Mary Clark - Let Me Call You Sweetheart

As she undressed for bed that night, Kerry mentally reviewed what she had read, and noted that there were two things she had to do: make an appointment to talk with Dr. Smith, and visit Skip Reardon at the State Prison in Trenton.

In the nine years since the divorce, Kerry had dated on and off, but there had never been anyone special. Her closest friend was Margaret Mann, her roommate at Boston College. Marg was blond and petite, and in college she and Kerry had been dubbed the long and the short of it. Now an investment banker with an apartment on West Eighty-sixth Street, Margaret was confidante, pal and buddy. On occasional Friday evenings, Kerry would have a sitter in for Robin and drive to Manhattan. She and Margaret would have dinner and catch a Broadway show or a movie or just linger over dessert for hours and talk.

The Friday night after Geoff Dorso left the transcript, Kerry arrived at Margaret’s apartment and gratefully sank onto the couch in front of a platter of cheese and grapes.

Margaret handed her a glass of wine. “Bottoms up. You look great.”

Kerry was wearing a new hunter green suit with a long jacket and calf-length skirt. She looked down at it and shrugged. “Thanks. I finally got a chance to buy some new clothes and I’ve been sporting them all week.”

Margaret laughed. “Remember how your mother used to put on her lipstick and say, ‘You never know where romance may linger’? She was right, wasn’t she?”

“I guess so. She and Sam have been married fifteen years now, and whenever they come East or Robin and I visit them in Colorado, they’re holding hands.”

Margaret grinned. “We should be so lucky.” Then her expression became serious. “How’s Robin? Her face is healing well, I hope.”

“Seems to be fine. I’m taking her to see another plastic surgeon tomorrow. Just for a consultation.”

Margaret hesitated, then said, “I was trying to find a way to suggest that. At the office I was talking about the accident and mentioned Dr. Smith’s name. One of the traders, Stuart Grant, picked up on it right away. He said his wife consulted Smith. She wanted to do something about the bags under her eyes, but she never went back after the first visit. She thought there was something wrong with him.”

Kerry straightened up. “What did she mean?”

“Her name is Susan, but the doctor kept slipping and calling her Suzanne. Then he told her he could do her eyes, but he’d rather do her whole face, that she had the makings of a great beauty and was wasting her life not taking advantage of it.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Three or four years, I guess. Oh, and something else. Smith apparently also rambled on to Susan about how beauty brings responsibility, and that some people abuse it and invite jealousy and violence.” She stopped, then asked, “Kerry, what’s the matter? You have a funny look on your face.”

“Marg, this is important. Are you sure that Smith talked about women inviting jealousy and violence?”

“I’m sure that’s what Stuart told me.”

“Do you have Stuart’s phone number? I want to talk to his wife.”

“In the office. They live in Greenwich, but I happen to know that the number’s unlisted, so it will have to wait till Monday. What’s this about, anyhow?”

“I’ll tell you about it over dinner,” she said distractedly. It seemed to Kerry that the trial transcript was on a Rolodex in her mind. Dr. Smith swore that his daughter was in fear for her life because of Skip Reardon’s unfounded jealousy. Had he been lying? Had Suzanne given Skip reason to be jealous? And if so, of whom?

At eight o’clock Saturday morning, Kerry received a phone call from Geoff Dorso. “I beeped in to the office and got your message,” he told her. “I’m going to Trenton to see Skip this afternoon. Can you make it?” He explained that in order to register for the three o’clock visit, they would have to be at the prison by 1:45.

Almost as a reflex, Kerry heard herself say, “I’m sure I can make it. I’ll have to make arrangements for Robin, but I’ll meet you there.”

Two hours later, Kerry and an impatient Robin were in Livingston, New Jersey, in the office of Dr. Ben Roth, a noted plastic surgeon.

“I’m going to miss the soccer game,” Robin fretted.

“You’ll be a little late, that’s all,” Kerry soothed. “Don’t worry.”

“Very late,” Robin protested. “Why couldn’t he see me this afternoon after the game?”

“Perhaps if you’d sent the doctor your schedule, he could have worked around it,” Kerry teased.

“Oh, Mom.”

“You can bring Robin in now, Ms. McGrath,” the receptionist announced.

Dr. Roth, in his mid-thirties, warm and affable, was a welcome change from Dr. Smith. He examined Robin’s face carefully. “The lacerations probably looked pretty bad right after the accident, but they were what we call superficial. They didn’t deeply penetrate the dermis. You haven’t got any problems.”

Robin looked relieved. “Great. Thanks, Doctor. Let’s go, Mom.”

“Wait in the reception area, Robin. I’ll be out in just a moment. I want to talk to the doctor.” Kerry’s voice carried what Robin called “the tone.” It meant “and I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

“Okay,” Robin said with an exaggerated sigh as she departed.

“I know you have patients waiting, so I won’t be long, Doctor, but there is something I must ask you,” Kerry said.

“I have time. What is it, Ms. McGrath?”

Kerry reduced to a few brief sentences a description of what she had seen in Dr. Smith’s office. “So I guess I have two questions,” she concluded. “Can you remake just any face to look like someone else, or does some fundamental factor, like a similar bone structure, have to be present? And knowing that it is possible to remake some faces so that they look alike, is this something that plastic surgeons do, I mean deliberately remake someone to look like someone else?”

It was twenty minutes later when Kerry rejoined Robin and they rushed to the soccer field. Unlike Kerry, Robin was not a natural athlete, and Kerry had spent long hours working with her, because her heart was set on being a good player. Now, as she watched Robin confidently kick the ball past the goalie, Kerry was still reflecting on Dr. Roth’s flat statement: “It’s a fact that some surgeons give everyone the same nose or chin or eyes, but I find it extremely unusual that any surgeon would in essence clone the faces of his patients.”

At eleven-thirty she caught Robin’s eye and waved good-bye. Robin would go home from the game with her best friend, Cassie, and would spend the afternoon at her house.

A few minutes later, Kerry was on the road to Trenton.

She had visited the state prison several times and always found the grim aspect of barbed wire and guard towers a sobering sight. This was not a place she looked forward to seeing again.

Kerry found Geoff waiting for her in the area where visitors were registered. “I m really glad you made it,” he said. They talked little while they waited for their scheduled meeting. Geoff seemed to understand that she did not want his input at this time.

Promptly at three o’clock a guard approached them and told them to follow him.

Kerry did not know what she expected Skip Reardon to look like now. It had been ten years since she had sat in at his sentencing. The impression she had retained of him was of a tall, good-looking, broad-shouldered young man with fiery red hair. But more than his appearance, it was his statement that had been burned into her mind: Dr. Charles Smith is a liar. Before God and this court, I swear he is a liar!