Dirty Daddy

I rest my hand against his cheek and lean in for one final kiss. “What do we do now?” I ask, not wanting to let the real world back in, but knowing that I have to do it all the same. Stroking my hair, he simply smiles.

“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

98

Lance

When you love someone, and I mean really fucking love someone, there are no limits to what you'll do for that person. And now that I love two people—Jocelyn and my unborn child, my heart feels like it's ready to explode. Back at the Plaza, where happiness flooded my entire body when I learned I was going to be a father, I smiled and scooped Jocelyn into my arms, spinning her across the room. I was fucking euphoric. One minute, I thought I was losing the love of my life, getting ready to pack my entire life into a suitcase with a one-way ticket to Europe—it was like first being in a room where the walls are literally crumbling all around you—and then the next moment, when I learned I was gaining it all back and so much more, my entire emotional landscape was reversed. I had never been fucking happier. I promised Jocelyn that I had a plan. I wasn't lying, and now I'm ready to execute it.

I walk into my dad's house. I still have a spare key so there was no need to knock. When I enter, I don't see or hear anyone, but I know he has to be home. He's always home at this time. And when I called his office, I was told he wasn't there. So I decide to walk to his study—slowly, carefully—I don't know why I'm trying to be so quiet. Once I walk down the hall toward his door, I see that sure enough, the light is on. I hear him fishing a conversation on the phone and I wait until he ends the call. I don't want to interrupt. I need his undivided attention. Now's my chance. I take a deep breath, turn the knob, push the door, and enter my father's st

udy. The room is filled with swirls of blue smoke, and I can see a cigar smoldering on his desk, smoke curling around it's tip in lazy half circles. Since when did he pick up smoking again? As a kid, I remember he'd smoke cigars in his study, sipping a glass of scotch. His study was always off limits. That was his personal, private zone and everyone knew better than to breach it. But I thought the smoking ended years ago. He must be stressed. It was always a nervous habit of his.

These days, it seems as if he's always here, networking and either buried in email, or nose-deep in a self-help book. He's throwing everything he's got into this campaign and he seems tired. The bags under his eyes give it away. He looks up at me, momentarily annoyed that I've broken his concentration.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I need to talk to you."

"Lance, can't this wait? I'm in the middle of an important project."

"What's new? You're always busy. The mockery of your entire campaign is that family has never come first for you. Please tell me that irony isn't lost on you?" I say.

"If you were planning on telling me how awful of a father I've been to you over the course of your life, spare me the sob story."

"Look, this can't wait. It's urgent."

The word 'urgent' catches him by surprise. I now have his full attention, so I take my hands out of my pockets and sit down, and I steady my nerves and continue, "I have a confession."

"Go on," Michael says slowly.

"It's about Jocelyn… and the baby."

I watch as Michael sits up in his chair, his body erect. The muscles around his mouth are rigid. His eyes look like broken glass and are hinting at violence, but I continue, "her—and I—we—" I'm stumbling, trying to find the right combination of words.

"You can't be serious," he says, cutting me off.

"I love her."

"You don't know the first thing about love," he growls. "You've dipped your dick into anything with two legs and tits. Who are you kidding?"

"You're one to talk—sitting in this house married to a woman you never loved. What kind of marriage is that? It's one of the greatest charades I've ever seen."

"You have no idea the sacrifices I've had to make. Not just for me. For this city. And for you."

I understand more than you think, and Jocelyn's pregnancy—well, that baby is mine, and I plan on being more of a father than you've ever been."

Michael slams his fist down on his desk, flashing his teeth at me. "You ungrateful little prick! I invite you into my house; I feed you, I give you a place to live, I give you work, I introduce you to my network—some of the most influential people in the world—even after you nearly cause WW III with the president's daughter, and this is the thanks I get? You have some real nerve."

"I didn't mean for any of this happen. I swear it on my mother's grave."

"Ha! You should watch what you say. Do you take me for a fool Lance?"

"No, I don't. You're too manipulative for a fool. Even I know that. Let's face it, we're all pawns in your master plans."

“You’re all too stupid to even be pawns,” he snarls at me. I can’t believe there are times when I alternate between thinking of him as Dad instead of just Michael. “You’re all a weight on my feet, dragging me down.”

“You’re the only weight on yourself, Dad,” I say, raising my voice. My blood is pumping. “Maybe if you were more open and honest people would help you more.”