Chapter Four
At eight twenty-two, Saturday morning, Danny awoke to the ringing of the telephone.
Good grief! Who’s calling me this early on a Saturday? For a split-second he toyed with the idea of ignoring it, but he picked up the receiver anyway.
“Hello,” he said in a gravely morning voice.
A discordant duet answered with the all-too-familiar strain:
“Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday, dear Dan-ny.
Happy birthday to you.”
“Geez, mom and dad. You guys don’t have to sing to me like that every year. I am forty-two years old, you know.”
“Why, of course we do dear,” his mom replied. “That’s why we called.”
“She loves embarrassing people. Let me tell you that,” his father said. “I’d sooner save my voice to root for the Red Wings.”
“What are you doing up so early on a Saturday?”
“Oh, I can’t sleep, you know that. And your father wanted his bacon and eggs early this morning. He gets grouchy if he doesn’t get fed when he’s hungry. Did we wake you up, dear?”
“No, I was awake.” Danny lied.
“Well, how does it feel to be over the hill?” his dad asked.
“I went over the hill two years ago, dad. But, to answer your question, it doesn’t feel any different.”
“Sorry about not getting your card off in time,” his mother said. “Time just gets away from me sometimes, and with all this bad weather...”
“Don’t worry about it mom. And please don’t send me any money this year. You need it more than I do.”
“I don’t believe that. You’ve got two kids in college. And what do we need money for? We never go anywhere.”
“Well you should,” Danny said. Since his dad retired, Danny has tried several times to suggest that they spend some time together traveling while they have their health.
“Where would we go, dear? All our friends are right here, and so are Lizzy and the kids.”
“You could go to Florida or Arizona — get away from the cold for a month or so. You could meet some people there. You might even enjoy yourselves. Liz and the kids can survive a month without you.”
“Oh, I don’t know. With your father’s back as bad as it is, he needs to sleep on his own bed.”
“I could sleep anywhere,” Danny’s father protested. “When I was in Korea, I slept in trees and trenches.”
“Well I’d like to see you try that now at sixty-six,” Betty Predmore snapped. “You wouldn’t last an hour before I’d have to drive you to the doctor. Believe me Danny, he’s not as young as he thinks he is.”
“Look, dad, why don’t you just buy the tickets and surprise her? In another couple of weeks the weather will be perfect in Florida.”
“I’m not going, Herb. So don’t waste your time. Besides, there’s an awful lot of work around here to get ready for spring. We can’t fritter away three or four weeks trying to live like the Rockefellers.”
“Okay. Forget I said anything about it.” Danny was exasperated with his predictably vain attempt to get his parents to agree on anything — even something good for them. He should have known better. But it wouldn’t matter what issue came up in conversation. They could argue over the price of, say…cheese, for example, regardless of their inability to influence it one way or the other.
So went the remainder of the phone call. Danny tried in vain to get something resembling a positive spin going around the nucleus of one topic after another: The idea of a family reunion in early summer — the last one was a flop so why would they want to try another? His work — he still did too much of it. His hockey team — what in the world was a forty-two year old man with bad knees doing playing a contact sport on skates? And his love life — regardless of how many women he met and dated, as far as his mother was concerned, none of them could ever take Julie’s place, so he ought to just drop everything, fly out west, and ask her to take him back.
Danny finally struck a positive note with his dad. They agreed to go down to Hockeytown together to see a Red Wings game before the season was over. His mother hated hockey, so there was no chance she’d feel left out. Danny would select the night and buy the tickets. His father’s calendar was wide open.
After hanging up, he decided not to go back to bed, though he still felt somewhat cheated on the morning side of sleep. After all, how often does one’s birthday come on a Saturday? Not often enough for Danny, that was for sure. But there was no use trying to recapture the blissful Saturday morning dream-like state he had attained before his parents called. Additionally, he now felt as though he had a hole in his stomach at roughly the spot where he’d dumped two hot dogs with “the works” last night after the second period of the Vipers’ game at the Palace. And the hole (or whatever it was) ached.
He put on his robe and began walking toward the kitchen to make some coffee and finish off a two-day-old tray of cinnamon rolls. But before he could get out of the bedroom, he caught sight of himself in the bureau-top mirror. “Yeow,” he remarked audibly, thinking that he looked like all of his 42 years had caught up with him in one night. His complexion was as pale as the winter. Seven hours on the pillow had rearranged his hair into a mad tangle. And the ragged shadow of whiskers on his chin didn’t help either. Contrary to what the unshaven look does for Don Johnson and Kirk Gibson, Danny’s one-day growth just made him look all the more haggard, like Jack Kevorkian after a long night’s work in the back of his van. He appeared hollow-eyed, weary, and frightful. This is ridiculous, he thought. I better get away to some place where the sun shines. That’s what I’ll do! I’ll plan a vacation today. It’ll be my birthday present to myself. A little sun, and I’ll be good as new.
He put on a pot of coffee and went immediately into the basement to dig out his old AAA travel books and maps. He remembered the years when he and Julie got the post-holiday blues. When winter got them down, they’d think up one or two warm destinations, then drive to the Auto Club for travel information. If they could only have afforded it, perhaps they might have taken some of those vacations. As it turned out, though, the trips were mere fantasies, except for one year when they drove to Orlando to take the kids to Disney World. Unfortunately, it was during spring break, and the place was so crowded that Danny swore he’d never go back. A total waste of time and money, he concluded. He’d had a miserable time.
But now it was only Danny. If he chose to go somewhere to simply lie on the beach and get a tan, no one could object. And this time he could afford to follow through. One round-trip airfare and a week’s worth of hotel bills wouldn’t break the bank.
So he poured himself some coffee, warmed his supermarket pastry in the microwave, and sat down to dream up a winter vacation.
If the weather report was to be believed, today was going to be the last warm day in the Southland for the next week or so. By evening, a low pressure area would be forming over the great basin, and the circulation around it would bring thickening clouds and moisture off the Pacific. The already horribly over-hyped “El Niño,” this winter’s unwelcome meteorological guest, would probably be blamed. But to Julie it just seemed like a predictable January weather pattern along the coast.
Julie’s eyes had opened early. Her body was conditioned to getting up at 5:30 so it made no difference that it was Saturday, that she’d been out late last night, or that Tracy’s arrest had caused her a fitful night’s sleep. Besides, she was eager to be up and outside in the awakening morning, running on the beach, enjoying the last in a string of remarkable January days. So, she climbed out of bed and was on the pavement before six.
Later, after showering, shaving her legs, and eating some breakfast, she began straightening the house. She wanted everything to be neat and tidy when Remy and Trace arrived. It wouldn’t be a big job.
After picking up her school knapsack and books which had been lying about the living room since Thursday night and stowing them temporarily in the “guest” room, she collected all her dirty laundry and carried it out there as well, shoving it behind the vinyl curtain. Both her schoolwork and the laundry could wait until tomorrow. Next, she got a cloth and a can of furniture polish and began dusting in her bedroom. She had to move all of her glass owls off the dresser — she had seven of them, each one unique. Though a small collection, it nonetheless held many dear memories for her. Her mom and step-dad had given her the first one for her high school graduation, a clear crystal figurine about eight inches tall with its own “papers” describing its supposed ancestry and defining its value as a collectable. She named it Hootie. Then, over the years, she got the othersone here, one there — mostly as gifts from her kids but always with a name and an accompanying fictitious pedigree. The kids got pretty good at thinking up owl genealogies after the first or second time.
Julie carefully removed each owl, dusted it, and set it on the bed. Then she sprayed the dresser top and ran the cloth over it before replacing the collection, one piece at a time, into a completely different arrangement from before. She finished the bedroom and moved to the living room.
She was working in semi-automatic mode, doing a thorough job of cleaning but thinking of something else entirely. Mainly, she was worrying about Trace. Thankfully, Remy had called late last night to say that he’d talked to the arresting officer, and Trace was going to be released from police custody. It had merely been a case of mixing oil and water — that, and an overzealous detective. Trace was tired, he said, and he was going to take her home, so she could get some sleep. “She’s in no condition to drive tonight. I’ll fill in the details when we come by in the morning to get the Camaro,” Remy told her. Julie said she was relieved and would definitely be looking forward to seeing them both.
But she really wasn’t — relieved, that is. She couldn’t believe Tracy had acted as she did, foolishly allowing herself to get mixed up in a drug bust, practically begging to get arrested and hauled off to police headquarters like a street thug or a prostitute or something. Julie had never suspected her friend to be so brazen, so reckless, so stupid! Maybe it was just the alcohol she had consumed, but if so, that was a problem too.
It was selfish of her, but she couldn’t help thinking that, now, she’d have the responsibility of trying to help Tracy overcome the character flaw which had precipitated last night’s behavior — not an easy task.
While vacuuming the living room, Julie noticed the pattern of her picture window frame stenciled onto the carpet, outlining a pool of brilliant sunshine that poured in over the front patio wall. The sun had warmed the house quickly and she was starting to sweat. She wished she had gotten the work done before taking her shower. As it was, she had things in complete reverse order. This was so unlike her. Must be her mind was so overloaded that she wasn’t thinking clearly. Now I’ve sweated up my blouse, she realized. Perhaps I should have stripped down to my underwear before vacuuming. Or done it in the nude. That would have saved a change of clothes at least. But with my luck, Remy and Trace would show up at the door, and there I’d be — naked as a bush woman.
This thought excited her, though she couldn’t say exactly why. She felt a sudden arousal in her loins that rose up into her bosom, but just as quickly she shook it off, dragged the vacuum around the bar, and finished her cleaning with a quick sweep of the kitchen tile.
Afterward, she started a full pot of fresh coffee using a special blend of Mocha Java with a hint of Chocolate Almond that Trace had given her. Then she pulled off her clothes and took another quick shower.
She told herself she wasn’t doing all this for the sake of impressing Remy. On the contrary, she had no desire whatsoever to lead him on. But neither did she want to project an image of herself as slovenly or unkempt. As a child, she’d been well-schooled in proper hygiene. She knew how to care for both herself and her things. But once she had kids, it was rarely possible to follow through. Most days, when they were small, the house looked a wreck and so did she. Then, after Clarissa got into school, and Julie took a secretarial job, it was all she could do to arrive on time for work, get home, quickly cook dinner, and continue tending to the children’s and Danny’s needs. Thinking back on those years, she remembered herself as a harried, frightful-looking working mom, totally lacking in appeal or sensuality.
Presently, things were different, however. She was single again and had begun to pay attention to her appearance and the image she was projecting to the world. But, for some reason she did not fully understand, she remained naggingly uncomfortable with her new persona. For one thing, she didn’t want to appear too anxious with men. In truth, she was scared of another relationship where she might get trapped again, then forced to yield to a dominating, selfish, insensitive man who neither understood nor respected her thoughts and feelings. Moreover, she knew that this reborn, unfettered Julie who cared for herself and always looked good, also had sex appeal. So she had to be careful not to give off the wrong signals. And, even without projecting positive, encouraging vibes, she’d seen how easily men could become too friendly with her.
Remy didn’t seem like such a man, however. Despite his size, she sensed he was gentle and respectful, with a good heart — the kind of man she should be looking for. But she felt no attraction to him, and that nagged at her as well. She began thinking, as she frequently did, that she was beyond loving, jaded past the point of romantic attraction. She remembered how, not so long ago, Danny had blamed her for his having to find someone else to fulfill himself sexually. Maybe he was right: she was incapable of love, an ice queen who could only hurt and destroy men from the frozen throne where she held sway.
Just after nine-thirty, revived from her second shower, with a fresh application of makeup on her face, Julie swung open the front door to get some air into the house. She poured herself more coffee and retrieved her sociology book from the back room, hoping to get a jump on her homework before her guests arrived. Plopping down in her favorite chair, now swimming in sun, she turned to page 142 and began to read about the gemeinschaft and gesellschaft models of societal organization. She secretly hoped the topic wouldn’t be as dry and boring as it seemed.
Earlier in the week, Danny had invited a couple of his friends, Bobby Brooks and Eric Dennison, over for tomorrow afternoon’s NFL conference championship games. Eric was the Blizzard’s goalie, and the only other single guy on the hockey team. They’d be ordering pizza delivery, but Danny realized he was nearly out of beer and snacks. So, around noontime, he left the house to pick up groceries. He planned to stop at Subway for lunch on the way back.
The change of scenery was a welcome respite. After bringing his box of travel information and maps up from the basement, and emptying its contents onto the kitchen table, he combed through an assortment of memorabilia, along with the anticipated AAA literature. There were brochures from up north, camping receipts, and trail guides from weekends they’d spent tenting in Tawas City and along the Au Sable River, and even stuff they’d brought back from Disney World, including a picture of all four of them, snapped by the perky but ever-mercenary Disney staff. In this photograph, now about ten or eleven years old, Danny appeared with a full head of hair. And he was thinner. Young Daniel hadn’t had his growth spurt yet. He stood only a millimeter or two taller than his sister, Clarissa, though he was holding himself perfectly erect underneath a Tiger’s cap that was slightly askew. Clarrie of course was also a kid, skinny as a flagpole, wearing pigtails and baggy pink shorts with a white Minnie Mouse tank top. Julie, for her part in the picture, could be seen smiling radiantly, one arm around each child. Her ultra-fine, fawn-colored hair, shoulder length at the time, windblown as usual, endowed her with a particularly sexy look. Her green eyes sparkled in the Florida sun. As Danny gazed into the picture, seeing how happy they all seemed that day, he flew off on a wave of nostalgia that shook him to the core. He realized that the trip to Florida must have been one of the high points in their marriage, even though he couldn’t remember actually enjoying himself down there.
Next, his mind reeled off to seek out other times when the family had been together and functioning like one happy unit. They had always enjoyed camping up north when the kids were young, and Tiger games at Michigan and Trumbull, and going down to Joe Louis Arena for Red Wing hockey.
I wasn’t such a bad husband and father, he supposed. What ever happened to ruin everything?
Was it his preoccupation with his own needs and concerns? That was no small part of the problem, certainly. But it occurred to him that there was something else too — perhaps his inability to keep the kids dependent upon him forever. When Daniel and Clarrie were young, they stood in awe of his every word. He had been a demigod to them — genie, guru, yogi, sensei, the sun that rose and set over their worldview. Julie, of course, had helped create this mystique of fatherhood that Danny wore like a royal robe. She taught the kids to reverence and fear him as head of the house, the hard-working provider, the final word on decisions and discipline. Maybe that was the problem. She’d set him up so high that a fall was inevitable. Then, when the kids began exerting their wills for independence and free thinking, down he came — like Humpty Dumpty, shattered to bits with no hope of restoration. Finally, as his role of father came to an end, there was nothing left of the marriage either. Maybe, if he and Julie had ever cultivated a life of their own before having children, they might have had something to look forward to when the kids grew up. But there hadn’t been time for such a relationship to develop, let alone mature. They were married too quickly, having dated only a short time before Julie got pregnant. Then, with young Daniel on the way, there was no opportunity to simply enjoy each other, to allow their love to deepen. Consequently, they hadn’t learned to appreciate each other outside of their roles as mom and dad. It was a shame, Danny thought. For, although they’d been thrown together suddenly — married too young and too soon — he had loved Julie deeply. And she obviously had loved him too. He probably couldn’t have picked a better wife and mother if he’d searched for a decade — nor found a more beautiful woman to love and serve him, and most importantly, put up with him as she had for so many years. He’d blown it, thrown away what they had together, and for what? — a little excitement and a few months of clandestine sexual pleasure.
Emerging from the retrospective, he found himself at the kitchen table — their old family gathering place — regretting what he’d done to Julie, and to himself for that matter, feeling lower than he had in over a year. and longing for the good old days of his marriage. After all, with the passing of time, it is mostly the good memories that survive.
With all these painful thoughts making him uncomfortable on his birthday (of all days), he decided to get out of the house and let the cold weather shock him into thinking about other things. So he left for the grocery store.
He was back within an hour, packing one bottle short of the entire case of Molson into the fridge. He then sat down at the kitchen table to read the Saturday News and Free Press and enjoy his lunch, a twelve-inch Italian sub with extra hot peppers, along with the remaining bottle of beer. He was into his third bite when the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hi, dad, it’s Clarrie, and Daniel’s on too.”
“Happy birthday dad,” said Danny’s twenty-one-year-old namesake.
“Thanks, Dan. Hi, Clar.”
“Isn’t this great. Daniel hooked us up on a three-way from his frat house, so we could wish you a happy birthday.”
“What a nice surprise.” Danny pushed away his sandwich for the moment.
“So, how’s everything back home. You still miss us?” his daughter asked.
“You know I do.” And he did, especially over Christmas when he hadn’t seen either of them.
“Well, I can’t speak for Daniel, but I miss you too — at least when I’m not completely buried in schoolwork.”
“Come on Clar. I know you’ve got other things to think about besides your old man.”
“She’s pining away dad; it was inevitable. All the loser guys go to State.”
“And all the ugly nerdettes are in Ann Arbor,” Clarrie quipped in return.
“Well, I’m glad to see that some things never change,” Danny said. “The prospects are better on somebody else’s campus, and you kids can always elevate a disagreement to the level of an art form.”
“So what’s new, dad?” Daniel asked. “Got anything special planned for your birthday?”
“No, not really. I was just trying to pick out someplace warm to go for a winter vacation.”
Clarrie jumped in. “Wow, that’s great. Where do you think you’ll end up?”
“I don’t know, maybe Aruba. I’ve heard the weather there is fantastic.”
“That’s so cool. Need a traveling companion?”
“Don’t you have school to worry about?”
“I was thinking of mom.”
“Good one, Clarrie,” her brother said, without masking his disgust. “It’s dad’s birthday, for crying out loud.”
“No, I’m serious. She’s not seeing anybody. And she never goes anywhere. She can’t afford to with what they pay her at work. Then she’s got school bills, and it can’t be cheap to live a block-and-a-half from the beach.”
“How do you know so much about mom and her personal life?” her brother asked.
“We e-mail each other at least once a week. You ought to try it once in a while, yourself. It won’t kill you, you know.”
Danny knew he had to interrupt. “Nice try Clar, but your mom wouldn’t go down the street with me, let alone to Aruba.”
“What’s the harm in asking? Tell her it was my idea. No way she could get mad at you for that.”
“Right. You and your ideas. Remember the time you got lost in the woods up north because you thought, if you got to where it was dark enough, you could see the northern lights.”
“Yeah,” her brother added, rubbing it in. “I remember that. None of us got any sleep that night, and mom was so mad. She blamed me for letting you go off by yourself. She swore you were dead, or dying out in the woods somewhere. Great idea, sis.”
“Well, just for your information, I did see the Aurora. And I wasn’t exactly lost — just temporarily disoriented.”
“You said it. Only ‘temporarily’ is the wrong adverb.”
“Okay, you two. How about a truce?” Danny suggested, although he was enjoying the sibling banter. He knew it was all in good fun. They really loved each other, and either of them would give up a vital organ if the other needed it. It was simply the way a brother and sister with fifteen months between them behave toward each other. Some things don’t change. He only wished that they might still come home occasionally and stay a few days, but they always managed to justify why they needed to stick around school, even during breaks. They were happier there in their new-found adult lives, he reasoned.
The three of them chatted for another ten minutes. Danny got caught up on all the latest East Lansing campus fads from Clarrie. Daniel told him about his plans to try working for a year or two before applying to grad school. He said he’d had his fill of studying for a while.
Clar asked him if he was seeing anyone, and her father said “not seriously.” He thought how embarrassing it would be to try to explain that he was dating one of her contemporaries, which of course he wasn’t, though he maintained some optimism that Valerie might see things differently in time. Maybe by then he’d think up a way to break the news to his kids that he’d fallen for a girl half his age. He’d heard of men marrying their mothers — metaphorically speaking, of course — but their daughters? There remained the distinct possibility that he was sick — mentally, at least.
Before they hung up, Clarrie made one more appeal for him to consider asking Julie to join him on the trip. “At least you could e-mail her. She’d probably be happy to hear from you,” She told him to get a pen and paper to write down her mom’s Internet address.
“I’ll give it some thought,” Danny replied, though mortified by the idea. What would he say to her? And as far as inviting her to the Caribbean — that was going to be his vacation. He didn’t want to spend it trying to right all the wrongs of the past. And besides, Julie would flatly refuse to go. He was sure of it.
After they hung up, Danny returned to his lunch. Only he had lost his appetite, and the beer was now warm and undrinkable.
Julie hadn’t made much progress on her sociology paper when she heard a car pull into the driveway. Seconds later the motor quit, and the sound of familiar voices drifted in on the ocean breeze. She quickly shut down her notebook computer and shoved it with her textbook underneath the chair. Remy and Trace appeared outside her wrought iron porch door and Julie, seeing them through the bars, thought of making a joke about how the look of vertical iron complimented Tracy’s figure. But she realized it would be in poor taste.
“Well it’s good to have you back,” is what she did say as she stepped out into the porch to unlock the gate.
Trace smiled and shook her head. “Yeah. Thanks to Remy I didn’t have to spend the night in that filthy hole with prostitutes and crack addicts.”
As she walked in, Julie embraced her, holding her for a few moments. Then she hugged Remy’s muscular frame as well, although less intensely and somewhat uneasily, but she wanted him to know she appreciated what he’d done to get Tracy out of trouble. “Thanks,” she said.
“No problem,” he replied, shutting the iron door behind him. “She means a lot to me too, even though she gets a little crazy from time to time.”
They went inside, and Julie suggested they sit at the dining table. She had some bagels and coffee to serve, she said. They were both famished; neither of them had taken time for breakfast.
Trace immediately began telling the tale of her run-in with the police. Already she was wearing the experience like a badge of courage.
Julie asked her to hold back a moment while she set out coffee. She next retrieved a plate from the cupboard and piled it with some bagels and, setting them on the table as well, apologized that they weren’t fresh. She then put out some raspberry jam and low-fat cream cheese with a couple of knives and spoons before sitting down to relax and enjoy the company — and to listen to Tracy’s story.
As it turned out, Trace had made her rounds of the South Coast Club last evening only to discover what Julie had already observed — there was an acute shortage of attractive, single guys present. So she bought another drink and consumed it at the bar, thinking she might give Julie and Remy a few minutes to get to know each other. Before leaving, she had the bartender pour her one more. When she got up, meaning to return to her friend and cousin, she immediately homed-in on the good-looking guy in the adjacent booth who, as they all discovered later, was an undercover narcotics’ detective for the Newport Beach PD. (Of course she didn’t suspect anything like that at the time.) This morning she called him a “real bad egg.”
He hadn’t been exactly warm and inviting from the beginning, she admitted, but given his high hunk quotient and Tracy’s giant self-image (not to mention her level of intoxication), she ignored his negative vibes and pressed forward with her come-on. After introducing herself, she sat down and started making small talk. He acted cordially, most probably (according to Remy’s appraisal) because he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself and thereby tip off the druggies he’d been observing.
Trace had seen the two long-haired men earlier, sitting and talking over beers at a nearby table. She didn’t give them a second look though; their appearance alone was a turnoff.
Anyway, she was really working this guy — Lieutenant “Hardass” she called him now — trying to get him to respond, to engage. He seemed preoccupied with something else, but Trace thought perhaps he was just being coy. Really attractive guys can get away with such behavior, she claimed. In her quasi-stupor though, she never made the connection with the drug deal about to go down ten feet away. Nearly numb from three-and-a-half Rob Roys, she just kept turning up the heat on the detective. She asked him to dance. He refused. Of course she could only presume he was there to get picked up, but he wanted her to work for it. Or maybe he was a little shy. Either way, she had to continue. She asked him what he was doing there by himself if he didn’t want to dance. He said he liked the band and he’d come to hear them. It was obviously a lie; even Tracy in her advanced state of inebriation could see that. She suggested that maybe he could join her and her friends in the next booth. Surely he didn’t want to sit there by himself all night, drinking alone.
Next thing she knew, th