Poles Apart (28 page)

“Amazing. Wonderful, I’m so proud of you,” she said. “So what’s the book to be?”

“Well, in essence, it’ll be a collection of the mini-essays on the blog, with some other stuff added. I obviously need more content before there’s enough for a whole book. So your continuing support on topics to tackle is welcome, even mandatory.”

“I’ll keep them coming,” she said, before pausing. “This is all so utterly extraordinary.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

“So how goes the Billy Kane enlightenment initiative?” I asked.

We both looked up to see my father and Kenny at the far end of the grounds. I noticed again that Dad was walking very well. He continued to limp a bit, but it was almost fully assimilated into his gait. And his left and right hands looked the same as they both gripped the handles of the wheelchair.

“I can see some progress. It’s slow, but he’s coming around. I really think he is. It’ll be a while before a lifetime of patriarchal brainwashing can be reversed. But the patient seems more willing, more compliant, now than he’s ever been,” she said.

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“It’s all in the pacing and intensity of our discussions. I’ve learned that if I try to go at him too hard, with too much, he shuts down and regresses into his 1960s adolescent boy’s boy. It’s
not pretty. So I have to watch for the telltale signs that I’m overstimulating his brain and trying too hard to rewire his belief system.”

“There are telltale signs?”

“Oh, yes. The back of his neck turns a shade of crimson, tiny wisps of smoke issue from his ears, his eyes bug out, and if we’re walking at the time, he starts to pull to the right.”

I just stared at her.

“All right. Let’s just say I can just sense from his monosyllabic responses that I’ve gone too far, too fast. So I slow down and come back to where I left him. We reconnect and move forward together, a little slower.”

“I assume you’ve already played the ‘daughter card,’ ” I said.

“I ended up throwing that down in our first session. He’s a tough nut to crack. I was hoping to hold it in reserve, but I clearly needed it early. It’s usually a dependable play.”

“My hat’s off to you. Let me know what I can do to help.”

“You’re helping already. Your father has read every single one of your blog posts.”

I snapped around to face her.

“Relax, young Everett. He has no idea who wrote them.”

We sat a while longer in silence. The sun felt so good. After a time, she pulled out her pad again and resumed her letter.

“So about your son,” I started. “Why doesn’t he ever visit you? Does he live that far away?”

She sighed and looked a little annoyed.

“He lives very, very far away. I haven’t spoken to him for a very, very long time. And that’s my very, very last word on the subject.”

“But …”

“Very, very last word. End of story.”

She was late, but at least she’d left Nathan in the car. I was seated in the corner of a Starbucks about halfway between her office and the rehab hospital. She was wearing some kind of a pantsuity thing that would not have looked out of place on the set of a science fiction movie. It was grey and red and very sleek.

“Mom,” I said, standing to give her a hug, “you’re looking very Gene Rodenberry today.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time to keep up with fashion designers. I’m surprised you do.”

“Right. So how are you?” I asked.

“I’m fine, honey. But so fu—, so friggin’ busy I don’t know which end is up.”

“That’s the life of a powerful
CEO
. That’s the role,” I said. “I’m very proud of you, Mom. You are a corporate, hardcore business rock star. And I really think you were made for it.”

“I just wish I hadn’t waited so long to get started. I lost half a career vacuuming and ironing.”

“Well, you weren’t just doing housework. I was there, too, if you’ll recall.”

“Yes, and that was what made it all tolerable, honey. Thank you.”

“So what did you want to chat about?”

“Can’t a mother just spend time with her only son without having an agenda?”

“Of course, any time you like. That would be nice. But you said you wanted to discuss something, remember?”

“Oh, right, yes, I guess I did. But I do just like spending time with you,” she backfilled, holding both my hands across the table.

“Mom, it’s fine. I’ve got a full plate these days with Dad, and, well, a few other things, too.”

“Of course, dear. So anyway, what is with your father? What’s gotten into him?”

“What do you mean? If he’s not defending Ford’s honour in the face of a diehard Chevy evangelist, he’s either trying to pick up his physiotherapist, who’s twenty-five years younger, or the regrettably forgotten feminist pioneer who’s a decade older. So I don’t know what you mean.”

“He’s been calling me and leaving me these weird voice-mail messages.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Well, stuff about being so proud of what I’ve accomplished in a man’s world and that he’s sorry he wasn’t more …”

She stopped and opened her purse and pulled out her cellphone.

“You can hear it for yourself. I saved the last one.”

She cued it up and handed the phone to me.

“Hiya Evie, honey. How’s the big business typhoon doing? Listen, I was hoping to talk with you a bit, maybe even get together. I can get a day-pass from this joint, and maybe we could have lunch. Anyway, I just want you to know that I think what you’ve done since, you know, the split, is just incredible. I’m so proud. And I’m sorry I was such a dick about it all, way back when. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was scared everything would change. It changed anyway, I guess, didn’t it? Anyway, I’m an idiot. So how about calling me?”

“Wow. That really is Dad’s voice.”

“Of course it is. Each time I listen to it, it’s still Billy Kane. Who else would call me a ‘business typhoon?’ ” she said. “Although that was kind of sweet. But that’s not all. He’s started mailing me clippings from the paper whenever I’m mentioned in a business story or my picture appears. He even printed a
Forbes
online bio piece from two years ago and sent it to me. That means he’s been pumping my name into Google and checking me out.”

“He’s just proud of you, Mom. We all are. And I think he’s just starting to realize, way too late, mind you, that he was – as he just admitted – an idiot. Maybe our little boy is growing up.”

“Easy, Ev. He’s still your father,” Mom scolded.

“Mom, please. We both know he’s a man from a different era, maybe a different geological period,” I said. “Perhaps living with a diverse group of stroke patients and hanging out with them everyday as they all get better has exposed him to some ideas and
ways of thinking that aren’t rooted in the 1950s. This is a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Well, I guess so. If he’d been like that when I wanted to do my
MBA
, we’d probably still be together. But it’s just so odd. I don’t know how I feel about it.”

We didn’t talk for much longer. Mom’s phone buzzed.

“Shit. That’s Nathan in the car. I gotta go, Ev.”

“No problem, Mom. Go forth and build resorts,” I said, standing up to give her a parting hug. “And keep me posted about Dad’s, you know, evolving behaviour.”

I wore my best jeans, a white button-down-collared shirt, and a casual blue blazer-type jacket. I pulled on my brown Blundstone boots to give me an extra inch. I fussed and mussed with my hair for an embarrassingly long time until it fell just the way I wanted it to. This was a little unusual. Normally, I was fine with my hair falling however it wanted to, as long as it wasn’t falling out. Strange. Then I checked my coif in every reflective surface in my apartment as I paced the place. My hair looked best in the toaster, where the curved stainless steel edges somehow made my locks look fuller, more luxuriant. At least I thought so. Plus, if I positioned my face square-on to the toaster at close range, and at just the right time, the toast appeared to pop directly out the top of my head. Finally, thankfully, it was time to go. I grabbed my car keys, checked my hair
one last time in the lustrous bowl of a serving spoon I’d left in the dish drainer, and headed down the fire escape.

We’d agreed to meet on the loading dock so as to avoid any of the early-bird demonstrators who might soon be gathering out front. I’d parked my dad’s car in the alley before jumping into the shower. As I turned on the landing of the steel staircase, I saw that they were both there, Megan and Shawna, leaning on the railing and talking. Last time I’d seen them together, they’d been in my head. Now, they were actually together, laughing. I wondered about what. Despite Lewis’s skill, I found it hard to descend a metal fire escape with anything approaching stealth. They both looked up as I tried to look casual and cool coming down.

“Here comes trouble,” Shawna said, leaning toward Megan. But she was smiling. They both were.

There was more than an hour till show time, so Shawna was still in her sweats and her face was as free of make-up as mine. To be clear, that means utterly bereft of any cosmetic assist. Her face looked lovely
au naturel
. Megan was dressed a little more casually than the last time I’d seen her, but could still pass for a lawyer. She had donned some make-up – when you write about cosmetics, you tend to notice them – and clearly knew how. I’m not that skilled in the art of women’s fashion, but I think you would call what she was wearing a blue dress, though I’m probably not doing it or her justice. She looked great.

“You haven’t been filling her head with stories that might be prejudicial to my reputation, have you?” I asked, more concerned than I dared let on.

“Not at all,” Shawna replied. “Would I do that? In fact, I’ve been pumping you up. Right?” She looked at Megan, who nodded vigorously.

“Oh yes. I’ve never met a babysitting Tsing Tao master,” Megan said. “It’s a great honour.”

“Fantastic,” I moaned. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”

They both laughed. Then Shawna stepped forward, pressed her hands against my arms, not unlike the move she’d made in my apartment, and planted one on my cheek.

“My hero,” she said, before turning to head back into the club. “Have fun, you two.”

Megan and I watched her disappear through the loading-bay door.

“I didn’t expect to connect so easily with people who take their clothes off professionally. But she is very cool,” Megan said as we walked down the steps to the alley and my dad’s Ford Focus.

“I know what you mean,” I replied. “But I guess they’re not much different from us in many ways. You know, they take their pants off one leg at a time, too.”

“Yeah, but when we do it, there’s no pole and no people,” she noted.

“Yes, and that’s a good thing, in my case,” I admitted.

“For you or for the people?”

“Both. And the pole for that matter.”

“Right,” Megan said. “You know, Shawna said some really nice things about you.”

I opened her door for her and she slid in. I dashed around to the driver’s side as fast as I could to try to stay on this agreeable topic. Then I calmly lowered myself into the seat.

“That was kind of her. Unless she’s just messing with us both, you know, by setting unrealistically high standards that no mortal man could ever achieve.”

“Oh, I think she was giving me the straight goods.”

“Speaking of
straight
goods, did she happen to mention that she and I are just, you know …”

“Good friends?” Megan filled in the blank.

“Right. Good friends. That’s it exactly.”

“No, she didn’t really mention that.”

“Oh, well, it’s true,” I said. “And I got to say, her daughter, Chloe, is a little miracle. When I babysat her for a few hours the other night, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her perfectly innocent face as she slept.”