False Accusations by Alan Jacobson Page B

four-year-old who had mental retardation. “She called to complain,” Murphy was saying, “because she was enraged by a comment Brittany had made during the intake interview.”
    “What’d she say?”
    “Brittany asked the mother what kind of drugs she’d taken during her pregnancy that caused her son to become mentally retarded.”
    Madison leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me she didn’t really say that.”
    “This poor mother was in tears, Phil. She’d been harboring enough guilt about having given birth to a child with Klinefelter’s...but to be subjected to such a question by the very organization that she came to for help...” His voice trailed off. Madison knew better than most that Klinefelter’s syndrome was a genetic disorder that had nothing to do with drug abuse during pregnancy.
    “Brittany’s a time bomb waiting to explode, Murph.”
    “I was beside myself, Phil. She represents the organization. The public doesn’t perceive her as just an employee. They look at her and see us.”
    Madison rubbed his forehead. “How’d we get ourselves into this situation?” It was something he had asked himself a couple of weeks ago. “We should get together and discuss all this. I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner, but I’ve been swamped. A few things have happened recently that you should know about.”
    “Good idea, ‘cause I just got a call from Donna’s husband. She’s not gonna be returning. Inoperable brain tumor.”
    “Oh, Jesus. Did he say what kind it was?”
    “All I heard was ‘inoperable.’ I kind of spaced out the rest of what he was saying.”
    “I guess it all fits, especially the abrupt change in personality and erratic behavior.” He shook his head. “She’s only forty-nine. Her husband must be devastated. I should give them a call, express my condolences—”
    “Just let it go, Phil. He said she’s deteriorated pretty rapidly. I let him know how sorry we all are.” Murphy sighed. “We need to talk. When are you available?”
    “When are you going to be in town?”
    “When do you want me to be?”
    “Tomorrow night, around seven. My office.”
    “Phil, we were going to spend tomorrow night together,” Leeza said with the phone propped on her shoulder as she cleaned up the chopped onions. Her eyes were tearing and she was sniffling. “We haven’t had a night alone in three weeks.”
    “Honey, I’m sorry. I know we had plans. I was looking forward to spending time together. But I don’t know what to do. Murph and I have to meet and figure it out. He’s just gonna have to fire her before we have a replacement. I promise, once we figure out a plan of action, we’ll be rid of her and her psychoses and then you and I can get back to normal.”
    “I don’t want normal. Normal is I don’t see you. The kids don’t see you.”
    “It was better, wasn’t it? After we talked and I rearranged my office schedule—”
    “Yes,” she said between sniffles, wiping her eyes. The onion was on her fingertips and only caused her eyes to tear more. “It was better. Not great, but better.”
    “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. It’s just been so damned stressful dealing with this nut. She’s got problems, Lee, and she needs help.”
    “That’s not your responsibility.”
    “I’m just interested in getting the Consortium back on track. Then things should ease. We’ll make reservations at that bed-and-breakfast we went to in Monterey, okay? Just the two of us, walking on the beach at night...”
    “I got a call today from Blair.”
    Madison’s assistant had walked in and handed him another two messages. He scanned them quickly.
    “Phil, are you listening to me?”
    “Blair. Your conversation with Blair.”
    “Phil, you’re impossible.”
    “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of things on my plate. I have six calls to return before I leave.”
    “Blair said she heard a rumor that you and Brittany Harding were an item.”
    “An item?” he asked. “What