Chapter 81: Explorations

July 5, 2002, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Jesse

“Breakfast?” I asked CeCe when she finally woke up on Friday morning.

“That would mean we have to get out of bed!” CeCe protested, snuggling closer.

“I think we eventually have to; after all, your parents will be home this afternoon and I was led to believe that if he comes home and finds us in bed, he wouldn’t appreciate it none too much?”

CeCe laughed, “Pulp Fiction, right?”

“Very good! You win a cookie!”

“Which one is that?”

“Kelly’s Heroes.”

“I think the best part about going away to college is not having to follow any rules!”

I laughed, “Good luck with THAT! There will be plenty of rules.”

“OK, not having to follow my dad’s rules! But you don’t have that problem!”

“Even I have rules and you know it! And my dad has rules, too. Everyone does. It’s even possible your dorm will have a ‘no overnight guests’ rule that applies to your room, even if the person is also living in the same dorm!”

“You’re just full of good news!” CeCe complained.

“Are you in a co-ed dorm?”

“Co-ed floor, but each wing is either guys or girls. It doesn’t bother you?”

“What? That you would sleep with someone else? Why should it? I can’t justify a double standard, and you know I have sex with other girls. Heck, you set it up in some cases!”

“Guys tend to be touchy about that.”

“Oh, right, and girls aren’t possessive or anything! Which is part of the problem with some girls who are interested — they want complete control over who I spend time with, and I’m not signing up for that. I’m not just talking about sex, either. I have friends who are girls and plan to keep them. Anyone I’m with has to accept that, or it’s never going to work out.”

“But you do plan to marry, right? And not like your dad?”

“That works for him, though there have been serious struggles. That doesn’t work for me. I want to marry one woman, stay married for life, have kids, and so on. My moms are like that, and so are all of my dad’s friends. Well, there have been divorces, but you know what I mean.”

“So you’ll just stop playing around?”

“Yes. In fact, Dad would have, had the Soviet Union collapsed a few years before it did. If that had happened before 1986, he’d have married Larisa’s mom. Well, she wouldn’t have been Larisa’s mom, but you get the point.”

“You switch between Lara and Larisa. Which is her actual name?”

“Larisa. Lara is a diminutive, similar to Mikey or Stevie, and really no different from calling you CeCe instead of Cecilia. Her mom’s name is Tatyana, but she’s usually called Tanya, and her husband is Dmitry, but usually called Dima. And it’s more complicated, too, because General Dmitry’s friends would call him ‘Sergeyevich’, which is his patronymic, and in a more formal situation, he’d be Dmitry Sergeyevich.

“And it gets even more complicated, because you change what seems to be the middle name based on if they are a son or daughter, and add an ‘a’ to the end of a woman’s family name. Before she married, she was Tatyana Ivanovna Voronina, because her father is Ivan Konstantinovich Voronin. Now, she’s Tatyana Ivanovna Grigoryeva.”

“If I understand, her dad’s father’s name was Konstantin.”

“You win another cookie!” I declared.

“Which makes her daughter Lara ... I’m not sure how to make Dmitry into her middle name.”

“Larisa Dmitriyevna Grigoryeva. It’s either ‘evna’ or ‘ovna’ for girls, and ‘vich’ for boys. Dad followed the pattern, at least with us boys, because all of us have ‘Stephen’ as our middle name.”

“Wouldn’t it be ‘Stephenson’?”

“Technically, if he followed it exactly. I don’t think you heard General Dmitry call me ‘Jesse Stepanovich’.”

“No, but that’s basically Jesse, son of Stephen, right?”

“Exactly. And now, that’s enough Russian! I need breakfast!”

CeCe reluctantly agreed, and we got out of bed.

🎤 Steve

“That,” Erika said, breathing heavily, “was awesome!”

I’d brought her off three times with my tongue while she watched in the mirror, and had just moved up to kiss her. We exchanged a deep French kiss, then I moved a bit and opened the drawer of the nightstand and extracted a tube of K-Y Jelly.

“What’s that?” Erika asked.

“Lubricant. You’re plenty wet, but you want me to just fuck you hard, and this will help.”

I uncapped the tube and was about to squeeze some into my palm when I heard a knock at the door and a muffled, ‘Steve’. I thought about ignoring it, but I knew that none of my wives would interrupt me without a very good reason.

“Sorry,” I said to Erika. “They wouldn’t knock if it wasn’t urgent.”

I got out of bed, pulled on my briefs, left the bedroom, and walked the three steps to the kitchen door. I unlocked it and opened it just enough to see Suzanne standing there.

“Sorry,” she said. “But there’s a CPD detective here along with someone from DCFS.”

“Did they say what they wanted?”

“To speak to you or Kara,” Suzanne replied. “Kara suggested I get you.”

“Please tell me you didn’t let them into the house.”

“Of course not!” Suzanne declared. “They’re on the front porch.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

I shut the door, locked it, then let Erika know why we’d been interrupted.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

I shrugged, “I have no idea. You turned seventeen last week, so even if they were to find you here and figure out what we were doing, there’s nothing they could do. Just stay here and I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“OK.”

I went to the bathroom, washed my face, then dressed and left the playroom. I went to the front door, stepped out onto the porch, and closed the door behind me.

“I’m Steve Adams,” I said. “I have a concealed carry permit, but I am not carrying. May I help you?”

“I’m Detective Sergeant Jim Malone and this is Ms. Kennedy from DCFS.”

I nearly laughed because his name was identical to Sean Connery’s character in The Untouchables, but refrained, as I didn’t want to cause any trouble.

“I won’t speak to either of you without an attorney present,” I said.

“I’m not an investigator,” Ms. Kennedy said. “I’m a victim’s rights advocate and sexual abuse counselor.”

She handed me her card and this time I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Jackie Kennedy?” I asked.

“I was born in December 1963,” she said. “My brother, who was born in 1965, is Jack. My parents were big Kennedy supporters.

“Obviously. Why are you here?

“To speak with your daughter, Birgit,” Detective Malone said. “I’m following up because two other young women have come forward with complaints about Arnold Gardner. The State’s Attorney is planning to file charges with at least five counts, and convictions on those alone would result in a sentence of as much as thirty years.”

I debated calling one of the attorneys, but I’d actually leave that decision up to Birgit.

“Let me get her,” I said. “Excuse me one moment.”

I went back into the house and found Kara in the sunroom.

“They want to speak to Birgit,” I said. “More girls came forward about Arnold Gardner and the State’s Attorney is looking to lock him up for another thirty years. The woman from DCFS is a victim’s rights advocate and counselor, not an investigator.”

“Birgit went for a walk with Lilibeth.”

“I’ll call her,” I said.

I retrieved my mobile phone from my study and pressed the first speed-dial button, which Birgit had ‘helpfully’ programmed with her number, moving her moms to other buttons.

🎤 Birgit

“Empress of the Universe!” I exclaimed into the phone because I knew it was Dad from the display. “How may you serve me today?”

“In your dreams, Pumpkin!” Dad chuckled. “Where are you?”

“Just turning onto Woodlawn from Hyde Park. Why?”

“A police detective and a lady from DCFS are here to talk to you. More girls made complaints about Arnold Gardner.”

“I already told everything!” I protested, wishing hot death on Loki. “I even testified!”

“I know, though you gave a victim impact statement, not testimony, per se. I’m guessing they’re going to ask you some questions in case they need to call you in the new cases.”

“I thought they couldn’t do that,” I replied.

“Actually, according to the statute, if someone is convicted of a sex offense, then that conviction can be used as evidence against them if there are new charges.”

“So he’d stay in prison?”

“For another thirty years, according to the detective, though I think he gets some credits for good behavior. Do you want a lawyer?”

“Do I need one?”

“I don’t think so, but it’s up to you.”

“I think I’ll see what they say first. I can stop talking and ask for a lawyer, right?”

“Yes, though if they aren’t asking about things that incriminate you, you could be forced to answer by a judge.”

“I’ll talk to them. Be there in three minutes.”

“OK.”

I snapped the phone shut, totally annoyed because of what I had to say next.

“The police and DCFS are waiting at the house to talk to me about the idiot who thought I’d have sex with him.”

“Why? I thought you said he was in jail.”

“He is, but other girls went to the cops about him, and Dad thinks they’re following up because they can use my testimony to put the guy away for thirty years instead of two.”

“Whoa!”

“Unfortunately, that means feeding and housing him at taxpayer expense. I could solve the problem with several well-placed karate kicks!”

Lilibeth laughed, “Ouch!”

“I didn’t do enough damage with the first one, but he went down like a sack of potatoes, and I decided against kicking him while he was down.”

“I think I should go home,” Lilibeth said.

I groaned, then agreed. “Probably. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done, OK?”

“Yes.”

She turned at 51st Street and I continued to the house, and walked up to the porch where Dad was standing with two people.

“This is Birgit,” Dad said. “Birgit, Detective Malone, from the Chicago Police Department and Ms. Kennedy from DCFS. They want to talk to you about the attempted sexual assault at Water Tower Place.”

“OK,” I said. “What do you need to know?”

“Mr. Adams, do you think we could go inside?” Detective Malone asked. “It’s hot and humid out here, despite being mid-morning.”

I could see Dad weighing the options.

“As long as we agree you are only entering for the purposes of speaking with Birgit,” he said, “we can go into the kitchen.”

“Are you sure, Dad?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Is there a problem?” Ms. Kennedy asked.

Dad nodded, “Just decades of harassment by various law enforcement agencies, mostly the FBI, but also CPD, as well as by DCFS.”

“May I ask why?” Detective Malone inquired. “The only things on the report were about an arrest of a young woman I presume is your sister, but I found no record of charges or conviction; there was also an OD, but no charges were filed. And your gun permit, which you acknowledged.”

“I had close Russian friends during the 80s and close Muslim friends now, plus some individuals with vendettas tried to use law enforcement and DCFS against me.”

“The FBI questioned ME about MY friends!” I exclaimed. “As if a teenage girl was a terrorist! Her dad was a math professor! And they were basically chased out of the country because they were Saudi Muslims!”

“I think I get the picture,” Detective Malone said. “We have no interest in anything at all except discussing what happened to you.”

“Then let’s go inside,” Dad said.

The four of us went to the kitchen, and everyone but Dad sat down at the table. He offered them something to drink, which they accepted, so he poured them both coffee, poured me a glass of juice, got himself a glass of ice water.

“We’d like you to tell us exactly what happened that night at Water Tower Place,” Detective Malone said. “Start with when you left home and give us as much detail as possible.”

I looked to Dad who nodded, and I relayed the story, with the detective asking questions, including the names of everyone who was there, and asking for clarification.

“Her story matches what is in the original police report and the DCFS report,” Ms. Kennedy said.

“Duh!” I declared. “I told the truth! You even have video of him!”

“That’s true,” Detective Malone agreed. “Mr. Adams, is it your regular practice to allow your young children to be unsupervised?”

“EXCUSE ME!” I interrupted, not waiting for Dad, because I was outraged. “I am fourteen, a young woman, and perfectly capable of taking care of myself! It’s not like we were playing in the middle of the express lanes of the Dan Ryan or walking through the Robert Taylor Homes!”

“What she said,” Dad said, chuckling and shaking his head.

“Birgit,” Ms. Kennedy said, “there were younger girls with you.”

“Yes, and we were in Water Tower Place, with tons of security cameras, and my parents were in the building. I have a mobile phone, and so do my brothers and sisters, which is how Dad got to me right away. But even if he wasn’t there, it’s totally safe. And I can take care of myself. I’m pretty sure the paramedics took the pervert to the hospital because I put a stop to it!”

“My daughter is a candidate for black belt in Shōtōkan, and I’m a Senior Instructor, with a rank of 6th Dan.”

“You don’t have to answer this,” Detective Malone said, “but why would a sixth-degree black belt need a concealed carry license?”

“I use the appropriate tools for the appropriate task. A .20 gauge shotgun for home defense, a 9mm Beretta for conceal carry, and Shōtōkan karate. Birgit is trained with all of them and has her own FOID card. Her outrage is because she’s a mature young woman who can care for herself, and I have to say, acquitted herself quite well. Neither her mother nor I are concerned about her being someplace like Water Tower Place.”

Or anywhere else, for that matter, I thought.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Birgit,” Detective Malone said. “I didn’t mean to. Are you willing to testify if necessary?”

“Of course!” I declared. “I gave my victim impact statement and stared the pervert in the eyes while doing it. He looked down because he couldn’t take it!”

“Birgit, have you had any counseling?” Ms. Kennedy asked.

“For what? Because some old, ugly, fat guy thought he could f ... have sex with me? He’s the one who needs counseling, not me!”

“Victims of sex crimes often need counseling.”

What I needed was SEX, not counseling, and Ms. Kennedy and the cop were interfering with that!

“The government called it a sex crime,” I said. “But all he did was touch my shoulder and tell me I didn’t know what I was missing. He’s lucky he isn’t missing a testicle! Or both! So, no, I don’t need counseling. I’m fine. All he did was ruin a fun evening with my friends!”

“Detective Malone, Ms. Kennedy,” Dad said. “Unless you have other questions about the events, I think you’ll only make Birgit even more outraged than she is.”

“May I speak to you alone, for a moment, Mr. Adams,” Ms. Kennedy asked.

Dad nodded, “Go back to whatever it was you were doing, Pumpkin.”

I got up, hugged him, then left the kitchen.

🎤 Steve

“Before you say anything,” I said, once Birgit had left, “all of my children have been taught to speak their minds and to make most decisions for themselves. All of my girls practice martial arts, which teaches self-discipline in addition to self-defense. All the kids are healthy, happy, and well-cared for.”

“I believe you,” Ms. Kennedy said. “But Birgit’s reaction is typical of a child who has been abused.”

I chuckled, “I think you’ll find that Birgit does not believe she was abused by Mr. Gardner touching her shoulder and asking her for sex. She dealt with the situation promptly and actually showed restraint. When a similar incident occurred with my sister about fifteen years ago, the guy ended up with a rupture testicle.”

Detective Malone grimaced, “Ouch.”

“Let’s just say that the Adams girls are not shrinking violets, nor would they consider getting hit on ‘sexual assault’. Yes, the law defines it that way, and I’m not objecting to the law, simply saying that Birgit does not see herself as a victim of sexual abuse. Rather, an idiot came on to her and she put him in his place, which just happened to be writhing on the ground in pain.”

“And that doesn’t bother you or her mother?”

“It depends on what you mean,” I replied. “We’ve taught all our children to defend themselves, and I trust them to make good decisions. They aren’t vulnerable in the way you think, and if you doubt that, I’ll bring in my sixth-grader and she can demonstrate on Detective Malone, if he’s willing.”

“Pass,” he chuckled.

“They’re all straight-A students and have no real discipline problems, except when they’re outraged at being treated as if they were toddlers. You saw Birgit’s reaction, and that was mild. Every year, for the past six years or so, she’s flown, alone, to visit friends in Vermont. She’s annoyed beyond all belief that she has to have an airline escort because she knows how to manage every bit of the trip, and she has her mobile phone if she needs help. The same is true for my other kids, including the one who’s flying to England to visit some family friends next week, while most of us are going to Sweden and Russia.”

“You know we’re trained to look for anything out of the ordinary,” Ms. Kennedy replied.

I felt I needed to head off a report which might lead to a further investigation, even though Ms. Kennedy wasn’t herself an investigator. I could fight fire with fire.

“I know. And nothing my kids are doing would have turned any heads in the 60s, 70s, or early 80s. Society has lost the plot. My kids will stand and debate philosophy with you, and they’ll argue you into a corner from which you can’t escape; and I’m talking about my sixth-grader, too. We may be different, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong. Want to meet my sixth-grader?”

“Actually, I would, if you don’t mind.”

I smiled, nodded, and went to get Ashley. I explained what was going on, then brought her to the kitchen.

“Ashley, tell Ms. Kennedy about how we treat you and about yourself.”

“I’m an independent individual with my own wants and needs, and I’ve been taught to take care of myself from the time I was a toddler. I hold a purple belt in Shōtōkan and I’ll advance to brown belt soon. I have straight-A’s starting in first grade, have never missed a day of school, and can shoot ‘Expert’ with Dad’s Beretta.”

“Any other questions?” I asked.

“Were you afraid that night at Water Tower Place?”

“No, because there were at least four of us with martial arts skills, plus my sisters and I all have cellphones. Not to mention there was security there, including Chicago cops! And my mom and my dad were about two minutes away.”