A Circle of Wives by Alice Laplante Read Free Book Online

CA—Dr. John Taylor was a prominent plastic surgeon, an associate clinical professor at Stanford, and director of the Taylor Institute, a thriving private clinic that specialized in facial reconstructions. It wasn’t until Taylor passed away last week, at age 62, of a presumed heart attack, that he was discovered to have had three concurrent wives in different households in Palo Alto, Los Gatos, and Los Angeles.
“My world has just fallen apart,” said MJ Taylor (née Johnston) of Los Gatos, who hadn’t known that her husband was married with three children. In fact, he had never divorced his wife Deborah Taylor (55) of Palo Alto. MJ Taylor (49) had married Dr. John Taylor in a quiet ceremony on the beach in Santa Cruz five years ago. At that point, Dr. John Taylor had been married to Deborah Taylor for nearly thirty years. Then, six months ago, Dr. Taylor married again, this time to fellow physician Helen Richter (36) who lives and works in Los Angeles, where Dr. Taylor was a visiting professor at the UCLA medical school. Dr. Richter kept her own surname after the ceremony. MJ Taylor, a financial analyst at WebSys Corp., in Santa Clara, also claimed to have no knowledge of this later marriage. “Until the funeral reception, I had no idea. Not a clue,” she said, adding, “She does seem like a nice woman.”
Dr. Helen Richter and Deborah Taylor were unavailable for comment.
In the United States, the Model Penal Code (section 230.1) defines bigamy as a misdemeanor. In the state of California, if a married person marries an unmarried person the penalty is a one-year prison term or a ten-thousand-dollar fine. If an unmarried person knowingly marries another person’s husband or wife, then the penalty is five thousand dollars or a one-year prison term. Samantha Adams, a detective with the Palo Alto Police Department said the state was unlikely to pursue charges against MJ Taylor or Dr. Richter, as they appeared ignorant of Taylor’s original marriage.

8
Samantha
    “ SO YOU ’ VE CAUGHT A LIVE ONE .” That’s my boss, Chief Elliot, although everyone calls her Susan. Officers visiting our station house from other cities are appalled at the informality. But despite the fact that we’re on a first-name basis, she doesn’t stand for nonsense. A tall woman in her midfifties, she’s been running the Palo Alto police department for almost twenty years. She was the one to tap my shoulder and ask if I wanted to take the detective exam, the one who put the idea into my head. I wouldn’t exactly call her a mentor, although others in the department hint that I’m a favorite. She’s a remote sort of person, not overly warm, and despite the first-name thing, not terribly approachable. Once I bought her a Diet Coke from the machine, having noticed that she swills them down in a constant flow all day. The look I got still sends chills through me. But I’ve witnessed her in action enough to note that she has vast excesses of patience and, I’ve always thought, wisdom. She has a nickname that people are careful to use only out of her hearing, Suicide Suzie, due to a famous incident where she talked a guy down from jumping off the Sand Hill 280 overpass. The mayor gave her a plaque for an act of valor that someone had to rescue from the garbage can after the award ceremony. To Susan’s chagrin, it now hangs above the entrance to the station house. I have enormous respect for her. She doesn’t seek glory for its own sake, but values a job well done.
    Susan sits at her desk, fiddling with a pen, then leans back in her chair. She is large, with massive shoulders and a double chin, the type of woman that unenlightened persons probably wouldn’t take seriously, given her size and indifference to fashion. Strangers might mock her for her weight, might see it as evidence of laziness or lack of control. Yet I’ve never known anyone so disciplined. No matter how early you get to the station, Susan is already there. The station