Lionel stuck his head in the door and said, “Hey, son. How’re you doing?”
“Fine.”
“Could you turn that down, please?”
Jon got up and crossed to the TV set. He muted the sound and returned to his seat, his attention still fixed on the screen though he pretended he was listening to his dad.
Lionel said, “There’s someone I want you to meet. This is Mona Stark.”
Jon glanced over as his father stepped aside and there she was. She was taller than his father and as vibrantly colored as an illustration in his biology text. Black hair, blue eyes, her lips a slash of dark red. Her body was divided into two segments—breasts at the top, flaring hips below, bisected by a narrow waist. In that moment, he took her measure without conscious intent; she was a wasp, a predator. In his mind he could see the lines of print: Some stinging wasps live in societies that are more complex than those of social bees and ants. Stinging wasps rely on a nest from which they conduct many of their activities, especially the rearing of their young.
Jon said, “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice meeting you,” she said. And then to Lionel in a teasing tone of voice, “You bad boy. I can see I have my work cut out for me. I can’t believe you haven’t taught him to stand up when a lady enters the room.”
Sheepishly, Jon set his soft drink aside and rose to his feet, mumbling, “Sorry. My fault, not his.”
He shot a look at Lionel. What was going on? Jon knew his father had been dating, but as far as he knew, Lionel wasn’t serious about anyone. He’d been carrying on a series of short-term romances with students in his department, skirting any suggestion of impropriety by waiting until the particular coed in question was no longer enrolled in his class.
Later that night, after Lionel dropped Mona back at her place, he returned to the den and settled in a nearby chair for the inevitable heart-to-heart. It was clear his father felt uncomfortable. For two years, he and Jon had functioned as pals, not the father-son duo that was now up for grabs. Lionel launched into a discourse about how lonely he’d been and how much he missed Jon’s mother. Jon blocked out much of what Lionel said because the words didn’t sound like his. Mona had doubtless primed him, making sure he touched on all the relevant points. Jon imagined Mona sitting there instead, explaining that no one would ever replace his mom, but that a man needed companionship. Jon would benefit, too, said she, talking through his father’s lips. Mona knew how hard life must have been for him and now they had an opportunity to share their home. Mona was divorced and had three lovely daughters, whom Lionel had met. Mona was looking forward to merging the two families, and he hoped Jon would make the transition as smooth as possible.
Lionel and Mona were married in June of 1965. Now that they were a family of six, they needed a larger place. Fortunately, as part of her divorce settlement, Mona had been awarded a house in Beverly Hills, which she sold for big bucks, rolling the money into the new house in Horton Ravine so she wouldn’t have to pay capital gains. At the same time, Lionel sold the modest three-bedroom house where Jon had been raised. That money was set aside for additions and improvements on the new place, which was situated on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Jon moved into a newly remodeled two rooms and a bath built above the garage while Lionel, Mona, and the three girls occupied the main house. Mona told him how lucky he was to have independent living quarters that would allow him to come and go as he pleased. Not that he was permitted to do any such thing. His “pad,” as she referred to it, was a not-so-subtle reminder that he’d been separated from the rest. His wants, needs, and desires were peripheral to hers.
From that point on, everything revolved around Mona. She had her tennis lessons, her golf, and her charities, activities his father didn’t share with her because he was either teaching or secluded in his home office, writing. Jon was the outsider, looking in on a life that had once been his. He was miserable, but he knew better than to complain. At the same time, he wondered why he was expected to go on as though nothing had changed. His life had taken on an entirely different cast.
The following January, when he turned seventeen, he lobbied for his driver’s license and a car of his own. Mona objected, but for once Lionel argued on Jon’s behalf. After much ado and numerous debates, she finally gave in, perhaps because she realized having a car and driver at her disposal would work to her advantage. Lionel bought Jon a used Chevrolet convertible. By then, Mona’s three perfect daughters were enrolled at the same private school Jon had attended since kindergarten. He caught sight of them in the corridors six and seven times a day. Of course, he drove them to school and picked them up afterward. He also kept an eye on them if Lionel and Mona went out for the evening. If he had other plans, if he resisted in any way, Mona would rebuff him with silence, cut him out of her field of vision as though he were invisible. This she was clever enough to do without Lionel’s being aware. If Jon had brought it to his father’s attention, he’d have been written off as paranoid or oversensitive. Lionel would have repeated it all to Mona and she would have doubled the penalties.