Chapter 1

"Dad, that's SICK!"

My daughter had a truly horrified look on her face.

"Mom said you were strange, but that's SICK!"

My daughter is in her early twenties. I've been divorced from her mom for fifteen years. I live by myself, mostly. Today my daughter was over to share a bit of time with me, letting me see my most recent grandbaby. I'm a double grand-dad. Same daughter, two babies, two different fathers. Welcome to the Twenty-first Century.

"YOU'RE the one that started this conversation, baby, and you're like your mom. You hear what you WANT to hear. I didn't propose sex with YOU. You're right. Sick."

The conversation had run around from the subject of her on again, off again mate, the father of THIS baby, and then, "You have to be tired of living by yourself, right?"

"It's not bad," I said. "I have plenty of contact with humanity at work."

"You know what I mean," she retorted. "Companionship ... The reason I'm here with little Brucie."

"No, the reason you're here with little Brucie is that the idea of taking a birth control pill every day is beyond your level of responsibility."

"Dad..."

"Doesn't mean I don't love you, baby. Just that I know you. I'm father to a flake."

She probably thought she was being forward and sassy, one of the endearing traits that enticed me into a disastrous marriage to her mom.

"So seriously, are you seeing somebody?"

"I see lots of people..."

She fixed a gimlet eye on me. "You know what I mean."

"You mean you're asking your dad if he's getting some regularly."

"See! I knew you knew what I was asking."

"You were being obtuse."

"You're the only one I know who uses the word 'obtuse'."

"You need to travel in better circles, daughter o'mine."

"So back to the question. Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Seeing anybody?"

"Nope."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

"I don't mind being alone. The cats're good company."

"How about a female friend?"

"Don't want the baggage."

"What about a quickie?"

I dropped my jaw and stared at my daughter. That's when... "Dad, that's SICK!"

"I didn't mean YOU. What do YOU mean?"

"Well, I know that Mom said you were over-sexed. I just wondered..."

"I sort of grew up, baby," I said. "I learned that letting myself get influenced by my baser urges leads to bad things."

"That's because you automatically attach strings to it."

"I guess I do. And the idea of making it a financial transaction? Today that's pretty risky."

"Maybe you're doing it wrong," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, say there's this girl who is nice and friendly and sort of needs a little money, and you take 'er to dinner and a movie and then ... And she leaves with a hundred bucks after the evening's over."

"You've done this?"

"No, but I know a girl who might..."

"Baby, don't get me wrong, but your friends ... they're like you. And if I was YOUR age, I wouldn't date ANY of them."

"Thanks, Dad."

"I love you, baby, but that's because I'm your dad."

I rocked the new grandkid in my lap for the requisite amount of time, and then they left.

Two days later I came in from work. It's Friday evening and I'm thinking that maybe I can watch something on NetFlix. I plopped down to catch up on email, TV on in the background, the cats maintaining security overwatch from the back of the sofa in the late afternoon light. Life was pretty good. And my phone rang.

I glanced at the display and didn't recognize the number. "This is Barry. Can I help you?"

"Mister Barry, this is Jessica Spineti. Your daughter told me to call you."

"Hi, Jessica. My daughter is off track. I'm sorry to waste your time."

"Uh ... Mister Barry..."

"Just call me Barry. She proposed something I'm not comfortable with. I'm sorry you got involved."

"Your daughter's nuts, Barry. I know that. But I thought I'd call you anyway. She said we might have dinner, at least."

"Uh, I..."

"Just dinner. I know what she said..."

"What kind of dinner place do you have in mind?"

"That Mexican restaurant on the main drag."

"I haven't eaten there in a month or two. Uh, am I supposed to pick you up or meet you there?"

"My car's dead. Could you give me a ride? Sixish?"

"Sure. Text me your address."

"OK. Soon as I hang up. And Barry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"I'll call you when I get close."

"That'll work. I'd rather meet you out front."

Okay. Quick shower. Change into something neat and presentable, all the while harboring the idea that my 'date' may be dressed in 'distressed' jeans and an X-rated T-shirt, but I have to be me. I even splashed on a bit of favorite cologne.

Next step was to hop in the 'babe magnet'. I laugh. Plain vanilla, mid-range SUV. In grey. 'Silver' according to the brochure, but I like 'grey'. Like some of my hair. And off I go on tonight's adventure.

Twenty minutes later I'm winding through an older neighborhood. I hit redial on my cellphone. It rings twice.

"Hi, Barry!"

"Hi, Jessica. I'm about three minutes out."

"I'll be standing out front."

The evil part of me says 'and if you look like a refugee from an 'Occupy Wall Street' protest, I can just keep on driving.' I don't listen to the evil side. No matter what, she's expecting me, so I will be there.

I round the corner. There she was, tiny little thing, five feet tall, maybe. Black hair, cut short in one of those 'alternative' looks. Jeans, sans distress. Blouse, plaid, shirttail out, not a bad look at all in a 'ragamuffin chic' sort of way. As I got closer, she saw me and smiled slightly. When I stopped, she jumped in the door and sat.

I guess she caught me scoping her out.

"Well? Did I pass?"

"Yes. I was worried."

"I know who your daughter hangs out with. I'd worry, too."

"You hang out with my daughter."

"Not since her last pregnancy. Sorry. One time's an accident. Twice is just stupid. And I know your daughter. I think that this is one of her ways of getting back at me."

"And you did it?"

"Contrarian. I thought that if she and her mom had so much bad to say, there had to be some good. Nobody's completely evil."

"They talk about me that bad?"

"When she's with her mom. Sometimes she talks good about you. She says you're the smartest man she knows." She paused. Looked at me with a little smile. "Said you were reasonably good-looking, too."

"She exaggerates."

"Not really. So, nervous?"

"Kinda," I said. "You're the youngest lady I've ever taken out."

"You were a teen once. I'm sure you dated then, and those were much younger."

"Differential," I said.

"Yeah, there is that." She folded her arms across her chest. "Relax. Most people will think we're dad and daughter or something innocuous."

"Innocuous?"

"Innocuous," she repeated firmly. "Vocabulary. I have one and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Good," I said. "That will make conversation possible."

"And interesting." Her lively green eyes sparkled. "Thank you for getting me out of the house."

"You live by yourself?"

"No, there are three of us there. I'm sort of the dropout, now. I quit running the roads and staying out and the big parties and the little parties and ... No more drugs. No more drinking. No more..." and she stopped.

"I've never had that sort of lifestyle," I said.

"I have. Can't recommend it. Not any more. Thought it was the way to be. One of the oh so cool kids, flouting the tired old authority of parents."

"You've been thinking."

"And right now I'm thinking of a big basket of chips and some chili con queso."

"You said no more drinking."

"I am not in a program, Barry. I just am not going to binge until I'm unconscious and wake up with some naked guy laying across me. A margarita ... would be nice."

"You're over twenty-one?"

"Two years older than your daughter. Twenty-four."

"Then yes, I think a margarita may be in order."

We thumped our way off the street and into the parking lot. Popular restaurant. When I found a parking spot, it entailed a good little walk. I was a bit surprised that she stayed as close to me as she did.

The hostess informed us of a twenty-minute wait.

"Bar?" I asked Jessica.

"Sure!"

One of those ridiculous tables with two barstools. And two margaritas.

"So, conversation," I said. "What do you do now?"

"Manager at a fast food joint."

"Manager?"

"Yep. Apparently I was soooo good at saying 'You want fries with that?' that somebody saw leadership potential. Great use of my ever so practical degree in literature."

"Degree?"

"3.9 GPA. Just what I need for supervising burger-flippers." She gazed at me, smiled. "Although they don't actually flip the burgers manually any more. Fry-dipping, though, it's still a thing. "Megan says you're sort of like an engineer?"

"Sort of ... Don't have an engineering degree. Just really good at what I do. Pays the bills."

"Is it interesting to you?"

"Yes, I like the challenges. I hate the drudgery. Administrative bullshit. Beancounter crap. But get me out in the field with a problem, that's heaven. A blank page and a need for a system, that's good."

She smiled. "How much of that do you get?"

"Enough to keep me in town. I could get out of this cushy job and get a lot more money but I like living here."

"I do, too. Some friends tried to get me to move to New Orleans. I like it here. A couple of 'em took off for Vegas. I like it here."