spa, the skeet-shooting range, the golf house, and the stables. Is there anywhere else you think I should try?”
“Yeah. The phone outside the gas station in the village.”
“Sorry, sir. That’s a pay phone. We can’t plug into that.”
“May I leave a message?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“This is Jack Faoni. The message is, ‘Prepare the Cactus Suite, Coz’.”
•
“Fletch. Hello?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Urmph.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Something made my ears block.” Fletch wondered if he’d ever get used to the word “Dad.” There must be some alternative. The young man so enjoyed using it.
Until a week before, Fletch had never known he had a son.
He still hadn’t taken legal advice to prove that one John Fletcher Faoni was his son.
“Where are you?” Jack asked.
“Approaching Forward, Wisconsin, from the southeast.”
“I’m surprised you dare show your face in that burg.”
“Thought I’d better clean up the mess I helped make for your mother. Today is moving day for the denizens of Blythe Spirit.”
“Your story on GCN closed down Mama’s favorite fat farm?”
“As a journalist, never be the rooster who believes it is only his crowing which brings up the sun.”
“Now what will she do?”
“The State of Wisconsin is closing it down, for health reasons, while handing out fraud indictments to everyone involved they can find.”
“Are you going to pick her up?”
“Is that a joke?”
“You can’t pick up a woman who weighs over six hundred pounds? Mama done tol’ me you were always pickin’ up all kindsa wimmin.”
“I am driving a rented handicap van with an hydraulic lift.”
“She’ll be furious with you. Blythe Spirit has become her home away from home.”
“And her major expense. A lot of good it was doing her. Did you know the staff at Blythe Spirit had pretty well convinced your mother she must plan to spend the rest of her life with them?”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. With one hand they fed her appetites, with the other hand they fed her despair, while somehow continuing to pick her pockets. For a bright woman such as your mother, that took real sleight of hand.”
“It’s okay, Dad. As her son, I can tell you she might take a swing at you, but she can’t catch you. Just don’t ever let her fall on you.”
Fletch said, “You mean, again.”
“Again.”
“Look what happened last time she fell on me.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I happened. Aren’t you glad?”
“We’ll see.”
“Sure you are.”
“Now I know why you’re so nimble footed.”
“Live with a six hundred plus pound mama for a while,” Jack said, “and you learn to take short, rapid, circuitous steps. Dos yee doe.”
“So how are you doing, Nijinski?”
“Who’s Nijinski?” Jack asked.
“Someone who could dance around women pretty well, too.”
“I’m fine,” Jack answered. “The stories exposing The Tribe made a big splash around the whole world. Or so I’m told. Did you see any of the stories on GCN?”
“You know we don’t have cable at the farm. But I’ve been reading about your stories in the press. I’m proud of you. You didn’t do any on-camera work, did you?
“What do you mean?”
“They didn’t show you, pictures of you, did they?”
“No. They wanted to, bad enough. In the vein of Young Reporter Risks Himself. I didn’t let them. Some of your principles have gotten through to me, you know.”
“Oh. Your mama taught you well.”
“But gee, Dad, it really crimps the vanity, you know? I coulda been a see-leb-pretty.”
“I’m sure. As the preacher said to his daughter, ‘Save yourself. There’s always tomorrow.’”
“Yeah. I had a date with her once. Speaking of people who don’t put out, I just met your Mr. Blair.”
“Alex Blair? He’s a jerk.”
“Gee, Dad, and I thought he was real nice.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“Such a sincere man.”
“As sincere as a snake on a rock stirrin’ his tail in the water.”
“He gave me a nice big check.”
“I see.” Driving through rural Wisconsin, Fletch was trying to find a roadsign for the town of Forward. “That means GCN didn’t offer you a job.”
“It’s a very generous check.”
“Bastards. Which also means you didn’t let them know you’re my son.” In the van by himself, Fletch smiled. “Isn’t that right?”
“Gee, Dad, am I your son?”
“Until further notice.”
“You’re not going to make me submit to DNA tests?” Jack asked.
“I hate the question. I don’t even know why you’d want to be my son. Your mother raised you, filling you up with all kinds of lies about me…. All I’ve ever done is write a book you don’t like much.”
“Well, I look at it this way,” Jack said. “You still have an opportunity to turn out well. Just maybe, with my good influence on you—”
“You intend to reform me at this point? Good luck.”
“Hey, I might even teach you one or two things about journalism.”
“What are you going to do now that GCN has given you your walking papers?”
“Visit an old girlfriend in Georgia.”
“How close an old girlfriend?”
“She’s getting married. To someone else.”
“The best kind.”
“We only spent a very short weekend together once. Very short.”
“I’ve got the picture. You were at the Heartbreak Motel. So why are you showing up in her life now that she’s getting married? Can’t you stand any rejection at all?”
“She’s invited me. She thinks there’s something weird about her boyfriend’s family.”
“Isn’t there always? Few are the brides who realize it in time. You’re investigating the in-laws for her?”
“Something like that.”
“Why? Doesn’t sound like there’s a story there.”
“Does there always have to be a story?”
“You’ve got to keep yourself in Pepsi and pizza, boy.”
“You haven’t asked me who her in-laws are.”
“Who?”
“Professor and Mrs. Chester Radliegh.”
