“There aren’t any in Oklahoma. Tribal lands, yes, but no reservations as such. Still exist in other states, though. For the most part, still just as dirty and debasing and poverty-blighted as when I grew up. You have any idea what it’s like to grow up in a place like that? Over sixty percent unemployment? Average income about three thousand a year? You have any idea what the odds are against making anything of yourself after a childhood like that? No, of course you don’t. How could you?”
His voice rose in volume. “You don’t know what it’s like to grow up knowing people think you can’t do anything more complicated than running a bingo parlor because you’re just a dumb Indian. And the worst of it, knowing that you really are just a dumb Indian, and that there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
Just at the edge, Sanguine caught himself. He exhaled and fell back into his chair. “But of course,” he said, “you don’t know anything about that. They probably didn’t have any Indians in Nichols Hills, did they? They probably don’t allow such riffraff.”
Ben couldn’t see the point in saying anything. This stream-of-consciousness soliloquy was giving him far more information than he could ever elicit with questions.
“My point is this,” Sanguine said. “I worked very hard to become successful. Against damned near impossible odds. And that’s no exaggeration—I had no breaks, no connections, no education, and no money. But I have been successful. I’m rich. Sanguine Enterprises is in the Fortune Five Hundred and I’m on the list of the hundred richest men in America.” Sanguine’s full attention seemed focused on the pencil he held in his hands. “And I’ve used that success. I’ve tried to make things a little easier for the next Indian in line. And I’m making a difference. Maybe in the next generation, there’ll be more than one Sioux crossing the poverty line. Maybe the next one will be able to do it without changing his name.”
The pencil in Sanguine’s hands suddenly snapped. “But the adversity does not stop, no matter how successful you are. Just when you’ve got a company that seems to work, here comes this man who’s too mired in yesteryear to even consider a change for the better. Every opportunity to diversify, he’s against it. Every idea for increasing efficiency or productivity, he’s against it. That’s why I made Adams vice president of new developments. Sort of a private joke. He knew it was, too, and it stuck in his craw. That’s what I liked best about it.”
Abruptly, Sanguine shifted his gaze to Ben. The pencil pieces fell to the desktop.
“I suppose in your eyes there was something admirable—in a perverse, futile way—about the old geezer’s tenacity. A latter-day Don Quixote. I can almost see it myself. But I would not let him bring down my business. I would not let him tear down everything I had accomplished. I would not.” He pounded his desk to emphasize the final word.
Ben sensed that the conversation was going no further in that direction. “I guess you’ve heard about the adoption hearing,” he said.
Sanguine seemed startled, as if brought out of a trance. “What? Oh, yes. Of course, I bear no malice against the widow. Tough break for her.” For some reason, he laughed quietly.
Ben began to organize his papers and put them back into his briefcase. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you had been informed.”
“What about being a grandparent?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“So the court thinks Mrs. Adams is too old to learn how to be a mommy. No big surprise there. How about getting her appointed as a foster grandparent? Courts do that now; I was just reading about it in Time. It’s supposed to be good for the kid and the elderly person. She wouldn’t get to see the girl every day, but she would get some reasonable visitation rights.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Better than nothing.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Ben admitted.
“You hadn’t? Geez, what am I paying you guys those outrageous fees for? You lose on impossible theories and don’t even consider arguments you might actually win.” He paused, savoring the moment. “I thought of something you didn’t. Hell, I think I’m a better lawyer than you, Ben. This dumb Indian. A better lawyer than you.”
29
BEN STEPPED OUT OF the elevator on the fourteenth floor and walked toward his apartment. Shifting his briefcase into his other hand, he fumbled around in his jacket pocket. After a moment, he found the right key and shoved it into the door.
The door was already unlocked.
Ben set down his briefcase. If this were a movie, he thought, the audience would be screaming “Don’t go in, you fool!” But then, Ben mused, if I didn’t go in, there would be no movie. Slowly, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
The lights were on. A medium-size woman with long chestnut brown hair was sitting on the floor in a pretzel-like configuration resembling the lotus position. She was munching on cheddar-cheese-flavored potato chips and french onion dip.
“About time,” she said, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.
“Julia,” Ben said. “How did you get in?”
“I told the super I was your sister. Some wild story, huh?”
“Those potato chips will make you fat again,” he said.
“If I want Weight Watchers counseling, Ben, I’ll go to the meetings. Besides, it’s not as if you have anything nutritious to eat here.”
“I just moved in.”
“No kidding.” She glanced around the room, still only furnished with cardboard boxes and a sleeping bag. “When are you going to buy some furniture?”
“Sometime after my first paycheck and before I die.” He shut the door. “Mind if I come in?”
“Be my guest.”
Ben tossed his jacket on the floor and sat down opposite Julia. She was still his pretty baby sister. A little older, a bit too plump, but still very attractive. Although the wrinkles surrounding her eyes seemed a bit more pronounced than when he had seen her last. Time marches on, he supposed, even for baby sisters.
“I thought you were living in OKC,” he said.
“I am. I came here to talk to you.” She rolled up the potato chip bag and replaced the lid on the dip.
“About what?”
“About why the hell you’re dodging Mom’s phone calls. Don’t you know she’s worried sick about you?”
“Jesus Christ,” Ben said. He pressed his fingers against his forehead.
“Don’t give me that,” she said angrily. “Personally, I don’t care whether you ever talk to your family, but Mother does. I can’t believe the way you’ve been acting! First, you get a new job, then you move to a new city, all without saying boo to anybody. You don’t give anybody your phone number or address—it’s as if you’re deliberately trying to isolate yourself. I had to act like a frigging private investigator just to find your apartment.”
“Julia, I’m really not up to a scolding right now. I’ve had a really horrible week. You can’t imagine—”
“I don’t care!” she shouted, cutting him off. “I’m tired of you bumbling along feeling sorry for yourself just because—”
Ben’s face tightened and he cut her off with a fierce, stony look. After a moment, she started again, a little slower and softer. “It just isn’t fair, Ben. It’s not fair to Mom or—”
“Stop!” Ben’s face was reddening. “You want me to call Mom, I’ll call Mom. It’s just that I’ve been very busy—”
“With what? Taking over something? A corporate merger, maybe?”
Ben sighed. “I’m not a business lawyer, Julia. I’m in litigation—” There was a loud knock at the door.
“I’m closer,” Julia said. “You catch your breath. Wimp.” She walked to the door and turned the knob.