The Marital Corporation

Synopsis: Peter has found himself and his family the target for homophobic vandals, but now he is beginning to worry whether the vandalism will lead to more serious problems. Desperate, he has contacted his gay friends, and they have set a trap for the vandals. A shot was fired. Peter has been advised to get out of town. Accordingly, he and Marge are going for an extended cruise into the San Juan Islands.

Chapter Thirteen

The San Juan islands cruise lasted only three days. Peter had expected Doc to call immediately after his meeting with Barney Lansing, but when he failed to do so, Peter concluded that the meeting must have been postponed. However, just to play it safe, he called Doc's apartment. There was no answer. When Peter failed to hear from him on the second day, he called Doc's apartment again.

This time, a strange male voice answered. "This is Doctor Porter's residence. Who is calling, please?"

Peter wondered why a stranger was answering Doc's phone. On an impulse, he replied, "This is his attorney. Is he there?"

"I'm afraid not," the stranger said. "Would you give me your name, please?"

This was odd. Why would this stranger want his name? "I would rather you told me yours, first," Peter said cautiously.

"This is Detective Sweeney speaking. Doctor Porter's in the hospital."

"My God," Peter said, "I'm Peter Baylis. What happened? Is he sick? Has he been hurt?"

"He's been shot."

Peter's stomach turned over. Seeing the expression on his face, Marge put her head next to his so she could also listen to the receiver.

"How bad is it?"

"We don't know yet," the detective said. "They're operating on him now. Can you tell me where we can find his next-of-kin?"

"I don't think he has any; but you could call Bill Knowles at the yacht club. He might know."

"Did I understand that you are Doctor Porter's attorney?"

"Yes"

"I think we're going to need some help. Could you come in and give us a statement?"

"Not very easily, I'm afraid," Peter said, adding, "I'm on a boat, cruising in the San Juan islands. I'm calling on my cell phone."

"Could you come in tomorrow?"

"Yes," Peter said. "In the meantime, however, you might want to contact Officer Jamison in the hate crimes unit. He might be able to give you a lead."

"Thanks for the tip," Detective Sweeney said. "That's an angle we hadn't considered."

Detective Sweeney told Peter which hospital Doc was in. They arranged to meet the next day in midafternoon, and Detective Sweeney gave him careful directions to his office in the Public Safety building.

After they hung up, Peter called the hospital to inquire about Doc.

He quickly learned that Doc was still in the recovery ward, but that the bullet had been successfully removed. "He's a strong man," the nurse added, "and we don't anticipate complications. Barring unforeseen circumstances, he should make a complete recovery."

Peter was enormously relieved. After they hung up. he quickly shared the information with Marge. Then the two of them set the four lower sails, and they sailed through the night back to Seattle.

The following morning, after returning to Shilshole, they drove to the hospital, where they found Doc sitting up in bed, his ruddy face neatly shaved, hair combed, and left arm elevated in an awkward plaster cast. Two young candy stripers were fussing over him.

He grinned when he saw them come through his doorway. "I didn't tell you to come home," he said.

"Somebody has to look after you," Peter said. "It's clear you can't take care of yourself. What happened? Jealous husband finally catch up with you?"

"I'll be damned if I know," Doc said. "The cops thought I'd surprised a burglar when I got home after visiting Barney Lansing." Something in the old man's expression caught Peter's attention.

"OK," Peter said impatiently, "so what really happened?"

"I just told you. I opened the door to my apartment. This guy was standing in the hallway in the shadows. I just saw his outline. `Where's Sam?' he said. I started to say `I don't know what you're talking about', when someone hit me in the chest with a fence post. At the same time, I heard a faint pop, like a distant firecracker. The next thing I knew, an emergency medical technician was cutting the front out of my favorite jacket."

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"Hell no," the old man said. "I told you, it was dark! But I've thought about it, and now I'm not even sure it was a man."

"What makes you say that?"

"Three things," the old man said, grimacing painfully as he tried to shift his ungainly cast to a more comfortable position. "I've treated too many horses in dark barns not to notice things. There was something about his or her silhouette. The way he was standing or something. I can't put my finger on it. Then, too, his voice seemed unnaturally high for a man. But these were only split second impressions, you understand."

"You said there were three things," Peter prompted him.

"Oh, yeah," the old man said. "I almost forgot. The bullet they fished out of me was a .25 caliber. That's a woman's gun. Or it used to be."

"Does Barney know what happened?"

Doc grinned again. "Everybody does," he said. He nodded toward the girls who were shyly standing just outside the door. "They brought this in this morning."

He handed Peter a folded copy of the morning P-I. "Page three," he said.

Peter opened the paper. At the top of page three he found a double column of four paragraphs headed Retired Vet Wounded by Burglar. The story identified Doc as the campaign manager of 'controversial Republican primary candidate' Peter A. Baylis, who has become the target of conservative fanatics in recent weeks because of his radical proposal for legitimizing same-sex and multiple partner unions.

The story continued with a summary of Doc's career as an Army veterinarian, later as a political operative.

"Reporters been calling all morning," Doc said. "They think there's a story here. I've organized a press conference this afternoon, but now you're here, you're the one who should give it; not me. So get your ass over to your office, and see if you can come up with logical answers to the questions they're certain to ask, starting with what? why? who? and how? What is it you're proposing? Why are you making this a campaign issue? Who would be involved? How would it work? Also, you might consider other questions that are certain to arise, such as children, the laws of descent and so forth. You're the lawyer. You know how complicated this will be." Doc groaned again as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

"You've got until two, because that's when the press will meet you in the corner solarium. It had to be in the hospital because I thought I was going to do the honors.

"Of course you realize," Doc added, "you'll probably have an audience of patients as well as reporters. We couldn't shut them out of the solarium."

As Peter listen to Doc outlining his assignment, his stomach lurched uneasily. He well knew that the superficial social system he had so glibly outlined to a select audience that heard what it wanted to hear would not satisfy the professional listeners he expected to see at the news conference.

Suddenly, he felt almost overwhelmed by the extraordinarily complex and emotionally charged issue he knew he would be obliged to defend that afternoon.

"How many witnesses does a hanging require?" Peter asked sardonically. "You've really put me on the spot, you know. It's one thing to toss a bunch of generalities to an uncritical audience that hears what it wants to hear, and quite another to redefine the universe and give three examples to a room full of professional skeptics. I've got serious thinking to do!"

Peter stood and added, "I'm sorry I got us you into this mess, old timer, if I did, but Marge can kiss it and make it better." Then he turned to Marge. "I've got to run over to the office and prepare for the meeting," he said. "Perhaps you could stay here and keep Doc company?"

She nodded, and Peter left the room.

Driving to the Dexter Horton building, his mind whirled with exotic ideas, and when he reached his desk, after calling Detective Sweeney to postpone his interview until later in the week, he began doodling on a yellow legal pad. Then he looked at his watch.

It was then 11:22. He had just over two hours in which to invent a social system which, if he was sufficiently convincing, might impact hundreds perhaps ultimately thousands of people, and would almost certainly influence the remainder of his life.

Taking a deep breath, he firmly printed in large block letters "Family Corporation" at the top of the page. Then he made an equals sign, and after pausing a few moments, printed Contract.

Underneath, in quick order, he wrote,

1. Community property provisions apply?

a) what about corporate dissolution? Separation? Divorce?

2. Rights of preexisting children?

3. Issue born under contract?

4. Lifetime vs term of years contracts?

5. Condominium-like rules for accepting/

rejecting/terminating partners?

6. Limited Partnerships?

He looked at the compiled list, and sighed. This was going to be a hell of a lot more complex than he had even imagined. However, he was slightly comforted thinking that the press would focus primarily on the same-sex issue, which, ironically, was the only issue he felt comfortable discussing.

On an impulse, he dialed Gordon's office number just before slipping into his overcoat.

Gordon's secretary answered the phone. "I'm sorry, Mr. Baylis," she said, "Mr. Schaefer didn't come in this morning. We're a little surprised, because he didn't call, either."

Making a mental note to call Gordon at home later, Peter locked his office door and walked to the elevator. As he drove back to the hospital, he mentally rehearsed the arguments he had used with Lansing and others since that fateful day when he had invented the concept in Lansing's office.

He was very surprised, therefore, when, after greeting the four reporters (including Barney Lansing) and the TV cameraman in the back of the room, and giving roughly the same background explanation for his proposal that he had given earlier, a young reporter from Associated Press asked, "It seems that most of the interest in your proposal has focused on the same-sex marriage issue. But I notice that you referred specifically in your draft legislation to `all partners.' Does that mean you are really proposing a form of group marriage?"

That was unexpected, and Peter blinked in surprise. Then he nodded and smiled in appreciation for the reporter's acumen. "Yes," he said, "but my proposal is even broader than that. The legislation I have in mind would provide a legal framework for almost any kind of relationship you might imagine, always consistent, of course, with public health. This opportunity will become increasingly important for thousands of elder and otherwise disadvantaged Washingtonians as federal and state budgets tighten in the coming decades, and resources become increasingly scarce, especially in light of the looming world population crisis." Peter then summarized the economic argument for the family corporation.

"We speak today, for example, about single parent families and those families struggling even with two wage earners. If, somehow, two or more of these single parent families could pool their talents, skills and material resources with others similarly situated, common sense tells us they would be infinitely better off, both emotionally and materially."

"How would it work?" she persisted.

"Well, you realize, of course, that this is very much a work in progress, but I envision a legal structure like a limited partnership run as a Subchapter S corporation," Peter replied.

She looked puzzled, so he hurriedly added, "Let me give you an example. Let's suppose my wife and I decided to sponsor such a family. If another person or persons of legal age wished to join us in a family corporation, we could file articles of incorporation with the Secretary of State."

Peter listened to the words flowing smoothly from his lips with the same sense of amazement he had experienced earlier in Lansing's office when the basic concept first occurred to him.

"These Articles would be similar in scope and purpose to any `not for profit' corporation, except that the statute would also make provision for lifetime limited partnerships.

"One of the primary purposes of this proposal would be to reestablish the multigenerational or `Rockwell' type of family the kind we used to see depicted on Saturday Evening Post covers at Thanksgiving where elders stabilized the family and meaningfully contributed to infant development and supervised family adolescents, instead of uselessly living their lives out at great expense to the taxpayer in warehouses we call nursing homes.

"It is often said that we can't choose our parents, but under my proposal, something approaching that would be possible. For instance, although we haven't yet done the actuarial work, with our acceptance, Doc Porter here could purchase the right to legally become part of our family, possibly becoming the father I never knew, possibly even becoming an additional husband for Marge. This would involve specific considerations on both sides. If such an ar- rangement were consummated, like any shareholder in a corporation, he would acquire more enforceable legal rights than my natural father might have had."

"So there would be a sexual component to such an arrangement?"

Peter paused, wondering if he had gone too far. He stared thoughtfully at the reporter and tried to guess how much farther he dared go. Mentally, he shrugged in for a penny, in for a pound and decided not to temporize. "Not necessarily, but we must remember that most healthy adults, regardless of age, desire some form of sexual activity, although many seniors are compelled at present to abstain for a variety of extraneous reasons." He paused, remembering two recent newspaper articles.

"It is no accident that single senior men are contracting HIV at a much higher rate than the population at large. Deprived of their normal sexual outlets, many are turning to prostitutes." He smiled as an additional thought occurred to him. "Remember, no less an authority than Ann Landers recently published a column advocating masturbation as an acceptable alternative.

"On the other hand," he continued, "we should not overemphasize this aspect. While sexual relations would not be the sine qua non in the context of a family corporation, as they are in present day marriages, I would expect people entering into such arrangements to have reasonable expectations concerning the potential for such activities. Love is closely linked, after all, to physical intimacy.

"Remember, too, that many if not most interpersonal relationships begin as a consequence of sexual attraction, although here, a strong and perfectly acceptable second motivation could be the obvious economic advantages such an arrangement offers."

"What about children who might be born out of such arrangements?"

Peter smiled again. This was more familiar ground. "It was my concern for children that first started me down this road. It is difficult to overstate the value to coming generations if we can somehow rejuvenate the multigenerational family. To quote Mrs. Clinton who was quoting an African proverb `it takes a village to raise a child.' Children born into such families would be the luckiest kids in the world, because they would be nurtured and taught not by another child, or a single harried adult, or even a stressed couple, but by a village capable of providing the shelter, warmth and love that is every child's birthright.

"That was a major purpose in pressing forward with the family corporation idea. Does that answer your question?"

To his surprise, that impassioned response drew a round of applause from his audience. Peter hoped the lady from the AP wire service had taken good notes. "Are there any more questions?"

There was a general shuffling of feet, indicating that the press conference was over. The young woman from AP approached Peter and handed him her card. "Tell me," she said. "Are you the same Peter Baylis who got into hot water a few years ago for keeping Pan-Pacific out of the state school timber?"

Peter nodded, "Guilty as charged," he said, smiling.

She bit reflectively on her lip for a moment, trying to frame her next question. "I thought so," she said. "It was before my time, but I checked the morgue files for background before coming here." Turning to Marge, she asked, "Is he this quixotic all the time?"

Marge laughed. "I suppose that depends on what you mean by `quixotic.'"

Peter glanced at her card, and learned they were talking to Mary Baker. She flushed. "I meant it only in a complimentary sense," she said.

"Well, in that case, I'd have to say `yes,'" Marge said. Smiling, she added, "I often wonder what he'll be like when he grows up . . . "

Doc had been listening silently to this exchange, but now, fearing that Marge might say something she would regret when she read it in the morning paper, he interrupted: "Hey, kids, my shoulder's beginning to give me fits. How about pushing me back to my room?"

Ms. Baker excused herself, and they put Doc to bed. As the Baylises prepared to leave, he said gruffly, "I was impressed by the way you handled the press, Pete. Frankly, you did a lot better than I expected. Until this afternoon, although the logic of it appealed to me intellectually, I still thought this family corporation idea of yours was partly sucker bait for the fags. Now, I'm not so sure. By the way, did you notice that Lansing never asked a single question?"

As usual, Peter was mildly annoyed by Doc's choice of language when describing gays or the gay community, but wisely decided this was not the time to try to improve the old man's sensibilities. "Yes, and that reminds me . . . You were to keep my appointment with Barney a couple of days ago. Tell us about it."

Doc nodded. "Yes," he said. "Evidently, there are wheels within wheels that I can't seem to sort out. But one thing is clear. Lansing may be right about the fuss you're stirring up."

"Hey, Doc," Peter said. "What does that mean?"

"I think the fairies grabbed the villain who was redecorating your house. I think that's why I got shot; either because I'm linked to you, or somebody saw me go in or come out of Lansing's office."

"But why was Lansing so goosy when I asked for an appointment?"

"That's easy," Doc said. "He thinks his phone has been tapped."

"By whom? Why?"

Doc shrugged his healthy shoulder. "Beats me," he said. "I gained the impression he thinks it's a federal agency. Maybe the FBI or ATF."

"Why would they be interested in a small gay paper?"

"I can think, offhand, of several reasons," Doc slowly replied. "If your Praetorian Guard has abducted the villain, whose name, I'll bet, is Sam, and the feds or the Seattle police department, or whoever realizes it, the tap would be a logical next step. Any of those agencies would like to get their hands on that guy.

"And since the feds have primary jurisdiction over domestic terrorism, he's probably right that the agency involved is federal. Also, there's something else to consider." Doc's face was suddenly very serious, as he stared at Marge and Peter.

"On the subject of paramilitary organizations, didn't you find it just a little peculiar that Lansing apparently had at his fingertips a trained militia of his own? In other words, whoever may be listening to his conversations may also be interested in Barney Lansing."

That idea hadn't occurred to Peter, but after Doc pointed it out, he immediately saw the logic behind Doc's reasoning. "Where does this leave us?" he asked.