirl came back with a white scarf. His mother draped it around her neck, flung it over her shoulder with a flamboyant gesture. “Well, Mr. Smartypants, you’re not putting me in any home. You get that through your head right now.” She turned to the salesgirl. “I’ll take it,” she said. Still smiling.

  The brothers metthat evening. Jeff, who was handsome, and had connections in every restaurant in town, got them a table near the waterfall at Sushi Hana. Even early, the place was packed with models and actresses, and Jeff was making plenty of eye contact. A
nnoyed, Ellis said, “How’re things at home?”

  Jeff shrugged. “Fine. Sometimes I have to work late. You know.”

  “No, I don’t. Because I’m not a big investment banker and the girls don’t wink at me like they wink at you.”