Joan and her father come to an understanding (of sorts). She arrives home in time to spend the 4th of July with Sam.

Chapter 9

Homeward Bound

Sunday morning I awoke in a strange bed, in a strange place. I still wasn’t sure why my father had dragged me down here. It obviously wasn’t an "act of love." I made use of the private bath. The shower didn’t help at all. I felt dead both inside and out. I donned a clean pair of jeans and pulled a polo shirt over my head. Realizing that I couldn’t stay in the room forever, I made my way downstairs. I had no interest whatsoever in exploring this palatial mansion. I just wanted to go home.

Was I being unfair? Maybe. Still, my father had essentially kidnapped me and had taken me away while my mother stood by and wept. Thoughts of escape filled my head. I heard voices in the back of the house. I cautiously followed the sounds. As the words became clear I stopped dead in my tracks. Doreen was busily telling my father that what he had planned for me was unfair. She just went on and on. It seemed my father had other ideas about the length of my stay. He finally told her to shut up; I was his son and he’d deal with me as he saw fit. I tiptoed back to the foot of the stairs and made my way as noisily as I could in their direction.

Dad and his girlfriend sat at the kitchen table. Doreen smiled at me as I entered the room. The largest German Shepherd I’d ever seen lay peacefully at her feet. My father seemed focused on the Wall Street Journal in front of him. "Good morning John," she said in a welcoming tone. "Did you sleep alright?" She asked with concern. Maybe I could reason with her? Had I found an ally? Perhaps she just wanted me out of the way. I didn’t care what her motivations were. If she was willing to help me escape this place, that was good enough for me.

I put on my best (fake) smile and told her that I’d slept well and that everything had been perfect. Dad never said a word. His glasses positioned half way down his nose, he pretended to be lost in the stock market report. I felt as out of place as humanly possible. The clothes weren’t right, the surroundings weren’t right, and worst of all, the people weren’t "right."

"What would you like for breakfast?" She asked me. I told her that I wasn’t hungry at all. "Nonsense, a growing girl has to eat," she exhorted and realized her mistake immediately. My father glared at her over the top of his paper. I surreptitiously smiled my thanks. She seemed to understand and accept it. Without another word, she brought me a bowl of Cheerios. The three of us sat at the table and no one said a word. Finally, I just had to ask.

"So Dad? What time is my flight back home tomorrow?" He looked at me as though I was a mental defective; like I hadn’t a clue I did nothing to dissuade him of my apparent naiveté’. I figured the dumber he thought I was, the easier it would be to escape. He totally ignored my question.

"Doreen’s going to cut your hair for you this morning. Maybe then you’ll look a bit more like my son and less like my daughter." She looked as horrified as I felt at his statement. Her voice rose as she replied.

"Bobby, I’m not cutting her hair!" At the tone of her voice, the dog’s ears perked up. I silently thanked her for the use of correct pronouns. My father put down his paper and glared at her. Apparently I wasn’t doing his new relationship any good at all. Maybe in total frustration, he’d let me go?

He smiled smugly at the both of us and went back to reading his paper. The only thing that made sense was that this was his way of getting back at Mom for some unknown transgression. I knew he had to be wrong on that count. Mom had nothing but love in her heart for everything and everyone. I’d be on my way home by tomorrow if I had to walk the four hundred miles.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" She asked me. She’d read my mind. Taking two travel mugs from the cabinet, she filled them up. "I’ll bet you take it black, don’t you?" She said smiling at me. Cups filled, we made our way out to the deck. The dog followed closely at her heels. "Want to see what the ocean looks like from this vantage point?" I shrugged my shoulders and followed her down the ramp and through a small gate at the back of the yard. She found some firm sand and carefully sat down. She motioned me to sit beside her. I did.

"Do you know why I’m here?" I had to ask. She looked at me and sighed.

"You should have never sent him that picture of you and your Mom. And, your sign-off on that particular email sent him over the edge. Just what were you hoping to accomplish? This?" Her eyes filled with tears. Part of me hated this woman. Another part wanted to thank her for taking that bastard away from us. I put my arm around her and attempted to console her. The dog began running for the surf. "Daisy, get over here," Doreen admonished. The dog pranced slowly back to where we were sitting. She exuded total confidence as she sat at her mistress’ feet.

"He doesn’t intend for me to leave tomorrow, does he?" I asked tentatively.
Doreen broke down and wept gently on my shoulder. The dog began to eye me as if I might make an excellent lunch for her. Her tears told me all that I needed to know. "Just what is his plan then?" She calmed down sufficiently and informed me of my father’s plan to enroll me in a military academy. He was going to make a "man" out of me or die trying. The bastard had used that very threat as a ploy to get me to accompany him. Doreen seemed genuinely afraid for me.

"If this is how he treats you, how’s he going to treat your sister?" she blurted. I sat there and sipped some of the coffee. I didn’t care what happened anymore. I removed my pack of Virginia Slims from my pocket and lit one. Doreen never said a word. So, I was going to have a sister. I thought sadly that most likely I’d never get to meet her.

"I wish I had some answers for you Doreen," I said assuming the role of adult. "I can only tell you that my father wasn’t always the crazy person he seems to be today." She began to explain how loving he’d been. I cut her off. I didn’t want to know about her relationship with my father. For her to assume that I did was simply asking too much. A seed of an idea began growing in my mind. I finally realized just how I was going to escape this "paradise."

"Doreen, is there a drug store around here?" I asked her. She simply smiled at me when I stood up. I hadn’t paid any attention to the magnificent views the beach here provided. She extended her hand to me and I gently helped her rise to her feet. We walked along the beach for about half a mile when we came to a small boardwalk. There were a number of shops and one of them was indeed a drugstore. I left Doreen and Daisy sitting on a bench and made my way inside the store. It didn’t take long to figure out that they had everything that I needed. I made my purchases and returned to the bench where I’d left them.

"Doreen, I can’t help you out other than to tell you that I am going home tomorrow." A huge look of relief swept over her face. She wanted me gone as much as I wanted to go. I found myself wishing that she was the proto-typical wicked stepmother so that I could simply hate her. We made our way back to the fortress. I thanked her for showing me around and made my way up to "my" room. My father was nowhere in sight. Once inside the room I emptied the contents of the bag on the desk: one disposable camera; one envelope large enough to accommodate it; and enough postage to ship myself home. I began photographing everything: the front of the house, the back of the house, the automobiles, and yes, I even took a shot of Andrea when her attention was diverted elsewhere.

I put the camera in the envelope, told Doreen I was going for a walk and would be back in a little bit, and left. I made my way back to the drugstore and put the camera in the mailbox in front of the store. It was all (I hoped) the insurance that I needed. My brief note simply said; Mom, this is where and how Dad is living now. Surely the significance couldn’t escape her? Besides, I hoped to be home long before that envelope arrived. With my task completed, my mood brightened considerably. I found myself purchasing the cutest red lipstick. It was on sale! I used the tiny mirror in the store to apply a coat to my lips. I smiled at my reflection; I was done pretending for Dad.

The clerk’s gushing that the color looked perfect on me only made my smile widen. For the first time since I’d arrived, I became aware of my surroundings. Under different circumstances the location would have been idyllic. The boardwalk and the surroundings had a certain charm that our resort town lacked. I bought myself a piece of pizza and a coke and sat on a bench staring out to sea while I ate. I finished up and had a smoke. A police officer eyed me suspiciously before shaking his head from side to side and moving on.

I practically danced all the way back to my prison. I decided to email Mom when I got back. I hoped she’d forgive me for leaving the way that I did. More importantly, I hoped that she was all right. Andrea greeted me upon entering. "Can I help you Miss?" She asked not recognizing who I was. Impulsively, I gave her a quick hug and went up to my room. The phone next to my bed rang. I picked it up tentatively. It was Andrea: she informed me that dinner would be served in one hour and that I’d best not show up at the table wearing lipstick. I thanked her for her concern and hung up the phone.

Hell, she was probably right. No sense in rubbing salt in the wound. In retrospect, I guessed I’d done that with my last email to Dad. I composed a quick letter to Mom and told her I’d be home tomorrow. I found myself wondering whether I’d made a mistake after I’d hit the send button. Surely he’d have to let me go home now, wouldn’t he?

We had our dinner in the kitchen. It seemed some things never changed. Still, the view of the ocean from the table was beyond magnificent. The barbecued spare ribs were first rate and I found myself eating more than I should have. Dad almost seemed encouraged by my appetite’s return. The conversation was light and as close to pleasant as the circumstances allowed. Doreen seemed greatly relieved by the current turn of events. Daisy, as ever, was perched at her feet. Finally, Dad asked me what I’d like to do during the upcoming week. The mood at the table changed abruptly.

"Dad, we have to talk. I’m going home tomorrow, remember?" I said with more confidence in my voice than I felt.

"You’re going to do what I tell you to do," he said sternly. My eyes gave Doreen a pleading look. She excused herself from the table and took Daisy out to the beach.

"Dad, I am going home tomorrow." I said with a hint of a threat in my voice. My father almost seemed amused by my tone.

"And what makes you think that, young man?" The "young man" was added to let me know just "who" was the boss in this situation. It was now or never. I began to doubt my plan as the words slowly tumbled out of my mouth. I took a deep breath and began.

"This is quite a place you’ve got here; an ocean front mansion of this size in our humble state would easily cost more than a million dollars." He actually smiled at me! Did he think I was complimenting him? "And the cars! Of all of them I think I like the Corvette the best." I played along.

"I’m glad you appreciate the value of a dollar son," he said solemnly.

"I do Dad, I do, but that’s not my point." He looked at me inquisitively and I continued. "What do you think Mom would say about your current life style?" I said in as threatening a tone as I could muster. "It’s obvious to me that if the true nature of your "hidden" assets came out that there’d be quite a drastic change in your property settlement." I had only a vague idea of what I was talking about. Still, I did know that we lived in a community property state. I knew I was way out of my depth, but I continued.

Suddenly, he seemed to become irate. "John, when it comes to financial matters, your mother is a babe in the woods." The game was escalating. It was time to play my trump card.

"That may be Dad, but I think the pictures I sent her this afternoon might help her to see the light." There it was. My cards were on the table. It was now his play.

"You did what?" he asked incredulously. I went on to explain that I’d photographed everything of "value" I could find and mailed the pictures to Mom that very afternoon. I knew that Mom didn’t care about money. Still, I hoped she could see what a bargaining tool it could be.

"I think I could convince her not to pursue matters on one condition: You leave us alone. You sign papers granting her complete custody of me. We’ll be out of your life forever more." My eyes filled with tears as I said the last of it. It wasn’t the way I wanted things. But, there was no way I was yielding to this strict authoritarian rat-bastard. He seemed to consider my statements.

"That’s not a bad argument John," he said with a certain twisted pride in his voice. "But, what makes you think that anything you see here belongs to me?" The smile on his face let me know I’d over-played my hand. My face fell; my jaw dropped. Perhaps I’d made too many assumptions? Was he simply toying with me? It never occurred to me that all of this wasn’t "his."

At length a strange look of defeat consumed his face. I sat there and waited.
"I’ll tell you what," he continued. "You want to go back to her and be her little sissy boy well, you can leave right now. Go pack your things and I’ll take you to the airport." He said with more than a hint of disgust in his voice. There had never been anything I wanted more. I jumped up from the table and ran to my room to retrieve my things. I considered, just for a moment, putting some lipstick on. I decided not to rub any salt in his wounds and would wait till I was safely aboard my flight home.

He and Doreen were waiting for me when I came down the stairs. I felt really bad about the sister that I’d never know. I asked Doreen for her email address and promised to write to her. She smiled at me and gave me a hug. Dad and I made our way to the airport in his shiny new red corvette. I was grateful when he popped in a disc of some obscure classical music. There wouldn’t be any need for conversation. An hour later we arrived at the airport. There was one more flight home leaving in just over an hour. Dad paid for my ticket and handed it to me wordlessly. We stood there and stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. The look in his own begged forgiveness. Still, in the end he didn’t say a word; he simply walked away.

He wasn’t even going to stay and see me off on my flight. I didn’t care. I was beyond happy to be rid of him. I found a pay phone and made a collect call to my mother. She practically exploded with joy upon hearing my voice.

"Joan, how are you? Are you OK?" she asked with worry in her voice.

"I’m fine Mom!" I yelled. "Can you pick me up at the airport at eleven o’clock? I’m coming in on flight 1203 out of Atlantic City." She laughed and told me she’d be there with bells on. She had a million questions but I just told her we’d talk when she picked me up. I hung up the phone and made my way to the ladies’ room. I put on my lipstick and took a seat on the concourse waiting for my flight to be called.

Now that I was free of him, I found myself hoping that at some point we could work it all out. I knew in my heart though that he’d never accept me as Joan. I couldn’t blame him. It was my fault, not his. I was drowning under waves of sadness and despair. Finally my flight was called and I made my way to the boarding gate. A few older males leered at me creepily. I did my best to ignore them. I continued onward and took my seat on the plane awaiting takeoff.

I was so relieved to be going home. I began to wonder just what would be the proper approach to take with my mother. Sure, Dad deserved the best, but what about us? Hell, I couldn’t even get my allowance because money was "tight." And, it’s not like I took the money as a given. I worked my ass off for that meager pittance. I hoped that Mom would be able to handle a serious conversation with her fourteen year old daughter about matters of finance. Sure it was her future we were talking about, but it was my future too. I became lost in thought as the pilot announced that we should fasten our seat belts. The plane would be landing in ten minutes.

i was never so happy to be home in my life. Like Dorothy before me, I found myself chanting: "there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home." Mom greeted me at the gate. Her face was bathed in so many emotions it was hard to discern the most significant among them: still, if I had to bet on one, I’d have put my money on "relief." We fell into each other’s arms and hugged for what seemed like forever. Finally she looked at me and said "I love your new lipstick." We both burst out laughing like a couple who’d just escaped the booby hatch.

We rode home in silence as I tried to figure out just what and how much to tell her. We stayed up into the wee hours drinking coffee and smoking. I told her the entire sordid story. She seemed more angry than sad as I completed my tale. I took that as a good sign. She wasn’t going to roll over and die. She was going to fight. I knew one thing for sure. Nothing was going to get me back to New Jersey any time soon. Beyond exhausted, we made our way upstairs and to bed. I ran into my room and hugged Teddy and Josam till I thought the stuffing was going to come out of them. That evening I slept the sleep of the just.

Monday morning arrived and I awoke just before eleven. It was the final day of the holiday weekend and I was home and in my own bed! I can’t begin to describe how good that felt. I called Sam first thing and let him know that I was home. He seemed elated.

"Joan did you see the story about us in the newspaper?" He asked me. A story in the paper; about us? I laughed and told him I had no idea what he was talking about. "I’ll bring it over for you so you can read it later," he said. It seemed that Sam had pitched the first perfect game in "Waves" history. I was so damned happy for him. It seemed like years since he’d last held me in his arms. "Oh, and Joan! The ski ball contest is at 3:00! You haven’t forgotten have you?" Damn, but he sounded just like a kid on Christmas morning.

"No sweetheart, I haven’t forgotten," I assured him. We made plans for him to pick me up at two o’clock. I went downstairs and hugged Shandy till she begged for relief. God, it felt so damned good to be home. I went upstairs and showered. I took a long time expertly applying my makeup. I put on my bra and sadly stuffed the cups with my breast forms. I bathed myself in Cool Water and put on my new green skort and matching top. It was already afternoon, but I made Mom breakfast and served it to her in bed. We stared at each other briefly. Both of us were wearing ear-to-ear smiles.

I went and checked my email. There was a letter from Aunt Mel asking me if I was alright. Apparently my mother had emailed her and told her of my "kidnapping." Good for her, I thought. Mom was apparently stronger than I’d thought. I replied to Aunt Melissa telling her that I was home and that all was well with the world. I also told her that I looked forward to seeing her in a few weeks. Then I composed a short letter to Doreen telling her that I’d arrived home safely and thanking for her for doing her best during my brief stay. I also asked that she keep my posted on the birth of my sister.

I went back downstairs and surveyed "my" kitchen. Sure it was incredibly humble next to the magnificence of my father’s current residence. But, it felt more "real" somehow. Love resided within these walls. I beamed with excitement as I took a rag and cleaned off the counters. I was literally on top of the world!

A short time later Sam arrived with newspaper in hand. He grinned sheepishly at me and gave me a hug to end all hugs. "I bought this copy for you." He said and proudly handed me the paper. I took it from him gently and gave it the proper respect due. We walked into the kitchen and he stared at me as I viewed, with awe, his picture on the front page. He smiled at me as I read the story.

"I guess I’d better order a glass case for that baseball you autographed for me?" I said and laughed. He almost seemed offended. I reassured him that it was the most memorable game I’d ever seen and thoughts of his magnificent performance would remain with me always. I ran up to my room and placed the paper on my dresser. "Come on Sam, let’s get out of here." I told him when I came back down. We slowly made our way to the boardwalk. There was no place on earth I’d rather be than here holding his hand.

The population of our humble town had grown to beyond bursting that sunny 4th of July afternoon. Summertime was in full swing. A cacophony of sounds assaulted our ears. I took a cigarette from my purse and lit it as we lazily continued our walk towards the arcade. If there was a heaven, it couldn’t be any more magnificent than our small town of Ocean Beach in mid-summer.

"Well, are you ready for this?" He asked me.

"I don’t know?" I replied. "Do you think they’ll put my picture on the front page of the paper when I whip your butt at ski ball?" I asked him with mock sincerity. He laughed at me by way of reply. To be honest, at that point, I didn’t care WHO won or lost the ski ball tournament. Still, I was determined to give it the best that I had. We made our way over to the ski ball area and signed in for the tournament. First prize was a cool $500. Still, with over one hundred people signed up, it was anybody’s game. The twenty alleys were already seeing some serious action.

Sam and I were to bowl in the third heat. Official scorekeepers kept track of the goings on. A game of less than 400 (out of a possible 450) was a losing game. It was finally time for us to play. It felt weird starting the machine without having to put in a coin. "Ladies and Gentlemen," the huckster announced, "Begin!" I kept my eyes on my own alley. I wasn’t going to pay any attention to Sam or anyone else as we began playing.

The game ended and I had the highest score in that round; I’d bowled a solid 430. Sam tied with several others at 400. We waited for what seemed like forever for our chance to play again. This time, I hit 440. I’d missed the tiniest slot with my last ball. It was the highest score of the day thus far. I began to wonder if I had another perfect game in me. Finally, we took our third and final try at the game. I knew I was in the running for first place. I just had no idea just how close I was.

Going into the final frame of the final game, I had a perfect score. I did my best to tune everything out. I became one with the machine. I slowly released the ball up the ramp. It seemed to hesitate as it headed for the fifty point socket. I held my breath and urged it in. The ball fell where I’d aimed it! I was on cloud nine. Sam gave me a hug and informed me that I owed him two hundred and fifty dollars. I laughed a joyous laugh and told him: no problem! I WON! A photographer from the local paper did indeed take my picture, though it wouldn’t appear on the front page, at least it was something. I held the oversized check in front of me, wearing a shit-eating- grin while my picture was taken.

I endorsed said check and the cashier paid me off in twenties. I had to force the two hundred and fifty on Sam, but a deal was a deal. He insisted on buying me dinner. I laughed and told him I wanted lobster. He laughed in return and told me: no problem. We sat in the fine restaurant overlooking the ocean and made short work of our offerings. Life was indeed perfect.

"OK, so everybody has to be good at something," Sam said as he acknowledged my victory over him.

"Just remember WHO the ski ball champ is," I replied. He smiled a grateful smile at me.

"I love you Joan," he said with tears in his eyes. I took his hands in my own and kissed them tenderly.

"Sam, you mean the world to me," I replied with total sincerity.

We spent the rest of the afternoon riding the rides and laughing at and with the tourists. It was a perfect afternoon. Just twenty-four hours earlier my entire life was in limbo. Now, I was home with those that I loved. I really couldn’t ask for anything more. Sam never let me spend a dime that day. I truly was the luckiest girl in the world.

Our evening ended with the fireworks display. The show was beyond description. With each and every boom of the pyrotechnics, my heart skipped a beat. Sam kissed me often and repeatedly as the sky above lit up with color. I was beyond happy as the show ended and we made our way back home. The only thing that could have made the day better would have been for Sam to take me in his arms and carry me off to bed. Alas, that wasn’t to be.

He held me close outside my front door and kissed me till I felt like my lips were going to fall off. The heat that was generated between us could have fueled the entire township for weeks.

"I love you Sam with all that I am or all that I ever will be," I said at last.

He smiled at me and pulled my head tightly to his chest. He kissed the top of my head incessantly. We bade each other farewell and I slowly walked inside ready for whatever tomorrow might bring.