Final Option

pleased.”
    “Are you going to fire him next?” inquired Jane, appearing with my drink. “In a university you don’t get to fire anybody, not even your secretary. I think the power’s gone to his head. Did you tell Kate about Margot?”
    Barton covered his face with his hands. “Is there any hideous family secret that won’t be revealed?” he cried in mock horror.
    “Well this one won’t be a secret for long,” replied Jane. She turned to me. “Margot called me this afternoon. She’s terribly excited. It seems that she’s pregnant.”
    “So much for the lesbian life-style,” I remarked.
    “Oh, no. You don’t get it. This is part of the lesbian life-style. Brooke, that’s Margot’s girlfriend, excuse me, ‘life partner,’ artificially inseminated her. I guess they got a gay male friend to make a contribution. Margot was not shy about sharing the details. It seems they used a turkey baster. They plan on raising the baby together—Mommy Margot, Mommy Brooke, and Uncle Daddy whatever his name is.”
    “Has she told your mother?” I asked.
    “Yes,” said Barton. “All mother could say was she was thankful that Dad wasn’t alive to hear it. She also says that she’s glad she’s moving. I guess she leaves for Palm Beach Friday morning. I don’t know. It seems like the whole family is experiencing a meltdown. You see it in chaos theory. A complex, rapidly changing system develops its own, unique kind of equilibrium. Then, one exogenous event sends the whole thing careening out of control.”
    “What a happy thought,” said Jane. “You’re losing your sense of proportion. What happened to your father is terrible, true. But nothing has changed when it comes to Margot. She was nuts before he was killed, and she’s still nuts now.”
    “What about mother moving to Palm Beach? Don’t you think that’s a little sudden? Plus, there’s something going on between Krissy and her husband. When I was with them yesterday, something was not right.”
    “Oh, bother. I’m sure it’s just that Krissy thinks that she’s not getting enough attention. There’s nothing new in that.”
    “I was a little surprised to see Krissy at the Arthritis Benefit last night,” I interjected. “I know that she worked very hard on the event, but there was a lot of whispering going on.”
    “Mother was just furious,” admitted Barton. “It was good for not one, but two four A.M. phone calls.”
    “She just wants to be sure that she gets her fair share of sympathetic adoration,” added Jane. “I’m sure she’s milking your father’s death for all it’s worth, while Fourey’s out exercising his horses. Not that I blame him. If I were married to your sister, I would live in the bam.”
    “This is hard on Krissy,” countered her husband. “Of all of us, Krissy was closest to my father.”
    “She had him wrapped around her little finger, is what you mean. I’ve always felt sorry for Fourey. Your dad was a hard act to follow. We talked about it when they got married. Bart always treated Krissy like a princess. Fourey is a nice guy, but he’s not a prince. In the end this will probably be good for Krissy. She’s twenty-six years old, and this is her first encounter with reality.”
    “I think Krissy is immune to reality,” Barton muttered.
    “Were you invited to Krissy’s wedding?” Jane asked me.
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “No offense, but you were probably the only English speaker in this town who wasn’t. It’s really too bad you missed it.”
    “It was a bit much,” conceded Barton. “But it was all my dad’s doing. As I recall, Mother fought him every inch of the way.”
    “Bart planned the entire wedding as a surprise for Krissy,” continued Jane. “He arranged for the decorations, the color scheme, the food. If Fourey hadn’t shown up I don’t think anyone would have noticed until it was time to say ‘I do.’ Bart even took her to Tiffany’s blindfolded, to pick out a diamond necklace and tiara for her to wear during the ceremony. She had two wedding dresses, one for the ceremony and one for the reception. He flew Stuart White and his fifty-nine-piece band in from New York for the reception. She and Fourey departed for their honeymoon in a helicopter.”
    “A helicopter?” I echoed.
    “Like I said,” answered Jane, wryly. “Bart Hexter is a tough act to follow.”
     
    Dinner was casual and delicious, the kind of home cooking that seldom passed across my