by R. D. Power
Kristen and Robert, two passionate people so much alike in so many ways, reacted rashly to Jennifer’s news and said things better left unsaid. Once Kristen had time to calm down and reflect—just a matter of hours—and to discuss the issue with her parents, she concluded she’d been too harsh and sincerely regretted her precipitate words. She was ready to help him and Jennifer work through the problem and to proceed with the marriage. When she endeavored to call him, though, she was horrified to hear his number had been disconnected. She phoned Kim Arnold, the mother of his son, but she hadn’t heard from him, so she made a difficult call to her cousin to ask if she’d heard from him. Jennifer’s report reduced Kristen to hysteria.
The cab arrived and took him to the airport. The jet whisked him out of Kristen’s life and into … Into what?
Robert was a baseball player. That’s what his dad had been, albeit for just one day at the major league level, and that’s the only thing that Robert had ever wanted to be. Like his father, Robert had a world of talent as a pitcher, but a critical weakness in his golden arm, a fragile shoulder that would doom his career. In trying to avoid his father’s fate, he always held back a little. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work in the majors; the hitters are too good. He’d been mediocre thus far, spending most of his professional career in the minor leagues. Worse yet, his efforts to prevent a career-ending injury to his shoulder didn’t appear to be working. As the season came to a close, his shoulder was so tender, it was hard to throw. Add to that a slightly disfigured pitching hand, which had been injured in a bloody conflict when he was in the Army, and he began to despair that his baseball career was to be short and inglorious. Then what?
For fear of losing his precarious place on the Minnesota Twins, he’d kept from the team the physical ailments plaguing him. Management could tell there was something wrong. His speed was down, his breaking balls were flat, and he’d grimace when he threw. To this point, he’d denied any problem, but with little to lose at the end of the season, he belatedly confessed his maladies to the team’s doctor, who sent him to a specialist in Atlanta just before the season finished. The specialist put a splint on his index finger to more properly align it. For his shoulder, rest and a physical therapy program to stretch and strengthen the ligaments and muscles were recommended.
There were four months off until spring training began the next season. What to do? It wasn’t just a question for the coming months. He had to face the possibility that his baseball career was finished. How was he to earn his living? What was he to do with his life? With the one career he’d ever envisaged crumbling before him, the future seemed terrifying.
For now, the wisest move seemed to be to extend his education. He’d earned a Bachelor’s degree in computer science from Berkeley the year previous. He had taken computer science because he excelled at programming—it came as naturally to him as baseball—but he didn’t relish the thought of spending his life working in an office tapping on a keyboard. What could be more opposite to the excitement of pitching in the majors? But he’d already invested four years in the field, and no other possibilities of interest occurred to him.
To stave off boredom the previous autumn, he’d started a graduate course in computer science at Berkeley, doing the work online. Dad had got his PhD from Berkeley; so would he. So he went to Berkeley to do the physical therapy and take more classes toward his PhD.
Kristen went to Minneapolis to find him before the season ended, but learned that he was just put on the disabled list and had left the city. The team wouldn’t give out contact information without prior approval, and she didn’t have it. She tried Kim again, begging her to help her contact Robert. Kim sincerely apologized, but said Robert was adamant that she was not to pass on his whereabouts or phone number to any Taylor. She also passed along his warning not to approach him at a baseball park or anywhere else. At Robert’s request, Kim had returned his mother’s engagement ring to his trunk, which sat gathering dust in her basement. A morose Kristen returned to her residency at Stanford’s children’s hospital.
This episode was a watershed for Kristen. She had a breakdown of sorts, akin to what Robert had suffered in the wake of the school bus incident ten years prior when Jennifer publicly abased him with a rejection of his love. Then, Robert vowed never to love anyone ever again, something it took Kristen years to overcome, something that Jennifer never did overcome.
Now, reason told Kristen she had to give up on Robert Owens, but her heart could never let go. With that passion risking her very sanity, reason forced her passion for Robert deep into her psyche, deep enough to convince herself she was finally over him. With her profound love buried, she could face a future without him and get along. She would dedicate herself to her profession and excel. If another man came along, fine; if not, that was okay, too. When she saw him on TV from time to time over the next year that part deep inside her—her essence, her id, her being, her soul, whatever it really is—would try exhuming itself, crying, I’m supposed to be with him!, but layers of sorrow, disappointment, anger, and jealousy kept it suppressed.
In banishing her soul, she paid a heavy price that was apparent to no one but her parents: she had exiled what was most special about herself. She remained a brilliant, caring person and an excellent, compassionate doctor, but her extraordinary radiance that lit up a room when she entered was extinguished. Her parents sensed something wrong.
“Is there anything the matter, Krissy?” her mom would ask every time they were together. “You don’t seem yourself.”
Kristen would insist everything was fine.
“You just don’t seem happy,” her father would note. Before long, Kristen got impatient with the concerns, and her parents thenceforth kept it to themselves.
But, “What happened to our dazzling little girl?” they’d ask each other when she left. Bill blamed it on Robert.
•
A glum Jennifer had a major decision to make regarding her unborn child and her career as a singer. Her recording contract prohibited her from getting pregnant. Having this baby might cost her her career, an enormous sacrifice given the success she was enjoying at that particular time, but aborting the child of the man she loved would be a greater sacrifice. The chances of getting pregnant by him again when it suited her career had to be close to nil.
Anyway, along with success, money, and fame comes arrant hubris, which came in handy when she informed her record company of her pregnancy and invited them to fire her. “I’ll have the competition lining up to sign me,” she boasted. Executives concurred and informed her they were holding her to her contract. The parties agreed to play down the pregnancy. She would stop appearing in public after month seven and have several months after delivery to restore her figure to begin touring again. During her time out of the public eye, she would record her third album.
When spring training commenced for pitchers, Jennifer went down to Ft. Meyers, Florida, where the Twins held their camp, but no Robert. The specialist had informed the team a week before that Robert would need another two months mending before he could begin training. The team told him to continue physical therapy, and to report to their double-A affiliate in Connecticut in late March. Jennifer attempted to use her influence to learn his whereabouts, but Robert had made a specific request to keep this information from her, and the team respected his request. She checked with the triple-A affiliate, but all they knew was he wasn’t on the team. She had no way to contact him unless and until he made it back to the majors.
In late March, Jennifer was seven months pregnant and, with entertainment reporters speculating as to the reason for her now evident girth, she went on a popular talk show to make the announcement. After singing her most popular song, she joined the host for a chat.
“That was awesome,” pronounced the host as Jennifer took her seat and crossed her legs as best she could. “You have such a nice voice. Believe me, we get a lot of pop stars on the show who can’t sing any better than I can.” The audience
laughed as the host sang the chorus from Jennifer’s song. “Almost all of them lip sync—was I supposed to admit that?—so we were a bit nervous when you said you’d be singing live, but your voice is strong, yet still so feminine and sexy.” Jennifer smiled and thanked him. “So, since I don’t believe in pulling punches, maybe you can tell me what’s going on there,” he said while pointing to her midsection.
She laughed and replied, “Are you trying to tell me I’m fat?”
“No, just pleasingly plump.”
“I can’t cover it up any longer. I’m pregnant.” The audience cheered.
“Well, we’re waiting for it. Who’s the lucky guy? Boy is he lucky!” The audience laughed on cue.
“The father is the only man I have ever loved, my ex-husband, Bobby Owens.”
“He’s the pitcher, right?”
“Yes.”
“So you dumped him?”
“He left me,” she said sadly as the audience booed the absent father.
“What is he? Nuts or merely blind?” More laughs. “You are one of the most gorgeous women I have ever seen.” More cheers and several shouts of “Woo!” She once more expressed her thanks. “Again, we get a lot of so-called beautiful people on this show, but when they show up you wonder, ‘Are you the same person I salivated over in that movie?’ I mean, they look almost ordinary. But you: my God! Say, if he doesn’t want the job, just let me know if you want a live-in step-father.” More laughter. “So, why the heck did he leave you?”
“I was a terrible wife to him.”
Several people in the audience shouted “No!”
The host responded, “Listen, I’d forgive you anything short of castration. Were you naughty? Oh, please say you were, and tell us all the juicy details.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn’t naughty, except with Bobby.” A chorus of woos. “There were incidents reported while I was on a concert tour last summer that implied I was seeing various guys. I never did! Bobby suspected I was cheating, but I wasn’t. I was never even tempted, but I didn’t deny the rumors in public because I was told the publicity would help my career. In fact, I never acknowledged publicly that we were married because I thought my recording contract forbade it, but that was a misunderstanding, I’m now told.
“Bobby hated that our marriage was secret. He was convinced I didn’t love him because I wouldn’t admit to being his wife. To make matters worse, I was on tour or in the recording studio practically the whole time we were married, and I almost never saw him. Late last August, he told me he didn’t love me, and he demanded a divorce.”
She stopped talking and looked down as her tears stirred. “I begged him to give me another chance, but he refused and made me sign the divorce papers. I still love him with all my heart, and I’m begging him to come back to be my husband again and father to our child. Bobby, come back to me, and I promise I’ll be your faithful, loving wife.” The audience cheered.
“Does he know you’re pregnant with his child?”
“Yes, I called him to tell him.”
“What did he say?”
She said while crying, “He told me it’s my baby, not his … and he didn’t want … to … to see me anymore.”
That got the audience booing again with many going “Ah!” to commiserate with her. Cries of “Deadbeat!” echoed in the studio.
“You’ll forgive me for asking, ‘Is he worth having back?’” That raised a cheer.
“Oh, yes! He’s everything I ever wanted in a man. He’s the only person I can really be myself with. And he’s the heroic type. He saved my life when I was fifteen by stepping in front of me before I got hit by a truck. And he did something so much more special for so many people … I can’t tell you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, I’ve said too much already. He’ll be so angry with me if I say anything else. He hates the media spotlight. I’ll just say that it’s another reason why I love him so much.”
“If he’s such a great guy, why won’t he take responsibility for his child?”
Several people went, “Yeah!”
“I don’t know. I guess he hates me.”
Many in the studio audience said, “No!”
“I can’t imagine that,” said the host as the band struck up a tune to announce a station break. “I hope it turns out well for you. J.Tay, everyone.” The crowd cheered. The show went to commercial, and Jennifer left, hoping Robert would see or hear about the interview and contact her.
Entertainment news reporters were on this poignant story, hoping for a storybook ending, but her public appeal yielded no fruit. There was no word from Robert. They tracked him down to the farm team and hounded him with questions: “Do you acknowledge being the father? Why do you refuse to do the right thing?”
All he said was this was nobody’s business, and demanded to be left alone. The reporters filled air time for several days with updates showing a tearful Jennifer Taylor and a callous Robert Owens refusing to talk to them.
Women’s groups took up her cause for their cause: if it can happen to her, it can happen to anyone, so give us money. They portrayed him as a deadbeat father, a fiend who has his way with a woman, then leaves her to sort out the consequences.
Robert was distressed with this unwelcome attention and directed his ire at the author of it. He decided to go to her in mid-April to demand she call off the wolves. He hacked into her computer to get her schedule and learned she’d be at a fancy restaurant the next noon that catered to the stars in New York. There he went.
He saw Jennifer sitting with three well-known movie stars, two men and a woman, and tried to get her attention. “Jenny! Jennifer Taylor!” She looked in his direction, but turned away with a dismissive jerk of her head. That was the same reaction she gave to any peasant who wanted her attention, and it enraged him further.
“Sir, please keep your voice down,” ordered the maitre d’. “What do you want?”
“I want to see Jennifer Taylor.”
“I’m sorry, but this is an exclusive restaurant. The stars expect their privacy here, and we ensure they get it.”
“Yes, I’m aware of your exclusivity, you pompous pr—” The man summoned the bouncer with a wave of his hand. Robert continued, “I don’t want any trouble. I just need to speak to her for a couple of minutes.”
“Leave now.”
“Just go get her. Tell her Bob Owens is here.”
“I can’t tell you how many people come here with a request to go fetch a celebrity. We don’t bother our customers with it.”
The bouncer arrived. “Take out the trash?” he said. He turned to Robert and recommended, “Get out now before I have to get rough.”
“Listen, shithead, lay a finger on me and you’ll be picking the willnots out of your arse crack with your teeth. I’ve asked nicely—well, I mean before the arse crack crack—now I’ll just go get her myself. Step aside and you won’t get hurt.”
The bouncer attempted to grab him. With a nifty move he’d learned in the Army, Robert intercepted the man’s arm, and twisted him around, with his arm cocked tightly against his back. The maitre d’ ran off to call the police. Robert pushed the arm in a direction it wasn’t meant to go, a bit short of the breaking point.
“Back down now, or I’ll break it.”
He said, “Okay! Okay!” Robert let go, but the man came at him again. Mistake. Two haughty ladies and a gay man screamed as the unconscious bouncer pelted the floor.
Robert said, “Liar,” as he stepped over him walking toward Jennifer. With the attention of the entire restaurant riveted on him, he marched over to Jennifer’s table.
“Bobby! What are you doing here?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“I secured an invitation to this restaurant the only way a plebian can: by force. I was reduced to this after the snootiest bitch in the world gave me her signature brush-off.”
“I didn’t see you, I swear to God.”
“Bulls
hit. You looked right at me.”
“So many people try to get my attention, I see right through them. I didn’t expect you here, so I didn’t recognize you. You know how much I’ve wanted to see you. Why would I brush you off?”
“Habit? Whatever. Now to the point: How dare you!”
“Not here. Let’s go outside and talk,” she said as she stood.
He laughed derisively. “You announce to millions what a deadbeat I am, and now you’re uncomfortable in front of a few supercilious twerps? You’re unbelievable. How dare you air our dirty laundry for everyone to see. You’ve subjected me to ridicule and even hatred.”
“I’m sorry, but I was desperate to contact you. I need to talk to you about our child.”
“Your child, not mine!” The flash of a camera went off as he yelled at her.
“Yes, Bobby, yours. Take responsibility.”
“Who is this asshole?” asked the attractive movie starlet.
Robert said, “Oh, I just saw your latest movie. It’s your best work. Keep improving and someday you’ll be awful.”
Her beau, a popular and muscular star of action movies who fancied himself the hero he always portrayed, stood and invited Robert outside for a lesson in manners. Nearby patrons clapped.
Robert tittered and warned, “Sit down before you get hurt.” The man threw a punch, which Robert easily dodged. “Send in the double,” Robert teased. Then he reiterated, “Please sit. I don’t want to hurt you.” The man tried another punch, but Robert parried it and kicked his legs out from under him; his face came crashing down onto the table. More screaming patrons.
The action star sat up with an astonished look and a bloody lip. Robert glowered at the other actor, who put up his hands to communicate, No problem here. Recognizing the man, Robert grinned and mentioned, “Hey, you’re, like, my favorite actor. Nice to meet you.” The man nodded uncomfortably.
“Bobby, stop this!” commanded Jennifer.
