"Louis, this is terrible news. But I don't see why you wanted me to call you. I mean, it's been ten years since I last saw her."
Suddenly a silence on the line. Then Louis answered almost in a whisper: "Because of the child."
"Child? Was Nicole married?"
"No, no. Of course not. She was an 'independent mother,' so to speak. She raised the boy herself."
"But I still don't see what this has to do with me," said Bob.
"'Uh—Bobbie, I do not know how to say this... /'
"Say iti"
"He is your child too/' said Louis Venargu^s.
For a moment there was silence on both sides of the Atlantic. Bob was stunned beyond speech.
"Bobbie, are you still there? Alio?''
"What?"
"I know you are perhaps shocked by this news/'
"No, Louis. Fm not shocked. I simply don't believe it," Bob replied, as anger helped him to regain his powers of speech.
"But it's true. I was her confidant in everything."
"But what the hell makes you so sure that rm the father?"
"Bobbie," Louis answered gently, "you were here in May. The demonstrations, you recall? The little boy came—so to speak—on schedule. There was no one else in her life at the time. She would have told me. Of course, she never wanted you to know."
Jesus Christ, thought Bob, this is incredible.
"Dammit, Louis, even if it's true, I'm not responsible for—"
"Bobbie, tranquilize yourself. No one's saying that you have responsibility. Jean-Claude is well provided for. Believe me—I am the executor." He paused and added, "There is only one small problem."
Bob trembled at the possibilities.
"What?" he asked.
"The boy has absolutely no one. Nicole had no other family. He's all alone."
Bob did not reply. He was still trying to gauge the direction of this conversation.
"Ordinarily, we would take him in, Marie-Ther^se and L . . ." Louis paused. "We are his guardians. But she is ill. Bob, gravely ill. She doesn't have much time."
"Fm sorry/' Bob interjected softly.
"What can I say? We had a honeymoon of forty years. But now you see why it's impossible. Unless we can find some alternative—and quickly—the authorities will take the boy away."
At last Bob sensed where this was leading. He grew angrier with every breath. And frightened.
"The child is inconsolable," Louis continued. "He is sad beyond tears. His grief is so great he cannot even cry. He just sits there—'
"Get to the point," said Bob.
Louis hesitated.
"I want to tell him."
"Tell him what?"
"That you exist."
"No I Are you crazy? How could that possibly help?"
"I just want him to know that somewhere in this world he has a father. It would be somethings Bobbie."
"Louis, for God's sake! Fm a married man with two young daughters. Look, Fm truly sorry about Nicole. Fm sorry about the boy. But I refuse to get involved in this. I will not hurt my family. I can't I wont That's final."
There was another silence on the line. Or at least ten seconds of nonverbal static.
"All right," said Louis at last. "Fll trouble you no more. But I do confess Fm very disappointed."
Too damn bad.
"Good night, Louis."
Yet another pause (for Bob to reconsider), and then at last capitulation.
"Goodbye, Bobbie," he mumbled, and hung up.
Bob put down the receiver and buried his head in his hands. This was too difficult to take in all at once. After so many years, Nicole Guerin, back in
his life. And could their brief affair really have produced a child? A son?
Oh, God, what should I do?
"Evenin', Perfesser."
Bob looked up, startled.
It was Lilah Coleman, on her daily rounds of tidying the offices.
*'How are you, Mrs. Coleman?"
''Not too bad. How's yer statistics?"
''Oh, pretty good."
"Say, you ain't run across some likely numbers, have ya? Rent's due an' my luck's been pretty lousy lately."
"Sorry, Mrs. Coleman, I don't feel too lucky myself."
"Well, as they say, Perfesser, 'if you don't feel it, don't play it.' Anyway, that's my philosophy. You gotta trust your gut."
She emptied his wastebasket and whisked a cloth across his desk.
"Well, I'll be rollin' on, Perfesser. Have a good summer. An rest that brilliant brain o' yours."
She left and softly closed the door. But something she had said stuck with him. Trust your gut. Quite unprofessional. But very human.
He sat frozen, staring at the telephone, long after Mrs. Coleman's footsteps faded down the corridor. He felt a desperate inward struggle, heart and mind at war. Don't be crazy. Bob. Don't risk your marriage. Nothing's worth it. Who knows if it's even true? Forget it.