Saving Alice (17 page)
“I forgot which office was yours,” she said flatly, meeting my eyes with a trace of defiance.
My mind sorted through a multitude of different replies. Larry hovered by the window, looking out onto Main Street as if interested in the traffic.
“What’s up?” I asked bravely.
She affected a casual expression, but her continuing eye contact was almost unsettling, as if she were scrutinizing me.
She cleared her throat, belying her nerves for the first time, and I noticed the dog tag around her neck. She stepped forward, extending her fist. Reflexively, I extended my own, and she dropped a key ring with a single key into my open palm.
“That was yours,” she replied simply.
“Oh…” I said, realizing it was a key for the house. “Don’t you want it anymore?”
“I don’t need it, remember?”
I nodded, my spirits sinking.
She never intends to visit me?
“How’s school?” I asked.
She shrugged. “School’s a bore.”
My mind shifted through another dozen possible replies and questions, thinking better of each one, navigating carefully through the eggshells that seemed scattered in front of us.
“So…” I started, hoping something verbal would follow, like:
Will I see you this Saturday?
But nothing emerged.
“I have to go,” she said, taking several small steps backward.
“Sure good to see you, kiddo,” I said, then cringed.
Did I just say kiddo?
She smirked, the first intimation of a smile since she’d arrived. Before I knew it, she was pushing through the glass door. Just like that, a wonderful opportunity slipped away. She started hopping down the steps, then, as if realizing hopping didn’t quite mesh with the attire, slowed to a sauntering descent.
I turned around just as Larry exhaled. “That was a close one. I thought you were going to have a coronary.”
“I did,” I replied, opening my hand again, staring at the ring.
Larry chuckled. “She didn’t come to give you that key.”
I considered his statement. “So … did I pass?” I asked, still trying to erase the image of my ghoulish daughter.
“I’m not sure,” Larry said, looking out the window. “There’s always the possibility that she just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
He peered down toward the street again and then gestured for me to join him at the window. I moved to him and followed his gaze. What appeared to be a young man, equally black-attired, had his arms around Alycia.
“Apparently, she needed moral support,” Larry said. “Know the guy?”
“Haven’t a clue.”
“So … she’s dating.”
“Apparently.”
“He looks at least sixteen,” Larry added. “Almost a foot taller than her.”
“Thanks for the analysis,” I muttered.
“Could be eighteen,” Larry added. “Of course, Alycia herself looks four years older than her age.”
Especially now,
I thought.
Larry patted me on the shoulder before returning to his office. “Wake up and smell the hormones.”
I stood at the window a moment longer before retreating to my own office.
That evening, I summoned the courage and called the apartment. Sally answered and I asked for Alycia. Minutes later, Donna came on the phone. “Stephen?”
“Sorry to bother you. I was trying to get Alycia.”
“She won’t come to the phone,” Donna said coldly. “Why don’t you give it a rest? You’re accomplishing the opposite of what you want.”
No kidding,
I thought. “I need to talk to her.”
“I’m not going to force her.”
“Would you ask her again?”
I’d intended to talk to Alycia first, elicit some kind of assurances or promises regarding this boyfriend before I informed her mother. If I didn’t, Alycia was likely to say,
No fair, Dad. You told on me. You broke our deal
.
According to Alycia, not coming to her first was tantamount to betrayal. Although I always told Donna in the end, it was usually after the fact, after the situation had been discussed and solved by us first.
“Mom always overreacts!”
Alycia had told me countless times.
“She gets mad, but you and I can talk about stuff.”
But since I couldn’t get Alycia, I had to change course. Unfortunately, Donna didn’t give me a chance. “I’m hanging up, Stephen. We’ve already had this discussion.”
“Donna we need to tal—”
Click
.
I stared at the phone. I couldn’t believe it. Donna had never hung up on me before. In fact, she wasn’t the type to hang up on anyone. Her deeply ingrained sense of courtesy and ethics prevented her from being rude, even to solicitors. Through the years, we’d often joked about her inability to freeze out a sales call.
I decided against trying again tonight. That evening, I fell asleep in front of the TV, an old boxing replay of Ali versus Foreman.
W
hen I awakened on Saturday, I considered briefly throwing in the towel. Maybe Donna was right. Maybe my weekly vigil was accomplishing exactly the opposite of what I intended. What was to be gained by further alienating my daughter?
And yet, regardless of my frustration, I needed to talk to Donna about Alycia’s boyfriend, dire consequences aside:
Thanks for telling on me, Dad! You certainly have a knack for ruining my life!
I arrived at nine fifty-two, pulling up to the curb. By now the routine was starting to feel very familiar. I’d brought my usual books, including the IBD newspaper featuring the weekend market report.
I sipped my coffee, read the news, then about ten-thirty heard a rapping at the passenger window. It was Donna, wearing her maroon coat. Her eyes were shadowed, and I couldn’t read her expression. I rolled down the window.
“Alycia’s not here,” she said, her voice flat.
She pushed off from my car, but I called after her, “Alycia has a boyfriend, Donna.”
She wheeled around, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat. “What are you talking about?”
She approached the car again, and I recounted Alycia’s appearance at my office. In spite of the boyfriend news, Donna seemed just as shocked to hear that Alycia had stopped by to see me.
“He looks pretty old,” I commented.
“They
all
look old,” she countered, sniffing softly. The cold did that to her—it made her sniffle endlessly.
I’m allergic to winter,
she often joked.
Who isn’t?
Alycia usually muttered.
“Did you know about him?” I asked her.
“No,” she admitted.
“Donna…” I gestured to the passenger seat, “just get in the car, okay, so we can talk about this?”
Expelling a frustrated sigh, she opened the door, settling in. When she pulled the door shut, it didn’t click fully. The scent of lavender was muted.
“So … what are we going to do?” I asked.
She crossed her arms quickly and glared at me. “Who’s
we
?”
I hadn’t expected her to make this easy. She had never been good at enforcing rules, and our separation obviously wasn’t making it any easier. She stared straight ahead before putting her hand on the door handle. “I’ll handle it.”
“She’ll lie, you know.”
She released the door handle and glared at me. “Alycia doesn’t lie.”
“You’ll need to forbid her to see him, Donna,” I said.
“She’ll defy me.”
“Then I’ll talk to her.”
“Yep. That’ll work.” She expelled another sigh. Her eyes glistened in the reflection of sunlight off my windshield.
“She’s only thirteen,” I said.
“She had a training bra at eleven,” Donna countered. “She looks, and acts, like a sixteen-year-old. Besides, I’m not the disciplinarian you were.”
“Much good it did us,” I muttered.
“It worked when you two were…” Donna’s voice trailed off. She leaned back, closing her eyes. A moment passed before she spoke. “Is it so surprising, Stephen, that she would be looking for older male attention?”
Touché
. “Is she home now?”
“No,” she replied. “Alycia leaves the apartment just before you arrive.”
I whispered the obvious. “To avoid me?”
Donna shrugged. “Maybe to avoid knowing whether you showed up or not.”
My heart sank. What was the point? Donna was right. I was accomplishing the exact opposite of what I intended.
Donna reached toward the handle again, then hesitated. “But she asks me the moment she gets in, so that couldn’t be it.”
I could tell she was dying to get out. She turned again and gave me a piercing look. “I don’t approve of this game of yours. Have I told you that?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I asked for a few months, that’s all.”
“You asked for a year,” I said.
“Maybe a year is what she needs.”
“By then, I’ll have lost her.”
Donna expelled an exasperated breath. “You should know better than that.”
“I can do this,” I insisted.
She narrowed her eyes, “Oh, really? Why now? What will make the difference this time?”
I didn’t answer. As if sensing my struggle, Donna sniffed softly again.
“How’s church?” I asked, hoping to veer our conversation to less stressful topics. My change of subject was clunky and obvious, and I expected her to answer,
None of your business,
or to ignore my question altogether. Instead, she gave me a dubious glance. “Loraine has dismissed me from the choir.”
I was taken aback. Singing in the choir was one of Donna’s few genuine enjoyments.
“Why?” I asked.
She gave me an incredulous expression. “You have to ask?”
Of course,
I realized.
Divorce. The cardinal sin
. According to the official evangelical line, the church was filled with sinners saved by grace, but in reality, some Christians eat their own.
“It’s the platform, Stephen,” she continued. “We’re being observed by others.”
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
“I deserve whatever I get,” Donna said.
“No, you don’t.”
“I would expect you, a nonbeliever, to say that.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment, and then she forced a chuckle. “But it’s really absurd, you know. One half of the church can hardly stand to look at me anymore, and the other half, mainly the guys, have suddenly decided I exist. Even some married men are paying attention.”
I looked at her, and she gazed back at me. I experienced a strange flutter of jealousy. “I don’t blame them,” I said. “I mean … you’re an attractive woman.”
It was, perhaps, the most patronizing thing I could have said, inappropriate to our discussion, and I half expected her to lay into me. Instead, she made a halfhearted pull on the knob, then stopped. The tone in her voice was full of subtle wonder. “I don’t think you’ve ever said that to me.” She looked away after she said it, perhaps embarrassed, but I touched her arm, and she visibly bristled.
I could think of dozens of times I’d marveled—aloud—at her attractiveness. Had she never heard, or had she refused to believe me? Unsure of what to say, and hoping to avoid another argument, I said nothing and removed my hand.
“Never mind.” Donna opened the door and got out. Before pushing it closed, she placed her hand on the doorframe. “I’ll talk to Alycia.”
She granted me a small smile, and I watched as she put her hands in her pockets again and slowly trudged up the sidewalk.
I drove home in a fog as pieces of our conversation played over in my mind.
What will make the difference this time, Stephen?
Hadn’t I been asking myself the same question? If there was one thing I had learned in college Psych, it was that the river of human behavior reverts to its habitual groove.
At the moment I was sitting on one hundred fifty-thousand dollars in profit. So far, so good. Maybe I’d learned my lesson after all. Maybe the passage of time had eliminated my bad habits.
Sometimes an overflowing river cuts another furrow!
But rarely,
I admitted ruefully.
Even now that couldn’t discourage me. Donna and I had actually conducted a reasonably civil conversation. I’d paid her a compliment, to which she’d responded favorably, but most important:
The moment she gets home, she asks if you came
.
By the end of market hours on Tuesday, the S&P was sitting at a record high above the fifty-day moving average, and according to the prognosticators,
The market is careening out of control
.
Obviously we were due for a significant slow-down. I reminded myself that while great traders let their profits run, they also know when to cash in their chips. So, according to my trading rules, I initiated a protective stop based upon a five-day moving average.
If and when the price closed below this average, I’d be stopped out. In addition, once the market hit my stop, it would indicate another divergence, setting up another potential entry point in spite of the fact that such an elevated position would be risky at best. The market needed to tread water for a while. Breathe a bit. And frankly, so did I. But regardless of my emotions, I planned to follow my rules to the T.
That evening, Donna called me. “I talked to her, Stephen. And you were right.”
“How old is he?”
“Sixteen.”
I winced. “Should be a crime.”
“She’ll be fourteen in April.”
“Still.”
“I don’t think she told him her age.”
“Did you tell her she can’t see him?”
Donna cleared her throat. “Of course I did. But she wasn’t happy with me—”
“Doesn’t matter. You still have to—”
“I don’t need your lectures on parenting, Stephen.”
I paused, then asked, “Did she agree?” Donna sighed. “Stephen, please…”
“What’s his name?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Never mind,” I replied. “Just tell me.”
“You’ll embarrass her, Stephen.”
What do I have to lose?
I thought. “Have you ever talked to her about, you know …”
“Sex?”
I exhaled again.
“Yes, I have,” she said, sounding annoyed. “And we don’t need to have this conversation. She’s not having sex, okay? I know my daughter.”
Well enough to know she was dating?
I thought but didn’t say. Before hanging up, I assured Donna I wouldn’t embarrass Alycia. Reluctantly, Donna finally gave me the boy’s name.
The next morning I called the principal and informed him of the situation. He was no help. “We can’t be responsible for your children after school hours. That’s your job.”
On Wednesday, I borrowed Larry’s car and drove over to Holgate Middle School, parking on a cross street near the entrance so only the front end of the car was visible. Like a spy, I donned sunglasses and ball cap and waited for my daughter to appear.
At three-twenty, she emerged from the front door wearing black again, this time without the face paint. She walked down the sidewalk with a Gothic girlfriend on each side, then stepped into a waiting car. I caught a glimpse of the young man in the backseat.
I considered stalking the car, then decided against it.
That evening, I called Donna again.
“It didn’t take,” I told her.
“How do you know?”
“Trust me,” I said. “Do you want me to talk to her this time?”
“In what galaxy do you live?”
A moment of silence passed before she spoke again, her voice pinched. “I’m not good at this, Stephen. You should know that, but I’ll do it because I have to. This is the kind of stuff that makes me very angry with you.”
I tried to imagine the conversation. Alycia would probably fly off the handle if Donna didn’t get it right.
“I’d help if you just let me.”
She ignored my offer. “I wouldn’t come this Saturday, if you catch my drift.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re liable to lose a car window.”
“But—”
“She’ll figure it out, Stephen.”
For the next few days, the market ignored the prognosticators and continued its upward tear. My anxiety grew in direct proportion to its acceleration. My leveraged account had now ballooned to just over three hundred thousand dollars. Daily, I adjusted my trailing stop along the five-day moving average, determined to squeeze everything possible from this significant trend.
I had just finished plugging in my new price point when it suddenly hit me: I’d gone the distance. I had tamed the wild bull. I’d created a small fortune in a ridiculously short period of time.
