A Pact For Life

by Elliot, Graham

  He entered her number and placed the phone back in his pocket. Taking one last look at the responsible, adult Lindsay, he said, “I'll see you later, Linds.” and gave her a hug. On the way out the door, he waved at young Emily which made her turn around quickly in embarrassment, and gave one more goodbye to Lindsay. They both knew they would never see each other again.

  From Donald Dawkins' penthouse condominium, Cale stared out at Christmas lights running up and down each street creating red and green landing strips. This duality of colors was a trend that extended to his father's condo, except the colors were brown and white. It was a state of the art condo filled with pristine furniture from the 60's. Brown lounge chairs and sofa, white walls, oak encased record player console with snowy speakers, dark parquet floor, frosted cocktail glasses.

  Cale hadn't told his father he was there since the odds were his father wasn't even in DC. It had been two hours since he arrived at the condo, and still no sign of Donald. With a job that consisted of reporting on the president and a desire to travel the world, Donald's condo was nothing more than a typically vacant hotel room.

  In the two hours he'd been there, Cale spent the bulk of the time thinking about his old friends. He wondered if he would've been married to Lindsay, Rachel, Marnie, or Brittney if he had been more serious about dating. He wondered if Jonathon, Trent, Jason, or Brad would still be his friends, rather than avoid him out of awkwardness that they had sex with the same girls. He still had Brian and Nick back in Denver, but he was in a mood to glorify the past at the expense of the present.

  From the hallway, Cale heard a woman's laughter grow louder. This was followed by a beep at the door and it sliding open. “My dear, I feel honored just to be in your incandescent company.” Donald and a woman who was obviously a model around Cale's age walked in. He wasn't surprised to find Cale sitting down, but said as if he was expecting him, “Sonny boy! What's going on?”

  “Hey Dad, I'm sorry, I should've told you I was coming.”

  “Oh stop, this is just as much your home as it is mine.” Donald turned toward his date and said, “Ilyana, this strapping young man you see in front of you is my greatest achievement, my son Cale.”

  The beautiful woman offered a soft, “Hello,” which Cale reciprocated.

  Donald walked over to a bar, and said while he fixed two drinks, “Ilyana, there are not enough apologies in the world for this, but I'm afraid we'll have to call it a night. My car service will drive you anywhere you would like to go, but sadly, I cannot follow.”

  Ilyana understood, but Cale didn't. His father was never one to cut short a date solely because of him. Donald walked her to the door, kissed her on the hand, bowed, and said, “Ya provozhu vsyu zhizn' ishchet slova, chtoby pravil'no opisat' krasotu.”19

  The second the door closed, Donald walked back to the bar, picked up two glasses filled to the brim with a cloudy white drink, handed one to Cale, and asked, “So what's wrong, Cale?”

  “How do you know something is wrong?”

  “C'mon, look at who you're talking to.”

  “I fucked up.”

  Donald took a long pull from his glass, cycling through the myriad of ways Cale could have fucked up before deciding on, “With Diana?”

  “With Diana. With the baby. Fuck, with my entire life.”

  “It can't be that bad.”

  “I couldn't handle the pressure, Dad. I told Diana we should give the baby up for adoption and it led to this huge fight. I boxed myself into a corner, and then walked out on her. She sent me a text earlier today that she's getting an abortion.”

  “What are you thinking about doing?”

  “Right now? Nothing.”

  “Good. It's her choice whether or not to keep this baby. Even if you did have a role in this, it's Diana's decision.”

  This advice was hard to swallow, but Cale trusted his father's opinion. He took a sip of his gin, swished it around his mouth, and down it went. If Diana wanted to get an abortion, he wouldn't stop her.

  Donald continued, “Now, with that out of the way, I have something else to tell you. As your father, I'm ordering you not to let Diana get away. I don't care how much she hates you or what you have to do to get her back, just make sure you do it. Remember, there is nothing better in the world than a confident, powerful woman. You'll hate yourself forever if you lose her.”

  “There is no chance of us getting back together.”

  Donald stood up and began to prepare another drink for himself, “That's nonsense, you're just at odds with the world right now. It's skewing the way you think. How about we go to the National Gallery of Art tomorrow and look for a way to get your life back in order?”

  “Well sonny boy, what do you think of this piece?”

  Cale stared at the painting of a marsh underneath thousands of stars for less than a second and said, “Nice Unless You Are There.”

  “You always give too literal of answers. How about, No More Clocks?”

  “I'll give you that one, Dad.” Cale admitted.

  This had been their game for as long as they've been coming to galleries. Give every piece a title and decide whose is better.

  They moved on to a large sculpture of a beautiful woman sitting alone at a section of a bar with a glass of wine. Donald said, “I won't give a title to this one, the one you already gave it is perfect.”

  Cale looked up at the woman's face and whispered to himself, “American Mary.”

  Donald walked around it and said, “This is my favorite piece of yours. You really know how to create a beautiful woman.”

  This had been one of Cale's favorite pieces as well, but after running into Lindsay, the model for the piece, it had dropped out of his top ten.

  “Donald, you old ink hound.” A neatly dressed man called as he walked across the room.

  “Robert, what a pleasure!” Donald responded, meeting the man halfway.

  Cale left Donald with his friend and found another piece of his, Sentimental Man. This sculpture featured a long haired man walking in the opposite direction of several men and women. They all were staring up at the sky, but he was longingly looking at each person depending upon which angle the sculpture was viewed.

  The sight of the sculpture brought him back to the moment of its creation. A frantic series of weeks where he was constantly covered in dust, sand, and pebbles from his hard work. Even by Cale's high standards, he loved the piece, and now he couldn't even do something 1/1,000,000 as good. And that's not hyperbole. He truly felt this way.

  For one reason or another, the loss of his talent and the loss of his DC friends seemed to coincide, as if one was dependent on the other.

  He came upon a third piece of his, Green Gloves. It featured a boy grabbing the back of the collar of another, unseen person. He had intended for the boy to look angry while grabbing, but what Cale saw on the boy's face was fear. It screamed, “Don't leave me!”

  The sculpture made him realize what all his sculptures had in common. Being alone, or to put it better, a fear of loss. Without the fear of loss, his creativity would never return. The only way he would ever be able to create art again, would be to have something in his life he feared losing.

  Face to face with the stone boy, Cale was convinced to change. It was time he grew up and got his life back – Diana, their child, his talent. He was determined to put everything he had into his family. No more drinking, drugs, late nights, or mornings curled up on the bathroom floor.

  By that point, Donald had amassed a small crowd and was making the museum tour guides envious. Cale slid next to him and said, “Dad, I'm ready to go back home now.”

  It was Diana's first day back at work, and God almighty was it frustrating. The abortion was scheduled for the next day, the earliest she could get in to get 'it' out.

  She clicked the mouse icon on the print command for the eighth time in the past fifteen minutes. Every time she printed, some new mistake would make itself apparent. A typo, missing letterhead, address,
date, you name it. If it failed to print correctly one more time, the printer was being thrown out the window.

  There was a whir, click, and suddenly silence followed by a blinking red light. “Goddammit!” Diana shouted and pounded her fist on the desk. The window in her office didn't open though, so she had to settle with verbally abusing the printer. It responded with a blinking red taunt.

  Jamie appeared in the doorway and asked, “Everything alright?”

  “It's nothing.” Diana answered as she opened the printer cover and began to fish around its insides.

  “Here, I'll get it for you.” Jamie walked over and rolled up his sleeves in preparation to tackle the labyrinth of an industrial sized printer. Reaching into the many crevices of rollers, he fiddled around for a second before pulling out two sheets of paper folded into accordions. “It should be good now, Diana.”

  There was a knock at the door before Diana could give her thanks. In the doorway stood a tan, freckled brunette in an outfit that made you wonder how she could breathe.

  “Jamie, I finally found you! Are you ready to leave?”

  “Sure, I'll meet you by the elevators in just a sec.” Jamie was embarrassed that Diana was there to witness this exchange. After being at the firm for several months and surviving the internship process, he could spot which interns were in it for real and which romanticized the job and were as good as gone in a month. The brunette might as well of had One Month tattooed across her tramp stamp.

  Diana meanwhile had no idea who the girl was, but also didn't care. She sat back down at her desk and said, “Thank you for fixing my printer, Jamie.”

  The icon of the mouse met the print command once again and the whirling and humming started, only this time paper actually came out. On the printer rested a will. Letterhead, check. Dates, check. Proper names, check. Now all that mattered was to read the thing to make sure the substance matched the style.

  The will belonged to one of Denver’s more long-lasting restaurateurs. As Diana got to the last line of items, she read, To my son Frank, I leave all of the assets to Jerry’s Deli LLC. Coincidentally enough, Frank the son had contacted Diana’s firm about helping with the sale of the deli. He wanted nothing to do with his father’s legacy, and that was when it hit Diana.

  Legacy. How long after she died would there be any mark or memory of her existence? Including her sister, brother, and cousins, the person 'Diana Young' would only be remembered for one more generation, maybe two if her siblings had any kids. Plus, as far as any lasting effects from her work, unless she one day became a judge or had a high profile case, everything she had ever worked for would be boxed, stored, and destroyed as soon as the statute of limitations were met.

  Diana had not wanted to believe it, but that was one part, too tough to determine whether it was large or small, but it was a part nonetheless for why she wanted a child. As long as her offspring, and their offspring were alive on this planet, Diana wouldn’t be forgotten. You can call it a selfish reason for having kids, but deep down in almost every person is some desire to never be forgotten.

  As far as legacy playing a part on the decision to have kids, it applied to Cale as well. Only it was the opposite for him. He didn’t need kids to preserve his legacy. People would remember him long after he had died. Hell, dying could probably be the best thing Cale could do for his legacy.20

  While pondering this, a beep came from Diana’s phone along with the receptionist’s voice. “Diana, you have a call from a Mary at Dr. Lincoln’s office.”

  “Put it through to my voice mail, please.”

  Diana assumed it was to schedule another appointment. After all, she seemed to go to that office every week.

  The flashing green light on her phone was now on. Diana firmly hit the voice mail button and began to half-heartedly listen.

  “Hi Diana, this is Mary from Dr. Lincoln’s office. I’m calling with the results of your Chromogender Identification test. Since you marked yes about receiving this news on your initial questionnaire, I hope this is okay to leave the results on your voice mail. So like I was saying, the results of your CI test came back and it’s a girl. Congratulations, you're having a girl.”

  …

  …

  Diana missed the button to end the voice mail because her hand shook so badly.

  Depending on her mood and situation, the most important moment of Diana’s life would be an ever shifting event. It’s not proper to give this phone call that superlative. However, if you wanted to keep it in a strictly phone related category, then yes, that phone call was the most important one in Diana’s entire life.

  It was a girl. It was her girl. Her baby.

  As soon as she regained her composure, Diana called up the abortion clinic and canceled the appointment.

  A PLAN, WE MUST DEVISE

  For Cale, it was a far more lucid Pharmaceutical Wednesday than usual. He had abstained from drinking or drugs since returning from DC, which created an incredibly boring Monday and Tuesday. His days had been spent trying to come up with ways to get Diana back, while his nights consisted of pathetic attempts to sleep the way no one does anymore – without help from chemicals.21

  He tried to call Diana in hopes of at least meeting face to face, but none of his calls were returned. It didn't help that he hadn't left any messages, but voice mail was not how Cale Dawkins operated.

  “Think guys, we need to come up with a way for me to get Diana back.” Cale announced to Brian and Nick.

  “I'm not sharing my wisdom until you take a pill.” Brian said, steamed that Cale waved off their Wednesday tradition. Brian had planned on taking Ulexotrid, an experimental drug that gives sociopaths empathy toward others, but Cale's refusal led Brian to take something less experimental and more FDA approved. He didn't want to be euphoric enough that he would help Cale.

  “Just be honest with her,” Nick shared behind the screen of his laptop. Like always, he had taken 20 MG of Adderall and was firmly ensconced in Wikipedia. “Showing up at her place in the middle of the night has always worked in the past.”

  “No it hasn't. That plan has hardly ever worked.” Cale said with a clear memory of that tactic's success rate.

  He decided to shelve the Diana plan, and focus on something else he realized in DC – Brian and Nick's refusal to join the world at large. “Are you both happy with your current lives?”

  “Yeah,” They both quickly replied.

  “So neither of you want anything more out of life? Wives, girlfriends, more friends?”

  “Nope,” Was their synchronized answer.

  “What about just getting laid?”

  Nick spoke first, “Online porn works fine for me.”

  Brian followed, “I have drugs that are better than fucking.”

  Cale grew frustrated at how easily they could turn off the need for something more in life. “How can you guys continue on like this? If either of you were the last man alive, would you claim it's heaven?”

  Brian settled back and took a large gulp of coffee, “Cale, I realize you are going through some sort of existential crisis, but you are going to drive yourself crazy if you dwell on this Diana stuff too much. If you really want my help getting her back, then at least take half a Darvocet. You being sober on a Wednesday night is unsettling.”

  “Goddammit, break off half a pill.”

  Brian split the white tablet down the middle and handed it over to Cale, who lifted his hand up to his mouth, took a swig of coffee, and swallowed. His right hand came down into the pocket of his jeans and opened up, letting the Darvocet fall out.

  Brian smirked and clasped his hands together in a prayer, before exclaiming, “Much better. Now, how to get Diana back. Firstly, as you may know, we are men.”

  Cale rolled his eyes.

  “Don't be getting all high and mighty on this, Cale, it's good advice. So like I was saying, as guys, we can't possibly know what goes on in the head of a woman, especially one as complicated as Diana. If you want a pla
n to get her back, you need advice from that demographic. Call up Jenny. She'll know what you can do.”

  “That's your plan? Passing off the work to Jenny?” Cale wasn't sure if Jenny would even talk to him, let alone meet up, but he knew he had to at least try.

  He walked back to the office, dug his cell phone and half of a pill out of his pocket, and took care of both at the same time.

  The pill met the trashcan, while the phone met his ear.

  The Diana Young Pregnancy Update

  Estimated weeks till delivery: 26

  Shape of stomach: A football cut in half.

  Food Craving: A smoothie with some sort of rhyme in the title. Bananarama, Mango Tango, Merry Berry.

  Mood: Pretty happy despite being in a mall a week before Christmas.

  In the grand scheme of the universe, Diana's decision to keep the baby meant nothing. But on a much, much, much, smaller scale, the scale that balanced at 125 pounds and growing daily, it meant a lot. On the 115 pound scale, the scale of Terri Young, it meant all of existence.

  “We'll need to go to The Baby Depot and get a registry started, then go pick out the colors for the nursery. Oh Diana, I'm so excited!!” Terri shouted as they walked by a depressed looking Santa Claus facing a line of kids without an end.

  Diana held up her hand and said, “Hand it over.”

  “Oh stop with that. I'm not giving you a dollar.”

  Like a child with a swear jar, Diana imposed a fine on her mother in some desperate attempt to squash any over-excited behavior.22

  Entering The Baby Depot, a place where grown women wept from excitement and grown men wept in terror, Diana looked out at the mothers - both expectant and otherwise. She overheard complete strangers talking to each other in the checkout lines about weeks until delivery, birthing methods, first pregnancies, and wishful physical features. They all seemed to be a part of one big club where the members had nothing in common except pregnancy. It was a club that Diana was unable to let herself be a part of. Just because she accepted motherhood didn’t mean she wanted to talk about the pros and cons of cloth diapers with everyone in the store. Wearily, she asked her mom, “Can this be the last stop?”