Brenda and Ned went to meet with some record distributors. She wore a black business suit with a pink blouse. She looked feminine yet professional.
Ned whistled, and she smiled in appreciation.
"You don't look too bad yourself," she grinned.
They stopped for lunch at the Port Charles Grill after the meeting was over. They talked about the meeting for a little while, and about a couple of new records. Brenda thought the lackadaisical record company was coming a bit alive again.
"I hope so," Ned said.
"How is your cousin?" Brenda asked. "Emily."
"Doing better. Almost getting back to normal."
"Did you say she was in a rehab in Switzerland?"
"Yes."
"Are there a lot of rehabs in Switzerland?"
"Why?"
"Somebody else I know of is in a rehab clinic there, too."
"Maybe it's their thing. Like watches."
"Sure," Brenda said, stirring her coffee. "Could be. I wish Emily could come back to visit."
"She can't with Zander Smith here."
"Why not?"
"We don't want him after her again."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because he is what he is."
"I don't think he's dedicated to repeating past mistakes."
"Maybe you're right. He probably has some current mistakes he's working on."
Brenda laughed.
"But how do you know, Brenda, I mean why would you know him well enough to have that opinion?"
"From hanging out with him over at the PC Hotel, that's how!"
"Brenda! You can do better than that!"
"Depends on what you mean by better."
"Smarter, older, more mature, wealthier, oh, let's see. No criminal record, an education, some class, sensitivity"
"Well, stop. As to class and sensitivity, he has some. His education is as good as mine. Very slightly better. But he's got some things you would never understand. But let me ask you – how come you guys didn't go after Emily at the time? Read her the riot act, ground her, whatever?"
"I don't know. It must have been impossible. I'm not her parent, so I only had so much say. I tried."
"Why didn't her parents put their feet down?"
"Who knows? Those two are always having one problem or another, and they let it get out of hand. They thought she was OK, visiting him in jail. That was the only good point. For awhile there, we knew where she was. But when he got out all hell broke loose."
"She'd be safe back here, from Zander. He's distracted."
"Well, there's no reason to chance it right now. But Brenda, come over and see us every once in awhile. You know how my grandmother loves to see you. And maybe my family can do a better job of distracting you from Zander."
"Hey," she flicked a napkin at Ned. "I can handle Zander."
"I bet you can," Ned replied, his eyes twinkling.
Cameron Lewis saw Brenda when he was in the lobby of the Port Charles Hotel. He had just finished putting Alexander's money in the bank.
He asked the clerk. "This hotel wouldn't seem to be the kind to have woman of a certain profession in it. Its reputation could go downhill."
"Nothing like that we know of," the clerk smiled.
He pointed Brenda out to the clerk. "There, in some dark sort of outfit, second table in, with a man in a suit."
"Her profession's OK! That's Brenda Barrett. She's famous, in this town at least. She's a model. One of the prides of Port Charles. Internationally known."
"Oh, I see," he said.
"Whatever gave you that idea?" the clerk asked, amused. "Something she said? She can be a little satirical at times."
"Yes, it was like that," Cameron smiled.
He went over to the table. They were just getting up.
"Well, well," Brenda said. "Ned, this is Dr. Lewis; he's Zander's father."
"Zander's what? I mean, well I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. Or someone who looked like you."
"You were expecting?" Cameron sneered.
"Um, better I should get back to work now. See you later, Brenda."
"See you, Ned. Well," she addressed Cameron. "Please do sit down."
He sat down, slowly, carefully, as if she might bite. He looked at her again – studied her a little, and determined that he had jumped to conclusions. She was wearing a business suit. He realized her good looks were of such a high quality that she couldn't possibly be what he had so quickly guessed at. But he was not an expert on women. And what had she been doing in Alexander's room?
She seemed not to mind his inspection. She was used to things like that.
"Who was the young woman, in the clinic in Switzerland?" she asked, looking him right in the eye.
Cameron stared at her. "So you were listening," he said.
"Maybe," she said. "Or Zander could have told me. But it was a girl named Emily Quartermaine, wasn't it?"
Cameron was taken aback. He could not believe Brenda could be this clever.
"How did you figure that out?" he asked, frostily.
"You said her statements led you to find Zander."
"She is one of the young people Peter has helped to get their legs back. As she told her story, I recognized certain characteristics of her attacker – well, I suspected. It could have come to nothing, but I followed up by coming to her hometown, and then I only had to read some back issues of the newspapers to see that my hunch was right."
"You really are cold," she said. "Nobody treats their flesh and blood like you do, but certainly no one talks about them to third parties the way you do. Which leads me to a suspicion."
"I'm certain you'll tell me what it is," he said, in his coldest and sternest tone.
But it had no effect on this woman.
"He's not your son, and you know it."
Cameron merely stared at her with his best stare of contempt, the one usually reserved for Alexander.
"Who could blame your wife for straying?" she went on. "You knew it, but you were too straight laced. Ashamed for society to find out what had occurred. So you were willing to keep it a secret and play the role. But you can't quite get it out of your head that you lost control of your wife, and you take it out on the evidence."
"You really should take up psychiatry," he said sarcastically.
"Maybe."
"So we have here a young woman, a model, internationally famous, apparently a businesswoman also. Quite attractive ."
"Why, thank you!"
"No one would deny that. We find this woman in a boy's hotel room."
"Come on. I know he's your son, but let's not use 'boy.' Let's try 'young man.'"
"All right," he sneered. Brenda wondered if she was going to slap him some time in the next five minutes. She weighed whether that would help Zander or hurt him.
"You would never understand, because you don't want to."
"More amateur psychiatry."
"What the hell is wrong with you? You've got this fixation on putting your own son down."
He was silent.
"My father did some of that," she continued. "I know what that feels like."
"So you identify with Alexander, do you?"
"Maybe. Did you father do the same to you?"
"Yes," he said. "It didn't hurt me. It built my character."
"So why didn't your older son – Peter, is it? – get the same character building treatment?"
"He didn't need it."
"You did, though."
He said nothing.
"Hell, you're worse than I thought. You understand how it feels yourself, but you do it anyway."
"I got myself together, in case you haven't noticed."
"In what way?"
"What do you mean, in what way? Do you need to see my resume?"
"Who cares? You're a miserable excuse for a father and in the end, that is all that matters."
"I'll take it under advisement," he sneered. "Your father may have had it worse than I did," he could not refrain from adding.
"Miraculous!" Brenda declared. "That actually reflects well on Zander. You mean you've found somebody worse? Terrific! I'll be sure to tell him as soon as I see him."
"You do that," he said, getting up. He left the restaurant in all the majesty of his contempt.
On a break, Zander walked to the docks at the Country Club, where the rich guys kept their yachts. At least, those guys not rich enough to live on the water themselves, and have their own docks right on their property, like the Quartermaines did, and the Lewises did.
Nervously, he called Pete's number.
"Is that you, Alexander?" Pete answered, in a happy tone. "I'm so glad Dad finally found you!"
"Me too," Zander said, numbly. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, better than ever. Walking around, did Dad tell you? It was not so bad as it first seemed."
"He told me. I am really glad for you."
"I'm so glad to hear from you; I was afraid I never would again. Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"How was Dad? As cranky as ever?"
"The same."
"What have you been doing?"
"Working as a tennis pro in a country club. Trying to see if I can get into the local college."
"That sounds OK."
"Yeah, it's better than the last few years."
"I wish I could see you. Maybe I can get over there sometime or you can come over here."
"I wouldn't mind that."
"I hope you're not still upset about the accident, Alex, it was an accident."
"Around Dad it doesn't seem so."
"And don't run off on me like that again!"
"Not on you; I'm glad we can talk without Dad. How is Mom?"
"She worries about you a lot. More than me by now."
"She's still there?"
"No, he didn't tell you?"
"No."
"She left him and now she's with Uncle Dean in Tampa."
"How long ago was that?"
"About three years ago."
"So you overcame all obstacles."
"I know, I know. That's what Dad told you. I wish he could have done it without seeming to take a swipe at you. I could have thought he might have learned with your being gone all that time and Mom leaving him and all that."
"What's she got to do with that?"
"She's kind of a lot better than she used to be. That's how she got it together to up and leave him. It seems fifty percent of the reason is your leaving, which she thinks wouldn't have happened without his, you know, hypercritical ways."
"She's that much better?"
"I guess you could say that, Alex. Yeah, since she can oppose Dad, which she did and then leave him."
"What did he do when she left?"
"You know, I couldn't say he did anything in particular. He had me call her to have her tell me."
"That's not really surprising. She'll never be back, then. He'll never admit to doing anything wrong."
"You could be right, there, Alex. But let me give you her number, and maybe you can talk to her if you feel like you want to, all right?"
Zander had to go back in to find a piece of paper and a pen.
A girl at the reception desk helped him.
"Do you talk to her much, Pete?"
"Every other week or so."
"How long have you been there in Switzerland?"
"Two years. It's been a good thing for me. I think I want to be a physical therapist."
"Have you told Dad that?"
Peter laughed. "Yeah, and I've been getting a lot of flack."
"You?"
"I know, can you believe it, Alex?"
"Yeah, he's sure you should be a doctor. But if you don't want to be one, hold out, all right?"
"I'll look to you for guidance. And call me again. I love you, Alex. Don't get lost again. We'll have to find a way to ignore Dad together, see, now I have that more in common with you. OK."
"OK, Pete."
"I like helping these kids that are here," he said. "I feel like I'm really getting them to believe they can do it. They do amazing things."
"Were they all in accidents?"
"Yes. Nobody that was born with paralysis. But if I get into physical therapy, I'll see that, too."
"Odd place for such a clinic."
"You know why, Alex? It's the tall alps. The crazy ski slopes. There were so many injuries due to that. Of course now there are all kind of injuries treated here – not just skiing accidents, but falls from horses, other sports injuries, even airplane crashes and gunshot wounds."
"Car accidents and bus accidents?"
"Yeah! We have one girl here that was in a bus accident. And several car accidents."
"Sounds sad," Zander said.
"It is if you think of what they lost. But it can be downright cheery around here when somebody makes a gain. Well, Alex, don't be a stranger to me, do you hear?"
"No, Pete. I'm sorry I did."
"I'll call you. Call Mom when you can. She really will appreciate it now. I promise."
Zander hung up, feeling funny. He was almost lightheaded.