And, of course, I filled them in on the recent fun and games at Keoki Atoll. Madison was impressed with my ability to talk 128 respectable young women into stripping naked for me. Jean wasn’t, but she withheld her objections. Even when I told her about Deb Isham’s hateful reaction, she hid her thoughts behind a mask of lead. That frustrated me. I was challenging her, testing the walls of her moral outrage. At first I thought she wasn’t playing along, but as soon as Madison turned away, she threw me a quick, hardy squint. If you want to scare me, buddy, you’ll have to do better than that.
Through Madison, Jean segued to a crazy project from her own career. Three years ago, she was hired to come up with a nifty box design for Morning Faith, the world’s first and only Christian-themed breakfast cereal. Her client was an Israeli investor who thought he could make a quick buck in the States. After all, America had millions of Christians. It had millions of cereal eaters. There had to be some overlap.
There was, but not enough to pull the flock away from the graven images of Cap’n Crunch and Count Chocula. Jean blamed the product’s failure on her own generic “heaven sky” design. Madison and I faulted the lame title. We put on our thinking caps and came up with our own. Madison suggested “Angel Bran.” I liked “Genu-Flakes.” Jean took the prize with “Honey Frosted Monogamous Heter-O’s.” She also offered “Left Behind: The Cereal (Now with 25 % Less),” but that one left us scratching our heads. She rolled her eyes and told us to forget about it.
The conversation devolved from there. It got so silly that Madison couldn’t translate anymore. Unlike EyeTalk, the poor girl wasn’t built to handle the relentless back-and-forth between me and her mother. Soon she was laughing so hard, she had to escape to the bathroom to recuperate.
Jean and I were left alone, smiling but not laughing. She kicked up her bare feet, leaned her head against her fist, and stared at me with lingering malaise from our Saturday tryst. This is lovely, Scott, but I can see you still have problems. Of course I had problems. What the hell did she expect? She claimed we had some profound cerebral rapport, but what if I wanted to explore her mind and her body? She claimed she was inviting me in, but what if the seat I wanted was already taken? What if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my days coveting another man’s wife and stepdaughter?
I matched her stare, but her frustration couldn’t hold up to mine. It wasn’t fair to tease me with her perfect wit, her perfect warmth, her perfect child, this perfectly wonderful domestic scene, and then pack it all up at the end of the day. I was loving them on the clock, renting them out like a pair of hostesses. If that was all I got out of them, this was all they got out of me. I may have been lonely, but I still had pride. Worse for Jean, I still had Harmony.
I raised the volume of the television, then sat forward and lost myself in the show. It was 6:45. The fourth commercial break had just come to an end. This was the part where Larry took calls from the audience, the part that worried me the most. I trusted Larry. He only threw softballs. Who knew what his viewers were waiting to hurl?
He introduced the first caller: a fast-talking man from Nyack, New York.
Hi. Harmony, first I want to say how sorry I am for all the terrible things you’ve been through.
Over the course of the hour, out of the corner of my eye, I watched Harmony grow more and more comfortable in front of the cameras. But now she seemed a little off balance. She furrowed her brow and cocked her head. She was hearing the caller through a tiny earpiece. It took some getting used to.
“Uh, thank you.”
My question is, uh, don’t you think you’re sending out a bad message to other rape victims by not cooperating with the police? I mean you’re asking for money, but don’t you want justice?
I could see Alonso’s jaw tighten. He desperately wanted to jump in and tear this guy a new one. Harmony remained perfectly level. At some point her proper grammar had reemerged, but she wasn’t trying. She didn’t even seem to notice.
“I understand where you’re coming from, sir, but I’ll say it again: I don’t need to see him go to jail. Jail’s not going to make him a better person. Jail only makes people worse. And his going to jail isn’t going to help me sleep better or live better. Look, money is justice. Anyone who tells you otherwise probably has more money than he needs. And if you think that’s a bad message…” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I never asked to be a messenger. I gotta do what I think is best for me. But you’re entitled to your opinion.”
I leaned my head back and yelled. I could hear the spirit of Ayn Rand yelling back: She’s magnificent, Scott! How did you find her? Just got lucky, ma’am. Just got lucky.
Madison rushed back downstairs. “What happened?”
“This woman is unstoppable!” I bellowed through a screen of artificial rancor.
She giggled. “Who, Mom or Harmony?”
“Harmony,” I replied, taking a quick peek at Jean. Having given up on me, she once again lost herself in Alonso’s novel. But she did witness my odd cry to the heavens. I met her quizzical look with a childish raspberry. She shook her head, then signed to Madison.
“Mom says you’re a troubled individual.”
“Sit down. We’re watching again.”
This time Madison sat down on the floor, in front of her mother. Clapping with glee, Jean undid Madison’s ponytail and began running her fingers through her daughter’s long mane.
“She loves untangling my hair,” she said. “She’s a real freak about it.”
“Your mom’s just a freak.”
“What did Harmony say to make you yell like that?”
“I’ll explain later. Just watch.”
I’d already missed the second call, but considering that Harmony had deferred to Alonso, it must have been a legal question. The third caller was a woman from Ottawa, Ontario. She had a soft, unsteady voice. Larry had to tell her twice to go ahead.
Hi. Uh, Harmony. My name is Jenna. I just wanted to start by saying that… I think you’re very brave to come forward like this.
She chuckled. “I never planned on coming this far forward.”
I know you didn’t expect this much attention. But still, you took on a famous person with a lot of money and a lot of resources. That’s not an easy thing to do. I...
Larry edged the woman on. What’s the question?
I was in the same position as you. I was…I was raped by a man who… He hurt me pretty bad. And I was too afraid to come forward. This man was very well respected in the community and… I just couldn’t find the courage to do it. I couldn’t do what you did. And I’m a lot older than you.
The caller was crying now. Harmony bit her lip and gazed down at her ceramic mug.
I guess my question is how? I mean, this only happened to you eight weeks ago. It’s been almost a year for me, and I still can’t… I still don’t even know how to handle it. Harmony, you’re an inspiration to me. How did you get so strong?
Although the average viewer couldn’t tell, the woman was disconnected. It was something producers did when a caller rambled on too long. In this remote-control world, when Nielsen boxes measured ratings in ten-second intervals, uncomfortable beats were a business hazard. As dramatic as the whole scene was, Harmony had only five seconds to reply before Larry gently pushed things forward. She almost missed her window.