change was more gradual. All I can say is it was around the time Dig started showing an interest in him.'
'Did you or your husband ever discuss Jamey with Chancellor?'
'Not a word. We suffered in silence.'
'That must have put quite a strain on your relationship with Chancellor.'
'Not really. The only relationship that had ever existed had been a business one.'
'Did that continue?'
The grey eyes smouldered with anger, and a flush rose in her cheeks. The delicate muscles of her jaw fluttered, and when she spoke, her voice had risen in pitch.
'Doctor, if you're suggesting that we backed off in order to put more change in our pockets, let me assure you - '
'I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort,' I broke in. 'Merely trying to get a picture of how the relationship with Chancellor affected the family.'
'How it affected us? It tore us apart. But no, we didn't sever business connections. You don't go dismantling a multimillion-dollar project upon which thousands of people depend because of personal matters. If that were the case, nothing in this world would ever get done.'
She retrieved the cigarette and puffed on it furiously. I gave her some time to cool down. When she finished smoking, she stubbed it out, patted her hair, and forced a smile.
'Forgive me,' she said. 'It's been very difficult.'
'There's nothing to forgive. These are tough questions.'
She nodded. 'Please go on.'
'Does your husband still blame himself for what happened between Jamey and Chancellor?'
'Yes. I've tried to tell him it would have happened one way or another, that homosexuality is inborn, not something you can be talked into, but as I mentioned before, he's a very stubborn man.'
The roots of Cadmus's denial had grown clearer, and I understood why raising the issue of Jamey's relationship with Chancellor had ended my interview with Dwight.
'He's consumed with guilt,' she added, 'to the point where I'm concerned about his health.'
I remembered the ravenous way he'd eyed the bottle of Glenlivet and guessed what kind of health problem she was worried about. Changing the subject, I asked:
'As far as you know, did Dig Chancellor use drugs?'
'As I said, I didn't know him well, so I really couldn't tell you for certain. But intuitively I'd say no. Like so many of them, he was obsessed with his body - vegetarianism, organic foods, weight-lifting; the man was the picture of health, massively muscular. He influenced Jamey to the point where he wouldn't eat in our home. So I can't see him polluting himself.'
What she was saying sounded logical on the surface, but it didn't mean much; the most zealous health freaks had a way of making an exception when it came to a cocaine buzz or an amyl nitrate orgasm.
'What about Jamey? Do you know of his taking drugs?'
'When he started acting bizarrely, I wondered about it. In fact, it was the first thing I thought of.'
'Why's that?'
'The way he was behaving seemed similar to a bum LSD or PCP trip, maybe even a reaction to bad speed.'
The drug talk seemed out of place coming from her patrician lips. She saw my surprise and smiled.
'I volunteer at a drug rehab centre sponsored by the Junior League. It's a halfway house and counselling centre for teenagers trying to get off hard drugs. We established it after the First Lady made a plea for citizen involvement. I've spent five hours a week there for the last eighteen months, and it's been very educational. Not that I was naive about drugs - I attended Stanford in the sixties - but things have got a lot worse since the sixties. The stories some of the kids tell are unbelievable: ten-year-olds on
heroin; designer drugs; babies born addicted. It's sensitized me to the enormousness of the problem. That is why when Jamey started acting strangely, I panicked and called one of the counsellors at the centre. She agreed that it could be hallucinogens but said that the possibility of some kind of mental breakdown shouldn't be overlooked. Unfortunately I heard only the part about drugs and blocked out the rest.'
She stopped, suddenly embarrassed.
'What I'm going to tell you now may sound stupid, but you have to understand that he was falling apart and I was frightened, for the entire family.'
'Please go on. I'm sure it's not stupid at all.'
She leaned forward penitently.
'I turned into a snoop, Doctor. Kept a close watch on him for telltale signs when I thought he wasn't looking -examining his pupils, surreptitiously checking his arms for needle marks. Several times I sneaked into his room and took it apart in hope of finding a syringe or a pill or some powder - anything I could have analysed at the centre. All I found were more of his dirty pictures. Once I even borrowed a pair of his underpants, thinking a urine trace could be done from it. In the end I came up with nothing and he kept deteriorating. I finally realised it had to be mental illness.'
She took another cigarette out of the case, had second thoughts, and put it down on the table.
'I've lost a lot of sleep wondering if catching it sooner would have made a difference. Dr. Mainwaring assured us that the schizophrenia was genetically programmed and would have occurred with or without treatment. What do you think?'
'Schizophrenia's not like cancer. Response to treatment has more to do with individual biology than with how quickly you start. You have nothing to feel guilty about.'
'I appreciate that,' she said. 'I really do. Is there anything else you'd like to know?'
'You said before he confided in you - '
'Infrequently.'
'I understand. During those infrequent times what kinds of things did he talk about?'
'Hurts, fears, insecurities. The usual plagues of childhood. He was curious about his parents and went through a period where he felt they'd rejected him. I tried to support him, to build up his sense of self-esteem.' 'How much did he know about them?' 'Do you mean about the kind of people they were? Pretty much all of it. At first I glossed over some of the rougher parts, but he could tell I was being elusive and kept pressing me. I thought it was best to be honest. The fact that they'd used drugs really bothered him, which is another reason - now that I'm thinking rationally - that I don't believe he would have taken anything.'
'Was he aware of the details of his father's suicide?' 'He knew that Peter had hanged himself, yes. He wanted to know why, which, of course, is an unanswerable question.'
'What kinds of feelings did he express about it?' 'It enraged him. He said that suicide was a wretched act and that he hated his father for destroying himself. I tried to tell him that Peter hadn't done it to hurt him, that he'd acted only out of tremendous inner pain. I emphasised his parents' good points, too - how charming and good- looking Peter had been, his mother's talent as a dancer. I wanted him to feel good about his roots and about himself.'
Uttering a raw sound that was half laugh, half sob, she breathed in sharply and dabbed at her eyes.
I waited for her to calm down before continuing. 'I'd like to hear about his childhood behaviour patterns.' 'Certainly. What would you like to know?' 'Let's start with sleep. Was he a good sleeper as a child?' 'No. He was always restless and easy to wake.' 'Did he have frequent nightmares, night terrors, or episodes of sleepwalking?'
'There were occasional bad dreams, nothing out of the ordinary. But several months before he was hospitalised, he began to wake up screaming. Dr. Mainwaring said those were night terrors and probably related to some neurological problem.'
'How often did this happen?'
'Several times a week. It's one of the reasons we let him move into the guesthouse; the noise was frightening the girls. I assume they continued or got worse after he moved out, but I can't be sure because he was out of earshot.'
'Did he ever say anything when he screamed?'
She shook her head.
'Only moans and shrieks.' She shuddered. 'Horrible.'
