Mask Market

leave this room, frankly.”

“What ‘things’?” she said, as Beryl flicked the ash from her cigarette into a crystal vase that held a single blood-red rose.

“Reparations,” Beryl said, on cue.

“What are you—?”

“My client,” I said, holding up my hand as if to stop Beryl from saying anything more, “has a number of causes of action she intends to pursue, Ms. Summerdale. You would, needless to say, be the defendant in any such litigation. And please don’t tell me about the statute of limitations,” I went on, as if she’d tried to interrupt. “A team of eminent treatment professionals has already provided sworn affidavits that my client had suppressed all memory of the horrors inflicted on her until very recently. We are quite confident that we could survive any motion to dismiss.”

“I don’t under—”

“I told them everything, Mother,” Beryl said, vomiting the last word.

“I have no idea what you think you might have ‘told’ anyone,” the mother said, strength coming back into her voice. “You have a very troubled history, Beryl. Your mental state was never—”

“That’s what happens to little girls who get turned into trained dogs, Mother. Lap dogs, remember?”

“You’re being—”

“You still have your collection of baby-sized speculums, you filthy fucking bitch? You still have your model- train transformer? The one with the extra wires for bad little girls who don’t learn to make Mommy happy?”

“You are insane,” the woman said. Emphatically enough, but I could hear the stress fractures in her voice. “You’ve been insane since you were a child.”

“Nobody’s insane here,” I said, soothingly. “Nobody’s even unreasonable. You see, your husband—your ex- husband, I should say—was very forthcoming, Ms. Summerdale.”

“He never knew any—” she blurted out, before she realized what she was saying, and clamped down on the words.

“He knew more than you ever imagined,” I said, finishing her thought. “And it wasn’t just that he had an idea; he had proof. I wonder if the people who bought your house in Westchester ever found the wires for the microphones.”

She sat there, stone-still, not moving a muscle. Her face was a frozen, expressionless mask.

“Your ‘crafts room,’” I said. “The one with the lock on the door, the double-pad carpet, and the acoustical tiles on the walls. The room where you were teaching Beryl private mother-daughter stuff. The room your husband was never allowed in. You thought he bought that, didn’t you? Everybody needs their own space, right? And, after all, he had his den, didn’t he?”

She still didn’t move. Didn’t react when Beryl dropped her burning cigarette butt into the vase, and immediately lit another.

“There are over twenty boxes of cassette tapes,” I lied. “No video, but the audio makes it clear enough.”

“I was in therapy for years and years,” Beryl said, on cue again. “But I could never figure out what was wrong. If it wasn’t for those tapes, I’d still be loaded up on antidepressants, walking around like a zombie. Good old Daddy. All those years, you thought you had him castrated. But he was doing just what you were doing, only coming at it from a different angle. You were both fucking me. Fucking your little girl. You did it for fun, and Daddy did it for money. Your money. Now it’s my turn.”

“What do you want?” the woman said, dead-voiced. Speaking to me as if Beryl wasn’t in the room.

“My client is going to need a lot of treatment,” I said, greasily. “Expensive treatment. This is much more important to her than digging up the past. What good would that do?”

The mother’s mask shifted. “You think you can come into my own home and blackmail me, you grubby little shyster? I’ve got lawyers that would crush you like the cockroach you are.”

“I’m sorry you characterize a sincere attempt to settle a viable case out of court as ‘blackmail,’ Ms. Summerdale,” I said, reaching for my attache case. “I did warn you this was a possibility,” I said to Beryl.

“I like it better this way,” she said, licking her lips. “I can’t wait.”

We hadn’t even gotten to our feet before the mother caved.

“How do I know you won’t be back?” the mother said, a half- hour later.

“Because we’re going to give you not only a properly executed and fully binding release of any and all claims against you for any reason, covering my client’s life from birth to the present day, but a cast-iron confidentiality agreement, one that requires my client to pay you triple the amount of the settlement as liquidated damages should she disclose any of the…material we discussed.”

“I…”

“And,” I said, “something even better. A notarized affidavit from my client acknowledging that the…allegations we discussed were a complete fabrication. I have all the documents right here,” I said, soothingly, fondling the black leather attache case. “You’re not settling a lawsuit; you’re agreeing to pay for your daughter’s desperately needed long-term treatment.”

“It’s a lot of money.”

“Oh, please, Mother,” Beryl said, in a teenager’s voice. “It’s, like, only a fraction of what you’d be leaving me in your will anyway, isn’t it? Just look at it as an accelerated inheritance.”

“When do you expect to—?”

“Right this second,” Beryl told her, both hands on the leash. “You’ve got a computer somewhere in this house. And you’ve got online access to your money, too. Maybe not all of it, but more than enough to cover what you’re going to pay me. A few mouse-clicks, and it’s all wire-transferred.”

“Even if I could—”

“Oh, you can, Mother. Come on, let’s go play.”

Beryl tapped keys on her cell phone.

“It’s there,” she said. “Move it out, and close the account down. Now!”

“I never want to see you again,” the woman said, spent.

“Oh, you won’t, Mother. Just one more thing, and we’re out of here forever.”

“What?” she said, hollowed out way past empty.

“The baby,” Beryl told her, a hideous smile playing over her lips. “After what you taught me, I always wanted a little girl of my own.”

“You’re…”

“You can just buy another one. And I know you will. After all, you haven’t even started ‘training’ this one yet. But I need more than money, Mother. I need to take something from you.” She clasped her hands in a prayerful gesture, said, “Oh, please, please, tell me you understand,” as soft-voiced as a scorpion.

“Sign there…and there,” I told Beryl.

“I still don’t see why I should have to split the money with you. It was me she did those things to, not you. And if you hadn’t brought me back…”

“We went over all that. You keep what you got from Parks; we split what we got from your mother.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes.”

“Haven’t you already stolen enough? From me, I mean.”

“You already played that card.”

“I always thought my so-called father was the most pathetic man on earth,” the beautiful viper said. “Thanks for showing me otherwise.”

“Sign both,” I reminded her, pointing at a line on the papers below which her name and Social Security number had been typed. An embossed notary’s seal was already on the page.

“What do you want that baby for?”