by George Jehn
A short time later David coolly let her know it was time to leave. They bid their goodbyes and while strolling to the car she told him, “That was a totally new experience for me and the food was fantastic.” David didn’t respond. They again drove in silence until Christina spoke. “Out of everyone I met, your Uncle Juni was the most interesting.” David just kept glaring at the road with both hands seemingly glued to the wheel in the ten and two o’clock positions. She continued. “He knew a lot about airlines and mentioned he used to work for a bank. But his business card says bakery owner. What’s up?”
“You did seem to really enjoy his company,” David snapped.
“What..?”
“How come you gave him your phone number?”
“You are one jealous person. The man has lots of background on the airlines and it would be interesting to hear his thoughts on Shuttle Air’s future.”
“Over dinner?”
“I didn’t know I was bound by the rules of Emily Post etiquette. Speaking of which, I thought you weren’t supposed to tell anyone about my job? Every person there knew.” There was no response. Christina didn’t mention Juni might be an unanticipated key to a vital need.
After another briefer period of silence a now-chastised David haltingly offered, “Juni’s my mother’s brother. His real name is Angelo Rosario, but goes by that nickname. He’s married to Angela, the fat redheaded bimbo in the blue dress. They live in a split level in Lake Hopatcong, New Jersey probably mortgaged to the hilt and have a couple of kids; a boy who’s about seventeen, Antonio, and a younger girl, Andrea. I call them the A family, as in assholes. There’s lots of stuff I don’t know about him; a lot in his past, yet nothing at all. You know what I mean?”
“No.”
“Well, he owes some family members more than a few bucks and hasn’t repaid. I figured he’d seek you out because long ago I dubbed him the family’s closet WASP.”
“A what?”
“A person who’s not happy with being Italian. He was grandma’s smartest kid and the only one to attend college, which he did the right way and went to Princeton on a scholarship. He told everyone he went there to break out of the Italian stereotype, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Right after graduation he started working as a top-level officer at some Wall Street investment bank and lots of relatives went out of their way to kiss his ass, probably figuring some of his money magic might rub off.”
“He’s very easy to speak with.”
David eyed her suspiciously. “Just be careful. I suspect there’s more there. Maybe he’s still just a gavone from Bay Ridge? Lots of folks used to pick on him because he was short and dumpy, but overnight he was transformed and had the respect of the same people who used to laugh at him. He appeared to have a respectable, law-abiding lifestyle, supposedly on his way up the corporate ladder when somethin’ happened.”
“What?”
“The details were kept secret, but I do know that out of the blue he wasn’t with the bank any longer and opened a bakery that’s not doing well.”
“Was he fired?”
“I overheard conversations about some missing money and he was one of the prime suspects.”
“Did he go to jail? You think he took it?”
“He never went to jail and I don’t really know, or care, if he did,” David added with a shrug of his hefty shoulders. “But there’s something else, an obnoxious attitude he has that I can’t put my finger on. It’s like he’s angry at the entire world.”
David’s comments about his uncle made him the perfect candidate.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Christina purchased a reduced rate airline employee ticket and went on one of Northwest Airlines hourly flights from LaGuardia to Minneapolis to meet with Laurel. It was a Sunday morning, so she dressed comfortably in a light-colored skirt and dark blouse and buzzed through security. There was plenty of room on the Boeing 727 jet and an apprehensive Christina had an entire row to herself. She spent most of the two and a half-hour flight contemplating what she would say and how she would say it. As the jet began its long descent for landing Christina observed what appeared to be thousands of black holes, which were actually lakes, stretching as far as the eye could see. Recalling the State of Minnesota’s license plates identified it as the Land of 10,000 Lakes, she wanted to find the deepest one and jump in wondering how Laurel would react to her newfound knowledge. They pulled into the gate and Christina stood when the seat belt sign was extinguished, but allowed all the other passengers disembark first, hesitating. Was she about to crash while meeting her daughter for the very first time? Perhaps she instead should return home immediately. Everything in her life is always complicated. Christina finally mustered the courage to get off and spotted Mimi, a shorter, older woman with dark hair and crystal-blue eyes, exactly the same as she remembered her from a lifetime ago. Although Mimi was attention-grabbing in her colorful dress with the floral pattern, she also wore her gloomy mood like a black necklace draped around her neck. The object of Christina’s journey was standing alongside Mimi and she immediately recalled what it was like to carry her precious life. Laurel was stunning, a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty dressed in tight-fitting slacks and a white midriff blouse tied around her thin waist. Her resemblance to Christina was uncanny, so much so it was as if she had turned back the clock and was staring at herself. Memories of that heated night flashed through her mind, when months of dating culminated in something she had never before experienced, but which she loved because she naïvely believed her boyfriend also loved her. Laurel’s eyes were her eyes but with a lifetime of stories behind them, accounts that would take weeks or months to share. But rather than joy Christina felt sadness at how much she had missed. Laurel appeared content, making her unsure if Mimi had told her why they were meeting. Christina nervously walked over to them and extended her hand.
“Hi, Mimi, it’s good to see you again” she said while shaking hands.
“Hi, Ms. Shepard” Mimi replied with a forced smile. “I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Laurel.” Mimi’s use of the term my daughter didn’t go unnoticed. So much for Laurel being informed of the reason for this gathering
“Hi, Laurel,” Christina said while smiling and shaking hands, but really wanting to hug her. But that thought was only a mere whisper in her head, at least for now. “Please, call me Christina.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Christina,” a smiling but obviously perplexed Laurel replied in a diffident tone.
Did she notice their close resemblance?
Mimi continued. “There’s a restaurant here in the terminal called the Outer Marker. We can lunch there.”
“That’s fine,” Christina replied with a smile, wondering if Mimi intended to join them. Once at the restaurant Mimi awkwardly stated she just remembered an important call she had to make and would return shortly; a not-too-graceful exit. “Order lunch and I’ll join you later.”
It was just the two of them and Christina felt like a teenager on her first date. The hostess led them to a table overlooking the planes landing on runway Three Zero Right. After ordering two club sandwiches, Christina knew the time had finally arrived. “You know why we’re meeting?” she asked, somehow summoning up the needed courage.
“Mom mentioned you wanted to meet, but didn’t say why.”
Christina took a deep breath. “I wanted to get together because I have something very important to impart, information that might—” to hell with the dancing. “You’re my daughter,” she blurted out.
A bewildered Laurel looked at her with disbelief written on her face, shaking her head from side to side.
Christina nodded her head up and down in response. “It was over nineteen years ago when I ga
ve birth to you. My childhood and adolescence were fashioned by the perception that I was unloved, meaning I craved affection and searched for what I believed was love, but wasn’t.” The memory of the softness of the night when she was such easy prey crept back from her brain, but she forced it out. There wasn’t any room right now. “When I learned I was pregnant, I confided in my mother. She was divorced and we discussed the consequences of keeping you at length and ultimately came to the gut-wrenching decision I had to offer you for adoption. I’ve had to make some tough choices in my life, but nothing else came close to that one. I couldn’t sleep for weeks and to make things even worse, your father was killed in an auto accident a short time later.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why now?” Laurel interrupted. “My mother is Mimi, Mrs. Johansen. And my father is, was, John.”
“No, Laurel. I’m your biological mother. Just look at me and then yourself. We’re mirror images. John and Mimi adopted you at the hospital in Palm Beach, Florida. Some parents decide to tell their children they’re adopted, while others don’t. They obviously decided not to. One reason I wanted to meet now is because I have something important to pass on, which could affect your future health.”
“My health?”
“Yes.” Christina revealed everything she knew about epilepsy and then cautioned her. “The doctors aren’t certain if the cause is genetic or if an outside source triggers it, like being hit by something hard enough to cause brain damage. My doctor said he believes it might be at least partially genetic. I’m an airline captain for Shuttle Air in New York and an epilepsy diagnosis means I would automatically be prohibited from flying, but only if anyone knew.”
After a moment of silence that felt more like an hour, Laurel asked, “Why didn’t you just let my Mom tell me this?”
The waitress thankfully interrupted, bringing their sandwiches.
She left and Christina continued. “Because I wanted to personally speak with you, see who and what you’ve become. I’m attempting to stretch out my career for as long as possible because I need the money. Besides paying your college tuition, I’ve got other large expenditures—”
“Pay my college tuition? Mom pays that.”
Christina shook her head. “I’m the one who’s been paying all along, which I did with pleasure. The only ones who knew, were your parents and me. But if the airline or the FAA even suspects I have epilepsy they would yank my medical certificate faster than you could say the word jet. Then, I’d be placed on disability, meaning I would make only half pay for a few years. So, the fewer people who know make for better odds it won’t be discovered.”
“Does all this mean I won’t have money to continue college?”
“I don’t have that answer—yet. I need a bit more time. I urge you, however, to visit a neurologist as soon as possible. But please keep what I revealed in your confidence.”
“That might be difficult. I mean, you pop into my life after all of these years and don’t expect me to speak to Mom about this? I know she’s going to ask what we spoke about and…”
“All right,” Christina sighed. “Tell her, but only her. And she must keep what you say strictly confidential.”
“I promise. But I have another question.”
“Go ahead. I’ll answer whatever I can.”
“Who is – was – my father?”
That question ripped open an old wound. “I don’t have a picture to show you. Your father’s name was Brian Patterson and he was a very handsome and intelligent young man who I thought I loved deeply. At the time we were both high school seniors with all the graceless manners that go with that. Neither of us believed I would become pregnant, but when it happened, we went our separate ways.”
“Did he know you were pregnant? Did he ever see me after I was born?”
“The answer to those questions is, no,” Christina lied. “He died right after you were born.” The truth was far different. Christina’s mother had informed Brian’s parents of the situation and they had attempted to talk her into forcing Christina to have an abortion, but her Catholic upbringing precluded that. Until Brian’s death approximately a year later, neither he nor his parents wanted anything to do with Christina or Laurel. Christina slid her chair back squeakily on the hardwood floor. She stood up and requested the check, noting neither had touched their sandwich. Leaving the restaurant, Christina spotted Mimi seated on a metal bench on the concourse. “I told her,” Christina informed a frowning Mimi. “There’s another item she has my permission to share with you and only you. I trust you will respect my wish.”
Mimi nodded her head in the affirmative.
The three ladies stood there awkwardly looking from floor to ceiling and Christina felt things had gone as well as expected. No doubt Laurel had plenty running through her mind and needed time to digest it all. Hopefully, they could eventually strike up a close relationship and become best of friends. Christina had never allowed herself to become too attached to anyone since her last divorce. She had constructed a hidden wall with everyone except her son Jimmy, a structure she would tear down in a heartbeat for Laurel. Christina broke the awkward silence. “Here is my home telephone number,” as she handed Laurel her card. “I’m going to purchase a cellphone and I’ll make certain you also have that number. Think over what I’ve told you and call after the doctor’s visit and let me know how it went.” After again shaking hands she quickly headed to the departure gate for the next flight, two hours earlier than planned.
During the return flight Christina was pleased she hadn’t been totally rejected. Maybe there was a hint of childlike longing in Laurel’s eyes? She’d give her a week or so to think everything over and visit the doctor. If she didn’t call, then Christina would call her.
Once aboard the return flight, after reclining her seat, Christina felt a slight headache and recalled the doctor’s words about how stress and epilepsy went hand in hand. She certainly currently had her fill of stress and silently vowed to put her scheme with Erik into operation as quickly as possible.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Upon arrival at the somewhat unkempt Rodriguez English Tudor home in Hollis, Queens, before reaching the front door it swung open and a smiling Carol greeted Erik with a peck on the cheek. He immediately took note of her clingy dark blue dress with a slit up the side and mesh stockings, but before he could utter anything she informed him with a bright smile, “I’m so proud of you for helping save all those people, so I got you something.” She removed an unwrapped box from a drawer in the small table by the door.
“For me?”
“Open it.”
The box contained a white T-shirt with the words MY HERO emblazoned in bright red on the front and back.
“You shouldn’t have,” a blushing Erik fibbed. The truth was if his chest stuck out any farther someone would think he had just finished pumping iron. “Maybe I’ll wear it to work?” he joked, recalling what O’Brien had said.
“I chose the words myself. You can try it on later ‘cause I want to introduce you to my folks.” She led him through a living room with French provincial furniture and quite a few books strewn about. One item in particular jumped out at him, a large, empty wooden picture frame hanging on the wall with the hand-stenciled word RESERVED in the center.
“What’s that?” he asked as they passed it.
“That’s where my degree will go, a reminder to study hard. Neither parent attended college, so it’s special.”
Erik could almost feel the difference between this home and his house, notwithstanding the lack of colorful flowers or weed-less lawn. It held a special karma and warmth he couldn’t put his finger on, something coming from within and running throughout. Entering a small den, a big man with a full head of wavy,
gunmetal hair was seated behind a heavy oak desk, wearing dark linen trousers and striped, open collared shirt. The seemingly compulsively sloppy, Persian-carpeted room also contained a long leather couch, accented by rustic, oak end tables along with two wrought iron bookshelves containing what appeared to be over a hundred paperback and hardcover books. Erik’s eyes were always attracted to books almost as much as a nice cleavage, because what a person reads reveals lots about their persona. These were mostly nonfiction, arranged on either side of a massive stone fireplace, which even in the heat of summer imparted warmth.
“Dad, I’d like you to meet my flight instructor, Erik Preis. Erik, this is my father, Sal Rodriguez.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Rodriguez.”
Sal Rodriguez was a man with a quarterback look, rolled up shirtsleeves exposing Popeye-like forearms, a friendly smile and square-shouldered heft. Rising to his feet and extending a huge, warm hand, Sal Rodriguez remarked in a soft spoken voice, “The pleasure’s all mine. And please call me Sal, otherwise I feel too damned old.”
An attractive woman wearing a shortish black dress, white silk scarf and small diamond earrings next entered. Her dark flowing hair, almond eyes and tender smile betrayed the fact she was Carol’s mother. Extending his hand to her, as pleasantries were exchanged, Erik discovered her name was Anita. They sat down and Sal offered a drink, which Erik declined. Anita Rodriguez commented, “Carol tells us you’re an excellent flight instructor. How long have you been in that line of work?”