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Sunday afternoon. A time when families all across the country spend quality time
together --- breaking bread, acknowledging how important they are to one another, sharing
secrets. And the Hightower family, one of the richest broods on Long Island, was no
exception.
"Who made the martinis?"; Marilyn said as she sipped the drink she had just
poured out of the tumbler.
'mummy,"; Morgan replied, not looking up from his magazine. "Why do you
ask?";
"Because as far as I can tell, it's straight gin.";
Morgan nodded. 'that's our Mummy."; Morgan and Marilyn were brother and
sister. Morgan was six feet tall, underweight, and carried himself with an air of
determined dissipation. Marilyn was almost as tall and was often described as having
'steely good looks,"; which meant both that she was uncommonly attractive and
that her beauty was encased in a titanium shell no one had yet managed to penetrate.
Morgan was a year older; they were both well into their thirties.
Marilyn poured her drink into the sink, took a tall glass, and reached for a Coke bottle.
'that was a bit strong for the first drink of the day.";
'mummy's first drink of the day came shortly after breakfast. What you sampled
would be the --- oh, I don't know --- third or fourth batch of the day. Which might
explain why she didn't detect any subtle variations in flavor.";
'toodle-doo, Morgan. Can I come in?"; The voice in the hallway came from
Cecilia, better known as Sissy, Morgan's well-proportioned wife. She was not
generally considered nuclearscientist material, but what she had downstairs compensated
Morgan for what she didn't have upstairs, or so everyone assumed, anyway.
Sissy snuggled up beside Morgan, who wrapped his arm around her. "What's my
little Morgy doing?";
Morgan had the look of supreme boredom down cold. "Reading, obviously.";
She pressed against him. "Could I interest Morgy in doing something a little more . .
. athletic?";
"I'm reading, dear.";
She brushed her lips against his cheek. "I can think of something more fun than
reading.";
A pained expression crossed Morgan's face. "Not now, dear. My sinuses are acting
up.";
"Please?"; She traced a line up his neck with her finger, ending at his mouth.
"I'll make it worth Morgy-Worgy's time.";
'morgan,"; Marilyn said sternly. "Be a dear and take your nymphet bride to
your bedroom. If I have to listen to any more of this, I'm going to vomit.";
"Oh, all right."; He laid his magazine down and sighed heavily. "Back to
the salt mines.";
Before he could move, however, he heard galumphing footsteps signaling that his father was
on his way. And that he wasn't in a good mood.
"Has anyone seen Julia?"; Morgan and Marilyn's father, Arthur Hightower,
was an overweight bear of a man. He was blunt, gruff, and willfully unvarnished. He"d
made a fortune in the oil business while the boom was on and managed to keep it when the
boom was over. "How long must a man go on searching for his own wife?"; He
throttled up the volume. "Julia!";
The blanket on the sofa beside Sissy moved. Sissy let out a short, high-pitched cry.
Morgan attempted concern. "What's wrong, dearest?";
'the blanket moved!";
The blanket did move. And then it moved again. And a few moments later, a head peered out
over the top. "Did someone call me?";
It was Julia, Morgan and Marilyn's mother. Her hair was mussed, and what they could
see of her clothes looked as if she"d been wearing them for days.
'mummy!"; Morgan said. "How long have you been there?";
She took a long time before answering. "What time is it?";
"Almost seven.";
Her head bobbed slowly. "Where did the afternoon go?";
Morgan crouched beside the sofa and helped her sit upright. "Are you all right,
Mummy? It's nearly time for dinner.";
"Forget dinner."; Her voice was harsh and raspy. "Where's my
martini?";
Morgan rushed to the wet bar to fix it.
"Well, I'm glad I've found you all gathered together in one place,";
Hightower said. "I've got something on my mind and I want you all to hear
it.";
"Could it possibly wait, Daddy?"; Marilyn asked. "It's time for
dinner. And I'm famished.";
Hightower made a hmmphing noise. "And I suppose we"ll be having the usual
twelve-course meal. You children don't know how lucky you are. There were no big face
feeds when I was a boy, that's for certain.";
Morgan's eyelids drooped. "Here we go . . .";
"When I was growing up on that hardscrabble farm in Omega County in a family of nine,
we were poor, and I'm not afraid to admit it. Poor, that's the only word for it.
Dirt poor, if you don't mind my saying so. We never had enough to eat. Most nights, I
went to bed hungry.";
"You've certainly compensated for it in the intervening years,"; his wife
observed.
He didn't hear her, or at any rate, didn't let it check his monologue. "We
only had meat once a week. Can you imagine? Only once a week --- if we were lucky. For
Sunday dinner, my poor mother would fix a chicken. One scrawny little chicken. To be split
by the nine of us. You know what piece I always got?";
Marilyn's long lashes fluttered. "Would that perhaps be . . . the feet?";
'that's right,"; Hightower said. 'the feet. I'll bet you
didn't even know the feet were edible.";
"Only since I was two.";
'there's not much meat on the feet, I don't mind telling you. Not much meat
at all. But I didn't complain. No, sir. I was glad to get it.";
"I've heard that in Paris,"; Marilyn said, just to be evil, "chicken
feet are all the rage. They"re considered quite a delicacy.";
Hightower repeated his hmmphing. "Perhaps in Paris, where they"ll eat anything
if it has enough sauce poured on top of it. But not in Omega County. No, sir. Not a bit of
it.";
"I've never had chicken's feet,"; Sissy said, giggling. "But I
had frog's legs once. And they tasted like chicken.";
Marilyn bit down on her lower lip, struggling to maintain control.
"You children don't appreciate how privileged you are. Never learned the value
of money, that's what it is. You"re spoiled. Spoiled rotten. I don't know
how it happened, but that's what it amounts to. Spoiled.";
Marilyn decided the time had come to add some rum to her Coke. "I think that's a
bit harsh, Daddykins.";
'maybe it is, but I'm just a poor boy from a hardscrabble farm in Omega County,
and I never learned to put on airs or mince words. I call "em like I see "em.
And when my children are spoiled, I'm not afraid to say so. Not a one of you has ever
worked a day in your life.";
"Now, Father,"; Morgan said, 'that's not true. I take my work very
seriously.";
Marilyn snorted into her glass. "Your work? Puh-leese.";
The bridge of Morgan's nose crinkled. 'marilyn, you know I've always been
very dedicated to my art.";
"Art? Goopy watercolors of sunrises are not art.";
Morgan's chin rose. 'there are certain critics who would differ with you. May I
remind you that my art has had a private showing in an important gallery?";
"Yes, a gallery that Daddy owns. When was the last time you completed a painting,
anyway? The Carter administration?";
"Every great artist goes through a difficult period.";
'more like a difficult decade.";
"Enough,"; Hightower proclaimed. "If this bickering is supposed to impress
me, it doesn't."; "Daddy,"; Marilyn said, "I'm just trying
to bring Morgan around to reality.";
"You"re just trying to be nasty, Marilyn. You were a nasty baby and you
haven't improved much in the last thirty years.";
"Daddy!";
"It's painful for a man like me to admit it, but the fact is you"re all a
worthless, heartless pack of wretched refuse, and the thought that I've worked so
hard all my life to create a gigantic fortune to be passed on to the likes of you just
makes me sick.";
"Daddy!";
"Don't think I don't intend to do something about it, either. I'm
leaving tonight for an important business trip in Washington, but I'll be back by
Thanksgiving, and as soon as I am, I'm having a long talk with my lawyer. I'm
not going to let my fortune be squandered on watercolors and trips to Paris for . . .
fancy chicken's feet!";
This last bit definitely attracted Marilyn and Morgan's attention.
"Daddy!";
"All right, Arthur,"; Julia chimed in, 'that's about enough.";
The latest martini was sinking in. She was too expert a drinker to slur her words, but the
effect was still noticeable in her watery eyes and extravagant gestures. "You've
had your fun. I know how you love to play the bogeyman and instill fear in their hearts.
Haven't you terrorized them enough?";
"No, damn you, I've hardly begun. And don't think you"re going to
escape my notice, you drunken waste of time.";
"Daddy!"; Morgan said. 'that's Mummy you"re talking about.";
"As if I didn't know. Be quiet, you trust-fund troglodyte. Julia, you were a
good woman once, but I don't know what's happened to you.";
Her voice was deep and throaty. "You happened to me, Arthur, dear.";
'typical. Blame your failings on someone else.";
"You haven't exactly been the most attentive husband.";
"I've built a successful business out of nothing, if that's what you mean.
I've dedicated myself to making a huge pile of money you've been more than happy
to squander.";
"Oh, yes. Money. Well, that's certainly made us all happy, hasn't
it?";
"All I ever asked in return was your affection and fidelity. But did I get it? No,
sir. Not even that.";
"You haven't got many brownie points in the fidelity department yourself,
dear.";
Hightower drew himself up like a hot-air balloon. "I never claimed to be flawless. No
one who grew up the way I did ever could."; He leaned forward, over-pronouncing every
word. "But at least I've never carried on with the gardener!";
Marilyn let out a little shriek. 'mother! No!";
"Oh, don't act so self-righteous, Marilyn,"; Hightower bellowed.
"You've slept with every man you've been alone with for more than five
minutes since you were fourteen. Not to mention the entire Springdale High class of
"91.";
"Daddy!";
"But I damn sure never expected to find my wife dancing the hokey-pokey in my own
bedroom with the gardener!";
Julia's face flushed bright red, and not from the alcohol, either. "Arthur,
please. The children.";
'the children. What about the children? For all I know, they've slept with the
gardener, too.";
Sissy giggled. "Who's the gardener? I didn't know we had a
gardener."
Excerpted from NATURAL SUSPECT © Copyright 2001 devised by William Bernhardt. Reprinted with permission by Ballantine, an imprint of Random House. All rights reserved.
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