Page 14 of Two by Two

"You know I'm kidding. They're a great couple. I'm not sure I've ever seen them argue. They just sort of go with the flow."

"That's a good thing. And your parents? Are they still working?"

"Mom retired, but Dad's still at it full time."

"Still working on his car?"

"Every weekend."

"And your mom?"

"She's now a member of the Red Hat Society, and she wants to plant tulips." When Emily furrowed her brow, I told her about the week before.

"You know you can't be mad at her for that. She already fulfilled her parenting duties."

"That's what Marge said. Marge wouldn't help me either."

"And yet, you got everything done anyway."

"Marge said that, too."

She let out a long breath. "It's amazing where life has taken us, huh? Since we knew each other? Of course, we were just kids back then."

"We weren't kids."

She smiled. "Are you kidding? Maybe, technically, we were old enough to vote, but I can definitely remember some youthful exuberance on your part. Like the time you decided to see whether you could eat that monstrous steak, so you could get your picture on the wall of the restaurant. How big was that steak again?"

The memory came back in a rush. We'd been out at the lake with a group of friends, and I spotted the restaurant sign just off the highway, advertising that in addition to my photo on the wall, there would be no charge for the meal. "Seventy-five ounces."

"You didn't even make it halfway."

"I was hungry when I started..."

"You were also drunk."

"Maybe a little."

"Good times." She laughed. She lingered before me before finally gesturing toward my computer. "But unfortunately, I should probably get going. You need to work, and I've really got to get that stuff shipped off today."

I became aware of the fact that I didn't want her to go, even if it was probably a good idea. "You're probably right."

She stood from the table. "It was nice seeing you again, Russ."

"You, too," I said. "It's been fun catching up."

"I'll see you later."

"Later?"

"When the class ends?"

"Of course," I said. "I knew that."

As she used her shoulder to push open the door, I couldn't help but notice that she glanced back at me and smiled before finally vanishing from sight.

I spent the next hour in the coffee shop researching on the Internet and was able to find two commercials for the law offices of Joey Taglieri, one of which was no longer airing. They were professional, informative, and, I had to admit, nearly the same as the kind of legal commercials I used to film. I also watched commercials from almost a dozen other law firms in town, concluding that, if anything, Taglieri's commercials were no better or worse than any of the others.

Why, then, had Joey Taglieri thought of them as idiots?

If the commercials weren't that bad, however, I still didn't think Taglieri was getting his money's worth when it came to the overall campaign. His website was distinctly out of date and lacked pizzazz, and a phone call to a buddy let me know there was nothing going on in the way of Internet advertising. Another couple of calls let me know that he didn't advertise in print or on billboards either. I wondered if he'd be open to those ideas while doing my best not to get too excited.

A call to my office helped--there was zippo, nada, zilch in the way of messages--and after leaving the coffee shop, I collected London from art class. She proudly pointed out a bowl she'd made, and I waved at Emily on my way out the door. She smiled and raised a hand--she was talking to the teacher at the time--and after bringing London home, I was unsure how best to spend the next few hours until dance class. It was too hot to bring London outside, and her day was already so full, I suspected that she might simply want to relax and play for a while.

In the end, I decided to make Vivian dinner. I perused a few cookbooks, recognizing that many of the recipes were beyond my culinary capabilities. There was, however, a recipe for Chilean sea bass, and a quick search of the cupboards indicated I had most of the ingredients. Perfect. I brought London to dance and while the class was no doubt disappointing the grim Ms. Hamshaw, I swung by the grocery store and picked up the rest. Dinner was well under way by the time Vivian walked through the door.

With rice pilaf and green bean almondine going on the stove, I couldn't step away.

"I'm in the kitchen," I called out, and soon afterward I heard Vivian's footsteps behind me.

"Wow," she noted, walking toward me. "It smells great in here. What are you making?"

When I told her, she leaned over the pots on the stove. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. Just thought I'd try something new. And after dinner, I figured that I'd get the bike out so you could watch London ride."

She opened the cupboard and pulled a glass from it, then the wine from the fridge. "Let's do it tomorrow, okay? I'm tired and London's had a big day. She seems wiped out already."

"Fair enough," I said.

She poured herself a glass. "How did she do at tennis?"

"About the same as everyone else. First day, learning to hold the racket at the proper end, all the basics. There were a couple of girls from the neighborhood, so she seemed happy to be there."

"I think tennis will be good for her. It's a great sport to socialize."

"And the girls look cute in those shorts, I might add."

"Ha, ha. How about art class? And dance?"

"She had fun at art, but as for dance, I don't think she likes it very much."

"Give it time. Once she starts competing, she'll love it."

I wondered who Vivian imagined would be bringing her to the competitions, but kept my thoughts to myself. "Were you able to get a workout in?"

"I squeezed it in at lunch," she answered. "A pretty good one, in fact. I felt great the rest of the afternoon."

"Good for you," I said. "And how was your day?"

"Nothing like last week, that's for sure. Things are a lot calmer in the office. For a few minutes there, I felt like I had time to actually settle in at my desk and take a breath."

I smiled. "My day was pretty interesting."

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever heard of a guy named Joey Taglieri?"

She frowned. "You mean the attorney?"

"That's him."

"I've seen his commercials. They run in the mornings."

"What do you think about them?"

"About what?"

"The commercials."

"I don't really remember much about them. Why?"

I told her what we'd talked about and my thoughts in the aftermath.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" she asked, sounding skeptical.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you think that it's kind of lowbrow? Lawyer commercials? Didn't Peters stop taking on attorneys because other clients didn't approve?"

"Yeah, but it's not as though I've got any other clients to worry about. I just want to get something going, you know? And he clearly spends a lot on advertising."

She nodded and took a sip of her wine. "Yeah, okay. If that's what you think is best."

Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but because she seemed to be in a better mood than she had been lately, I cleared my throat. "Have you found a day care center for London yet?"

"When have I had the chance?"

"Would you like me to start getting some recommendations?"

"No," she said, sounding put out. "I'll do it. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Do we really have to sign her up now? She'd have to give up piano and tennis and art, and you've been able to get her everywhere she needs to be so far."

"They have activities at day care."

"I'm just saying that with her being so upset on Saturday night, I'm not sure it's such a good idea. School's going to be starting in a few weeks anyway."

"It's not a few

weeks," I said, doing a quick calculation. "It's five more weeks."

"And this is about our daughter. What's best for her. Once school starts, you'll have plenty of time to concentrate on your business. Just keep doing what you're doing and when you have a meeting, drop her off at your mom's house."

"My mom can't watch London every day. She told me she has other things to do."

"She said that? Why didn't you tell me?"

Because you pretty much ignored me all week, nor did you ask about my work at all. "This isn't about my mom, Vivian. I was trying to talk to you about day care."

"I hear you. I get it. You think ditching your daughter with a bunch of strangers is a good idea so you can be free to do what you want instead."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. It amounts to the same thing. You're being selfish."

"I'm not being selfish."

"Of course you are. She's our daughter. She's struggling."

"One time," I said. "She had a temper tantrum because you were out of town."

"No. She was upset because her entire world has changed, and now you want to make it even worse. I can't understand why you think it's such a great idea to dump her. Don't you like spending time with her?"

I felt my jaw clench and I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Of course I do. But you said I would have to watch her for a week, two at the most."

"What I also said was that I wanted to do what's best for our daughter! I haven't had the time to find the right place, and now by the time I do find it and get her signed up, school will be about to start and what would be the point?"

"She'll still need a place to go after school lets out," I said.

"I'll talk to London about it, okay?"

"You'll talk to London about day care?"

"I assume that you haven't. I have no idea how she'd feel about it."

"She's five years old," I said. "She doesn't know enough to know what to think about day care."

"Mommy? I'm hungry."

I turned and saw London in the doorway of the kitchen. Vivian glared at me and I knew we were both wondering how much she'd heard.

"Hey sweetheart," Vivian said, immediately lightening her tone. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Want to help me set the table?"

"Okay," London said, and Vivian moved to the cupboard. She and London set the table; I served and brought the food over.

After London had taken a few bites, she smiled at me.

"Dinner is really good, Daddy."

"Thanks, sweetheart," I said, feeling my heart warm just a little.

My marriage with Vivian might be a little shaky at present and my business going nowhere fast, but at least, I thought to myself, I was learning how to cook.

It didn't make me feel any better.

CHAPTER 10

Moving Forward

When I was a kid, summers were the most glorious time of life. Because my parents believed in hands-off, free-range parenting, I'd usually be out the door before ten and wouldn't return until dinner. There were no cell phones to keep track of me and whenever my mom called a neighbor to ask where I was, the neighbor was often just as clueless as to her own child's whereabouts. In fact, there was only one rule as far as I could tell: I had to be home at half past five, since my parents liked to eat dinner as a family.

I can't remember exactly how I used to spend those days. I have recollections in snapshot form: building forts or playing king of the hill on the high part of the jungle gym or chasing after a soccer ball while attempting to score. I remember playing in the woods, too. Back then, our home was surrounded by undeveloped land, and my friends and I would have dirt-clod wars or play capture the flag; when we got BB guns, we could spend hours shooting cans and occasionally shooting at each other. I spent hours exploring on my bicycle, and whole weeks would pass where I'd wake every morning with nothing scheduled at all.

Of course, there were kids in the neighborhood who didn't lead that sort of carefree existence. They would head off to camp or participate in summer leagues for various sports, but back then, kids like that were the minority. These days, kids are scheduled from morning to night, and London was no exception, because parents demanded it.

But how did it happen? And why? What changed the outlook of parents in my generation? Peer pressure? Living vicariously through a child's success? Resume building for college? Or was it simply fear that if their kids were allowed to discover the world on their own, nothing good would come of it?

I don't know.

I am, however, of the opinion that something has been lost in the process: the simple joy of waking in the morning and having nothing whatsoever to do.

"What's the problem with the commercials?" Joey Taglieri asked, repeating my question to him. It was Tuesday morning, tennis lesson number two. Still angry at me from the night before, Vivian had left that morning without speaking to me.

"The problem is they're boring," he said. "It's just me, talking to the camera in an overstuffed office. Hell, I fall asleep watching them and they cost me a fortune."

"How would you make them different?"

"When I was a kid, my family lived in Southern California for a few years when my dad was still in the Marines. Hated it there, by the way. So did my mom. As soon as he retired, my family moved back to New Jersey. Both my parents were from there. You ever been to New Jersey?"

"I think I flew out of Newark a couple of times."

"That doesn't count. And don't believe all that crap you see on reality TV about Jersey either. It's a great place. I'd raise my daughter there if I could, but her mom's here and even if she's a coldhearted shrew, she's pretty good as a mom. But anyway, back to Southern California. There was this car dealer named Cal Worthington. Ever heard of him?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Old Cal Worthington had the greatest commercials of all time. Every commercial would introduce him and his dog Spot--except that Spot was anything but a dog. Spot might be monkey or a lion or elephant or whatever. There was even a killer whale once. Old Cal had a snappy little jingle that was impossible to forget, with a refrain that went, Go see Cal, go see Cal, go see Cal. Hell, I was eight years old and didn't give a crap about cars and I wanted to go to the dealership just to meet the guy and maybe see a few exotic animals. That's the kind of commercial I want."

"You want elephants in your commercials? And killer whales?"

"Of course not. But I do want something that people remember, something that makes some injured guy in a Barcalounger sit up and say to himself, 'I gotta see that guy. I want him to represent me.'"

"The problem is that legal commercials are regulated by the bar."

"Don't you think I know that? I also know that North Carolina generally falls on the advertising-is-free-speech side when it comes to regulations. If you're in advertising, you should know that, too."

"I do," I said. "But there's a difference between coming across as a professional and competent attorney that you can trust, and a low-class ambulance chaser."

"That's exactly what I said to the idiots who made the commercial. And still, they came back with something that's best described as let's put the viewers into a coma. Have you even seen them?"

"Of course I have. And actually, they're not that bad."

"Yeah? What's the office phone number then?"

"Excuse me?'

"The office phone number. It's there on the screen the whole time. If the commercials were so great, what's the number?"

"I don't know."

"Bingo. And that's the problem."

"They probably remember your name."

"Yeah. And that's another problem. Taglieri isn't exactly the most southern of names, you know, and that might turn some people off."

"There's not much you can do about your name."

"Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of my family name. I'm just noting another problem I have with the commercials. There's too much of my nam

e and not enough of the phone number."

"Gotcha," I said. "What do you think about other forms of advertising? Like billboards, websites, Internet ads, radio ads?"

"I don't know," he said. "I haven't much thought about it. And I only have so much money to spend."

"That makes sense," I said, suspecting that any more questions would do more harm than good. On the court, I watched London trying to volley with another girl, but there was more chasing after tennis balls than actual volleys.

"What does your wife do?" Joey asked into the silence.

"She works in PR," I said. "She just started a new job for one of the big developers around here."

"None of my wives worked. Of course, I work too much. Opposites attract and all that. Did I mention that you should always have a prenup?"

"Yes."

"It allows for none of the financial torture that those of the fairer sex like to inflict."

"You sound jaded."

"On the contrary. I love women."

"Would you ever get married again?"

"Of course. I'm a big believer in marriage."

"Really?"

"What can I tell you? I'm a romantic."

"So what happened?"

"I tend to fall in love with the crazy ones, that's what happened."

I laughed. "I'm glad I don't have that problem."

"You think so? She's still a woman."

"And?"

I had the sense Joey was trying to read me. "Hey," he finally said, "as long as you're happy, then I'm happy for you."

On Wednesday night after dance class, London was predictably glum as she crawled into the car.

"Tonight, since Mom's away, how about we have pizza for dinner?"

"Pizza isn't good for you."

"As long as you don't eat it all the time, it's fine. When was the last time you had pizza?"

She thought about it. "I can't remember. When is Mommy getting home again?"

"She'll be home tomorrow, sweetie."

"Can we call her?"

"I don't know if she's busy, but I'll send a text okay?"

"Okay," she said. In the backseat, she seemed smaller than usual.

"How about we go out for pizza anyway, just you and me? And after that, we'll stop and get ice cream?"

Though she didn't say yes, she didn't say no either, and we ended up at a place that made a decent thin-crust pizza. While we were waiting, Vivian called using FaceTime, and after that, London's mood began to lift. By the time we hit Dairy Queen she was chatting away happily. She spent most of the ride home talking about her friend Bodhi and his dog Noodle, and how he'd invited her over to his house so he could show her his light saber.

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