The sheer brutality of her insult took me by surprise. Panicked, I imagined what she might be saying about me to Len, maligning me to him to win him over to her own hatred. I was filled with an irrational fear of exacerbating the problem, How could I do that, exactly? All I managed was to say, “Give me the tickets. They’ve nothing to do with you.”
She examined them, put them back on the desk. “Twenty-five thousand dollars for a table of ten … That’s what? Two thousand five hundred dollars a meal? So much money for AIDS when there’s so much need in the world — poverty, famine, war. AIDS isn’t an accident or one of life’s trials. It’s God’s just punishment, Romain. These people spread the plague, and you want to encourage them?”
“Get out of my office, now!”
“You provoke each other,” Ann said. “Stop being so curt with her.”
“Curt! You should see what she does!”
“Len isn’t wrong when he says that In Gad made you allergic to God. You can have faith, practise your religion, and be intelligent. Look at your own son — faith put order back in his life. Cody and Julia have their father back, isn’t that important?”
So it was me who was curt with her? I was the one who was intolerant towards people who practised their religion?
I wanted to show them around L.A., but in the end I was relieved to realize that Melody was avoiding us. Why had she even agreed to come to L.A.? To taunt us? To demonstrate the prodigious influence she had over Len? As if she were saying, I’m the one who made him better, not you! I know how to help him, so leave him alone!
Ann and I had wanted these five days to be all about family. Well too bad. I gave them a pair of keys and the alarm system’s code. “Give them to Melody instead.” Len said. “I’ll just lose them.” Melody carefully wrote down the code, took the keys, and put them in her handbag. Next to her, Len looked like a puppy, wagging his tail, perpetually waiting for her orders and perhaps even her strokes, which I imagined were rare. My doubts were confirmed that very night, after Melody had gone to bed — she would disappear into her quarters early, around nine. We were both sitting in the living room. Timidly, Len told me he hadn’t been following In Gad for a while now. I pretended to be surprised, “Really? Do you want me to give you a copy of the series?”
He seemed uneasy, “Maybe we could just watch a few episodes?”
“Tonight?”
His face lit up, like an adolescent hearing his parents will leave him the house for a night. “We’ve got all night, no?”
I didn’t know what to think. “You’re serious?”
He nodded. “Well, sure. Why not?”
I walked to the television set. Thinking of the unpleasant conversation I had had with Melody that morning, what she had said about his admiration, just thrown it in my face, something that hurt more than any physical blow. At least Len had some autonomy left — she hated the series, he still liked it. Len wasn’t as easily influenced as I thought, the complicity between us was still there. I just needed to watch him on the couch, smiling to his ears, to realize it. Ann was right. I’d been too tense since they got here, making a scene out of everything, which was out of character for me.
Animated, Len told me he stopped watching the series almost a year ago. I picked the right tape. As I slid it into the VCR, my back to him, I tried to gauge his reaction, “Not Melody’s sort of show, right?”
“Oh, if you knew what she thought of it, terrible!” He laughed, I didn’t. “You know, she works for a pro-life organization. It’s important to her, very important. No need to tell you what she thinks of Chastity.”
“And what do you think?”
He laughed again, though not as heartily. “Let’s just say Gad is my favorite. Chastity, I mean, I can laugh, of course, it’s comedy and all, but.…” He searched for his words, couldn’t find them. After a moment, he continued, “You know, Melody keeps telling me I almost wasn’t born. You can’t say she’s wrong about that.”
I shivered. No, you couldn’t say she was wrong on that point. Gathering my courage, I said, “Why are you with her, Len?”
He hesitated for a moment, then looked me straight in the eyes. “She’s helping me pay for my sins. She helped me fight my demons. She made me lose all the anger I had in me. Things are better with Lynn, and I’ve got Cody and Julia back. You should see them when they spend the week with their father. Melody helps me feel less guilty about what happened. She helps me to do good, something I never really did in my life. Do you understand?”
What could I reply? That Melody controlled him to such an extent he seemed only a shadow of his former self? A weak, castrated man? Who might just wake up one day more miserable than he’d ever been with Lynn?
He added, “You’ll never believe me, but we haven’t slept together. We’re waiting until marriage. We’re going to get married and have children. I’m getting a new beginning, Romain!”
“That’s … wonderful …” I stammered.
Shook up, I pressed play. Season 3, Episode 4. Coincidentally or not, the show opened with Chastity and her father Gad.
“You want me to fast forward?” I asked.
“No way!” He pointed his finger towards the ceiling. “I’m free tonight. She’s sleeping.”
8
Len and Melody were married in the spring of 1998. It was an intimate affair, Len explained, embarrassed, over the phone. Only his adoptive parents and Melody’s parents would be there. I was understanding, “Of course, yes, I see … Anyway, Ann and I are so busy.…” With just a bit too much enthusiasm to hide my deep disappointment.
A son marrying, not inviting his father.
“Where did I go wrong, Ann?”
Ann was as surprised as I was. And deeply saddened at being separated from Cody and Julia since Len had taken up with Melody. Sometimes she sent them a note and a little present when they were at Lynn’s, or spoke on the phone with them, unbeknownst to Len, of course. But it was a balancing act, as Ann would say.
“You didn’t fail, Romain. Len is still fragile. He’s getting his life back on track. Let’s just hope he isn’t as sure about the decision he’s making as he looks. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want us to be there.”
“But I’m his father; I should be there to help him see what he’s getting into.”
“He isn’t twelve, Romain. He’s thirty-five.”
After the wedding, Len became even more distant. If I called him — them, now — I could tell by his tone whether she was behind him telling him to hang up. I encountered constant excuses — “Melody needs the phone” or “I’m waiting for a call from work” or “Sorry, Romain, I need to go to the other end of town, I’m expected.” Or worse still, “The garbage truck is coming, and I need to take out the trash.” I’d seen his building — I’d found his apartment for him! — and you put the trash down a chute at the end of the hallway.
After a time, Len stopped calling.
There was no way I was going to give up. Every week I called him at different times, and on different days, so that he wouldn’t be able to think, It must be Romain; I’ll let it ring. But nine times out of ten, I’d get the answering machine: “Hi, you’ve reached Len, Melody, Cody, and Julia.…” And each time, it felt it like a blow.
Then, one morning, at seven, he picked up immediately, like a child hoping for a surprise.
“Hello?”
“Len?”
A long silence. “It’s early, Romain. Melody and the children are still sleeping.”
“We need to talk. We can’t keep up like this.”
“There’s nothing to say. You’re busy, I’m busy.”
“Bullshit! You’re avoiding me, Len! And I don’t understand why!”
He sighed loudly. After a time, he said, “Listen, I need to tell you something.…”
I thought I was dreaming. My son, finally receptive? Len,
I wanted to say before he could go any further.… Len, my son … What about all the great time we spent together? Remember how you loved coming to Los Angeles.… Our nights out in great restaurants … Dodger Stadium, chowing down hot dogs, our shouts and jeers.… And your sincere laughter, the laughter of a man who knows how to enjoy himself.… Len! Shit! What’s going on with you, son! This woman is going to kill you! And while all these thoughts were going through my head, a storm in my mind that I didn’t want to reveal for fear that all my words would rush out at once, Len admitted, stammering, that he’d written an article on In Gad We Trust.
“How could you have written an article if you haven’t been watching it?”
“It’s about the reactions of parents in Alberta.”
“I guess it isn’t very flattering?”
“You could say that.”
“That’s your right.” Again, a heavy silence. “Can you send me a copy?”
“If you want. I need to go now. I’m expecting a call.”
I never got the article. I asked Moïse at the New York Times to get a faxed copy from the Calgary Herald. He sent it to me with a note. “In terms of journalistic rigour I’ve seen better.” Indeed, Len could easily be accused of conflict of interest — he didn’t even mention that he was my son or that he had close ties to evangelical churches.
In Gad We Trust: An Offensive Show
By Len Albiston
“Blasphemous.” “A bad example for our children.” The Hollywood TV show In Gad We Trust is raising the ire of Alberta parents.
“We are determined to prevent this poison from entering our homes and infecting our defenceless children,” says pastor John Reimer, the man behind a petition circulating throughout the province, which has accrued some thirty thousand signatures so far. Yesterday, hundreds of scandalized parents demonstrated on his initiative, in front of Zion Evangelical Baptist Church in Calgary. They denounced the trivialization of abortion that the series promotes.
“Chastity’s character is criminal!” Helen Daly, of the Family Research Council, says. “It turns the clock back decades on the efforts to get adolescents to treat their sexuality seriously. How many times has Chastity suffered through an abortion since the beginning of this scandalous show? Ten, fifteen times? It’s completely irresponsible!” …
Over the next few weeks, demonstrations against In Gad We Trust will be held in Calgary, Edmonton, Red Deer, and Lethbridge. Meanwhile, pastor Reimer is inviting parents to cancel their subscription to It’s All Comedy! and send their complaints to the cable network’s advertisers.…
Does television threaten the moral values parents try to inculcate in their children? Yes. An example? It’s All Comedy!, Wednesdays at nine.
Of course, the article infuriated me. I was shocked, even. Impossible to not think of his happy laugh that night we watched In Gad while the girls were sleeping. Only Melody could have pushed him down this path.
The next morning, at six-fifty, I called him. As I hoped, he picked up on the first ring.
“Have you seen the time?”
“I read your article, Len.…” On the other end of the line, silence. “You know, I’ll survive.…” And I continued, speaking calmly but at length, not giving him time to interrupt me. Weighing my words so as not to insult him. A father speaking to his son. A father trying to bring his child back “on the right path.” Explaining that it didn’t seem like him, writing such an article, so far removed from his talent as a journalist, and that, in my opinion, there must have been “a little” of Melody behind it, and that.…
“Leave Melody out of this, will you?”
“Len.…”
“Whatever Melody does, you’ve always got a bone to pick.”
“Len, I’m your father, and.…”
“And what?”
And I don’t know why — frustration? anger I had contained all this time? — I said that as far as I was concerned, Melody was destroying his life, like the bottles of Jack Daniels used to. He didn’t say a word, I could only hear him breathing heavily. I knew I’d done irreversible damage. I looked for something, anything to say that might erase the words I’d just spoken. I didn’t have the chance. Len declared, in a voice as cutting as broken glass, “You just insulted the woman I love. We’ve got nothing left to say to each other.”
And he hung up.
Len had just kicked me out of his life.
9
“We’ve got nothing left to say to each other.”
As if he’d said, I gave you a chance, and you screwed it up. Or, I owe you nothing.…
I was down for days; Ann was as devastated as I was, trying to console me, “You’ll end up talking to each other, and everything will be like it was before.” But I knew it wouldn’t happen. That Len wouldn’t come back.
I was broken.
I’d become more and more preoccupied since the publication of Len’s article. Obsessive even. And so I asked to see all of the complaints It’s All Comedy! had received about In Gad. Josh, Ab, Michael, all of the higher-ups at the network told me not to do it, “It’s our job to deal with complaints, Roman, not yours.” But I insisted, became aggressive about it. Dick told me that “all of the bullshit is going to influence you. You’ll start censoring yourself.” But I was stubborn, and I read piles and piles of complaints, some polite, others insulting, some threatening. I read through them quickly, almost absent-mindedly. I was looking for … what? I needed to know … what exactly? Two-thirds of them were about Chastity, some focused on Dylan, her gay brother, and the rest on the show more generally, deemed offensive to all Christians.
Was Len right to be angry at me? All these people agreed with him!
“Stop worrying about it,” Dick said. “You’re seeing problems where there are none. It’s normal to receive complaints. Everyone has a right to their own opinion. It’s the sign of a healthy democracy.”
And so I re-read the scripts for season 1 (1995), 2 (1996), 3 (1997), 4 (1998) and counted the number of times Chastity had gone to Doctor Feltheimer’s office.
How many times has Chastity suffered through an abortion since the beginning of this scandalous show? Ten, fifteen times?
No. Five times. The woman Len interviewed had exaggerated the facts, and he hadn’t taken the time to correct her.
Of course not, it made for a better story that way.
I told Dick, “And what if Chastity no longer had any abortions? What if she became an advocate for celibacy? I mean it’s in her name, right?”
“If you do that, you’ll give these fucking idiots the win.”
My son? An idiot?
“Have you thought of the women who want children and aren’t able to? How do you think they feel about Chastity?”
“Roman, you’re losing it. You need to rest, to get out of your own way. You need to forget Len a little. We’re making a comedy for fuck’s sake!”
10
Was it fatigue? Overwork? For a short moment, I even thought it might have been hallucinations.
Season 5 of In Gad We Trust represented new challenges for the team. We had to refresh our ideas, avoid repeating ourselves and especially avoid going for the cheap laugh. We needed to push the plot forward without using over-the-top scenes, and we wouldn’t give up on Chastity’s pregnancies. Josh and the others had warned me, “The ratings are holding. We’re not changing a winning formula.” Bill Doran, the actor playing Gad Paradise, also needed to be better directed — over time, he had started playing a caricature of his own creation, and the character lost credibility because of it. I was exhausted. Exhausted from writing scene after scene, always under pressure. Exhausted by It’s All Comedy!’s constant requirement. Exhausted at having lost Len without ever having an opportunity to explain myself, face to face. Exhausted to the point that I was thinking of just dropping everything and taking Ann for a long vacation. But Dick, a
lways full of energy, kept telling me, “We need to aim for a sixth season. It’s been the plan all along. After that, you’ll be a free man.”
It was almost noon, on a warm summer day. As I left the studio in La Brea, my eyes were drawn to a strange woman in the parking lot behind the building. A youngish woman — though it was hard to say at a distance — with long red hair, wearing a diaphanous white dress with kimono sleeves, the kind of caftan that a goddess might wear in a Greek tragedy. Her back was to me, near the Pathfinder, as if she was leaning against it for fear of fainting. I hurried towards her, asking her in a loud voice whether she needed help. She turned to me brusquely, her eyes hidden behind large black glasses, an enigmatic smile dancing on her face. I noticed the round belly of a pregnant woman, but there was something that didn’t fit, I couldn’t quite say what, a visual hitch the size of a hibiscus flower but dark red, almost brown, there under her belly, right at the pubis. It was too strange for me to look away, and by the time I understood what was happening, that this woman was losing her baby right before me, my God, I ran towards her to help, she turned and fled towards a nearby supermarket. A delivery truck passed between us, and I lost sight of her. The woman simply disappeared in the landscape of asphalt and concrete, like a fleeting thought soon forgotten.
How could a woman having a miscarriage run like that? Had I scared her? Had I dreamt the whole thing?
I couldn’t say.
Deeply shaken, I spent the next few days combing over the few blocks around the studio, looking for clues and drops of blood. I scanned the local news pages of every newspaper, fearing that I would see a headline like: WOMAN FOUND AFTER BLEEDING TO DEATH IN ALLEY or WOMAN’S BODY AND HER FETUS FOUND DEAD BY PASSERBY. But nothing.
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