Chapter 33: You Dolt!

August 8, 1984, New York, New York

My habit of always wearing a seatbelt had prevented me from being tossed forward into the back of the driver's seat. Andrea, on the other hand, had struck her head and shoulder on the passenger's seat and the privacy screen. I saw a trickle of blood from a cut on her temple, and she moaned, holding her right arm cradled in her left.

"Ms. Schumann?" the driver, Alberto, asked, lowering the privacy divider. "Are you both OK?"

"Ms. Schumann has a minor cut on her forehead," I said. "I'm OK."

"My shoulder hurts like hell," Andrea said.

"I'm going to call for the paramedics," Alberto said.

He used his two-way Motorola radio to call his dispatcher, then got out of the car to assess the damage. About a minute later, a police officer knocked on the window, and I opened the door.

"Are you OK, Sir?" he asked.

"Yes. I was wearing my seatbelt. Ms. Schumann has a cut on her forehead and says her shoulder hurts."

"You can get out, but Ms. Schumann should stay where she is until the paramedics arrive."

I followed the officer's instructions and, after unbuckling my seatbelt, climbed out of the car and surveyed the damage. The rear end was pushed in, and there was all kinds of debris from the rear of the Town Car and from the front of the Yellow Cab that had hit us.

"Do you have ID, Sir?" the police officer, whose name badge read 'J. Sweeney', asked.

I nodded, pulled my wallet from my inside suit-coat pocket, removed my Illinois license, and handed it to him. As he wrote my information in his notebook, I noticed his partner had cuffed the cabbie and was searching the cab. I wondered what that was about, but decided it was better not to ask.

"Where are you staying, Mr. Kane?" he asked.

"I just checked out of the Times Square InterContinental Hotel," I replied. "I have a flight out from LaGuardia at 9:00pm."

"We'll want the paramedics to check you, but you appear fine, so I see no reason you won't make your flight."

He handed back my ID, and I put it back into my wallet, then put my wallet in my pocket. An NYC*EMS ambulance pulled up, and two paramedics climbed out. The officer directed one to the car to check on Andrea, and the other took me to the back of the ambulance and had me sit down.

"Were you wearing your seatbelt?" the paramedic, whose name badge read 'T. Carter', asked.

"Yes."

"You didn't hit your head or lose consciousness?"

"No."

"Are you in any pain?"

"No."

"Let me check your eyes, your pulse, and your BP, and if those check out, you won't need to go to the hospital."

He proceeded to check my eyes with a pen light, took my pulse, which was 70, and my BP, which was 110/60.

"Everything checks out. If you have any symptoms, especially a stiff neck or blurred vision, get to a hospital or see your personal physician."

"Thanks," I said.

"Transport!" his partner called out.

I got up and moved out of the way so Paramedic Carter could get the gurney from the ambulance. Once they had Andrea on it, I moved over to her.

"They're taking me to Lower Manhattan Presbyterian," she said. "Obviously, I can't take you to the office. We live about six blocks from here. Let me give you the address. Tara should be home, and you can visit until you have to leave for the airport."

I took out my small address book and wrote the address in the block where I had Tara's name and number. Andrea took out a card and, despite her shoulder injury, wrote a quick note to the doorman and handed it to me. Once the paramedics had loaded her into the ambulance, I asked the cop for directions, then got my suit bag from the trunk of the Town Car, which had sprung open from the impact.

Given the traffic, walking would be much faster, so I set out for the building where the Schumanns lived. About ten minutes later, I walked up to the doors of the building on Broad Street, gave my name, and handed the card and note to the doorman, whose name badge simply read 'Mike'.

"Miss Schumann is at home, Mr. Kane," he said. "Let me call up and announce you."

I nodded, and he made a call. It was obvious Tara asked questions to which he didn't know the answer, and once he completed the call, he directed me to the elevators. Three minutes later, Tara greeted me from the open door.

"What happened?" she asked. "Mike didn't know."

"I was with your mom in a Town Car on our way to 1 Wall Street, and we were rear-ended by a cab. Your mom didn't have her seatbelt on and has a small cut on her temple, and her shoulder hurts, so they took her to Lower Manhattan Presbyterian Hospital to get checked out. I had on my seatbelt."

"Oh my gosh!" Tara exclaimed. "Does my dad know?"

"I have no idea."

"Come inside, and I'll call him."

I walked into the elegant apartment, laid out similarly to mine, though with more expensive furniture and artwork, and only on one floor. I totally wasn't surprised to see Daphne sitting on the couch. I set my bags down, hung my suit coat in the closet by the door where Tara indicated, then went over and sat down next to Daphne while Tara made the call.

"What happened?" Daphne asked.

I explained, and had just finished when Tara came over to us.

"Dad is going to head to the hospital. Can I get you something to drink? We have Coke, Sprite, and Dad's Root Beer."

"I'll take a root beer, please."

She got me a bottle and came back to sit with Daphne and me.

"How did your lunch go?" Tara asked.

"I made some good contacts, and I'm sure your dad and I will find a way to do business together. I had hoped to meet some of your mom's colleagues, but that obviously fell through."

"You'll just have to come back!" Daphne declared.

I chuckled, "Ulterior motives?"

She laughed, "There is nothing ulterior about them! You know what I want to do!"

"WHOA! Who's the hunk?!" a striking blonde girl, who I guessed was about fifteen, asked.

"Chill, Kim!" Tara commanded, then turned to me and said, "My baby sister."

"BABY?!" Kim protested. "I'm fifteen!"

"Don't you have some place to be?" Tara asked.

"Not if HE asks me to stay! Then I know exactly where he and I will be!"

"Go hang out with Jody," Tara ordered. "You're only fifteen, and Jonathan is too old for you."

"Oh, right!" Kim said, rolling her eyes. "He's like in his twenties!"

"GO!" Tara commanded.

"Bitch!" Kim exclaimed, but then headed for the door and left the apartment.

"She's always like that," Daphne said. "She flirts with every guy she thinks is hot, but she's a total prick tease."

"Well, Tara was right about one thing — fifteen is way too young for me."

"Forget what the law says for a sec," Daphne said. "It's what? Like six years?"

"Almost seven. But my firm rule is I wouldn't go out with someone who hadn't at least graduated from High School, which means eighteen is the lower limit."

"What about someone who graduated early, at like, sixteen or whatever?"

"OK, sure, there are outliers, but those are pretty rare, and my rule doesn't really need to account for that, so eighteen is the limit. It really comes down to maturity more than anything, and that's as good a line to draw as any I can imagine. It certainly hasn't interfered, and, honestly, a lot of eighteen-year-olds aren't super mature because they haven't had much experience in the world."

"Be serious now — if a hot girl like Kim offered you a chance to pop her cherry and nobody could ever find out, you'd decline because she's too young?"

"Yes," I replied firmly.

"They'll make you turn in your membership card in the trader fraternity!" Tara said with a laugh. "Every single one of my dad's friends would bang her in a New York minute."

"Given I reject the 'coke and hookers' lifestyle, they haven't offered me a membership card, so there isn't one to revoke! My turn for a serious question — your dad?"

"No. I think he's more like you, the same as Daphne's dad, at least about drugs and prostitutes. Faithfulness is a different story."

"That's another line I won't cross."

"I'm not saying he has, just that it's different from 'coke and hookers'."

"Mine, on the other hand, has," Daphne interjected. "He banged his best friend's seventeen-year-old daughter. Mom found out, and not getting a divorce cost Dad a new Mercedes and a post-nup that if he did it again, Mom gets millions, plus the house in the Hamptons and the apartment here in the city."

"Brutal," I chuckled.

"Yeah, she had his balls in a vise and tightened it as far as she could."

"Ouch," I said, wincing.

"What time do you have to leave for the airport?" Tara asked, thankfully changing the subject.

"My flight is at 9:00pm, so, between 6:30pm and 7:00pm. I do need to call the car service to tell them where to pick me up."

"I could give you a ride," Tara said. "Neither of my parents will be using the BMW tonight, and if Dad needs to go somewhere, he can call a car service, which is what he usually does for any place in the city."

"I'll still need to call so I can cancel the car."

"Go ahead."

"OK to call my office as well?"

"Sure."

I went to the phone and called the number for the car service and let them know I needed to cancel the pick-up. They acknowledged the request, provided a cancellation number, and then I hung up. I dialed Violet's direct line, contemplating if I should tell her about the accident on the phone, and decided I had to, or I'd be in such deep shit I might never get out.