Honesty - SF8 (31 page)

His prediction proved accurate a few minutes later when his father opened the door to his small house and blinked at his visitor in surprise. "Good morning," he managed. "Is everything all right, Jim?"

"Not really, Dad," he admitted with uncharacteristic honesty. "May I come in?"

"Oh!" His father looked completely flustered as he stepped aside and let his son enter. He followed the younger man into the sitting room, pausing at the door to inquire, "Coffee?"

"Oh, no thanks, Dad. I stopped twice on the way over here. It helped to keep my hands warm."

"You walked over here?" Charles asked, cocking his head in question.

"Uh, yeah. I uh…I’m having a hard time sleeping in the morning. It helps to get up and get going. I crossed paths with the cleaning crew in the office yesterday," he chuckled mirthlessly.

His own coffee forgotten, Charles sat down and gazed at his son for a moment, seeing the lines of stress that had settled around his mouth. His color was unusually pale, and his eyes bore none of their typical sparkle. "Tell me what’s bothering you, Jim."

Looking into his father’s eyes, Jim had a brief flash of recognition as he realized how starkly similar the warm green eyes were to Jamie’s. "Has Jamie talked to you, Dad?"

"About?" the older man asked, noncommittally.

Jim sighed, realizing his father would guard his secrets carefully, as usual. "About what’s happening between her and me. About me having a private investigator look into Ryan and Catherine’s lives."

The gray eyebrows shot up, Charles’ eyes growing wide. "No, she probably didn’t want to give me a heart attack," he muttered, shaking his head. His eyes fluttered closed as he asked rhetorically, "What will it take for you to come to your senses?"

Jim took the question seriously and looked at his father with eyes bright with emotion. "I think I have, Dad," he said earnestly. "I really think I have." Now only one eyebrow remained arched and Jim continued, "I don’t know why it took me this long, but it finally sank in," he insisted. "Jamie’s just as hard-headed as I am, Dad, and she’s not going to let me dictate to her about her choice of…companions," he said, not being able to come up with a more palatable word. "It finally dawned on me that either I drop the issue, or I’ll lose her…permanently." His eyes were unfocused as they stared at a space over Charles’ shoulder. "I can’t lose her, Dad. She’s my life."

Charles got up and sat on the sofa, next to his son. "I’m glad to hear that, Jim. It’s a start."

The younger man looked up at him. "A start?"

"Yes. It’s just a start. You’ve decided to honor her choices because of the harm that will come to you if you don’t. That’s not the same as truly validating her, son. That’s just protecting your own self-interests."

"What are you saying, Dad? What do I have to do?"

The older man sighed and patted his son on the shoulder. "You need to realize that you have a lot of work to do here. This is not going to be an easy journey for either of you." He gave him a speculative look and asked, "Is Jamie willing to work on this with you?"

"That’s why I’m here," Jim admitted, shifting nervously in his seat. "I uh…thought that you might be willing to talk to her for me, Dad. She won’t take my calls, and I don’t think that she reads my letters. I can’t reach her—no matter what I’ve tried."

"That’s not really surprising, is it?" His words were harsh, but his eyes held their normal warmth, softening the sting. "You’ve done some things that are very hurtful, Jim. You can’t expect her to ignore that just because you see that your tactics were ineffective."

Jim stared at the floor, his lips pursed in a long-familiar pout. "That’s where I thought you might come in," he mumbled.

The older man was slowly shaking his head. "I can’t do that. You need to find a way to make amends to those three women. It’s not going to be easy, Jim, but you’re going to have to do it. All I can advise is that you keep trying—over time she might give you another chance."

Getting to his feet, Jim walked over to the window, watching the increasing activity on the street as the residents of Nob Hill set off for work. "I find it hard to believe that you won’t even try to go to bat for me, Dad." His voice was low and soft, and revealed only some of the deep hurt that he felt. "If not for me, I thought you’d get involved for Jamie’s sake."

The priest walked over to his son and lightly touched his shoulder. "There isn’t a thing in the world I would deny you, Jim. I swear, if I could make this all go away, I’d do so in a minute. But my getting involved wouldn’t do a thing to solve the problems that exist between you and Jamie. The only way out is for the two of you to work this out together." Patting him gently he added, "I know patience isn’t one of your strong suits—but this time you’re going to have to try to be patient."

"But I’m leaving for Washington on Friday! I can’t leave with things like this!"

"I think the die is cast, Jim. Jamie’s in charge here, and you can only pray that she’s willing to forgive you some day."

"I’m not so sure Jamie is the one in charge," the younger man grumbled. "I still think Ryan has an undue influence over her."

Charles grasped his son’s shoulder and turned him so they were facing each other. "That’s not true," he said firmly. "There’s a very big difference between having undue influence over someone, and caring deeply for them. Of course Ryan’s opinion is important to Jamie, but her influence is anything but undue. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but at this point in her life, Ryan’s influence is greater than yours, and that’s as it should be."

Jim leaned his head against the window frame, staring vacantly for a few minutes. He sighed softly, then nearly whispered as he said, "If that’s true--I’ve lost her."

"You don’t know that," Charles warned. "I know how difficult this is for you, but this is one time that you can’t force your will. You have to let Jamie approach you—when she’s ready."

With a decided slump to his shoulders, Jim walked to the door. He paused for a moment, and gazed at his father with eyes filled with pain. "You don’t know how hard this is, Dad. It’s…it’s truly devastating." He sighed deeply, then opened the door and stepped out into the dull gray morning.

Charles went to the window and watched him walk down the street. He felt a deep, familiar ache in his chest, as his considered his only son.
I know exactly how it feels to have my best efforts to reach my child rebuffed, Jim. I know that feeling all too well.

On Thursday morning Ryan asked, "Wanna go to Union Square with me this evening?"

"Uh…sure. You know I’ll go anywhere as long as I’m with you. Although why you want to go to the shopping district is anyone’s guess."

"Hey, I shop too," Ryan insisted. "I do wear clothes, ya know."

"Well," Jamie grinned saucily, "that’s not a requirement to keep me happy, but I guess some people aren’t as open-minded as I am."

"This is true," Ryan agreed, placing a kiss on Jamie’s forehead. "I’ll be home about the usual time. We can eat there if you want, or you could make sandwiches or something if you have time."

"What are we going for, Ryan? And what’s the rush?"

The taller woman narrowed her eyes, looked suspiciously over both shoulders and said, "Top secret. Can’t reveal our destination."

Ryan was released a little early that night since they were going to have a run-through the next morning before they left for Washington, giving them a little extra practice time. She and Jamie parked in the lot at Macy’s and as they exited the lot, they immediately crossed the street. When Ryan opened the door to the Levi’s Superstore Jamie shot her a glance as she passed. "We came all the way over here for jeans? They sell jeans three minutes from our house."

"Not these jeans," Ryan assured her, immediately heading to the glass-enclosed elevators for a quick trip to the upper floor. She led the way to a section of the store with a long counter and a series of dressing rooms, and not much else. "Hi, I need to order some custom fit jeans," she told the first saleswoman who approached her.

Jamie’s mouth gaped as she said, "They make them to order?"

"Oh, yeah," the woman said. "Any style, any fabric, any color. It’s your choice."

"That’s remarkable," she said. "Do you want something special, Ryan?" She looked up at the tall woman who gave her a gentle smile.

"Yeah. I want regular old 501’s that go past my ankles." Ryan turned to the saleswoman and said, "I’ve been here before, so I’ll just look at your books for a few minutes to determine what fabric I want."

The saleswoman nodded and left to greet the next customer, but Jamie was still working on digesting what Ryan had just said. "My God, it never dawned on me that you wouldn’t be able to buy jeans that were long enough…"

"Until this store opened, I wore shorts year-round," she said, shaking her head. "That last growth spurt knocked me out of women’s pants. They make guys jeans long enough, but I look ridiculous in them. The waistband gaps, they’re baggy in the seat. Unacceptable!"

"But you have khakis that fit…"

"Yep. All from here. I have one pair of wool slacks that fit—they had some hellacious hem in them. Even still, they show more ankle than I’m comfortable with."

"You have those black gabardine slacks," Jamie reminded her.

Ryan’s eyebrows popped a few times as she revealed, "Those are men’s slacks. They’re cut generously, and have pleats. Somehow they worked for me. But I’ve never been able to find another pair that fit as well." She smiled at Jamie and revealed, "It’s been a struggle my whole life, even as a kid. I wore boys clothes until I started to develop some curves—then I was generally outta luck."

"Yeah, but your fans were just beginning to get lucky. Pun intended," she giggled.

"Bring your punny little butt over here and help me choose. I think I just want regular 501’s, but I’m amenable to suggestions."

"Cool," Jamie said as they surveyed the chart on the wall with color swatches, leg styles and button and zipper options. "You can really get anything you want?"

"Yep. You’re the boss."

They spent much longer than Ryan would have taken, but they finally decided on four pairs of pants: one pair of blue jeans, one black, one pair of mid-green khakis, and one of the traditional beige khakis. The blue jeans were to be Ryan’s favorite style—button-fly, five pockets, and straight leg. For the black she let Jamie talk her into a boot cut, which the smaller woman insisted would look better with her Doc Martens. The khakis were quite traditional—all cotton, zipper fly, four pockets--and Jamie gave her approval to the entire wardrobe.

The saleswoman led Ryan into a tiny dressing room, where Jamie wasn’t allowed to accompany her. "Why can’t I go? I wanna see them measure you."

"'Cause you won’t be able to see a thing. It’s all done by remote cameras in a jet-black room. The cameras would pick you up, and you’d have to get into the pants with me for them to fit right."

"And the problem with that is…?"

"See you in a minute," Ryan assured her. "You can look through the little slit in the door if you want."

"I want," she decided.

Ryan shucked her baggy jeans as soon as she got into the tiny room, then ignored the gym shorts the woman had given her, preferring to leave her own boxers on. Jamie was, of course, talking to her the entire time, but Ryan had to go into another, even smaller room, and their contact was cut off.

A disembodied voice instructed the dark woman to grab a pair of handles midway up the wall, and when she was set the cameras started to flash, their strobes so bright that she would have been bothered if her eyes had been open. The whole thing just took a few seconds, and she was out in no time, Jamie’s cute little nose still pressed into the slit in the door.

"All done?" she asked.

"Yep. Quick, huh?"

"I’ll say. Maybe I should do this, too."

"Can if you want. Or we could get you shrink-to-fits."

"What’s that?"

Ryan emerged and told the saleswoman that they’d be back to settle up in a bit. She walked Jamie around the elevator bank to a big display for the shrink-to-fit style. No one was currently waiting to have jeans done, so Ryan signaled to the impossibly thin young man who was on duty. "My friend wants some jeans. Can you hook her up?"

"Sure. What size do you normally wear?"

"Either six or eight," she said.

"These aren’t women’s sizes," he informed her. "I think I can guess your waist and inseam. I’ll bring in a couple of different pair for you to try. Then we can get started." Jamie suspiciously eyed the big tub in the center of the display, but she didn’t comment, figuring that this would either be fun or interesting since Ryan was involved.

Ryan went into the small room with her, their bodies having to perform an impromptu dance to give Jamie enough room to strip out of her own slacks to try on the jeans. Ryan examined the relatively baggy, extremely stiff fabric with her usual eye for detail. "Nope. Next size down."

"I would think so," Jamie agreed, slipping them off without needing to unbutton. The next pair was still too large for her tastes, but Ryan grasped the stiff fabric in a few critical places, her head practically nestled between Jamie’s breasts. The smaller woman giggled as the searching hand pinched the fabric between her legs and looked up, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Too snug?"