Apparently, I did fall asleep again, because I dreamed that Diana came to see me at The Club, but it went differently than it had in reality. She said, “I came back because I need help. I don’t have any money, and Eddie needs a father.” I woke up sweating from this dream. I didn’t know what the kid’s actual name was, though I was fairly certain that it wasn’t Eddie.
The dream convinced me to get in touch with Diana again. The meeting we had was unsatisfactory. I hadn’t said anything. I hadn’t asked to see the kid’s picture. I hadn’t gotten his name, I could do better; I knew I could. And for some reason, now that I knew that Diana didn’t want anything from me, I found that I was determined to give them something. I called information. “At the request of the customer,” a machine told me, “that number is unpublished.” I couldn’t call her at work, of course.
Great. Just great. Now I would have to call Kevin. I really didn’t want to talk to Kevin. “You’d better get a lawyer,” he would tell me. Or, “She’s not going to want to talk to you.” Or maybe he already knew that she had come to see me, “She wants you to leave her alone.” Or, “She said she didn’t want anything. What are you harassing her for? What do you want from her anyway?” Kevin would demand to know.
I wanted to see the kid. My kid. My son. I wanted to see my son. He had my DNA; I was at least entitled to have a look at that cowlick.
Before I called Kevin, I rehearsed my possible responses to his comments and questions, explanations of my actions, excuses for my behavior. I got all sweaty thinking about it and put off calling. Then I realized that I could just say it was none of his business. I could say, “I’d prefer not to discuss it.” Yeah. I didn’t have to explain anything to Kevin. I braced myself and called him at work. He answered right away. “Hey,” I said. “It’s Good.”
“Oh,” he said. “Good.”
I didn’t know if he meant it was good that I called, or he was just confirming that it was me. This happened often. Without any preamble or small talk, I just said, “Could you give me Diana’s phone number? Home number, if you have it?”
“I’ll get it from Cathy and call you right back,” he said, A minute later, the phone rang. He read me the number, complete with area code, which was the same as mine and the same as his.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Take care.” And he hung up without asking any questions or making any comments.
I put the phone number on the kitchen table next to my pile of unpaid bills I was planning to pay.
I went into my closet and closed the door. I practiced guitar solos from famous songs, “Day Tripper,” “Born to Run,” just whatever came to mind in no particular order. I like to think I can play anything if I listen carefully and practice a lot. There have been very few days since fourth grade that I have not picked up a guitar.
The only problem with my closet was that there was no ventilation. After two hours of playing, my hair was wet, my shirt was sticking to me, and I had to keep wiping my slick hands on my pants to keep them from slipping on the strings, I walked out, and the air felt cool, chilly almost, against my wet skin.
At 5:30, I dialed Diana’s number. She answered right away.
“Hello, Diana?” I said.
“Yes,” she said slowly, carefully. I hadn’t thought about her voice, what it sounded like, when I saw her before. But now it did something to me. My legs felt watery, and my heart started thumping.
“This is Good.”
There was a pause, a pretty long one.
“Oh…,” she said. “I thought we were done.”
“I, well, no, I guess I wasn’t. Done.”
“OK,” she said. “What?”
“So, OK, so… how are you?”
“Fine.” She didn’t ask how I was.
“Glad to hear it. OK. Well, so anyhow, if you want to, you know, reach me, I’m at the same number as before. Maybe you don’t still have it. Let me give it to you. It—”
“That’s OK, I still have it.”
“Oh, you do. Well, OK. So if you need anything, or you want to talk to me or anything, you can just—”
“Good?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t. I’m sorry. That sounds mean, and I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that I’m fine. I have a job I like and a nice place to live. I’m all set, and I don’t want to mess it up now. And don’t worry—I’m not going to come knocking on your door one day and ask for money or something. I’m not going to ask you for anything.”
“Worry? I wasn’t worried. I just thought—maybe you’d like to, you know, get together. For dinner or something. To talk.”
This wasn’t what I’d planned at all. It was going all wrong! I was supposed to ask her to mail me a picture of the kid. I was going to mail her back a check or something. But now I found I couldn’t ask for a picture. I didn’t know why.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said.
Instantly, I felt my whole body slump in disappointment. “You don’t? Why not?”
“I didn’t move back here to resume my old life. Really. I moved here because I thought it would be a great place for Jack to grow up. And there was a job, and—”
“Jack?” I said, as if two hands were squeezing my throat. “Who is Jack?”
“My son. Who did you think Jack was?”
Jack? She named him Jack? My mouth dried up. Now my legs felt shaky. They were actually trembling. Why had she named him Jack? I had to sit down.
“Oh,” I said.
“Now, was there anything else?”
“Oh. No.”
“I have to go. I wish you all the best, really I do,” Diana said.
“Well, thanks. Same to you. Really.”
“Good-bye.”
“Bye.”