The Adventures of Jillian Spectre

by Nic Tatano

  She pats me on the chest. “That part comes from in here.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I hear a car horn and know my taxi has arrived. “Gotta go. I’d say don’t wait up… but I’ll need you when I get home.”

  And that sends Mom’s waterworks into overdrive. “Good luck,” she says, wiping her eyes.

  ***

  I see my father waiting in front of the restaurant as the cab pulls over to the curb. He opens the door for me, letting in the audible heartbeat of New York, horns and sirens. I get out, and he leans in to ask the cabbie how much the fare was. I see him pull out a fifty and hand it through the little window. “Keep it,” he says. He closes the door and the cab pulls away.

  He turns and really looks at me for the first time. “Wow, look at you. All grown up.”

  I shrug. “Not quite.”

  “Well, you’ve turned into a beautiful young woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  My father is dressed in a dark gray windowpane suit, the whitest shirt I’ve ever seen, a gold collar pin running under a blue and gold striped tie with a perfect dimple in the knot. “Shall we?” he says, as he extends his elbow. I loop my hand around it like I’m being taken to the ball. An older gentleman in a tux opens the door to the restaurant. “Nice to see you again, Mr Decker.” He nods at me. “Miss.”

  “James, this is my daughter Jillian,” he says, as he slips another fifty into the guy’s palm.

  “A pleasure,” says the doorman.

  I smile at him, noting he looks a bit like Sebastien. “Nice to meet you, James.”

  My father leads me into the building and across a marble floor. My heel clicks echo through the empty hallway. A lengthy elevator ride make my ears pop, as I realize we’re going up a long way. We step off and the Maitre d’ greets us from an antique maple podium set up a few feet from the elevator. “Ah, Mr Decker. Good evening. I have your regular table ready.”

  My father shakes his hand, and I see a hundred dollar bill folded neatly into his palm. I read somewhere Sinatra used to do that, not wanting anyone to know he was tipping. The C-note disappears into the Maitre d’s pocket. The man gives me a quick once-over, probably thinking my father is robbing the cradle, then leads us into the dimly lit dining room. For whatever reason my father didn’t introduce me. Maybe the guy is one of his minions. We weave our way through the patrons toward a corner table, which sits against a window offering a spectacular view of the skyline. We’re actually looking down at the Chrysler, shimmering in the evening mist a few blocks away. Soft violin music fills the air along with a whoosh from an exotic looking dessert prepared tableside that has just gone up in flames.

  I’m thinking he’s already down two hundred bucks and I haven’t even had a glass of water yet.

  “Wow, beautiful view,” I say as the Maitre d’ pulls out my chair for me.

  “Best in the city since the Rainbow Room closed. The food’s not bad either.”

  A slender, middle-aged bald waiter in a white dinner jacket arrives at our table. “Good evening, Mr Decker. Something from the bar?”

  “Scotch, rocks.”

  He turns to me. “And for the young lady?”

  “Pellegrino,” I say. (Got that from Roxanne. I’m not gonna order a root beer in a place like this, even though I really want a Dr. Brown’s.)

  “Very good,” he says. He hands us menus, then turns and heads for the bar.

  I open the heavy leather bound menu which has a gold tassel in the center and look at the entrees, which of course have no prices. Some of the stuff I can’t even pronounce, other dishes are written in a foreign language, but I do spot a lobster so I snap the menu shut and smile at my father.

  “That was quick,” he says.

  “Lobster is my favorite.” If you’d been around when I was growing up, you’d know that.

  “Good to know.” He smiles, closes his menu and places it on the table. “I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

  “Apparently we’re even. Mr Decker.”

  He offers a sly smile. “Well, if you’re going to go off the grid you need a new identity. You still carry the family name.”

  “And so do millions of cell phones in America.”

  “So how do you like yours?”

  “Took a little getting used to at first. I mean, not having to use my hands and all. But I like it. And it’s a big hit with all my friends.” I lay the groundwork for a future excuse. “Does seem to drain the battery pretty quick.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t happen to my friends, but you did say my phone had more features, so that must be it, right?”

  “Probably.” He nods as the waiter returns with our drinks, then takes our order. My father waits until he’s out of earshot, then leans forward. “I’m really glad you came tonight, Jillian. I was afraid you hated me for… you know. Leaving.”

  “I can’t hate someone I don’t know. So the jury’s still out. But I’ll be honest and say I hate what you did to us.” I fold my hands on the table and sit up as straight as possible and for whatever reason I’m perfectly calm. (Carrielle’s gift?) “You said you would explain. So, I’m listening. Explain.”

  He goes through the part about developing the second power, not being able to sleep. His story is the same as my Mom’s with a few details thrown in about how cute I was as a baby. “It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made. Leaving you and your mother. I agonized over it for weeks. But I’d been given a unique gift, and with it, a plan to change the world.”

  “You valued that more than your wife and daughter?”

  He winces like he’s been hit with a blow dart, looks to the side and exhales audibly. I can tell he’s searching for the right answer. “Jillian, it’s apples and oranges. I know that doesn’t make sense—”

  “You left us. And for years I thought you were dead.”

  “You mother was trying to protect you. She’s done a wonderful job raising you—”

  “As a single parent.”

  He looks down at the table as the waiter returns with two steaming bowls of seafood bisque. My father offers a barely audible “thank you” and waits for the waiter to leave before looking up at me. “I can only apologize, Jillian. I cannot expect you to forgive me right away, if ever. But please know that I never stopped loving you.”

  “You’ve had a funny way of showing it.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but simply locks eyes with me. I realize I’m overdoing the confidence thing. I need to tone down my anger, but I want to reach across the table, grab his head and slam it into the soup. I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I do want a relationship with my father. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. I simply have a lot of questions that have been unanswered my whole life.”

  “I understand. You have a right to be angry with me, Jillian.”

  “I do, but I need to give you the chance to explain so I can fully understand you.”

  “I appreciate that, Jillian. You’re very mature for your age. Would you like me to continue explaining my actions, or would it be better to start with small talk? Like how things are going at school.”

  “We can do that later. But I’d like to hear more about that plan to change the world. It has to be pretty important for you to… you know.”

  “As you wish. Well… in order to implement it I had to go out on my own, to start a new life, build a financial empire. You should know I always intended to come back into your life since you were to be part of the plan. But I was going to wait until you were out of college. Since you made the first move, I was forced to accelerate the plan.”

  “I’m part of your plan to change the world?”

  He nods. “Yes. You were… are… to be my right hand man. Or woman. If that is your choice. I’m not going to force you to do anything, as you’re old enough to make your own decisions. And, according to your test scores, you’re brilliant. So you fit the plan.”

  “And that plan would be?” />
  “It’s already underway.”

  “The phone?”

  He nods.

  This could be it. “Okay, the phone is really cool but I’m not sure it’s going to change the world long term. Technology moves so fast it’ll probably be obsolete in a few years and end up next to the VCR.”

  “You’re right. But my plan won’t.” He takes a sip of his soup with a sterling silver spoon. “You know, Jillian, there’s plenty of time to change the world. Right now I want to get to know my daughter.”

  Dammit.

  “For instance, that boy you were with. The mindreader.”

  My pulse spikes and I squeeze the life out of my spoon. “You mean the one you almost killed.”

  He bites his lower lip. “I’m sorry about that. I panicked. Mindreaders have the one power that can… please apologize to him for me.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

  “So, is he your boyfriend?”

  Don’t volunteer anything. “Just a good friend who tagged along. Don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “I find that hard to believe as pretty as you are.”

  “You’re biased. And high school boys are only interested in one thing.”

  “Yes, I remember. And the girl… was that Roxanne?”

  “You remember her?”

  “Of course. Your mothers were inseparable.”

  “They still are. So what was Mom like back then?”

  He gets a faraway look with a soft smile. For a moment I forget he’s a monster and my anger slides to the back burner. “Well, she looked a lot like you, but you’re taller. You have her eyes, with that same devilish sparkle. She always looked like she was—”

  “Up to something?”

  “Yeah. Usually she was. And she had this wonderful laugh… it was so damn funny, and unique, almost as if she laughed with a New York accent.”

  “Yeah, now that you mention it.”

  “But it was her soul that attracted me.”

  That comment slams the door on any sarcasm I had ready. I begin to eat my soup, and the rich flavor of the creamy bisque distracts me for a moment. He’s really trying, I can tell. Like a boy on a first date walking on eggshells, not wanting to make mistakes.

  Playing not to lose.

  “So, do you like being a seer, Jillian?”

  I swallow the bisque and take a sip of the sparkling water. Don’t tell him about the visions of the afterlife. “I do. Right now I can only read romance, and I love helping people sort out their love life.”

  “Well, hopefully you got your Mom’s looks and your Dad’s powers. I assume you know I have two.”

  “Yeah. How exactly does that work? That thing with technology?”

  “It’s hard to put into words. Like getting a transfusion of knowledge in one direction and becoming part of something greater in another.” He finishes his soup and gently dabs his mouth with a white napkin. “You know, there’s a chance you could have two powers as well.”

  “Hey, I’ve only had one for a year, don’t rush me.”

  “Well, don’t be surprised if something amazing happens to you someday. Then again, I was twenty-five when it happened to me, so chances are it’ll be awhile.”

  If only you knew.

  ***

  Two hours, the best lobster I’ve ever had and some killer tiramisu later the doorman hails a cab as we stand by the door.

  The good news is that I’ve begun a relationship with my father.

  The bad news is that I have little clue as to what his plan is.

  The strange news is that in a weird way, I find myself sorta liking the guy. He’s incredibly charming, and I can see why Mom fell for him. I have to keep reminding myself that this is the man who left his wife and daughter, Mom and me, to make some sort of deal with the devil. This is the man who left an incredibly loving, decent woman to raise a child by herself. But I’ve always wanted a father so badly I’m conflicted.

  I have to focus on the mission and put my feelings aside.

  But later.

  A taxi pulls up to the curb. My father walks me toward it as the doorman opens the back door of the cab.

  He takes my shoulders in his hands. “So…”

  “So…”

  “Where do we go from here? Can we see each other again?”

  “You sound like a guy asking for a second date. But yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Same place?”

  “Could we do something simpler? I’m a burger and chocolate malt kinda girl.”

  “Sounds good. As long as fries are included.”

  We stand there looking at each other like two kids thinking about a first kiss.

  “Jillian, would it be presumptuous of me to ask for a hug?”

  I look into his eyes, see the same look my mother gives me, and I can’t resist. I move forward into his arms. I wrap mine around his waist and lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes and breathing in his earthy cologne. We hold each other for a moment then break the embrace. He offers a soft smile, reaches into his pocket, pulls out a hundred and hands it to me. “Cab fare.”

  “Where do you think I’m going, Boston?”

  “Keep the change.” Then he pulls an envelope from inside his jacket and hands it to me. “Give this to your mother, Jillian.”

  “Sure.” I take it and get into the taxi. “See you soon.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” he says. “G’night.” He closes the door and steps back.

  I tell the cab driver my address. I turn and wave to my father as the cab pulls away.

  As soon as it turns the corner and my father can no longer see me, my emotions explode into a flood of tears.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Mom and I have never hugged as long or as tight as we’re hugging right now. She’s crying, I’m crying. But for different reasons. Hers are tears of joy that I’m home safe. Mine are… well, I dunno. It’s just an emotion overload. Love and hate, fear and hope. A lifetime wish come true… with a catch.

  Finally we pull apart and head for the couch, both wiping our eyes as we go. I’m sure I look like a green raccoon at this point, but I don’t care. Mom already has a big glass of red wine on the coffee table and she grabs it as we sit, then takes a pretty big sip. “I’m sorry. You want a soda or something?”

  “I probably need your wine a lot more. Wish I was older.”

  “You’re a lot older than when you left a few hours ago. So… how was he?”

  I see the hurt in her eyes and know it’s the curiosity that comes with a lost love. I want to tell her he’s a jerk, that he was mean and wears a toupée and she was better off that he left. But I can’t, so I choose my words carefully and try to keep it all business. “He wants a relationship with me. I let him have it about leaving and he was very apologetic. I think I showed him I’m not just going to take him back as if nothing ever happened.”

  “Good for you.”

  I reach into my purse and pull out the thick envelope he gave me. “Oh, he said to give you this.”

  She furrows her brow. “What is it?”

  I shrug. “Beats me. Open it and see.”

  She slides a long red fingernail along the seal and pulls out a document covered by a heavy blue piece of paper. “It’s something legal.” She opens it, scans it. Her eyes narrow and her jaw tightens. “Screw him!” She throws the paper down on the coffee table.

  I pick it up and look at it but it’s all legalese. “What is this?”

  “He paid off the mortgage on our house. Bastard is trying to buy your forgiveness.”

  “Well, if you add up all the back child support—”

  “Don’t you dare defend him!”

  “I wasn’t defending him, I’m just saying he probably owed you anyway. Besides, it’s pocket change to him. His action is very transparent.”

  Mom exhales and grabs the wine glass. Her hand shakes as she brings it toward her.

  I grab her hand, steady it, take the glass and put it
back on the table, then hold both her hands. “Mom, get this straight. He will never, ever replace you. He will never even replace a part of you. I know what he’s up to, I don’t trust him, and I will never forgive him for what he did to you. And what he did to me. I’m only letting him into my life so I can defeat him. I hope you know that in your heart. I am what I am because of you. You gave up everything for me. I love you more than anything, Mom.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.” She leans forward and hugs me, leans her head on my shoulder and sobs uncontrollably.

  I gently stroke the back of her head and realize Carrielle was right.

  I have to be the strong one.

  ***

  I know it’s a dream since a blue lobster carrying an accordion just walked past me and said hello.

  But it’s different, more vivid, almost like the sessions I have with Roxanne.

  I’m walking along a suburban street lined with nice brick homes, picket fences and manicured lawns. New cars seem to be in every driveway. Each one is being washed by a middle aged man in creased khakis and a starched linen shirt while gardens are tended to by attractive women in straw hats and clothing much too nice for yard work.

  The reason they’re nicely dressed? They’re not doing the work.

  Sponges dip themselves into a bucket, float toward the car and soap it up. Hoses immediately rinse the area. Pruning shears hover near a rose bush, occasionally snipping off a dead bud.

  There are no children anywhere. No bicycles strewn about, no toys in yards. Nothing is out of place.

  I walk past the fragrant flowers having no idea where I’m going in this dream.

  “Hello, Jillian,” says a woman as she admires the rose bush.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “We can’t wait till you join us,” she says in a robotic tone. “There’s so much to enjoy in this life. Take time to smell the roses without having to tend them.”

  “Must be nice,” I say.

  Her husband walks over to us. “I’m finished with the car, dear,” he says. I notice the hose coils itself on a hook while the sponge and bucket float into the garage. “Jillian, we understand you’re on your way and will be arriving soon,” he says in the same monotone as he wife.