A Pact For Life (13 page)

“This is a bimanual internal exam,” Dr. Lincoln said. “It’s used to determine the size of your uterus and pelvis.”

Cale stood up and walked around to get a view of what was going on. He announced, “I’m not so sure that’s the correct name for this, Doc. I'd say it's a fifteen year old’s wet dream... just without the latex gloves.”

“Oh, that’s so funny,” The doctor giggled as she removed her fingers from Diana and slipped off the gloves. “You can let down your legs now, Ms. Young. We are almost through with the examination.”

Instead of sitting back up, Diana jumped down from the table and grabbed the plastic cup from the counter. She said to no one inparticular, “I’ll be back,” and left the room.

She was pissed.

There is this restaurant in Denver called Sympathy. There isn’t a single advertisement for it, most people have never heard of it, hell, it doesn't even have a sign to give away its location. The minimum meal costs $250 and patrons never call for reservations, their people do it for them. In order to get into Sympathy, one of three requirements must be met (usually they overlap).

1 Own an AMEX Black.

2 At least three servants and only one of them can be an illegal alien.

3 If you were to walk down any street in Denver, at least three people would recognize you.

Actually, there is a fourth condition that can get you into Sympathy, but only one person meets it. It’s simple, you just have to be Donald Dawkins.

Cale was wearing a suit with a gray tie and sitting across from his father, the type of man whose suave-nicitiy leads people to call his hair silver, not gray. Despite any semblance of fame that belonged to Cale, he wasn't exempt from Sympathy's dress code, or his father's orders. It was a white collar tragedy befalling a gray t-shirt man.

A waitress walked over carrying two gin martinis, which Donald Dawkins received, set them on the table, reached back, and held the waitresses hand like he was getting ready to propose. “Thank you, my dear. You've personally made this a memorable dinner.”

She laughed, but at the same time blushed. He turned back to Cale, raised his glass, and said, “Well sonny boy, it's been twenty-two years. Your mom was an incredible woman, and neither of us will ever again be lucky enough to have a woman like her in our lives.”

They knocked their drinks back and stared at their glasses in a moment of silence. After a half-minute of quiet, Donald spoke first, “Although... I must say Diana was also quite the woman. It's a shame it didn't work with her. There is nothing better in the world than a confident, powerful woman.”

Another round of martinis came over as Cale said quietly, “We're back together.”

“Excellent! Here's to Diana!” More gin disappeared from their glasses. Setting his drink down and leaning forward, Donald seriously asked. “So... who do you like for the presidency this year?”

This was somewhat of a routine for them. Politics while drinking. Knowing he had to give an answer, Cale announced, “I'm gonna write in my own name.”

“One day you'll see the light and stop mocking politics. What do I always say? The two things that make the world go round are women and government.”

“Boy, the gays are really getting screwed in that deal.”

Donald shot Cale a look of amusement and finished his martini. Licking his lips, he spoke, “I've covered every president since Carter, that micro-brew loving bastard, and I've seen firsthand the type of weight men like that possess. They write history, push technology, influence economy... they're kings of the world. And you think those sculptures are important?”

“Everything is relative.”

Another set of drinks came, followed by more flirting with the waitress. Cale could only look away. He was used to his father's flirting, but felt uncomfortable with it happening on that particular day. Instead of being brutally honest with his feelings, he decided to be, well, brutally honest with his life.

“Dad, Diana is pregnant.”

Gracefully, Donald sent the waitress on her way so he could be alone with his son. He raised his glass one more time, and proclaimed, “With her practicality and your creativity, that kid is going to be one hell of a person. Congratulations, sonny boy. Your mother would be so proud of you right now.”

Cale looked away and downed half of his drink. Outside of the few martinis that were circulating around his bloodstream, there was no cause for why he asked, “Dad, was I planned?”

Donald laughed. “You remember that time Bush number one...”

“No politics.”

“You know, you are making it hard to give advice, but very well. Take Elvis for example. His death wasn't planned, but those familiar with his lifestyle knew it was a possibility. That was what happened with you. We knew there was a potential for your mother to become pregnant, but it’s not like we had a nursery decorated or a name picked out. You should be thankful your mom was crazy about JJ Cale. I wanted to call you Theodore.”

“You just compared my birth to death.”

Donald raised his hands to absolve the blame. “When this kid is born, you'll understand how appropriate that analogy is. So, I take it this pregnancy is a surprise?”

Cale finished his third drink and slid it to the edge of the table. “I was at Diana's drunk and miserable about losing the ability to sculpt.”

Puzzled by what this meant, Donald asked, “You lost the ability?”

“Yeah, I'm completely worthless now, but that can wait for later. So I was telling Diana this, and she started crying about how she missed out on having a family because of how much she works. I knew we both needed to do something dramatic with our lives, and this idea came to me. One night, no contraceptive, and if she gets pregnant, then I'll marry her. If she didn't get pregnant, than we would never see each other again.”

Donald Dawkins loved it. “Well that sounds like a planned pregnancy to me! Don't worry about this, there have been far worse situations resulting in pregnancies. This will be a good thing. I'm sure of it. You'll finally be forced to grow up and be responsible for another living person.”

Another round came, this time brought by two waitresses. They tried to start up a conversion with the father and son, but Cale sent them back to the kitchen.

Getting back to the topic at hand, Cale said, “I don't think responsible will happen. I can't escape who I am. How am I going to handle a child who is 100% dependent on me when I can barely take care of myself? Dad, I’m terrified of failing.”

“That's a common fear. I had it with you, that guy over there in the corner had it, the bartender had it, every man has it when it comes to their first child. You worry if you are going to be as good as your own father… or you worry that you are going be just as bad. But the wonderful thing about a child is that it changes you without you even realizing it. I’m excited for Diana changing as well. You know I love the girl, but she needs to cut back on her time at the office. Those eighty hour work weeks will not cut it with a baby. Now... let me tell you about my life before you were born.”

By the time their fifth drinks arrived, Cale had learned all about the sacrifices his father made, and it made him even more scared. His head was swimming in alcohol and self-doubt, and he knew he would never change, and neither would Diana. They were screwed.

The Young house was packed with family for what was a monthly tradition where Diana’s mother cooked for the entire family followed by someone storming out after a fight. Approximately one hour before the meal was to be served, the locations of each family member were as follows:

•Diana and her father, Benjamin: Solving a crossword puzzle in the living room

•Diana’s mother, Terri: In the kitchen and yelling at her father and brother in the dining room.

•Diana’s grandfather, Popa and Uncle Vick: Yelling back.

•Diana’s younger sister, Caitlyn and boyfriend (name unknown): Missing

•Diana’s younger brother, Jack and Cale: Playing video games in Jack’s room.

By far the quietest area was the living room, where Diana and Benjamin Young sat side by side with The Denver Post neatly folded in front of them. It was obvious they were father and daughter, not only from the red hair and slim build, but the way they worked on the puzzle. It was a competition to see who would get the most answers. Only at the very end when they exhausted their own ability would they come together to finish.

“Damn, the Braves!” Diana shouted. “I should've gotten that. Nice one, Daddy.”

It was funny to hear 'daddy' come from such a formal, professional woman, but Diana's father was different than any other man in her life. He was someone who was always smarter, stronger, more patient, and most importantly, held unconditional love for her no matter how bossy she was as a little girl - or a grown woman.

“I'm surprised you didn't get that considering it was a baseball question. How many Rockies games did you go to last year?”

“Only five or six. I was too busy with work. If you want, Daddy, I can get a pair of tickets for us to go next year? It's probably been ten years since the last time we went. Do you remember that time I caught the foul ball?” Diana asked. She may have been an adult woman, but around Benjamin Young, she was always a little girl trying her hardest to impress her dad.

Benjamin gave a laugh only capable by a man wearing a cardigan. A laugh that proves the notion that it takes far fewer muscles to smile than frown. Sure, reading glasses may help with the look, but the cardigan is what seals the deal. “I remember how you talked the entire way home about wanting to play baseball with the boys. You detested the idea of softball.”

“I was a good baseball player too! If the season didn't overlap track, I could've played on the high school team.”

“You made the right decision. Team sports were always hard for you.”

“That's not true!”

“What about the time you started crying when that boy stole the pop up from you and he ended up dropping it? I had to carry you to the van because you wouldn't calm down.”

“I barely remember that. What was I? Like nine years old?” Actually, she remembered it perfectly. She remembered the scene at the game, the destructive aftermath, her fury, and subsequent embarrassment. It was one of those childhood moments that seems monumental and impossible to overcome at that age, but once you reach adulthood, it becomes minuscule. Yet for some reason or another, that traumatic feeling never goes away entirely.
¹³

In her head, the image of her father gently carrying her to their van as she kicked and screamed wouldn’t go away. Would he still try to take care of her after she revealed the pregnancy? With the announcement, she would no longer be his little girl.