When No One Is Watching (19 page)

Her father’s reaction was contagious, and Allie’s struggle to remain indignant yielded to her own fit of laughing, the two of them howling uncontrollably. Each time one of them came close to stopping, the sight of the other triggered a new round of hysterics.

Finally, worn-out, faces streaked with tears, they embraced. “Welcome home, kiddo. It’s great to see you. And I really am sorry about Scruffy,” Danny said, wiping the tears from his face and struggling to suppress another fit of laughter.

“It’s great to see you, too, Pops,” Allie replied, staring warmly into her father’s eyes. “I’ve missed you.” She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “I need a drink. Got any Coke around here?”

“In the basement fridge,” Danny replied.

“Can I bring you one?” Allie asked as she headed toward the stairs.

Danny looked at his watch. It was 11:48. “Not yet, sweetheart. I’ll wait another twenty-seven minutes, then it’ll be time for my lemonade.”

“Still sticking to your schedule, I see,” Allie said with a smile.

“Like clockwork.”

Allie returned with her drink, poured it over ice, and they sat down at the kitchen table, looking out at a group of robins gathered around the bird feeder in the backyard.

“You look great, Pops. You seem happier than you’ve been in a long time,” Allie said, turning from the robins and looking closely at her father.

“I am, Allie. I’ve been sober for seventeen months now. Life is good again.”

“And you’re enjoying the teaching job at Loyola?”

“I really am. You know, I truly never even considered teaching before, but I actually enjoy it. I like the kids, I like the camaraderie with the other teachers, and I like having some connection with the law again. Besides that, it keeps me busy. That’s really why I took the job in the first place. I was afraid if I didn’t keep busy, I’d start drinking again.”

“How busy does it keep you?”

“Well, last semester I taught just one business law class to undergraduates, and I spent a lot of time preparing for each class. This semester, I’m teaching two business law classes, but I’m not working any harder because I taught the class before and don’t have to prepare as much. The dean thinks there may be an opportunity to take on a full-time position in the fall, and maybe start teaching in the law school as well.”

“That’s fantastic, Daddy! Do you think you’ll make a career out of this?”

“I don’t know yet. Some other opportunities have come along recently. I’ve been approached by a couple of lobbying firms. They seem to think that, with my legal background and all of the business and political connections I’ve made over the years, lobbying work would be right up my alley. I’ve also been approached by several consulting firms. They tell me I’d be in high demand as a consultant to the corporate world regarding business strategies and transactions, and also to politicians, helping with campaign strategy, legislation, that kind of thing.”

“Wow, that’s great! You should really consider those opportunities. Sounds like you could come close to having the kind of career you’re used to.”

“You’re probably right. I think I’d be good at it, and it would be pretty lucrative, but I’m not sure I want to get back into that world. The schedule would be demanding, and there’d be a lot of pressure. Teaching doesn’t pay much, but the hours are great, and it gives me the time and flexibility to stay immersed in my AA world. That’s a big part of my life now.”

“It seems like you’ve got your drinking problems pretty well licked now. Do you still feel the need for AA?”

“It’s the focus of my life now, Allie. Partly, that’s because the temptation to drink is still there. I know I could slip very easily. But the other thing is that it’s brought a purpose to my life. People count on me now. I’m making a difference. AA absolutely turned my life around. It saved me, and now a big part of my life is helping others battle their problem. I often feel like an old-fashioned doctor or an emergency room. I get calls at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes guys are drunk and calling me from a bar. Sometimes they’re on the verge of slipping, either because there’s been some tragedy in their life or they’re just battling their demons. And I can help. And do you know what else? These people have become my closest friends. I’m closer to a lot of these guys than I’ve been with any friends I’ve ever had. For the most part, they’re not accomplished professionals. They’re not hotshot lawyers or business leaders or politicians. They’re drunks, or former drunks. Some are like me. They used to have good jobs, but they blew it. Some are lucky enough that they still have good jobs. AA saved them before they were too far gone. But a lot of the people I’ve met are people that the rest of the world would consider losers—people who never amounted to anything and probably never will. But we’re friends. We have a common bond that others can never understand. We’re there for each other.”

Allie was touched by the passion and sincerity in her father’s voice as he spoke. “Seems like you’re in a good place, Daddy. I’m really happy for you—and proud of you. Speaking of your friends, do you still see Pat Jordan?”

Danny smiled wistfully. “Pat is one of my ongoing projects,” he said, a trace of sadness in his voice. “He’s one of the most charming, warm, and talented people I know, and it breaks my heart to see him struggle like he does. He just can’t seem to stay sober for any length of time. He may stay clean for a couple months here and there, but then he slips and drinks hard for quite a spell. To his credit, he keeps trying. He keeps coming back to the meetings, but his life is a mess.”

“Poor guy,” Allie said, sharing her father’s sense of sadness and compassion. “How does he get by? Financially, I mean?”

“He’s pretty industrious when he’s sober, and he doesn’t mind doing menial work. He worked on a construction crew for a few months until he showed up drunk and got fired. He vanished for a while, and we later found out that he’d gone to Reno and was working as a blackjack dealer. He’s back now, and sober. For how long, who knows? But he’s good about staying in touch with me when he’s sober. He calls and drops in a lot when he’s around. He’s training for a triathlon now and often stops by when he’s out riding his bike. He always asks about you.”

Allie looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Ten after twelve, Pops. Ready for that lemonade?”

“Well, it’s still a few minutes early, but this is a special occasion, so why not?”

Allie jumped up and bounded downstairs, returning with a can of pink lemonade. Danny waited until the clock struck 12:15 before popping it open.

“Speaking of my special projects, Allie, I’ve got a guest staying here at the moment. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Who is he? Or she?” she asked, smiling suggestively.

“It’s not a she,” Danny replied quickly, looking embarrassed. “His name is Joe Jansen. I’ve known Joe for about six months now. He’s a sweet, gentle kid, probably around thirty, but he’s a real mess. He’s drunk a lot more than he’s sober. He comes from a wealthy family, but they’ve given up on him. He’s been a raging alcoholic since he was in his teens. He’s been in and out of rehab countless times, and recently wound up living on the street. He’s been staying here for about a week now.”

As if on cue, a scraggly looking man wearing jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt walked into the room in his bare feet. His face was thin and gaunt, with several days’ growth of stubble, and his eyes had a hollow look about them. “Hello,” he said, walking hesitantly into the kitchen. His harsh features seemed to soften as he approached Allie with a shy and slightly embarrassed smile. “My name is Joe. I’m a friend of your dad’s.”

Allie stood and shook his hand, flashing a welcoming smile. “Hi, Joe, I’m Allie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She invited Joe to join them for lunch and busied herself making sandwiches. Joe appeared nervous and uncomfortable at first, but Allie had a way of putting people at ease. Danny watched with admiration as Allie led a lighthearted conversation, skillfully avoiding the subjects one would naturally discuss when getting acquainted, but which would undoubtedly be touchy subjects for someone in Joe’s situation—jobs, schooling, and family.

By the time they finished their sandwiches, they had completely succeeded in bringing Joe out of his shell. He was not accustomed to engaging in a conversation where the other participants seemed so genuinely interested in him. His self-consciousness had faded away as he laughed and joked and seemed perfectly relaxed. Danny had rarely known his troubled friend to be this upbeat and animated and sensed a rare opportunity. “You two share something in common,” he said, smiling brightly, looking from one to the other.

Allie and Joe looked at each other.

“Do you know what he’s talking about?” Allie asked.

“Nope. I guess you’d better fill us in, Danny.”

“Follow me,” Danny instructed. They got up, mystified, and did as instructed, following him into the living room. Danny pointed at the Steinway baby grand piano. Allie’s face brightened. “Oooh, do you play, Joe?”

“Does he play? I’ve never heard anyone play like him! What do you say, Joe? How about a little concert?” Danny knew that Joe was a reluctant performer, but hoped that in his present ebullient mood, he’d be less inhibited than normal. His instinct was correct. Joe confidently strode up to the Steinway and took a seat at the keys.

“Okay, I’ll go first, then I want to hear you, Allie!”

His scraggly face glowed with excitement as he moved the bench to just the right position and stretched his fingers. He started with Beethoven’s “Für Elise,” then moved on to Mozart, his fingers moving gracefully and effortlessly across the keys, his eyes closed, his body swaying gently to the music.

“He’s fabulous, Daddy!” Allie whispered excitedly. “Look at him. Look how he feels the music, like it’s coming from his heart.”

Joe finished Mozart and launched right into Elton John and Billy Joel. Allie danced and clapped her hands to the music, while her father watched like a proud mentor, smiling and tapping his foot.

“Wow, you’re unbelievable!” Allie gushed when he had finished. “You’ve got a real gift. They can’t teach that! You ought to play professionally—in a studio or with a band or a symphony. Have you ever done that?”

“Nah,” Joe replied. “I get nervous in front of crowds. And I’d never be able to stick to the practice schedule. That takes a lot more discipline than I’ll ever have. I just play for fun. Your turn, Allie!” He stood and pulled the bench out for her.

“You’re way out of my league, Joe, but I’ll see if I can remember anything. It’s been awhile.” She gamely sat down at the keys and tried to think of a tune she could still play without sheet music. Her musings were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

“Be right back,” Danny said as he strode quickly toward the front door. Moments later, he was shouting excitedly from the front porch. “Allie, come look at this!”

She and Joe hurried after him. “Oh my God!” Allie exclaimed, as she saw her father unzipping an old suitcase.

“It’s Scruffy!” Danny shouted. “Somebody left this at the door and drove off. Good thing our address is still on the suitcase.”

“Who’s Scruffy?” Joe asked.

Allie peered into the suitcase to confirm that the precious cargo was still there. The three of them sat on the front steps as Allie related the story of Scruffy’s abduction. Her outrage had passed, and she focused more on how much her pet had meant to her and how important it was to bury him in the yard that he knew and loved.

Joe’s eyes became misty as he listened intently. “There’s a shovel in the basement. Let me dig the grave for you.”

Allie started to protest, but caught her father’s look and understood. It would make Joe feel useful, something that occurred all too infrequently in his life. “That would be very sweet of you, Joe,” she said softly, wiping a tear from her own eye.

Father and daughter sat together on the front steps with the old suitcase as Joe went in search of the shovel. “Look who’s here,” Danny said, smiling and nodding in the direction of the street. A cyclist on a racing bike veered into the driveway at high speed and turned up the sidewalk, stopping abruptly in front of the steps. He was clad in yellow and black cyclist’s attire, tight-fitting Lycra surrounding a lean, muscular frame. He wore a matching helmet and dark sunglasses, which he removed as he dismounted.

“How did such a gorgeous girl ever emerge from your gene pool, Moran?” Pat Jordan asked as he set the kickstand.

“Takes after her mother, I guess,” Danny shot back.

“Hello, Allie girl. Jesus, look at you! You’re so grown up! I’d give you a big hug, but I’m a little sweaty.”

“Hi, Pat,” Allie replied enthusiastically. “It’s great to see you again. You look fabulous!” She meant it.

“Are you coming or going?” Pat asked, pointing to the old suitcase.

“I’m home for the weekend,” Allie replied. “This is a long story,” she said, pointing at the suitcase.

Allie and Danny sat at the picnic table in the backyard, watching as Joe and Pat labored with their shovels.

“I never realized that digging a little grave could be such a bitch,” Pat grumbled. “This ground is like cement!”

Joe and Pat flailed away at the defiant soil, alternately laughing at each other and cursing as they made painstakingly slow progress.

“Maybe I should find a pet crematory, Daddy,” Allie suggested as Pat flung his shovel aside after jolting his entire body striking a large rock. “I’m feeling guilty. These guys are killing themselves.”

Danny smiled and patted her knee. “Nah, let them stay at it, sweetheart. I promise you, they’re enjoying it.” He looked at his two friends, sweating and cursing as they continued laboring. “Sometimes the best way to help someone is to let them help someone else.”

CHAPTER 29
Y
ou look lovely today, Mrs. R.,” Blair sang out in a chipper voice as he approached Mrs. Richmond, the president’s personal secretary. They had become friendly as a result of Blair’s frequent visits, but she had scolded him when he had tried calling her by her first name, which was Jean. Such informality was not appropriate for the secretary of the most powerful man in the world. So, he began calling her “Mrs. R.,” and she let him get away with it, since it seemed like a sign of affection from a man she was convinced was destined to go places.