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Lunch at Nino's
A short story inspired by “Lunch with Gina,”
music and lyrics by Donald Fagen and Walter Becker
The doorbell thundered through the apartment and rattled me right to the bone. It’s Gina. Again. I don’t know how she got the address, but since she found out where I live, I
haven’t had a minute of peace. Now she’s back. Bing bong. Bing bong. Bing bong. I feel like an idiot crouched here behind the sofa. In my own home, no less. Knock, knock, knock. Why? Why can’t she just go away? She knows that it’s over. I’ve made that clear, dammit. I told her the night it happened. And then when she called the first time. And the eleventh. I don’t want you. I don’t love you. It’ll never work. Bing bong.
This is all I need. With my divorce from Paula in the homestretch, I’ve already been kicked out of the house. I thought it would be easier this way. You know, not having each other underfoot, facing in one another the constant reminder that our eight-year marriage has been a total failure. How could this happen? The goals were laid out. We were on the road to success. We went to the right schools, made the right friends and contacts, and formed the perfect team. We’d made plans together, but Paula had her own agenda—and the item dropped for this particular meeting was me, I guess. Old business that doesn’t get discussed if you don’t have the time.
If you asked her, I just wasn’t getting the job done. Whether it was my investment strategies, the car I drove, our house, or the neighborhood we lived in. Nothing came out right. It wasn’t like we didn’t make money. We have plenty. but there was never enough of the right stuff. Know what I mean? To us, image was everything. The kind that said to the world, “We’ve made it. So, what’s your problem?” It’s no wonder we never had a kid. Who could perform in the old sackeroo with that kind of pressure? And who had time? Funny, Paula had plenty of time for Jason. That dick. How long had they been stepping out? She said he was such a genius at coding and uploading—he made working late fun. Maybe it just takes me a while to catch on.
It’s been two months since Gina and I had our night together. I’ve printed a lot of proposals at the copy shop where she works, down First Avenue from my office building. She was younger than I thought, but she was always courteous and friendly. And the jobs were always ready and done right the first time. The way I like to do business. She was always so cheerful and lovely; it was fun to flirt. I looked forward to bringing in the work. Our conversation usually centered around her job and how the world was treating her. I learned that she had wanted to go to college after high school, but because her mother suffered from multiple sclerosis, Gina had been working since she was sixteen just to keep them off welfare and in their small apartment. No time for a boyfriend or much of a social life. Her attitude was that her time would come when it was right.
I came in one morning, loaded with an important proposal, not long after another blowout with Paula—the one that got me packing and moved into my studio apartment. Maybe I wasn’t in the mood for banter or maybe it was my back against the wall, but I asked Gina if she’d like to have dinner that night. The way she accepted still floors me: she said she’d thought I would never ask. We had sushi at Miki San since she didn’t have time to go home after work. We talked about how beautifully Japanese cuisine is prepared and how it doesn’t make you fat. A little about her mom and how Gina herself would love eventually to get a degree and then a real job or maybe even open her own gift shop.
After a cup of some perfectly brewed green tea, we left Miki San, strolled back to my car and got in. Starting the engine, I leaned over to show her the power window control and we connected like door latch magnets. Palates cleansed by the tea, we found each other delicious. We started making out like rabid teenagers, my hands all over her and, to my surprise, hers clutching me like I was a fireman who had just saved her life. After a few minutes of this, I pulled myself out of the embrace and, almost panting, turned the engine off. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around my neck and drew me back to her lips. I pulled back again, embarrassed at my lack of self-control. “I’m sorry,” I said, catching my breath and starting the car up. “We’ve got to get you home.” I was backing out of the parking space when she observed, “You are such a gentleman. Just like I knew you’d be.” Then, she added, “I’m not a slut. Really. In fact, this is my first date in over a year. Why don’t we just stay in the moment a little longer.” With that, she leaned over, cupped her palm around my face and leaned her head on my neck and shoulder. Still dubious, but loving the togetherness, I drove on a little farther—with no clear destination in mind. “Okay, just a little longer,” I agreed, startled at how paternal I must have sounded. When the EconoLodge sign appeared ahead in the darkness, I turned in, guided by some strange remote control.
Room 117 was dark when we entered; we kept the lights off. Picking up where we had left off in the parking lot, she whispered softly in my ear, “Don’t worry. We’re safe. I mean, I’m protected.” I finally took my foot off the brake. As our moment progressed, I unloaded just about everything I wanted to keep secret: all my frustrations, my pain at finding out about Paula, my vision of a perfect life. Gina held me and listened. And said she understood.
As I drove her back home, though, my tune had changed. I was all about how this was it. A trice. A lark. Just a spasm. I panicked at what this could become and wasn’t ready to add to my problems, or to hers. Our voices were hushed as we stood outside her apartment. Probably tired of my protestations, she said, “Okay, all right. I’ll see ya,” and disappeared through the doorway. Since then, I haven’t been able to shake her off.
The knocking starts again. Bam bam. A voice on the other side of the door shouts, “Peter. If you’re in there, open up. Please.” There’s silence for about ten seconds and then
she goes on, with a tinge of chagrin in her voice, “Okay, so you’re not home, but you’ve got to talk to me sometime.” Then, somewhat wistfully, she continued, “I really miss you at the
shop. Why don’t you come in any more? I have some exciting news. Important news... All right, then. I’ll just try to get you on the phone again.” I heard a raspy shuffle, and then footsteps that faded into a welcome stillness. Totally spent, I leaned hard against the back of the sofa, sliding down till my shoulders touched the floor.
What could be so important? Especially after I have tried to give her every reason to despise me. I’ve been so rude on the phone, it makes me wince to think about it. Hey, she
deserves it. I didn’t ask her to stalk me and make my life even more miserable than it is
already. Why doesn’t she lay off? She can just drop dead. Or, maybe I brought this on myself. What was I thinking? Asking a girl at least twelve years younger than I am to go out to dinner and then... Did I think she could just shrug something like that off the way I did? Have I lost my mind? No, she’s just a confused little girl caught up in an infatuation and she’s got to learn to take “no” for an answer.
The very next day, I was sneaking down First Avenue to get to my office when I caught a glimpse of Gina as she entered the copy shop. I stopped, did a quick one-eighty and started off in the opposite direction. In seconds, she was in front of me, a little out of breath and walking backward. “So there you are!” she exclaimed. Making a sudden stop, she continued excitedly, “I’m glad I finally caught you. Peter, I love you. I want to be together with you.” “Shhh. Stop it!” I reproached her. Calming a little, I went on, “I can’t be seen with you. I don’t want you around. Don’t you understand that we had just a one-night stand?” “Peter, I’m pregnant,” she informed me with a strange smile. “You what? Come on,” I blurted. Looking around for any witnesses, I grabbed Gina’s hand and pulled her all the way into the Starbucks on the next corner.
I sat her down at a table in the back and asked, “So, what is it that you want?” “I wanted you to know that you’re a father,” she answered innocently. “No! Jesus. What do you want to drink?” I barked. “Get me a fruit smoothie,” she said. Still irritated, I left to order and returned to the table with our drinks, praying not to see a familiar face. “How do you know it’s mine?” I asked through my now-clenched teeth. “It’s yours, Peter. I’ve only been with one other guy and I made him finish outside of me, she answered. I told you I’m not a slut.” I shot back, “You told me you couldn’t get pregnant.” “I told you I was protected,” she returned, “I thought I was, anyway,” she added, slumping back in her seat.
“Listen,” I told her, “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to get it taken care of. We’ll find the best clinic with the best doctor in town. Very clean and very professional. It’ll be over in no time. I’ll pay for everything.” “No!” she interrupted sharply. “I don’t want that. And you can’t force me to do it. I’m going to have this baby. Your baby.” She went on, “I want to be a mother. I’m not afraid of being one. I can do it by myself if I need to. But a baby should have a father.”
“You just don’t understand,” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down. “I can’t have this happening right now. I’m in the middle of a divorce. If this gets out, I’ll lose everything. I’m
trying to hang on to some of what I have so I can get past all this and still have a life. You don’t have any idea how aggressive these lawyers can be and you sure as hell don’t know how vindictive Paula could get if she smells money. They’ll dig and they’ll dig until they’ve found everything. I’d be lucky if I ended up with a change of clothes.”
“Peter,” she said soothingly, angling her head to the left. “You’re not all about money. You told me that much at the motel.” I retorted, “Don’t mention that night to me now. It’s over and done. Besides, it’s not just the money. You don’t know the pressure I’m under. I have a position to maintain. I’ve got a business to run and a board of directors to face. And sometime down the line, I might run for city council or something. If any of this gets out, I can kiss that all goodbye. It’s just too risky.”
“Asking me out for a date was pretty risky,” she countered. “In fact, the reason Idecided to go out with you was how brave you were—even to think I would. That, plus you’d always been so sweet and kind when you came into the shop and then again in your car. That’s why it hurts so much that you’re so angry right now when I am so happy. And you’ve been running away from me for the past two months. Two months! Do you know what it’s like to...to...” She broke into a pathetic fit of sobbing that ran my train of thought right off its tracks.
I looked around nervously and said, “Shh...shh...okay. Take it easy. Take it easy.” She settled down and buried her face in the handful of paper napkins I offered. “Just think about what this means to me,” I said sternly, “...and to you. We’ll talk about this another time.”
“Promise?” she inquired between sniffles. As she took a breath to compose herself, I said, “Look, I’ve got to go. Just let me leave first, okay?” I stood up from the table and stepped away stiffly, trying not to turn my head in either direction for fear of eye contact. As I got to the door, I didn’t turn back to see if Gina was still there.
After that, the whole day was pretty much scrap, so I skulked out of the office and got
home early. I closed all the blinds and turned on the TV, but hit the mute button. Collapsing on the couch, I lay back on the soft cushions—just to relax a little, I told myself. You just need some Peter time. No thoughts, no worries. Just for you...
“That’s my good boy,” I heard as I hunched over my algebra homework with a chewed pencil in one hand and the fingers of my other hand stuffed into the short tousled hair on the top of my head. “One day, you’re going to make me very proud,” she declared. “Because you are a smart one, you are. You’re going to go to college and study and be a great big success. Not like your father, that bum. How did he expect me to stay around while he dragged himself home from that machine shop day after day, exhausted and with all that dirt under his nails? And that paltry paycheck. You call that money? I make more selling Avon than he ever brought home in a month! He just didn’t understand people. The right people. The ones who can help you. Open doors for you. That’s the key. You keep studying, Peter, and one day I’ll show you how to be a success.”
I woke up with a start, catching my breath. With a cold sweat rolling down my face, I
started to turn the situation over in my mind again: Why is this happening? It was bad enough when Gina was just calling me constantly. Don’t I have enough to worry about? She’s gutsy to think about raising a kid on her own; I’ll give her that. But she’s got to give up on this “being together” idea. The faster I erase her—them—from my life, the better off I’ll be. I’ve got my own problems to solve. I’ve come too far to lose it all now.
The phone rang and sent me almost straight up in the air. Don’t answer it. Just let it
ring. Twenty rings later, I begged God to make it stop. At fifty rings, I was ready to fly out the door. For some reason, I grabbed the phone instead. “Hello?” “Peter, it’s me. Gina. I’m sorry I came apart on you earlier today. That’s not usually my style. When can we get together to talk, uh, like you said?” she inquired. “Are you still going to have this baby?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “Of course, I am. I told you,” she replied. Instantly, I said, “Then there isn’t much for us to talk about, is there?” and sat down on the sofa. “But I love you, Peter, and I want you to share this beautiful experience with me. It’s the most natural part of life that there is,” she reminded me.
I bellowed, “I told you I don’t want to be a father and I don’t want to get involved in this.” My neighbor was banging on the wall for quiet, so I continued, in a lowered voice, “Look, in the first place, you’re much too young. I’m at least twelve years older than you are and we have nothing in common. What would we talk about? We don’t share any past experiences or any of the same interests.” I started to pace the room. “Being with you would mean giving up everything I have. Everything I’ve worked for. Besides, you don’t know anything about business and you wouldn’t fit in well with my social activities...if I have anything left after this divorce, that is. We’d be making a huge mistake,” I argued, proud of my bulletproof logic.
“All I know is this,” she explained calmly. “Peter, you are a good man, but you’ve just
gotten off your path. Don’t you remember what you told me the night we were together? About what you really want out of life. And your dreams? You’re a real human being, caught up in an unreal world. All that materialism, the phony social gatherings and all the keeping up appearances. That’s not you. I’ve seen, and felt, the real you and I love that. Your only problem is...” I stood up again, raising my pointed finger in the air. “Don’t you go off telling me what my problem is. I know what it is,” I snarled. “It’s having a crazy, knocked up girl calling me all the time, driving me insane with stories about how she loves me and that she knows how I ought to run my life. That’s my problem!”
Unruffled, she continued, “Your problem is that you can’t be honest with yourself—or
anyone else.” “That’s enough!” I yelled. “Listen, I’ll give you five thousand dollars if you just
have this baby and forget who I am and never, ever try to get in touch with me again.” “But,
Peter, that’s not the poi...” “Ten thousand!” I countered. “Nowadays, I could get you arrested for stalking me, you know.”
“Okay, Peter,” she relented. “If that’s what you want. I’m going to have this child with
you or without you. If taking your money and denying your existence is what you want from
me, I’ll do it. I’m all out of reasons, all out of comebacks. I just can’t fight about it any more.” Relieved that it was finally over and confident that I had won, I sat back down and said, “Good. Meet me at Nino’s tomorrow at one. We’ll have lunch and I’ll have a check waiting for you. You’ve made the right decision.” “Okay,” she said resignedly. “Nino’s. One o’clock. Bye bye.”
Nino’s is a nice little place, contemporary, with beige table covers and mauve carpeting with teal accents. To look at it, you’d never know they served some of the best damned Italian food in the city. I got there at about quarter to one. I sure don’t want to miss this. I ordered a Tanqueray and tonic. We’ll wait for the lady to arrive before we get to the main course.
So, everything’s coming together nicely. I’m finally getting a break. I slept like a log last night for the first time in I can’t remember how long. Pretty soon now—no more Paula. No more Gina and no more baby talk. And I get my life back. So I lay low for a while. You know, just go through the motions. The lawyers have no idea about the offshore accounts. And Paula never has to know. Hell, if I can’t get the money back here, I’ll just move in next to it. Just the two of us, on Grand Cayman. Or was it Andros? Whatever. The weather sure will be better. I wonder if they speak English there...
I pulled out my checkbook. Another Tanqueray, please. Let’s see now, August...twenty-fourth. Pay to the order of Gina Evans...ten thousand dollars. And now just a signature: Peter F.Spencer. There, it’s done. She’ll probably faint, at her age, to see this much money all in one check. Flipping the corner back and forth with my fingertip, I thought to myself: Ah, I wish I were that young again. And that I hadn’t listened to the others who all said Paula was perfect for me. You’ll grow to love her, they said. I kind of envy Gina in a way. So bright. So young. As feisty and strong as she is, she’ll get along just fine. As she says, she’ll do okay with that baby without me. What could I add to the picture? My angst? My paranoia? I envy that baby, too. With a mother like Gina, so selfless and so generous, the kid’ll get everything Gina has to give. The attention it needs, the love and comfort and support I sure never had at home. She’ll raise that kid to stand up for himself. To think for himself. To follow his own way. Yep, that kid is going to be all right.
Where the hell is Gina? It’s ten after one. I don’t know, maybe my watch is fast. I’ll
give her till twenty after before I start getting too worked up. I looked up from my wrist and
over at the entrance. There she was, smiling sweetly at the hostess as they talked and then
started looking around for our booth. God, has Gina always been such a knockout? I don’t
remember her ever looking like that before. Maybe it’s just because she’s dolled up for our
lunch. Or maybe she’s already started spending the money. I raised my hand to get her
attention.
She crossed the room as serene and as graceful as a monk after deep meditation, smiling and meeting the eyes on all the heads that turned to watch her pass. How can she be so composed? I’m finally chilled out, but that’s after two cocktails. I stood up to receive her.
“Hello, Peter,” she said cheerfully. “Hi,” I said. “Sit down...please.” I ordered coffee
for myself and a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice for Gina. “Sorry I’m late, but I’ve just lost track of time today,” she confessed, then went on, “I’ve been thinking about this and I just want to try one more time to get you to...” “If,” I interrupted, “you’re going to try to talk me out of this or raise the stakes again, you can save your breath. This is settled.” Her face now more serious, she continued, “Oh Peter, just listen to me for a minute. I never had a dad around when I was growing up and I know you didn’t either. I felt we owe it to this baby to love it and take care of it...together. Like a real family. I know you would like that.”
I shifted uneasily in my chair and took in a breath to speak, but it caught in my throat
coming back out. Gina went on, “ You say you wanted support from your wife, but never got any. You say you wanted a partner in your life, to share your true thoughts and your ideas and your moments, but you never had one. You told me you wished you had had a more traditional family, one with more love and sharing and that you wanted to grow as a respected member of a real community, not some fancy gated development. If you leave us behind now, you’ll spend your whole life in some unfamiliar place hiding out or trying to fit in. Don’t you see? You could have everything you’ve wanted with me and our baby, if you’d just forget about the difference in our ages and forget about the money. Don’t fight this opportunity. You’ll still have your talent. And you’ve still got your dreams. For you, it could be like going back in time. Like a second chance. You can get it right this time. Doesn’t that make more sense?” she said, her eyes pleading with mine.
I sat silent for a few seconds, a little awestruck with her eloquent speech, and how it
cut right to the heart. Picking up the check in my hand and holding it toward her, I asked, “Are you finished with your rosy, little pie-in-the-sky version of the future?” “Yes, but doesn’t it make more sense?” she asked in reply. Pausing again, I yanked the check back, tore it into pieces and dropped them onto the table. I took her hand in mine, leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and told her with a big smile, “Yes, it does. To me, it makes all the sense in the world.” She squealed and jumped up from the table. Then, beaming, she sat back dreamily in her chair.
Finally, I asked, “Now, where is that waiter?”
©2004 Jim Walter
music and lyrics by Donald Fagen and Walter Becker
The doorbell thundered through the apartment and rattled me right to the bone. It’s Gina. Again. I don’t know how she got the address, but since she found out where I live, I
haven’t had a minute of peace. Now she’s back. Bing bong. Bing bong. Bing bong. I feel like an idiot crouched here behind the sofa. In my own home, no less. Knock, knock, knock. Why? Why can’t she just go away? She knows that it’s over. I’ve made that clear, dammit. I told her the night it happened. And then when she called the first time. And the eleventh. I don’t want you. I don’t love you. It’ll never work. Bing bong.
This is all I need. With my divorce from Paula in the homestretch, I’ve already been kicked out of the house. I thought it would be easier this way. You know, not having each other underfoot, facing in one another the constant reminder that our eight-year marriage has been a total failure. How could this happen? The goals were laid out. We were on the road to success. We went to the right schools, made the right friends and contacts, and formed the perfect team. We’d made plans together, but Paula had her own agenda—and the item dropped for this particular meeting was me, I guess. Old business that doesn’t get discussed if you don’t have the time.
If you asked her, I just wasn’t getting the job done. Whether it was my investment strategies, the car I drove, our house, or the neighborhood we lived in. Nothing came out right. It wasn’t like we didn’t make money. We have plenty. but there was never enough of the right stuff. Know what I mean? To us, image was everything. The kind that said to the world, “We’ve made it. So, what’s your problem?” It’s no wonder we never had a kid. Who could perform in the old sackeroo with that kind of pressure? And who had time? Funny, Paula had plenty of time for Jason. That dick. How long had they been stepping out? She said he was such a genius at coding and uploading—he made working late fun. Maybe it just takes me a while to catch on.
It’s been two months since Gina and I had our night together. I’ve printed a lot of proposals at the copy shop where she works, down First Avenue from my office building. She was younger than I thought, but she was always courteous and friendly. And the jobs were always ready and done right the first time. The way I like to do business. She was always so cheerful and lovely; it was fun to flirt. I looked forward to bringing in the work. Our conversation usually centered around her job and how the world was treating her. I learned that she had wanted to go to college after high school, but because her mother suffered from multiple sclerosis, Gina had been working since she was sixteen just to keep them off welfare and in their small apartment. No time for a boyfriend or much of a social life. Her attitude was that her time would come when it was right.
I came in one morning, loaded with an important proposal, not long after another blowout with Paula—the one that got me packing and moved into my studio apartment. Maybe I wasn’t in the mood for banter or maybe it was my back against the wall, but I asked Gina if she’d like to have dinner that night. The way she accepted still floors me: she said she’d thought I would never ask. We had sushi at Miki San since she didn’t have time to go home after work. We talked about how beautifully Japanese cuisine is prepared and how it doesn’t make you fat. A little about her mom and how Gina herself would love eventually to get a degree and then a real job or maybe even open her own gift shop.
After a cup of some perfectly brewed green tea, we left Miki San, strolled back to my car and got in. Starting the engine, I leaned over to show her the power window control and we connected like door latch magnets. Palates cleansed by the tea, we found each other delicious. We started making out like rabid teenagers, my hands all over her and, to my surprise, hers clutching me like I was a fireman who had just saved her life. After a few minutes of this, I pulled myself out of the embrace and, almost panting, turned the engine off. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around my neck and drew me back to her lips. I pulled back again, embarrassed at my lack of self-control. “I’m sorry,” I said, catching my breath and starting the car up. “We’ve got to get you home.” I was backing out of the parking space when she observed, “You are such a gentleman. Just like I knew you’d be.” Then, she added, “I’m not a slut. Really. In fact, this is my first date in over a year. Why don’t we just stay in the moment a little longer.” With that, she leaned over, cupped her palm around my face and leaned her head on my neck and shoulder. Still dubious, but loving the togetherness, I drove on a little farther—with no clear destination in mind. “Okay, just a little longer,” I agreed, startled at how paternal I must have sounded. When the EconoLodge sign appeared ahead in the darkness, I turned in, guided by some strange remote control.
Room 117 was dark when we entered; we kept the lights off. Picking up where we had left off in the parking lot, she whispered softly in my ear, “Don’t worry. We’re safe. I mean, I’m protected.” I finally took my foot off the brake. As our moment progressed, I unloaded just about everything I wanted to keep secret: all my frustrations, my pain at finding out about Paula, my vision of a perfect life. Gina held me and listened. And said she understood.
As I drove her back home, though, my tune had changed. I was all about how this was it. A trice. A lark. Just a spasm. I panicked at what this could become and wasn’t ready to add to my problems, or to hers. Our voices were hushed as we stood outside her apartment. Probably tired of my protestations, she said, “Okay, all right. I’ll see ya,” and disappeared through the doorway. Since then, I haven’t been able to shake her off.
The knocking starts again. Bam bam. A voice on the other side of the door shouts, “Peter. If you’re in there, open up. Please.” There’s silence for about ten seconds and then
she goes on, with a tinge of chagrin in her voice, “Okay, so you’re not home, but you’ve got to talk to me sometime.” Then, somewhat wistfully, she continued, “I really miss you at the
shop. Why don’t you come in any more? I have some exciting news. Important news... All right, then. I’ll just try to get you on the phone again.” I heard a raspy shuffle, and then footsteps that faded into a welcome stillness. Totally spent, I leaned hard against the back of the sofa, sliding down till my shoulders touched the floor.
What could be so important? Especially after I have tried to give her every reason to despise me. I’ve been so rude on the phone, it makes me wince to think about it. Hey, she
deserves it. I didn’t ask her to stalk me and make my life even more miserable than it is
already. Why doesn’t she lay off? She can just drop dead. Or, maybe I brought this on myself. What was I thinking? Asking a girl at least twelve years younger than I am to go out to dinner and then... Did I think she could just shrug something like that off the way I did? Have I lost my mind? No, she’s just a confused little girl caught up in an infatuation and she’s got to learn to take “no” for an answer.
The very next day, I was sneaking down First Avenue to get to my office when I caught a glimpse of Gina as she entered the copy shop. I stopped, did a quick one-eighty and started off in the opposite direction. In seconds, she was in front of me, a little out of breath and walking backward. “So there you are!” she exclaimed. Making a sudden stop, she continued excitedly, “I’m glad I finally caught you. Peter, I love you. I want to be together with you.” “Shhh. Stop it!” I reproached her. Calming a little, I went on, “I can’t be seen with you. I don’t want you around. Don’t you understand that we had just a one-night stand?” “Peter, I’m pregnant,” she informed me with a strange smile. “You what? Come on,” I blurted. Looking around for any witnesses, I grabbed Gina’s hand and pulled her all the way into the Starbucks on the next corner.
I sat her down at a table in the back and asked, “So, what is it that you want?” “I wanted you to know that you’re a father,” she answered innocently. “No! Jesus. What do you want to drink?” I barked. “Get me a fruit smoothie,” she said. Still irritated, I left to order and returned to the table with our drinks, praying not to see a familiar face. “How do you know it’s mine?” I asked through my now-clenched teeth. “It’s yours, Peter. I’ve only been with one other guy and I made him finish outside of me, she answered. I told you I’m not a slut.” I shot back, “You told me you couldn’t get pregnant.” “I told you I was protected,” she returned, “I thought I was, anyway,” she added, slumping back in her seat.
“Listen,” I told her, “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to get it taken care of. We’ll find the best clinic with the best doctor in town. Very clean and very professional. It’ll be over in no time. I’ll pay for everything.” “No!” she interrupted sharply. “I don’t want that. And you can’t force me to do it. I’m going to have this baby. Your baby.” She went on, “I want to be a mother. I’m not afraid of being one. I can do it by myself if I need to. But a baby should have a father.”
“You just don’t understand,” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down. “I can’t have this happening right now. I’m in the middle of a divorce. If this gets out, I’ll lose everything. I’m
trying to hang on to some of what I have so I can get past all this and still have a life. You don’t have any idea how aggressive these lawyers can be and you sure as hell don’t know how vindictive Paula could get if she smells money. They’ll dig and they’ll dig until they’ve found everything. I’d be lucky if I ended up with a change of clothes.”
“Peter,” she said soothingly, angling her head to the left. “You’re not all about money. You told me that much at the motel.” I retorted, “Don’t mention that night to me now. It’s over and done. Besides, it’s not just the money. You don’t know the pressure I’m under. I have a position to maintain. I’ve got a business to run and a board of directors to face. And sometime down the line, I might run for city council or something. If any of this gets out, I can kiss that all goodbye. It’s just too risky.”
“Asking me out for a date was pretty risky,” she countered. “In fact, the reason Idecided to go out with you was how brave you were—even to think I would. That, plus you’d always been so sweet and kind when you came into the shop and then again in your car. That’s why it hurts so much that you’re so angry right now when I am so happy. And you’ve been running away from me for the past two months. Two months! Do you know what it’s like to...to...” She broke into a pathetic fit of sobbing that ran my train of thought right off its tracks.
I looked around nervously and said, “Shh...shh...okay. Take it easy. Take it easy.” She settled down and buried her face in the handful of paper napkins I offered. “Just think about what this means to me,” I said sternly, “...and to you. We’ll talk about this another time.”
“Promise?” she inquired between sniffles. As she took a breath to compose herself, I said, “Look, I’ve got to go. Just let me leave first, okay?” I stood up from the table and stepped away stiffly, trying not to turn my head in either direction for fear of eye contact. As I got to the door, I didn’t turn back to see if Gina was still there.
After that, the whole day was pretty much scrap, so I skulked out of the office and got
home early. I closed all the blinds and turned on the TV, but hit the mute button. Collapsing on the couch, I lay back on the soft cushions—just to relax a little, I told myself. You just need some Peter time. No thoughts, no worries. Just for you...
“That’s my good boy,” I heard as I hunched over my algebra homework with a chewed pencil in one hand and the fingers of my other hand stuffed into the short tousled hair on the top of my head. “One day, you’re going to make me very proud,” she declared. “Because you are a smart one, you are. You’re going to go to college and study and be a great big success. Not like your father, that bum. How did he expect me to stay around while he dragged himself home from that machine shop day after day, exhausted and with all that dirt under his nails? And that paltry paycheck. You call that money? I make more selling Avon than he ever brought home in a month! He just didn’t understand people. The right people. The ones who can help you. Open doors for you. That’s the key. You keep studying, Peter, and one day I’ll show you how to be a success.”
I woke up with a start, catching my breath. With a cold sweat rolling down my face, I
started to turn the situation over in my mind again: Why is this happening? It was bad enough when Gina was just calling me constantly. Don’t I have enough to worry about? She’s gutsy to think about raising a kid on her own; I’ll give her that. But she’s got to give up on this “being together” idea. The faster I erase her—them—from my life, the better off I’ll be. I’ve got my own problems to solve. I’ve come too far to lose it all now.
The phone rang and sent me almost straight up in the air. Don’t answer it. Just let it
ring. Twenty rings later, I begged God to make it stop. At fifty rings, I was ready to fly out the door. For some reason, I grabbed the phone instead. “Hello?” “Peter, it’s me. Gina. I’m sorry I came apart on you earlier today. That’s not usually my style. When can we get together to talk, uh, like you said?” she inquired. “Are you still going to have this baby?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “Of course, I am. I told you,” she replied. Instantly, I said, “Then there isn’t much for us to talk about, is there?” and sat down on the sofa. “But I love you, Peter, and I want you to share this beautiful experience with me. It’s the most natural part of life that there is,” she reminded me.
I bellowed, “I told you I don’t want to be a father and I don’t want to get involved in this.” My neighbor was banging on the wall for quiet, so I continued, in a lowered voice, “Look, in the first place, you’re much too young. I’m at least twelve years older than you are and we have nothing in common. What would we talk about? We don’t share any past experiences or any of the same interests.” I started to pace the room. “Being with you would mean giving up everything I have. Everything I’ve worked for. Besides, you don’t know anything about business and you wouldn’t fit in well with my social activities...if I have anything left after this divorce, that is. We’d be making a huge mistake,” I argued, proud of my bulletproof logic.
“All I know is this,” she explained calmly. “Peter, you are a good man, but you’ve just
gotten off your path. Don’t you remember what you told me the night we were together? About what you really want out of life. And your dreams? You’re a real human being, caught up in an unreal world. All that materialism, the phony social gatherings and all the keeping up appearances. That’s not you. I’ve seen, and felt, the real you and I love that. Your only problem is...” I stood up again, raising my pointed finger in the air. “Don’t you go off telling me what my problem is. I know what it is,” I snarled. “It’s having a crazy, knocked up girl calling me all the time, driving me insane with stories about how she loves me and that she knows how I ought to run my life. That’s my problem!”
Unruffled, she continued, “Your problem is that you can’t be honest with yourself—or
anyone else.” “That’s enough!” I yelled. “Listen, I’ll give you five thousand dollars if you just
have this baby and forget who I am and never, ever try to get in touch with me again.” “But,
Peter, that’s not the poi...” “Ten thousand!” I countered. “Nowadays, I could get you arrested for stalking me, you know.”
“Okay, Peter,” she relented. “If that’s what you want. I’m going to have this child with
you or without you. If taking your money and denying your existence is what you want from
me, I’ll do it. I’m all out of reasons, all out of comebacks. I just can’t fight about it any more.” Relieved that it was finally over and confident that I had won, I sat back down and said, “Good. Meet me at Nino’s tomorrow at one. We’ll have lunch and I’ll have a check waiting for you. You’ve made the right decision.” “Okay,” she said resignedly. “Nino’s. One o’clock. Bye bye.”
Nino’s is a nice little place, contemporary, with beige table covers and mauve carpeting with teal accents. To look at it, you’d never know they served some of the best damned Italian food in the city. I got there at about quarter to one. I sure don’t want to miss this. I ordered a Tanqueray and tonic. We’ll wait for the lady to arrive before we get to the main course.
So, everything’s coming together nicely. I’m finally getting a break. I slept like a log last night for the first time in I can’t remember how long. Pretty soon now—no more Paula. No more Gina and no more baby talk. And I get my life back. So I lay low for a while. You know, just go through the motions. The lawyers have no idea about the offshore accounts. And Paula never has to know. Hell, if I can’t get the money back here, I’ll just move in next to it. Just the two of us, on Grand Cayman. Or was it Andros? Whatever. The weather sure will be better. I wonder if they speak English there...
I pulled out my checkbook. Another Tanqueray, please. Let’s see now, August...twenty-fourth. Pay to the order of Gina Evans...ten thousand dollars. And now just a signature: Peter F.Spencer. There, it’s done. She’ll probably faint, at her age, to see this much money all in one check. Flipping the corner back and forth with my fingertip, I thought to myself: Ah, I wish I were that young again. And that I hadn’t listened to the others who all said Paula was perfect for me. You’ll grow to love her, they said. I kind of envy Gina in a way. So bright. So young. As feisty and strong as she is, she’ll get along just fine. As she says, she’ll do okay with that baby without me. What could I add to the picture? My angst? My paranoia? I envy that baby, too. With a mother like Gina, so selfless and so generous, the kid’ll get everything Gina has to give. The attention it needs, the love and comfort and support I sure never had at home. She’ll raise that kid to stand up for himself. To think for himself. To follow his own way. Yep, that kid is going to be all right.
Where the hell is Gina? It’s ten after one. I don’t know, maybe my watch is fast. I’ll
give her till twenty after before I start getting too worked up. I looked up from my wrist and
over at the entrance. There she was, smiling sweetly at the hostess as they talked and then
started looking around for our booth. God, has Gina always been such a knockout? I don’t
remember her ever looking like that before. Maybe it’s just because she’s dolled up for our
lunch. Or maybe she’s already started spending the money. I raised my hand to get her
attention.
She crossed the room as serene and as graceful as a monk after deep meditation, smiling and meeting the eyes on all the heads that turned to watch her pass. How can she be so composed? I’m finally chilled out, but that’s after two cocktails. I stood up to receive her.
“Hello, Peter,” she said cheerfully. “Hi,” I said. “Sit down...please.” I ordered coffee
for myself and a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice for Gina. “Sorry I’m late, but I’ve just lost track of time today,” she confessed, then went on, “I’ve been thinking about this and I just want to try one more time to get you to...” “If,” I interrupted, “you’re going to try to talk me out of this or raise the stakes again, you can save your breath. This is settled.” Her face now more serious, she continued, “Oh Peter, just listen to me for a minute. I never had a dad around when I was growing up and I know you didn’t either. I felt we owe it to this baby to love it and take care of it...together. Like a real family. I know you would like that.”
I shifted uneasily in my chair and took in a breath to speak, but it caught in my throat
coming back out. Gina went on, “ You say you wanted support from your wife, but never got any. You say you wanted a partner in your life, to share your true thoughts and your ideas and your moments, but you never had one. You told me you wished you had had a more traditional family, one with more love and sharing and that you wanted to grow as a respected member of a real community, not some fancy gated development. If you leave us behind now, you’ll spend your whole life in some unfamiliar place hiding out or trying to fit in. Don’t you see? You could have everything you’ve wanted with me and our baby, if you’d just forget about the difference in our ages and forget about the money. Don’t fight this opportunity. You’ll still have your talent. And you’ve still got your dreams. For you, it could be like going back in time. Like a second chance. You can get it right this time. Doesn’t that make more sense?” she said, her eyes pleading with mine.
I sat silent for a few seconds, a little awestruck with her eloquent speech, and how it
cut right to the heart. Picking up the check in my hand and holding it toward her, I asked, “Are you finished with your rosy, little pie-in-the-sky version of the future?” “Yes, but doesn’t it make more sense?” she asked in reply. Pausing again, I yanked the check back, tore it into pieces and dropped them onto the table. I took her hand in mine, leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and told her with a big smile, “Yes, it does. To me, it makes all the sense in the world.” She squealed and jumped up from the table. Then, beaming, she sat back dreamily in her chair.
Finally, I asked, “Now, where is that waiter?”
©2004 Jim Walter
Comments and critiques on this Story.
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Permalink Reply by r. desmond robinson on -
You write well and fluidly and the story kept my attention to the end, although I feel you need a more logical ending, one that comes more out of the characters. Since she looks so sexy, how about him remembering her hands all over his body, her hot kisses (you can draw this out more), so he tears up the check and asks her, "How would you like to live with me in the Cayman Islands?" And don't make her crawl so much. Give her character some dignity.
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