The Funny Thing Is

By: Jonothan Wolf
(© 2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 20

I Tried So Many Times To Do The Right Thing

I knew I had created a clusterfuck around me. I knew that my actions had set into motion things that would affect all of those around me. My family, my friends, my co-workers. And even though I knew I was affecting lives left and right, through it all, I tried to do the right thing. I tried to do what was sensible and fair, even if that meant doing what was hard. But I learned, quickly, that when everything is gone, doing what's right doesn't always fix what's left.

The drive away from home and towards my apartment that particular afternoon was longer than any drive I'd ever taken. I had really screwed the pooch on that one, and I had, literally, nothing to show for it.

The apartment, when I finally arrived, felt darker and emptier than any other time I'd been there by myself. I drew the shades in my bedroom and crawled back into bed.

By the time I'd slept more than my body could possibly sleep, I stumbled to the kitchen to try and drown the lump in my throat with some food. Nothing in the fridge or pantry looked remotely appetizing, and the thought of cooking depressed me more than my current level of loneliness.

I thought about calling Spencer. He had nothing hard-pressed to do all day. I was positive he'd be up for a midafternoon meal, liquid or not. But the majority of me didn't want to see anyone. I was liable to break down at any moment, and the thought of doing that in front of my friend was not a hopeful one.

Instead of eating anything, I pulled out my laptop and caught up on my correspondence. I had a fairly full inbox, however only two stood out.

The first was from Mason. I noticed as I read the subject information that it was also addressed to Regina Blackwell and Marty Fisher. Regina was the publisher assigned to my work and Marty Fisher was the lead editor at Knowles. Both were a part of my team, and so I eagerly opened the email to see what Mason had to say to all of us.

Dear Regina: Thanks for the response. Glad you enjoyed the new draft. I knew Cooper had it in him, and to be honest, this new manifestation just seems a lot more honest than what we were going for before. I understand that we have a lot to do in a little bit of time, and I'm confident Cooper is committed to getting it all done. I've CCed him on this email so that he can download the calendar you and Marty came up with. As for meeting, let's do it ASAP. I know Cooper doesn't have classes tomorrow- Wednesday. Let's say, first thing? Coop, does that work for you? We'll hammer everything else out then. Looking forward to it. - Mason

I sent a quick reply saying that I would be there on Wednesday ready to dish. I took a quick look at the schedule they had attached to the email and downloaded the dates to my phone calendar. They had the entire production scheduled right down to when I had to have my itemized edits returned.

After looking it over, I sent a quick email to Professor Kinnear asking if he'd be willing to meet with me on Friday. Now that Knowles was on board with the new draft, I could announce my changes to my superiors at SMU. I knew it was a reach, after the way everything played out with The List manuscript, but I felt like with a new take on the story, there was a solid chance I could save my job.

With that accomplished, I retreated back to my bed, trying my damndest not to think about my kids, and failing. Unable to shake the lump in my throat, I decided instead of seeing anyone, I could call someone.

"You busy?" I asked after holding on the line for almost two minutes.

"No, not at this second. What's up?"

"Well the kids know," I said.

"Coop..." Kyle's voice was familiar. Soothing. He knew what I was going through, even if he didn't quite get it.

"You don't have to say anything," I said calmly, surprising myself at how even my voice was. "I just... I don't know. I need to talk to someone and I feel like there is no one here."

There was an unusually long pause in which I could swear I heard Kyle's muffled voice whisper something.

"Look, Cooper, I actually have a million things happening right now. I'm so..."

"No worries," I said, shaking my head and attempting to be breezy.

"I wish there was something I could do, I really do."

"Yeah, no. It's... I know you're busy, Kyle."

"Have you called Spence or Sebastian?"

"No, but I'll try them."

"I don't want you to take this how it sounds, but take it how you know I mean it. Have you called Chase?"

I couldn't answer. I hadn't. What was I going to say?

'Come home from Granbury. Fuck your addicted ex-husband and be with me.'

"Um... yeah," I lied. "We're having dinner tonight, I just... I wanted to hear that it would all be okay and you're so good at that."

"It is going to be okay, you know that. Everything will pass. You're a strong guy, so hang in there, yeah?"

He was a million miles away, and I was doing the both of us a disservice keeping him on the line. I let him off the hook and hung up the phone, not realizing that I'd let a single tear make its way out of the corner of my eye.

"Fuck!" I shouted, throwing my phone against the wall. It shattered into at least a dozen pieces.

"Fuck," I said, my voice more tempered than before. I crawled to the wall and picked up a loose battery, my SIM card, two pieces of screen and the insert that goes under the touch screen.

"Fuck," I repeated. I sat there for a second, dangerously close to reaching the verge. I could have sat there for hours, wondering where exactly everything had gone wrong. Was it when I told Devon that Chase was back? Was it when I told Chase to get the hell out of my life? Was it when I told Kyle I was still in love with him? Whatever the beginning of this mess was, I was tired of sitting on the floor and wallowing. I wasn't a wallower.

I picked up the pieces of my phone, slipped my hoody and shoes on, locked up behind me and left. By the time I merged my car onto the bypass lane on Highway 30 heading west, I had built up traces of resolve.

Victim time was over. Woe is me time had come and gone. It was time to pick up the pieces, like that stupid little phone, and put them back together. And there was only one place to start.

"Hi, I'm here to see Morgan... umm... Pallendrino, please," I said eighty miles and sixty-five minutes later. The nurse behind the counter wore light blue scrubs. His smile was charming and warm if not practiced. He was used to greeting guests at the gate, and I'm sure he grew tired of it.

"Hello there, sir. Do you mean Morgan Fieri?"

"I guess I know him by his married name," I said with a curt smile.

"I can't allow you to see Mr. Fieri right now, Mr..."

"Fieri... Mr. Fieri. I'm Morgan's cousin."

"Oh. I'm sorry to keep you then. You should have said something sooner."

"I didn't think it would be quite this much of a... hassle, really," I said following the attending nurse to the edge of the welcome counter.

"You can't be too safe, can you? Family only when it isn't supervised visitation, which requires a forty-eight hour appointment and doctor approval."

"Got it. I'm glad my cousin is in such a secure establishment."

We stopped abruptly at the end of the counter. The cutely scrubbed nurse handed me a clipboard.

"I'll just need you to sign in. And then I need to see some identification, Mr. Fieri."

"I actually just flew in from California and had all of my luggage messengered to my hotel in Dallas."

"Mr. Fieri, there really isn't anything I can do, then."

I leaned against the counter and gave my best flirtatious smile.

"Look, I flew all this way when I heard that my cousin was in rehab. You won't make me drive all the way back to Dallas, will you?"

I took a hold of the corner of the nurses scrub collar and watched him squirm at my touch.

"Um... my hands are... um... I'm..."

"Just go tell Morgan that his favorite cousin, Cooper, is here. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know I came by."

"Um... okay. Just give me one second."

Surprising myself at how effective my lie was, all I could do was stand there and wait. I thought about what I'd say when I saw him. A million things had gone through my mind when I set out on this little journey, unsure if I'd even be able to go through with it.

In all honesty, I had thought about turning back a dozen times. But I hadn't. I had to face this. Things wouldn't be better until I faced this. I had already lost everything, so I truly had nothing to lose by seeing him.

"Okay, Mr. Fieri, if you'll follow me. Your cousin is very excited to see you."

I heard him address me, but it took a minute to realize he was calling me Mr. Fieri.

"Mr. Fieri," the nurse repeated.

"Oh, right. Me," I chuckled.

"If you'll follow me. Your cousin is very excited to see you."

"I bet he is."

I followed the attending down a white corridor with thick paned treated windows every seven or eight feet. The hallway was endless and broke up into several adjacent corridors. It was like being in a bleached maze. We walked all the way down to row F, turned right and made our way to number 23. As I passed Morgan's window, I took a deep breath.

"Have a wonderful visit. It's been a tough day for him, so let's try to keep it short and light, shall we?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

The nurse opened the door, gave me a wide grin, and guided me in by the small of my back. I gave him one last flirty smile for good measure and closed the door behind me. I turned to the far corner of the sterile room where Morgan was sitting cross legged and lanky on his bed, flipping through what looked like a vintage magazine. He didn't even bother to look up when I entered.

"I knew it wasn't my cousin," he sneered, keeping his full focus on the magazine as the door clicked shut. I turned quickly to see how it was secured and realized it locked from the inside. I could leave whenever I wanted.

"My father was an only child... Mr. Fieri."

His voice was low and eerie. There was still a bitterness in it, but it lacked its usual bite.

"Yeah well... I did what I had to."

"So you aren't perfect after all? Shocker..."

"I never said that I was."

"Chase seems to think so, even though, for the life of me I don't understand why. I mean, I'm just now putting the face to the name, but... I don't see it. It might just be me."

I took the seat out from under his desk and pulled it to the opposite end of the bed from where he sat. My eyes struggled to adjust to the completely artificial light, reflected off the clinically white walls. I had expected padding and rounded corners, for some reason. I saw neither.

"I didn't come here to fight with you, Morgan," I said calmly, reminding myself to breath in and out.

"Why are you here exactly? Today was shaping up to be a good day. I have a bridge tournament tonight."

"I just... I wanted to talk to you."

"Then talk."

I squirmed in my seat, unsure of how to begin.

"Oh, relax for god's sake. You can't catch it."

"I just want to know why you're here, Morgan. Why did you follow Chase to Dallas? Why have you hung on for so long? Why are you here?"

Morgan raised his shoulders and breathed in a dramatic, fluid motion. His actions were slow and reptilian. He brought his eyes up to meet me. He stared into me as he absentmindedly flipped a page of his magazine.

"You know as well as I do that Chase isn't the kind of guy you just let walk away."

The words pinched a little.

"I learned that the hard way."

"So do you blame me?"

"Honestly? No."

"Then leave me alone," he said. He opened his eyes wide, chilling me to the core. His eyes dropped slowly back to his magazine, as if he was physically dismissing me.

"I want you to go back," I said simply. "Pack up. Go back. Immediately."

He didn't respond with a word, a look, or even a movement. He looked down at the page as if it contained the most valuable information known to man.

"I'm willing to pay you anything you ask for." "You think that Chase hasn't tried to buy me off? I don't need your money."

"Then what..." I felt my voice rise, and I moved back in my chair in an attempt to regain control. "Then what do you want?"

"Don't you get it?" he slammed the magazine shut and inched towards me. "You don't become this without losing everyone along the way. I have nobody. Chase is the last person on this planet who gives a shit about me. I let him hang around here long enough, but I need him back. I will get him back."

I heard what he was saying, and truthfully, until then, I didn't get it. I thought this was some sort of scorned lover situation. I thought he still had feelings for the man I loved, and he would do absolutely anything to win over me.

But it was so much more than that. Chase was Morgan's life-line. As long as Chase was there, Morgan had a reason to hang on, if just barely. What would happen to this creature if Chase cut him off? Threw him away like everyone else had?

"Look, Morgan. I'm sure you know that I will win this."

"And I'm sure you know that I will die trying. I have nothing else to lose." The way he spat out the last sentence felt like a breeze went through the room. I was suddenly cold, inexplicably, and I wanted desperately to get out of there.

I have nothing else to lose.

I stood up and took a step towards the door.

"We're not done here," he called. I turned back to him. What else did he want? I had intended to make peace, or at least try. But one white flag does not a treaty make, and that's all I had brought to the party.

And it was right then, when I turned around and saw his face as he registered that I was leaving that I really and truly felt sorry for him. The man who had tried to steal my lover, threaten me, strangle me in a hotel hallway, and generally turn my new life upside down. I pitied him. He was pathetic. And I was pathetic for dealing with him.

"We're done here, Morgan," I said firmly. "You are done here. And I feel so sorry for you."

I strode out of the room, trying to remember which way I came. Every hallway was the same, and it took four left turns before I made it back to the nurse's station.

"I hope you had a wonderful visit..." the attending called as I hustled out of the clinic, jumped into my car, and hightailed it back to the highway.

By the time I made it back to Dallas, the sun had gone down. My worst day on record had officially come to an end.

As empowered as I had felt leaving the clinic, the feeling didn't last long. By the time I made the hour and a half trek back to the city, I wondered if going to visit Morgan was a good idea in the first place.

The lights were on when I entered the apartment and I knew Chase was home. The loft smelled vaguely of curry and cinnamon.

"Hey babe," I called as I locked the door behind me. "I'm home!"

"I'll be out in a second," I heard from the bathroom. I walked into the living area and saw cartons of Indian food laid out on the center table. He had arranged two plates and a candle in the center. I smiled to myself, remembering his note from that morning. When Chase Pallendrino does dinner, he does dinner. He always had.

I went into the bedroom and heard the shower click off as I slipped out of my jeans. Chase strode into the room, toweling off, a cloud of steam following him.

"How was your day, monsieur?"

"It was good," I replied nonchalantly. I walked to the closet and pulled out a pair of thin cotton sweats. "How was yours?"

"Average. Talked to Morgan's doctors, took care of some work at St. Mark's, got dinner."

"I saw that. Thank you."

He paused for a second, slipping into a pair of tight black briefs.

"Anything you want to tell me?"

I sat down on the bed and pulled my hoodie off. I looked up at him.

"Like what?"

"Anything."

"I um... talked to CJ today. About the custody thing. He sufficiently hates me," I said.

"Gamin."

"I don't want to hash that out right now," I said. "Please."

"Okay." I knew that wasn't what he was fishing for, and the fact that he kept fishing proved it. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, actually. Shall we get some food first?"

I had had a long time to think in that car ride from Granbury to Dallas. I had had a long time to reconcile exactly what I felt for Morgan. What I had misclassified as hatred could firmly be put in the pity column. He was worthless, and the three of us involved all knew it. So why did I feel so threatened?

Because he was there.

I realized on the drive home that if Chase had any intention of getting rid of a piece of trash like Morgan, he would have done so already. But as much as the addict needed his enabler, I realized that the enabler had a certain pull for the addict as well. He had to, or he would have cut the string a long time ago.

Morgan meant something to Chase. He wasn't a replacement Cooper while he was abroad. He wasn't someone that I could swoop in and erase from his memory, and with nothing but my thoughts and the open road to guide me, I finally realized that. Morgan would always be there, whether eighty miles away or three thousand.

"I went to see Morgan," I said after we'd spooned rice, lentils, and curried chicken onto our plates. I could tell from the cartons that the food had come from Taj on Greenville Ave, and I loved the place. My hunger almost outweighed what I needed to get off my chest.

"I know. Imagine my surprise when I got that phone call this evening."

"Look, I wasn't trying to incite anything, or go behind your back," I insisted. "I just had to see for myself what was going on."

"Babe, I told you I was taking care of everything. He will be gone. Soon," Chase replied convincingly.

"I hear that," I said. I took in a deep breath and pressed forward, forcing myself to tell Chase what I had decided only a few minutes before. "But I don't think he should go just yet."

The words surprised me almost as much as they surprised the guy sitting across from me. He picked up his wine glass and sipped it, narrowing his eyes at me.

"You're going to have to explain."

"Look, I cannot believe that I am saying this, trust me. The guy is... he's a shadow, Chase."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he will always be there. You will always worry. He will always give you reason. And if you're not in his life, he will die. And that will be on my head because I'm the one that forced you to get rid of him."

I will die trying.

"What are you saying?" he asked me.

"I'm saying..." I breathed in heavily. "Oh, God; I am saying that I think he should finish the program here in Granbury and when he's done... there is a vacant house in Highland Park that might need a property manager soon."

"Cooper, we don't have to do this."

"The fact that you said we... I'm not worried about us, Pal," I said.

"How long will you be comfortable with him being here?"

I pulled my shoulders up and dropped them slowly. "I haven't really thought this through."

"No shit," he said. "It's a big step for you. Are you positive you're okay with him being here? In Dallas? Around your friends? At your old home?"

"Chase when I saw him today, I saw someone who had nothing to live for except one thing. You. I wouldn't wish that kind of dependence on anyone."

"Cooper, I am ready to let him go. For you."

"And I appreciate that. But I'd rather we deal with him on our terms and not on his."

Chase took another long and slow sip.

"So what? He stays here and then what? He gets a job? We all become best friends? We do brunches in Uptown on Sunday mornings?"

"I don't know how it will work exactly."

"That's because it won't," he snapped. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. I think it's admirable that you think you're doing this for me. I really do. But he has been walking on two crutches for fifteen years, and it's time for him to make it on his own."

"Chase, I..."

"He'll finish his treatment. I'll cut him a check that will be more than enough to get him going, and then he'll be out of our hair. Forever, gamin. I mean it. Your idea to sew everything up in a perfect little package is... it's a fantasy."

I ran my tongue along the top row of my teeth, wondering how my attempt at selflessness had gotten me scolded by the guy I was doing this entire gesture for. I didn't want Morgan hanging around for my health, but I knew better than Chase that it was a matter of perspective. He was a shadow, and if we kept him close, his presence wouldn't have the looming effect that it would if he was far away. On my drive home, I had thought about the phone calls we'd expect from California. The news that he had relapsed. The desperate plea for a plane ticket back to Dallas. The drives to Granbury again and again. My plan kept him close, but it kept him watched, and I thought that might be better.

"Don't get me wrong, please," he said, softening his voice as he read my nonverbal reaction. "I love what you're trying to do. But I know Morgan. And I know what he needs."

"Chase, no offense, but you providing his so called needs got him into this situation to begin with."

I said the words before I had a chance to filter them. I saw his eyes wince. Chase took a long pause, looked down at the ground, and then finally back up at me. I saw the vulnerability in his eyes as if it was painted on a billboard.

"I know what I need, gamin. He has to go."

"Okay," I nodded, slowly. "Okay. Then he goes."

I watched Chase's face soften slightly, his lips forming a thin grin towards me.

"You would really let him live in your old house? Like, seriously? A drug addict in Highland Park?"

"He wouldn't be the only one, trust me."

Chase smiled.

"Pal, I'm not going to say that I'm not glad you don't want him hanging around, but I would have done it. For you."

His grin morphed into a smile as he leaned across the coffee table and gave me a curry soaked kiss.

We spent the rest of the evening talking. It was like we had all of this ground to cover and neither of us knew when to stop. By the time we moved to the bedroom, under the guise that I had a meeting at nine in the morning with Knowles and Co., I was ready to crash. And Chase was ready to play.

"I want you to know that you keep getting more and more incredible to me," he whispered in my ear as he slid into bed beside me. His breath was minty fresh, his hands soft. I could smell the day on him as he inched closer. A mixture of sweat, chlorine, and Old Spice body lotion.

His whole being was intoxicating, as it always had been.

He kissed my neck and I shifted my body to face him. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arm around me and drew me in for a kiss. He retreated for a brief second to look into my eyes, and I took the pause to catch my breath and arch my neck towards him.

It was a relief to know that no matter what the two of us went through, and for how long, we never lost an ounce of intimacy.

If I was tired before bed, I was wide awake as soon as Chase took our making out like school children to the next base. He wrapped his left hand around my dick as his right arm drew me in ever so slightly. Our chests touched as we played tonsil hockey, side by side. Wanting to feel him as close as possible, I lifted my leg and wrapped it around his.

"Mmmm," he moaned as our cocks rubbed against each other. Even at a healthy forty-one, Chase could get rock hard in a second, and I felt it right away. I returned his moan with a moan of my own, letting go of his lips and diving in for his neck.

"Gamin," he whispered, slipping out of his boxer briefs and thrusting his entire body against me. I made my way down his chest with my lips, kissing him every two or three inches until I was kneeling on my arms and knees before the prize. It wasn't with modest encouragement that I dove onto his cock with my tongue, eliciting a very sincere wince and moan from the six foot Adonis under me.

I was all over the place with my blow job. My lips didn't leave his dick once, but my hands roamed all over his body, caressing his neck, pinching his nipples, gliding against his abs.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, bucking upwards slowly to meet the pace of my jaw. Six minutes and endless lollipop licks later, I lifted my head off his lap and slid my entire body on top of his.

"I love you," I whispered.

"Mmmm," he moaned as I kissed his neck. "I fucking love you too."

He took a hold of my hand and wove his fingers into mine. With his free hand, he took both of our dicks in his hands and gave them a hearty squeeze. I moaned softly, taking his very delicious nipple into my mouth.

"Oh fuck, Coop," he said, grinding against me. The friction, the sensitivity on his chest, and the firmness of his grasp against his rock hard dick was enough to send him over. I felt slow trickle of cum fill the space where our torso met, heating up my stomach, and causing a warm lubrication to intensify our grinding. One thrust into his spewing cock and I was ready to go too.

As is often the case, I didn't even think about what a mess we'd made. I rolled over and found Chase's nook immediately. He pulled me in. I could still feel traces of his cum as he pressed his semi-hard dick against my ass.

"I'll never get tired of this," he yawned.

"Hummmm," I replied. "Me either."

I woke with a start at one minute before my seven o'clock alarm. My internal clock had somehow convinced the rest of my body that I was running late. I sprang up, grabbed a towel from the foot of the bed and waltzed to the bathroom.

"What's the hurry?" Chase yawned when I got out of the shower.

"I have a book meeting," I replied. I pulled a pair of navy slacks on. "Do you work?"

"I'm shadowing the afternoon practice," he said, rolling onto his stomach and stretching out across the bed. It was remarkable just how much space he took up when I wasn't there.

"Oh fun," I replied, grabbing a stripped button front shirt and pulling it on. I was dressed, shaved, and coffeed in twenty minutes flat.

When I got to the Knowles office, a building I could have very well done without ever seeing, my clear calmness had faded into a tightly wound bundle of nerves. Mason met me in the lobby, dressed every bit like the big shot he pretended to be.

"You ready for this?" he asked.

"What is this, exactly?"

"We're basically just playing catch up. You'll have the lead editor on your team in there to break down exactly what needs to be done. Publicity is coming as well, so we'll roll out the publicity calendar and hammer everything out. It's going to be intense, Coop, but we're behind so... it's how it has to be."

"But it's good, right?" I asked. All I cared about was the fact that a room full of business geeks would be judging me and my work. I'd sat through these things before, and somehow those people always forgot that it was someone's work they were treating like a switchboard.

"It's really good," he said simply.

We sat in an awkward silence until the receptionist announced that they were ready for us. I immediately recognized Regina, the first publisher to ever sign me. We'd worked together for almost four years, developing and rolling out All Cooped Up.

Across from her sat Marty Fisher, an ultra-glam New York import who strong armed a team of editors as if she were a caller on a row boat.

"Marty," I said, taking her hand. Also in the room was someone I recognized from the last meeting I'd had like this. He was a black guy, about my age. Very good looking with deep dark eyes. I tried to remember his name and his function, but couldn't. I allowed a simple nod and handshake to suffice.

"Okay," Regina said, perching her glasses on her nose, and slipping through on her tablet. "So, everyone has read the first draft. It's good. Really good, Cooper. Good job on pouring your midlife angst onto paper in such a convincing way."

Her voice wasn't necessarily grating. It was, however, intrusive. It would have worked perfectly for a room twice the size of what we were in. And the way she dropped the last syllable of every sentence as if she was about to run out of breath was more than I could handle.

"So we've repositioned the rollout, mostly because The List had more of a... sexually charged element to it. We were looking forward to breaking you into that market. Very lucrative, but this works nonetheless. Now, then. Marty, I'll dish to you and you'll walk us through your editing calendar."

The entire step-by-step was more boring than I imagined the second time around. I'd been through this game. Respect deadlines. Kill your babies, literary speak for trusting the editors and letting things go, no matter how attached you are. The editor's jobs are to improve the work, not squash the creativity. Blah blah blah. I sat through it, and I survived.

The guy, Gus Hall, did his walk through next, explaining date by date how the publicity would work. He told me what the advertising budget would be, but didn't really go into specifics. I imagined display tables at brick and mortar shops would accompany some banner ads online and click throughs on tablet apps. Possibly some interviews on B-List talk shows and radio programs. I wondered if they'd put my book cover on benches, maybe on the side of a bus. A boy could dream.

"Okay, that's about all that we need to discuss," Regina announced after walking me through the eighteen stop book tour that would kick off January 2nd and go every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday for six weeks. I didn't tell them I might be able to commit to more dates, seeing as the tour was designed to respect my teaching schedule, one that I wasn't sure I'd still have in two months.

"The last thing we need to flesh out is how we're going to handle this divorce situation," Regina said, looking at me as she dropped the last syllable in situation.

"What about it?" I asked.

"Well, despite your lawyer's best efforts to keep the record sealed, it's leaked."

"I mean, people around here already knew that I was getting divorced."

"Cooper, if you think your fan base consists solely of Dallas society, you're being extremely myopic," Regina replied. "I'm going to write up statements for you, Chase, and your wife in case the press approaches them as well. My advice: have them memorize the same response. People will fish. The last thing you want is a scorned wife telling them the truth."

"I can't control Devon," I said. I knew immediately that that wasn't the right answer. "Besides, she's moving to Chicago like, now..."

"Oh, that's wonderful." Regina's voice rose sharply. "Because there isn't access to blogs and newspapers in Chicago."

"Regina..." Mason tried to intercede. I swallowed the lump of stupidity in my throat.

"Look, I'm simply trying to warn you, that's all."

I nodded and half listened to them adjourn the meeting. My mind was a million miles away, thinking about how Devon would respond when asked what had happened. I vaguely heard Mason say what a great meeting it was as we walked to our cars, but my major motivation was to get out of there as fast as possible.

I took a minute when I got into my car. I saw that I had two missed calls from Sebastian and one from Spencer. The one from Bass was the strangest, as he never made calls during the day.

"Call Sebastian," I commanded as I revved my Volvo and sped out of the Knowles parking lot towards Highway 360.

"Hey Cooper," he said after the second ring.

"Hey. I was returning your call."

"Great. I um... I heard the news. How are you holding up?"

"I mean, I'm pretty much in the worst situation I ever could have imagined."

"I know. I don't know what I would do. I heard Ceej didn't take things too well."

I swallowed hard.

"Um... yeah. He was pretty pissed at me. Everyone is pretty pissed at me."

"I guess you are public enemy number one."

"Gee, thanks."

"If it's any consolation, Mike is more upset with your daughter than he is you."

I couldn't help but crack a small grin.

"It's a mild consolation."

"I think CJ will come around when he realizes that what you did wasn't easy."

"Yeah, I don't think so," I said. I went on to explain to Bass just how angry my son was when I left last night. "Inconsolable."

"Coop, I don't get it. Why don't you pull him aside and explain to him your reasoning."

"Because my reasoning is going to sound like bullshit to a fourteen year old kid. I'd rather he take this out on me than blame his sister for not budging on Chicago, or his mom for moving out there in the first place."

Bass took a long pause.

"Yeah, I guess there really is no win/win situation here. But still, I'd talk to him. I'd sit him down and I'd tell him that you aren't tossing him aside."

I shook my head stubbornly even though no one could see it. Maybe Bass was right. Maybe I was doing my son a disservice not telling him the truth. He had shown remarkable maturity during all of this. Maybe he would get it. Maybe he would know that I did what I did for a reason.

"Look, I've got to get back to work, but I hear brunch this weekend is nonnegotiable."

I told Sebastian that I would see him on Sunday at the very latest and I hung up.

I decided somewhere between Arapaho and Royal Lane that I would take my friend's advice. I exited two streets early, made a detour to Preston and turned into St. Mark's School for Boys. I was early for the usual parent pick up, so I walked into the building and told the receptionist in the front office that I needed to pull my son out of class.

"Name?"

"Cooper James... um, CJ Carpenter."

"I'll page him," she said. I sat there in the office for seven or eight minutes, waiting on CJ. When he finally got there, he didn't have his back pack in hand, and his face was so pointed, I thought he might strangle me right then.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Um... listen. We need to talk."

"You said plenty yesterday."

"I know. But I need to say more, and I need you to listen."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"CJ, please don't be difficult. Get your bag and let's go."

"No."

I tilted my head to the side. I could see the lady behind the desk watching our exchange like it was a soap opera, waiting to see what we'd do next.

"Could you please just hear me out for a second?"

"No," he replied, his voice growing agitated. I shook my head.

"Ceej..."

He turned his entire body towards the woman behind the desk and said in a scarily calm voice: "I have no clue who this man is. If he tries to come back here and sign me out of class again, call the police."

"Cooper James, are you kidding me? Tell her you're joking."

"I'm not joking."

"Sir," the lady said rising from her seat. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I'm his father," I said like she was the dumbest person I'd ever met. "Check his file, please. Before you kick me off campus."

"Sir, it's our policy to take any kidnapping accusation seriously."

"Lady," I said, forcing my voice to stay at a reasonable tone. "This is my son. Check his file and you will see a copy of my driver's license under legal guardian."

I pulled out my wallet and fished for my license.

"Sir that won't be necessary. CJ, if you could return to class, please, I will take this from here."

"CJ, get your bag, I'm taking you home." He didn't budge. I thrust my driver's license right into the receptionist's face. "See. That's me. This is my son. Pull his file and verify. In fact, you know what? Call the fucking principal, he's an old friend."

"Sir, your language."

"Will only get worse if you continue to harass me!" I realized I was shouting and that the two other students waiting in the office had stopped to look at me.

"Dad, you're embarrassing me," CJ whispered.

"Did you hear that? He said dad, now please. I am signing him out of school. Son, get your bag. We need to talk."

And that was when the showdown began. He stared at me intently for a minute, and I refused to budge. CJ might have been entering this strange phase of rebellion, but he knew when I wasn't going to have it. It wasn't how I had intended on starting my talk with him, but then again, what the hell had I expected?

"Look," I said softly. "It's up to you. If you want to hear me out, I would appreciate it more than you probably know. But if you don't want to, I can't say that I blame you."

I watched his face closely looking for a single sign of what he was thinking. He betrayed nothing. He stared me down for another minute, the woman behind be counter probably wishing she had filmed the entire exchange for Youtube.

"I don't want to hear you out," he replied, his voice low and even. "Now if you'd stop hanging around, I'd appreciate that."

The words went through my heart like a million daggers. For the first time ever in my life, I wanted to end it. Right then and there. I left the office, my heart breaking over and over with each step. And with every step, I heard the calculated words of my angry son echo through my brain.

To be continued...

Posted: 06/08/12