Dr. Feelgood (28 page)

During the handoff of the photo, I noticed Dad’s hands looked nearly the same as when I was a teenager, just with more wrinkles. “That’s a long time.” My dad was the spitting image of his dad.

He sipped his beer and gave a small burp. He then crunched into a rind. He spoke with his mouth full. “How’s your mother, son?”

“She’s fine. I think she might finally be ready to retire.”

“She should. She deserves it.” I handed him the photo back. He stared straight forward and leaned back. “Son, I really did love your mother. I just didn’t know how to deal with a woman who couldn’t share me.”

“Most women wouldn’t put up with that, Dad. Especially when you’re married.”

“I know.”

“Why did you marry Mom if you needed other women?”

“I didn’t want anyone else to have her, and she wanted to be a wife. Had to make an honest woman out of her.”

“And what about Erskalene? Why did you marry her?”

“Because I knew she’d be the type of woman who would share me. She’s one of a kind.”

“That’s gotta be a terrible way for her to live, Dad. For her to know that when you’re not home, you’re in someone else’s bed.”

“She’s open to it. It’s just the way she is.”

“And how would you deal with it if you had to share her?”

He spoke casually. “I have, son. Erskalene has had a younger lover since I’ve known her. I’m telling you she’s pretty open. You of all people should know that.”

On that note, I fought the battle to hold in a long overdue breath as long as I could, but felt that if I didn’t follow up on that comment then and there, I never would again. “Dad, speaking of that time, why did you stay in the room when that happened? I can maybe see you setting me up with a hooker or something, or maybe even with someone you knew, but someone you loved enough to marry, and then you joined in. Why?”

“That’s the only way I knew. My dad showed me, too.” He put the top on the box of pictures.

“I thought your dad was married for sixty years.”

“He was.” He paused and took another sip. “Son, I did the best I could to keep you straight. And I’m sure having those Worthy skills hasn’t hurt your love life any.” His toothless grin was almost devilish.

“I’m not so sure, Dad.”

“Well, son, what do you want me to say?”

“After all these years, I suppose there’s nothing to say. But, I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t know how
many other sons you’ve done that to, but I’ll never bring my son into my bedroom, no matter how feminine I think he is.”

“I never touched you, Makkai.” He looked like he was fishing for credit.

“Oh, but you did in a way. You touched my youth with an experience that stunned me, yet kept me focused on sex.”

Silence.

I flashed a smile to lighten up the mood of an old man. He grinned back at me.

“Dad, anybody pregnant right now? You’re shooting blanks finally, right?” I smiled just short of a laugh.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

“Ever heard of a rubber, Dad?” Again, I smiled, but harder.

“I’ve used one a few times if they insisted. Most don’t.”

“If they insisted? What about you doing it for your health and for the fact that you’ve contributed enough to the population explosion.”

“I’m from the old school. All of that safe sex stuff happened not so long ago. Anyway, it’s too late for that now.” He swigged a long sip, leaning his head back.

“It’s never too late.”

He swallowed audibly. “Son, go find yourself a good woman and settle down. Do what I couldn’t do and, to be honest with you, still fight to do. Stay true and satisfy one woman.”

“You know what? As I look at you and look at how you’ve lived, I’m actually sorry you went
through what you went through, with being obsessed with the need to have so many women.”

“I’ve had a grand life. No regrets. But, I am sorry to you for what happened. Believe it or not, I did what I thought was necessary.”

“Enough said.”

He handed me the box. “Here, look through these and take the pictures you want. There’s nothing like music and photos in life. I’m going to put in this old Joe Tex cassette.” He leaned over and pushed a few buttons to an old, old stereo. It actually had an eight-track deck.

“I hear you.” I lifted the top and filtered through the black-and-whites, Polaroids, the faded ones, and the newer ones. I grinned at the sight of the stacks of memories, unorganized and disheveled, yet and still, saved and obviously cherished. “You need a photo album, like yesterday.” My eyes found a small manila envelope, turned toward the back, flashing a California return address. My eyes widened, my hand reached toward it hovering over it for a moment, until my apprehensive fingers grazed against the right corner, taking hold and lifting it up for a better view. “Hey, what’s this, Dad?”

Dad sat back and tapped his feet to the beat. He looked over for a split second. “That’s just a group of some photos an old friend sent me.” He waved his hand toward me.

My squinted sight revealed seven tiny letters, written in purple cursive ink that set off bell after bell in my spinning head. A facial muscle jittered. My bottom lip quivered. My eyes blinked rapidly.
My words sounded off in slow motion. “This envelope says Asskins.”

“That’s Laurie Askins. We called her Asskins because, son, this woman had the biggest behind I had ever seen in my life.” He used his hands to describe the roundness, cupping his hand around as he spoke.

I opened the flap and looked in to find one particular photo. Removing it, inch by inch, bit by bit, it revealed a sight for sore eyes. Two females standing, looking at me, hugging each other, smiling at me, ringing more bells with each feature, each curve, and each smirk. Each image filled my head as though I were the photographer and they were frozen in time, as if I were there and they were now, but they weren’t and I didn’t know them, or at least I didn’t know them then.

The tune “I
Gotcha”
by Joe Tex served as background to his words. “It was sweet and plump and had its own zip code. She says she had my child, but Laurie herself died years ago. Woman was shot to death. She sent me those photos years ago from when her daughter, supposedly our daughter, graduated from high school. She didn’t tell her a thing about me. She even gave the girl her last name, Askins.”

My eyes forgot about my father. My eyes felt dry and my throat felt drier. I could feel my heart muscle pound in overdrive. The vision sent my heart to my belly. I squinted my sight as I devoured the photograph and examined the younger female, taking her into my sights as though my eyes had hands and I could snatch
her from the seventies and ask her myself. “What’s the girl’s name?”

“What does it say on the back there?” He didn’t even know his own child’s name.

With a slow flick of the wrist, I turned over the Polaroid and read the faded cursive name. I waited for a few hurried breaths to pass. I swallowed. “It says … it says Laurinda. It says Laurinda Askins.” The name rang a bell.

“That’s it. She’s a cutie. Doesn’t look a thing like me, though.”

Still, with no eyes left for my father, I turned the photo back over. How could I be about to form my lips to ask this? How could this world be so small? “So, this Laurinda is my sister?”

“Yes, son. I guess she’s your half sister.”

Bullet ridden thoughts fired away in my head like a machine gun that I wanted to aim his way. My left hand rose to rub my ear and then to my forehead. My two middle fingers massaged a wake up call into my temples. But, I did not wake up. I was not dreaming. I was fully awake and my ears were not deceiving me. My next question arrived. “Was Laurie wealthy?”

“Wealthy? Please. Hell, no. Laurie didn’t have a pot to piss in. She used to beg me for money all the time. Laurie was a con artist from way back and a pathological liar. She owned a restaurant called Mondays, that some married man left to her. I heard it burned down years ago. They say his wife was mad about him leaving it to his mistress. Surely the wife burnt the sucker down. Heck, she may have had Laurie murdered, or at least there were
rumors but no proof. What’s wrong, son?” He stared at me as though I wasn’t listening. Oh, but I was.

My glance was stuck. No matter what, I couldn’t unglue the deliberate aim of my eyes. I continued to take in this photo that had to be more than twenty-five years old. The youthful image of my lover, Monday, a.k.a. Laurinda, as the woman called her when we exited that sex party, stared me in the face as she stood next to her attractive mother sporting the same old gap in her teeth, with an ass so fat you could see it from the front. The stare finally broke. “Nothing, Dad. Nothing. I’ve gotta go.”

I pressed the footrest down and stood up, placing the picture and the box on top of the same octagon coffee table I used to wax back in the day with lemon Pledge.

“Hold up. Where are you going? You don’t need to leave so fast. At least stay for the night. Erskalene had a celebration planned for tomorrow since your birthday is almost here.”

“I can’t.” I snatched up the keys to my rental car.

“Makkai.” Dad tried to sit up but his cane fell onto the floor. He looked at me. I didn’t budge. He then sat back and lowered his shoulders.

“Goodbye, Dad,” I said as I took a last glance at him sitting in his chair. His mouth was open, his forehead crinkled, eyebrows raised. I was sure this would be my final snapshot of him for the rest of my life. This rolling stone whose daughter I’d impregnated.

He spoke to my backside. “Makkai. Are you coming back?”

“Not this trip.”

I closed the front door behind me with a snatch and then backed out of the driveway in that rented Cadillac Catera in what seemed to be a millisecond.

The sound? A prolonged screech. The smell? Burning rubber. The feeling? Absolute disgust.

M
y words were directed to my speakerphone as I drove north on the 405 freeway as soon as I picked up my car from the LAX parking lot the next day.

“Monday, I’m coming over. I need to talk to you.” The conversation moved as fast as my ride.

“Why?” Monday asked loudly from the road.

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Where do you live?”

“In Palos Verdes.”

“What’s the address?”

“I’ll come to you,” she insisted.

“No, I’m nearby now. Just give me your address.”

“Fine, Makkai, I’ll meet you at the Starbucks on PCH near the pier.”

“Be there in twenty.”

The upstairs strip mall coffeehouse was bustling. The scent tickling patrons’ nostrils was a mixture
of rich Colombian beans and aromatic spices. I stepped up and got in line, looking around for Monday as I perused the crowded room. She sat in a corner, way in the back by the rest room, legs crossed, wearing a short jean jacket with her belly protruding. She had on a green wool scarf, wrapped tightly around her neck. She looked over at me without blinking, sipping bottled water through a straw. I waved. She did not.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I approached after being handed my white chocolate mocha.

“I’m fine.” The word bland was swirling all around her words.

“You seem bitter,” I told her as I pulled out a chair and sat down, scooting the chair farther away from her. I searched her face for evidence of our father’s genes. I saw none.

“I’m not. You seem irritated.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m not either,” she replied unconvincingly.

I took a cautioned sip. “Are you still pissed because I wouldn’t give you the money for the furniture?”

“No shit.”

“Anyway, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Not sure.”

“Why?” I asked my sister.

“That doctor friend of yours is concerned. She called and wanted to see me so that I could go ahead and take the ultrasound sooner, so I went on in.”

“I’m glad you did. And she’s not my doctor friend. She’s just a coworker. Did she give you a delivery date yet?”

“No. But, maybe you should be able to tell us the exact date that the condom broke and add forty weeks to that. I mean you were there too. Besides, like I told you before, and like I told the doctor, I was skipping periods, which had really been happening on and off for two years ever since what I thought was menopause was trying to creep in. But, I guess the one lucky egg got shot by your potent arrow.”

“Monday, why are you out and about? Shouldn’t you be off your feet like Dr. Marshall said?”

“I would be, but you wanted to meet.”

“You were out anyway. I could have come to your house.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” She looked around the room as though searching for anyone else to talk to other than me.

I wrapped my hand around the sleeved cup, pretending it was her thin neck. “So, what’s the final word on what you’re going to do?”

“I think at this point I’m having it.” Sarcasm was her middle name. She flashed her teeth my way with a fake grin. There was suddenly nothing sexy about her gap anymore.

“Funny, I mean as far as us?”

“Oh, like I have a choice. Like you would run off to Vegas with me and make me an honest old pregnant lady.” She sipped her water.

“Can’t do that.”

“That I know. Wouldn’t wanna do that. I have no idea. Hell, just give me money every month and take her every other weekend. I won’t fight you on anything.”

“Monday, where’s your family? Don’t you think the baby needs her maternal side of the family?”

“My mom had a small family.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What about your dad?”

She sipped her water again and then twirled the straw. “I don’t have one.”

“Of course you do.”

“Don’t know a thing about him and don’t care.”

“Surely you do.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Monday, have you ever experienced a man who didn’t let you down?”

“Stop trying to be a therapist, Makkai. And what does that have to do with this little baby girl coming into the world? You just make sure you don’t let her down. Otherwise we can find a family who won’t.”

“Oh, I won’t, so don’t even go there. We just need to have her tested.”

“For what?”