Finding Dad: From "Love Child" to Daughter (7 page)

“Maybe he’ll make things right if we just give him a chance.” I could hope, couldn’t I?

“He better apologize to me and issue a retraction for his slur campaign, or I’m going to have to sue him for damages because he’s trying hurt my business.”

She raged on, then calmed down and apologized for getting angry. “You should do what you want, and I’ll support you.”

Mom was built soft and sensitive, and got her feelings easily hurt on a good day. I worried what this might do to her and our relationship. I didn’t want to gain a father at the expense of losing my mother. But I knew as much as this hurt, her love was unconditional. Unfortunately, I had no control over the media monster that was growing.

It had been a crazy week, and my patience and heart were on emotional overload. My father’s news conference had been on Tuesday, mine was Wednesday, and now on Thursday, he was making his television appeal.

Henry said he would be in contact with my father’s lawyers over the weekend to try and reach a settlement. In the meantime, he asked that we not do anything more on our own with the press. Technically, the law wasn’t on our side, since Mom had signed the settlement papers years ago. But Henry hoped the public pressure would force my father to settle again.

Today, what happened to me would be illegal. We can thank the famous basketball player Isiah Thomas, who tried to give the mother of his child a lump sum. The courts ruled that parents must provide for the child over the course of his or her lifetime.

But in 1993, my case was a lightning rod, in part because I was a teen fighting for my own rights, since Mom had given hers up. All weekend long, the press was camped outside my house, my school, and anywhere else they thought they might find someone who knew me. As a reporter now, I know they were all looking for the M-O-S sound bite, or Man-On-the-Street, interview they could use in their live reports that night. And this brought out some pretenders.

One TV news reporter asked a girl in my class at the 7-11 what she thought. “Shocking, just shocking. Kara never talked about it.”

Of course, I didn’t. I’d barely spoken two words to the girl.

The Providence Journal
called it a “secret rarely shared,” quoting my classmate, Jerry, who probably said it best: “This was a shock to a lot of her friends. I don’t think a lot of people expected her dad to be a governor of a state, and a millionaire.”

Brooke, who had been through it all with me, said, “She told her close, close friends…she didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”

Thankfully, school was already out, so I didn’t have to walk past news cameras on my way to class. But that didn’t stop the news crews from using West Bloomfield High as a backdrop for their reports. I tried to go about my normal days, but now when my boyfriend picked me up, he ended up on the front page of the paper driving me away in his convertible.

Though Henry had asked me not to give any interviews, I did give my baby picture to Barbara Meagher, a TV reporter from WLNE the then-CBS station in Providence, who had been camped outside for a while. Where most reporters just raised their cameras to start taking pictures when I walked by, Barbara showed a human, almost maternal, side and asked how I was holding up without shoving a camera in my face. She kindly asked if she could have a baby picture to show on the news that night. I gave it to her because she was so nice, and promised not to ask me any questions. I will never forget how gracious and sympathetic she was, a rare commodity when compared to the other reporters. I also hoped my father would see my baby picture on the news.

Inside Edition
and
Hard Copy
were both offering to pay for my interview, but Henry advised against my granting either offer. “You may get ten grand, but that won’t help you form a relationship with your dad, which is what you really want.”

He was right, but I was really sad to turn down Oprah. She wasn’t offering money, but I was dying to meet her. There was one national interview Henry thought would be good for us to do, so he set up a time for
People Magazine
to photograph and interview me at his house. I was so young and put all my trust in Henry. So far, he’d been right about everything. But the
People Magazine
article was not my favorite. I wanted the article to help me appeal to my father’s heart. Instead, they slammed him.

It was a sunny day, so we took the pictures out on Henry’s beautiful deck. I tried to smile and give upbeat answers, show my optimism that everything would work out. I couldn’t wait for the magazine to hit the stands to see what they wrote.

When I opened up my issue with Burt Reynolds and Loni Anderson on the cover, I felt a sinking disappointment.

They labeled me the Gov Child, and used black and white shots that seemed to convey sadness. They’d made Henry’s pretty deck look more like a boxing ring. The article criticized my father for leaving the TV on when we met for the first time, calling him cold, even though I’d told them I didn’t mind. They interviewed his ex-wives on his “aloof” approach to parenting, all agreeing that his career was always a priority.

“He wasn’t around that much,” said his first wife, Madeleine Gimbel. “He wasn’t involved with the children.” Wife No. 3, Joy Sundlun, added, “Bruce is Bruce. He was very much a businessman.”

It’s not that I couldn’t see my father was playing hardball, but rather, I knew there was something under his game. I held on to the television appeal he’d personally made to me about how his heart was open, and hoped this article wouldn’t make him change his mind. Actually, Henry’s strategy worked, and the excessive press coverage apparently put enough pressure on my father to come up with a settlement offer by Monday. More than a year of battling in secret was resolved in six intense days with a very public offer to do much more than just pay me off.

My father’s attorney told Henry he wanted to settle the lawsuit right away and begin to “get to know me.” He promised to pay for tuition at the University of Michigan and, beyond that, treat me as he would any of his other children. Then he did something that shocked everyone: Not only would he pay for all of my college expenses, but he invited me to move out to Rhode Island for the summer to live with him so we could, “get to know each other.”

Leapin’ lizards! I really do feel like Annie.
What did he just say?
Get to know each other?
I had dreamed of this moment for so long, and it was hard to believe it was finally here. The fairy tale had grown wings, and was now about to soar. Could I really go live with him in his castle and live happily ever after? It all seemed too good to be true. Could he really love me the way I wanted him to? Did he really want to try? Why did he change his mind?

I would later learn his offer even surprised his staff, who had no idea he was going to come around that much. He was a man who kept his thoughts close to the vest until he was ready to announce a battle plan. One might think it was politically expedient to make the scandal go away—and it was—but my father never cared about being politically correct. He liked to shoot first and ask questions later—literally.

To prove the point, earlier that year, he had shot raccoons in his yard and, instead of keeping it quiet, he walked into the state police to turn himself in. The press had a field day with a sitting governor accused of illegally shooting off guns at his estate, but my father said he would have done it all over again, since they were trying to hurt a baby fox and he just couldn’t allow that. Eventually, the charges were dropped, but the comics still featured raccoons with GOP buttons.

Patti would later tell me it was clear to her he was smitten with me and wanted to try to be a father. She said she could tell by the way his face lit up when he talked about me. She later joked that I should have just told them I straightened my hair, then he wouldn’t have needed a DNA test, since he had a standing appointment at the barber shop to chemically smooth his curls.

Henry beamed. “This is it, kid, this is what you have wanted.”

I hadn’t realized how tightly wound I’d been until I felt huge weights lift off my shoulders. The validation I’d so badly needed was already rebuilding my core. The effects of a sudden new reality were overwhelming. I was elated, yet I also worried about Mom.

I wanted to jump up and down and scream a victory whoop, and yell from the top of the mountains, “We did it! He’s accepting me as his daughter!” But I had to think about Mom. She’d always said she wanted me to know him, but I don’t think she ever wanted me to go
live
with him. And no one could have ever expected he’d extend an invitation. Sometimes her fear of losing me bubbled over with statements she would always regret later. “You just want to be with him because he’s rich and famous. He never wanted us, you know. I was the one who raised you all alone.”

I couldn’t deny that my father’s fame and power was exciting to me, but it wasn’t why I wanted him in my life. I wanted a father, plain and simple. But the fact that mine came with a fairytale mansion and the stature of a king made me feel like a princess getting rescued. I was elated the DNA fit but, unlike Cinderella, my mom wasn’t wicked, and I desperately wished there could be a fairy-something to magically change her life, too. I felt as though I was being torn in half and forced to choose one over the other, and it was impossible to do. Instead, I had to follow my heart, which meant leaving Mom alone in the scary forest while I went to live in the castle with the man she was starting to hate all over again.

There would be no vindication for her. Though she had filed a defamation lawsuit against him, nothing came of it. My father refused to apologize, and reiterated that he was only going to help me. The laws back then weren’t fair, but the script had been written. She had signed the settlement back when I was a baby, so she had no legal footing. Instead, she would play the role of victim, thus refueling my inner turmoil that tore at me every day. Painted as the golden child, I lived between guilt and elation, and my emotions pixilated like a kaleidoscope. Despite my angst, I never doubted I would be leaving everything I knew to go live with him. Entering into the unknown, I would accept his offer of acceptance.

  
9
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?

Wednesday, June 16, 1993

Whisked from my suburban apartment for the land of sailboats and mansions, I was ready to start my new life with my father, where people still had debutante parties and wore black ties on a regular basis. After all the media storm and requests for interviews, I’d felt like an extra appendage. The attorneys had done the deal making, and I’d had only a brief, awkward telephone conversation with my father in Henry’s office after we made a verbal agreement to drop the paternity suit.

“Hi, so I guess I’ll be coming to spend some time with you this summer. I’m excited. It’ll be great.” So much for memorable or clever.

“We are looking forward to having you at Seaward,” my father answered formally. “Newport is a wonderful place, and you will enjoy it.”

“Um, okay, I love the beach.”

“We have beautiful beaches here.”

“Great. Well thanks so much for everything you are doing for me. I’ll see you soon,” I said in my sweetest voice, trying to show him I still was the girl he’d liked.

“Ok, ’bye.”

Obviously, it had been easier for both of us to communicate through our attorneys, but we no longer had them as our safety net, and we’d have to learn how to talk to each other—especially if I was going to live with him.

How I wished my attorney could handle the communication problems I was now having with Mom. My whole life, she had always loved to tell me about my father’s world. Now that I was getting ready to leave her for the life she’d talked about for so long, I’m sure this wasn’t exactly her fantasy ending. Her reasoning was that she’d done all the hard work of raising me only to give me, her crown jewel, away to a man who, instead of being remorseful or even grateful, was rejecting her once again.

Mom was a bundle of opposites. She would say how happy she was for me one moment, then lash out the next, furious that the olive branch was only being extended to me. Since he wouldn’t speak to her, I was the only one she could yell at, and the fact she thought I looked and acted like him made me even more of a target. The furrow between my brows, the shape of my mouth, and my curly hair were all physical triggers for what seemed like post-traumatic stress disorder.

“I raised you alone, so don’t you think your mother deserves something?

“Of course I do, but I’m seventeen, what can I do?”

“Shouldn’t you fight for your mother?”

“How?”

“Don’t you care that he destroyed me?”

I felt like putting my hands over my ears.
He didn’t destroy you, it will all be okay, please stop yelling at me
. I had to retreat because challenging her anger only made it grow.

I wished I could call my father and ask him to please stop being a jerk to Mom and apologize…preferably on TV, so her friends could hear. Couldn’t he just say how happy he is that she raised his daughter? Couldn’t he give her some money to help her out after all she did for him? I wanted him to rescue both of us, not just me, and I worried that taking his lifeboat meant Mom would be left to drown. I thought of Brooke’s quote in the paper: “Kara and her mom are like crutches for each other.” What will happen when I’m not there to hold her up? I was too new to the job of being a man’s daughter, and I couldn’t tell him my thoughts. So I said nothing to him about Mom.

Mom had always taught me to be grateful for any blessing. My father’s desire to finally accept me was the blessing I’d been praying for, yet he was also the curse that was breaking my mother’s heart.

Looking back, I know she was terrified of losing me. I was all she had. Of course, I had room for two parents in my heart, but proving that to Mom was becoming difficult in the face of her insecurities and anger, which created a wall between us. I understood her pain, but I couldn’t take it on; it was too heavy, and I felt like it would pull me under. I couldn’t repay the debts of my father’s wrongs. As hard as I know it was, Mom agreed to drop her lawsuit accusing him of slander, so I could move on with my life. But she couldn’t let go of the hurts, and they multiplied within her, hardening her heart. It seemed ironic that after everything I’d been through, my father was opening, and she was closing down. She remained determined to dig her heels in until she got some kind of retribution, something I feared would never come. And it was ripping me apart.

Would it be better to stay and refuse to settle until he apologized to Mom? I didn’t think so, and I didn’t want to be bait. Her rage made me feel guilty for getting the better deal, and I felt equally ashamed about looking forward to leaving the toxic environment of our apartment. To lessen my inner turmoil, I told myself college would start in the fall, and Mom would have to adjust to me leaving anyway. But the reality was that it felt like I had just gained a father and lost my mom. She would be left behind to read all about my new adventures, and all I could do is promise to call a lot. I hoped she’d soften over time.

On June 16, 1993, exactly one month before my eighteenth birthday, and seven days after filing my lawsuit, I left West Bloomfield, Michigan to begin the next chapter of my life. I couldn’t wait to get to meet my father and my new family. This time, my meeting with my father would be anything but secret. The press was invited to dinner and a news conference to get one last story before we signed a gag order and requested our privacy. I was only going for one night, then I’d return back home to pack my things and say goodbye to Mom.

I raced up I-275 to Detroit Metro Airport, where I met Henry at the gate. He was accompanying me to Rhode Island to witness my signing of the papers affirming that my paternity suit would be dropped. Henry wasn’t the only one waiting for me. The press had guessed which plane I was on, and were waiting with microphones ready to launch.

“Kara, are you excited to go meet your dad?” a reporter yelled extending the microphone in front of my face.

“Are you happy it’s over?”

“Did you get what you wanted?”

Uh oh, I wasn’t expecting this. “Yes, I’m thrilled to begin the process of building a father-daughter relationship, and I look forward to getting to know my other family tonight.”

Henry bolted toward us, saving the day. “Thank you all, but we have to get Kara on board right now. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Sorry, I’m late,” I murmured.

“Let’s go, kid, they’re about to close the jetway.”

The stewardess shot me a disapproving look as I passed by and sank down into my seat. The sudden press gauntlet made my insides unravel. Thankfully, I had a little over an hour to decompress before we landed in Providence.

“There will probably be more press on the other end,” Henry said, “so keep being you. This is such a great story. They love you, and you deserve this, kiddo. People love a happy ending.”

When we landed at T.F. Green airport about an hour later, there was a state police cruiser waiting for us on the tarmac. I walked down the stairs to the runway, aware the trooper was nervous as he scanned the tarmac for press. This was my father’s way of making sure we didn’t make any news before the planned dinner that night.

Mission accomplished, the trooper drove us away without one flashbulb going off. The papers would later report how the reporters inside the airport were duped. Henry would be equally hard to find because he checked into a hotel under a different name. It seemed daunting to go on without him, since he’d been with me the whole way. But he told me he’d meet me at the State House in the morning to sign the papers before the news conference. “Don’t be late this time,” he joked.

“I won’t!”

As the state trooper drove me to my father’s home, I wondered what it looked like. Butterflies were dancing in my stomach, but for once it was the good kind of nervous—the kind that acknowledged how hard I’d fought for this day, and that I was finally ready to take my place at the table.

A half-hour later, we entered the charming town of Newport. Colonial houses lined the streets, looking so perfect it appeared straight out of a movie set. The ocean, tinged with green, gave off a more pungent smell than the beaches I’d seen in places like Florida. We turned on Cliff Avenue and entered through two stately brick columns marked “Private Way,” where the road became gravel. I caught glimpses of the ocean in between the driveways of the expansive waterfront estates.

I had never seen houses with names before, let alone two entrances—one for service, and the other for the main house—and I wondered if I needed to click my heels and whisper, “There’s no place like home.” The car slowed as we approached the “Seaward” sign at the end of my father’s driveway. We turned left onto a dirt driveway circling a glorious old tree that stood taller than the two-story stucco house. The car stopped in front of the double doors where my father was waiting. Wearing a warm smile, he opened my door and extended his hand. He didn’t let go as we walked toward the house. It felt strange to hold his hand, but I loved resting mine in his as we stopped to share a joint smile for the cameras. Even though I was aware of being on stage, I wasn’t nervous or scared this time. Nope, this time the huge Cheshire cat grin spread across my face matched what my heart was feeling. The fact that my father looked equally happy made it all the more surreal.

Thankfully, this was a photo op only, and the press was not allowed to ask any questions. But I don’t think they went away disappointed. Here we were at long last, me, my father…and his assistant, Patti, who was standing in the wings, smiling in a pink suit, ready to join us as we climbed the steps where my father opened the tall double doors for me to enter the large foyer of his home. The cameras went wild as I smiled and walked across the threshold of my new life. Pictures of my father escorting me into his estate to meet my new family were the money shot that would cycle on TV and lead newspaper articles for days to come. TV had come full circle for me. It had helped me find my father, made him accept me, and now would bear witness to the reunion.

I was led into the living room where French doors opened onto a patio overlooking acres of green lawn that stretched out to the famous Cliff Walk. The panoramic view of the ocean took my breath away, and the moist air made me feel as if I could float. Should I pinch myself to make sure this isn’t a dream? Wow, was I really going to live here?

My father broke into my thoughts. “This is my wife, Marjorie.”

“Hello, Hello!” she said rushing toward me.

Marjorie was exuberant and warm, and greeted me with a big hug. I had been told her accident left her with severe brain damage, but I couldn’t tell. She invited us to sit down on couches covered in white silken flowered fabric. I tried to not sink into the soft cushions, while the press took pictures of us smiling, happy to become a “family.” After a half-hour, my father’s press people decided the media had gotten enough, and they were escorted out.

Marjorie led me into the formal dining room that had a commanding view of the ocean. Again, I found myself forcing the air into my lungs. Such beauty! Place cards adorned the elegant, long table filling the room. I couldn’t believe this was my father’s home—with its sheer perfection, it looked more like a hotel. Do I really have an unlimited stay? It was hard not to feel dizzy. For so long, I had envied my friend’s beautiful homes, but nothing had prepared me for this. I wondered whose names were on the place cards and how I was related to them. As it turned out, they were Marjorie’s grown children, Mark and Kim, and Kim’s husband, Chris.

Marjorie’s warm welcome made me feel better about moving into her home for the summer. She seemed genuinely excited to meet me, and despite her short term memory problems that sometimes made her repeat herself, she operated like the graceful First Lady she was by welcoming me to her dinner table and introducing me to her children. Mark, in his early twenties, reminded me of Tom Cruise, with his chiseled jaw, dark hair, and athletic physique. He lived at Seaward and promised to show me around Newport. While he seemed sincerely happy to meet me, Kim was just the opposite. She resembled Mark with her pretty, big eyes and dark hair, but remained completely silent until about halfway through dinner, when she started sobbing. It took me a moment to realize the tears were because of me. I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked down at my plate hoping to pick up the right fork. Were we just going to let her cry it out? Everyone seemed to be ignoring her tantrum, so I just tried my best to blend.

“Would you like some more vegetables?” the server asked me.

“No thank you, I’m okay.”

Each time I spoke, Kim’s crying intensified. It appeared as though the very sound of my voice touched the part in her that screamed,
Why does SHE have to be here?

I’m not sure when he left, but I just remember looking up from my plate and noticing my father was no longer at the table. He had gone to take a call in the other room, and in his absence her wall of composure collapsed, and she stared to wail.

I didn’t know what to do, and neither did her husband, Chris. It couldn’t have been easy, and my heart went out to him. He attempted to comfort his wife while being mindful of the importance of this dinner and the awkwardness that was building. It became clear Kim wasn’t going to regain her composure, so Chris stood up and helped her away from the table. “I’m going to take her home, it’s just a bit much for her.”

The press had gone and my fairytale evening at the mansion become strangely Kafkaesque, complete with someone sobbing at the table. I was exasperated and, well, a little angry. I had fought hard for my place at the table, and her hysterics tarnished what was supposed to be a big night in my life. But I hid my hurt and smiled through it all.

I thought once I won over my father, everything would be perfect, but I was quickly learning it wasn’t going to be that easy. Just because my father decided to accept me, didn’t mean everyone else had to. All I’d ever wanted was a father, and I hadn’t realized how my presence would affect so many people. I had imagined our relationship in a vacuum, and was now realizing I would not only have to get to know him, but learn the rules of a whole new family dynamic. “I hope she feels better,” I said, as if my surfacing was something she could sleep off.