The Con Man's Daughter

by Candice Curry

  I dreaded it.

  Part of the tradition was for the senior girls to dress up in their best dresses and dance with their dads to “Daddy’s Little Girl.” It was such a beautiful dance and an extremely special moment for most of the girls. There were probably others like me who didn’t have a dad to dance with or whose dad refused to show, but it’s not something we talked about. As the girls giggled with excitement over dancing with their dads, I got knots in my stomach.

  I had known this day was coming for four years. I knew that one day I’d be a senior and would have to face the father-daughter dance. My dad knew it was coming too, and since I had stopped answering his phone calls, he started sending me letters asking when the dance was. He assumed I wouldn’t have the courage to tell him no and he was right. I didn’t have the courage to tell him that I didn’t want to dance with him, so I ignored him. I avoided his phone calls and never replied to his letters. I wanted him to just go away; I wanted to pretend that it wasn’t happening this year. It would hurt less to show up to the dance alone than to have my father accept my rejection and not fight to be with me. After all that had happened, I still wanted him by my side, but he had failed to earn that spot.

  One day I picked up the phone without checking caller ID and found my dad on the other end. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he felt victorious. He had me cornered and we both knew it. The mere mention of the dance made me want to faint, and I panicked over telling him he wasn’t invited. So I lied. It’s his fault. He made me a liar. He helped me master the skill of lying long before I knew it was wrong. He taught me how to lie in the second grade when he declared a Snell Holiday and allowed me to skip school for a family emergency that didn’t exist. He taught me this skill and I now was going to use it against him.

  I told him our school wasn’t having the dance this year. I tried to make him believe that after several years of tradition, they randomly decided not to have the dance my senior year. But you can’t con a con man. I knew he didn’t believe me, but I kept it up anyway.

  I didn’t want to dance with my dad, but I also hadn’t wanted to be the only senior girl forced to sit on the sidelines. My mom had been dating her boyfriend for a very short time, and desperation for a father figure brought me to him. Completely humiliated by not having a partner for the father-daughter dance, I asked him if he would be willing to dance with me. He wouldn’t have to pretend he was my dad; everyone knew who my real dad was and that he was no longer a part of my life. I just needed someone to stand in for him.

  The man with two left feet and zero rhythm agreed to fill the gap my dad was leaving. I was relieved to know I wouldn’t be left out of the traditional dance, but there was no relief in the fact that I wouldn’t be dancing with my dad. I knew there would be whispers, and I knew there would be a man with a crushed heart.

  In the days leading up to the show we had several practices, some with the dads and some without. Mine were always without. My mom’s boyfriend wasn’t there for a single practice, not because he didn’t want to be but because he wasn’t able to make it. Whatever the reason, it left me standing alone. The senior girls would line up on one side and all the dads would line up across from us, each face-to-face with his daughter. I was face-to-face with an empty spot. Seeing all the dads beam with pride as they stood across from their little girls made it that much more obvious. It’s a choice I had made for myself, but it made me feel invisible. I could easily have had my dad fill that space, but it hurt less to be alone than to have him fake being a super dad. He would have acted like Dad of the Year, and every single person in that room would have known better. I chose the blank space.

  No one at practice said anything. No one asked where my dad was. The other senior girls had been in my life long enough to know why the spot across from me was empty. Because I had built a wall around me and learned to fake a smile so well, they didn’t know how embarrassed I was or how worthless I felt or how jealous I was of each of them. They thought I was fine because that’s what I always told them.

  I smiled along with the others girls while I danced with one of the younger girls who stood in for my dad during practice. We giggled because it was funny to see me with another kid while all the girls were with their dads. I giggled because it was better than crying.

  We performed the Spring Show two nights in a row. It was the same performance each night but two nights gave parents and family the opportunity to make it to one of them. Two nights gave opportunity to display my rejection twice. On the first night all the senior girls gathered in the dressing room and got ready for the grand finale, the father-daughter dance. It was the last event each night and the moment parents and daughters were most excited about. The girls were giddy. I watched them carefully get ready, making sure each hair was in place and ironing out any wrinkles in their dresses. Their jewelry was sparkling, and their smiles were bright. I was truly happy for them. I didn’t wish what was in my heart on any of them. But I was incredibly jealous. I wished I was as excited about the dance as they were. I wanted to have my best jewelry rolled up in a special pouch waiting to be revealed around my neck. I wanted my dad to be outside the door with sweaty hands, eagerly anticipating our dance together. I carelessly threw on my old prom dress, pulled my ponytail out, and let my hair fall where it may. Without even touching up my makeup, I decided I was ready.

  It was almost time for the dance. All the other performances were just about wrapped up and there was still no sign of my mother’s boyfriend. He hadn’t made it to a practice, and I began to doubt that he was going to show up to the big night.

  As the other girls made their way backstage, I made my way outside. One of the girls who had sung silly songs with me at cheer camp walked outside with me in the hopes that she would be there to see my knight in shining armor finally arrive. We stood together watching the road, and every once in a while she would give me a knowing smile, trying to silently tell me everything was okay. After what seemed like hours, I told her to leave and go back inside. I begged her not to talk me into going back into the auditorium; I just wanted to leave. But she just stood there with me and smiled, making me think we were more alike than we really were.

  Several minutes passed and we were cutting our time very short when I saw his old blue truck turn the corner. I could always spot his truck from a long way away because it was the only one with a bright red ladder strapped to the top. My girlfriend squeezed my hand and turned to go get ready, leaving me there to greet my hero.

  He slowly got out of his car because that’s how he did everything, on his own time. He was apologizing for being late before I was even able to hear what he was saying. By the time he reached me his goofy grin stretched ear to ear. He was a jeans-and-T-shirt man and was late because he had trouble tying his tie. None of it mattered. I didn’t care why he was late; I was just thankful he was there. I grabbed his hand and practically dragged him into the auditorium and shoved him into place, the place that had been empty for far too long.

  And then we danced.

  We weren’t Fred and Ginger but we danced. He did his best not to step on my toes, and I did my best not to crumple into tears. Neither of us had an ounce of grace in us but neither of us cared. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the girl without a dad. We blended in perfectly, making it almost impossible for anyone to figure out which girl was dancing with a substitute dad.

  I felt some sort of victory that night, and it lessened the worry of having to dance two nights in a row. My mom’s boyfriend promised me to not only show up for the second dance but also to not be late.

  The next day he came to my mom’s house while I was packing up my outfits for the night’s performances. My mom made sure his tie was tied long before he was scheduled to leave the house. I threw my old prom dress in a bag like it was a gym uniform. All I cared about was having someone to dance with; it didn’t matter what either of us looked like. I wouldn’t have cared if he showed up in Bermuda shorts and a flowered button-down shir
t, as long as he showed.

  Just as I was about to leave and head up to school, he called me into my mom’s room. He was sitting on her bed with a serious look on his face, and I just knew he was going to bail on me. I said a quick prayer, to a God I had long discounted in my life, that he would make it a clean cut and that I wouldn’t suffer too much. My eyes couldn’t meet his, I was too scared. Just as I was about to accept that I would be alone that night, he began his speech.

  “I had fun dancing with you last night but I noticed that all the other girls looked so pretty and fancy and you just looked so plain.”

  Oh, God, please make him stop. Please make him just leave it at that. I can handle plain. If the worst he wants to call me is plain then I’ll take it. I’ve been called so much worse. I’ve been branded worse by my own dad, I didn’t need it again. Why would he do this to me right before I’m about to walk out the door to perform in front of an auditorium full of people? God, please hear me! God, my name is Candice. Do you know me? Do you know my name? If you know me please don’t let this happen to me in the one moment I finally feel special.

  But he continued.

  “So I bought you this.”

  He handed me a small black jewelry box. I looked at my mom for a clue but she just smiled back and shrugged her shoulders, letting me know she had no idea what was in the box. I took it out of his hands and slowly opened it to reveal a delicate gold necklace with a pendant that boasted three small diamonds and a single pearl.

  “Now you can look fancy like the other girls.”

  I’m not good at accepting gifts or compliments. They both make me extremely uncomfortable, and I never know how to react. All I could say was thank you and hug his neck so tightly that there was no doubt of how grateful I was to him for showing me this kindness. Calling me plain was his setup, and I suddenly found it to be so sweet. The entire thing was out of character for him. He was a country boy with calloused hands and bad table manners. He wore jeans and old boots no matter where he went and cussed far more than the average human. But in that moment he was tender and kind. He did for me what my own father couldn’t. He showed me that I was worth more than precious jewels. He gave me a token of love to wear around my neck.

  When I left he shouted down the hall that now all the girls were going to be jealous of me because of my fancy necklace. I chuckled inside at how ridiculous the thought was that they would be jealous of me. He was teasing me and lightening the mood, but I know he really wanted them to be. I kind of wanted them to be jealous too. I wanted them to whisper behind my back about my beautiful necklace and how lucky I was that my stand-in dad had lavished me with this gift.

  On the second night of the Spring Show I was happy, happier than I had been in a long time, and I felt precious. I felt wanted and accepted. I felt like I stood out and that maybe, just maybe, everyone in the room was secretly cheering us on.

  And then we danced.

  The hard truth is that even with the beautiful necklace and the generous, loving man dancing with me, the reality still stung. My mom’s boyfriend showed me that I am worthy and loved, and for the rest of my life I will cherish every moment of that day. But in the corner of the auditorium lurked a sad secret.

  A few days after the dance, a teacher informed me that my dad had called the school and asked when the dance was. He knew I had lied to him, but his arrogance wouldn’t allow him to stay away and respect the fact that I didn’t want him there. He had to see for himself. The same teacher let me know that she saw him sneak in and creep up to the balcony where no one else was seated. From way up high, in the far corner of the auditorium, my father watched me dance with the man who would soon become my stepdad, the man who would allow me to call him Dad without blinking an eye. My father watched as a strong and loving man cut in on the dance that was supposed to be his, and he watched as I gladly accepted.

  After that night, contact with my dad became infrequent. I kept him at a distance without completely cutting him off. It was more comforting that way. But I made it clear that day that I no longer wanted him as a daily presence in my life and that I would prefer he kept his distance from any events I had at school.

  He never could respect anyone else’s wishes and continued to sneak around and watch me from a distance. I simply pretended he wasn’t there.

  six

  What Happens in Vegas

  After high school I attended college in a nearby city. I had high hopes of majoring in criminal justice and one day becoming a judge. I think it was my way of rebelling against my dad by somehow becoming what he wanted to be. He always pretended to be a lawyer, and if he hadn’t been so crooked he would have excelled in law. His mind was brilliant, far too brilliant for his own good. He figured he could slide by without putting in the real work of mastering his field by getting a law degree. He knew he was smarter than most people. He could sell snow to Eskimos and convince you of anything he said. Ultimately he didn’t think he needed a degree to get what he wanted, and most of the time he was right.

  I wanted to prove I was better than he was. I wanted to go to school and excel in my field. In some twisted way I wanted him to be jealous of me. But I didn’t handle my new freedom very well. I stunk at college. No one was holding me accountable for attending classes, and I found it hard to stay motivated. Unfortunately, I had inherited that attitude from my dad: if someone wasn’t forcing me, then I wouldn’t go. My dorm room was small and cozy, and it was hard to emerge from it to attend a class where I was merely a number.

  I was only forty-five minutes from home but I felt alone. My girlfriend from high school roomed with me in the dorms, and as much comfort and fun as she brought to college life, I knew none of it was right for me. I was miserable. I hated being away from my cousins and felt so out of place. It seemed like everyone there was made from the same cookie cutter, and I wasn’t even a cookie.

  It wasn’t long before I gave up and completely stopped showing up for classes. My name was on their roster, but they had no idea who I was. School became a place that made me lose myself, and before long I couldn’t identify my own face. Every night I made the forty-five minute drive home to spend the night with my cousins, and every morning I drove back to school where I had taken a job at the rec center. I was no longer attending classes but continued to show up for work. For several hours a day I would pass out pool balls to the other college kids. As soon as my shift was up, I would hop back in my car and head toward the city limit sign. I was tired and miserable but lacked the courage to tell my mom I had already quit.

  My mom was a dean’s list type of student who busted her rear to raise two kids and attend college at the same time. Her work ethic was off the charts, and she called in sick only if she was near death.

  One of my greatest fears has always been disappointing my mom. I didn’t want her to see me in the same way she saw my dad, and when my actions reflected his, I hid from her. Even though she never threw him in my face or made me believe I was anything like him, I never wanted her to even have those kinds of thoughts. I knew that deep inside I had something of him in me. I knew that I had an addictive nature and that I had the ability to lie through my teeth. Those were his qualities, not hers, and I didn’t want to fail her by giving in to those things. I thought I was doing her a favor by keeping secrets and not letting her see all of me.

  Eventually I had to withdraw from school, because they don’t let you hang around with a 0.0 average, and therefore had to leave my job too. I didn’t mind. The moment I left the job and school, with my withdrawal papers in hand, I felt free. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and I went home as soon as I could. I didn’t care if I looked like a failure; I just wanted to be home.

  Facing my mom was what worried me the most, but if I was expecting her to completely freak out, she let me down. I bowed my head as I stood across from her in the living room and explained that I couldn’t go back to school. I tried to make her understand that it made me unhappy and
that it was just too much for me to be there, but I was talking to a woman who aced college while raising two young children. I know she was disappointed, but she didn’t throw it in my face. Instead of telling me how much I resembled my dad—that he never followed through either—she simply told me to go that very day and find a job, because if I wasn’t in school then I would be at work. Her work ethic was no match for anyone I knew, and she was more loyal to her job than anyone I had ever seen. As I stood face-to-face with the woman who flew through college and poured herself into her job, I agreed to hunt down a job of my own.

  I held true to my promise that day and, after applying for a job on a dare from my cousin, I went home and proudly informed my mom that I was officially employed. I took a deep gulp and held up my new uniform. As she raised one eyebrow and stared at her daughter’s new work attire, which consisted of a tight white tank top and bright orange shorts that could have been confused for underwear, she got a sly smirk on her face and said, “Good, you’ll make a lot of money there.” Even though I knew she was disappointed, she supported me the only way she could in that moment. Her daughter had gone from aspiring judge to Hooters girl in a matter of a few months. I imagine her heart was crushed and she worried about my future, but she did what good moms do: accepted who I was and where I was in life with a crooked smile, a raised eyebrow, and a few words of encouragement mixed with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

  I promised myself out loud that I would hold a job for a short time and then head back to school to get my degree. In my head I knew I was lying and that I wouldn’t step foot back in college unless it was to watch someone else graduate. As usual, I held true to the voice in my head and not the one coming out of my mouth.