The Five Lives of John and Jillian

by Greg Krehbiel

  If she’d simply been honest and asked him for a romp through the bedroom, John might have accommodated her with no hard feelings. But Jillian believed children get a special blessing when their parents love each other, so that was also part of the agenda. She wanted to love him, and for him to love her. Then when the pregnancy test showed positive, she dropped him like a used tissue.

  John thought of a country song.

  I might not know what love is

  but I know what it ain’t.

  “You must have made quite an impression that Halloween night between the stacks of hay.”

  “I wish I could tell you,” John said, although the topic embarrassed him. “I can’t remember a bit of it. But she wants me back. She seems to think she can just reel me in when she wants me and then throw me back when she’s done.”

  “Like a trained fish,” Al laughed. “I’ll admit,” he continued, “she’s a fine-looking woman. But I think you should stay away. She’s not your type, John. Besides, you’ve been having a lot of luck with the ladies recently. What have you been taking?”

  “Nothing. I’ve been learning,” John emphasized. “Most of what people think they know about women is wrong. Once you learn a few basic things, it gets a lot easier. But I’m still a gentleman, Al,” he said seriously. “Mostly, anyway,” he added with a smirk. “I’ve learned a lot from the shadier side of manliness, if you know what I mean, but I’ve still got my principles.”

  “You are the most morally uptight agnostic I have ever met,” Al said with a laugh. “You’re a better Catholic than half the men in my parish.”

  “There is that small matter of ‘I believe,’ isn’t there?” John said with a wry smile.

  “You know what I mean,” Al said as the waiter set a large plate of ribs in the middle of the table.

  “Anyway, it all comes back to the kid,” John said. “She wants somebody steady to help her raise him. When Jillian found out that Sean had hacked into my doctor’s computer she was furious. She didn’t want a man who might end up in prison, and they split up over it.”

  “You’re calling the baby ‘him.’ Do you know it’s a boy?” Al asked.

  John smiled. “When I had that vision, or hallucination, or whatever it was, it was a little blue-painted pagan boy that I saw on the floor in the liquor store, so I’ve assumed it’s a boy. But no, I don’t actually know for sure. It’s way too early for that.”

  “So tell me about all this stuff you’ve been learning about women,” Al said as he wiped a glob of barbeque sauce off his chin. “You’ve become quite the chick magnet.”

  John smiled and went into a lengthy description of all the lessons he’d learned – from books, from blogs, from Doug at the office, and from his growing body of personal experience.

  * * *

  “I hope I’ll be an adequate dance partner today,” John said as he and Rebecca got out of the car and headed for the studio. “I played racquetball last night and it wore me out.”

  “Oh, you’ll do fine, and all the women will try to steal you away from me.”

  John stopped and looked at Rebecca disapprovingly.

  “I know, I know,” she said, shaking her head and holding up her hands, palms out. “We’re just dance partners.”

  John smiled and they continued into the small studio. It was mostly used for little kids studying ballet and tap, but there were several adult classes. John always availed himself of the free coffee in the back room, and one or two of the single women usually managed to meet him back there before class.

  The dance floor was hardwood, raise slightly from the surrounding area, which sported small tables and chairs. It was a nice environment for a party, and they had dance parties here on the occasional Saturday night, but John had never come.

  The teacher was a very fit and very friendly fellow who was able to make his body move with a style and grace that John found slightly feminine.

  Every class had three main components. First the warm-up, then a review of last week’s moves and a demonstration of this week’s, followed by practice, where they assembled by couple and stumbled their way around the studio.

  They were always at least two men short, so the men had to rotate through the room, and some of the women had to dance by themselves when they were out of the rotation. Dancing with a different partner each time was challenging, but also helped John to get a better sense of the steps. But by the end of class he was usually more than ready to quit.

  “I’m hungry,” John said as they left the studio for his car. “Come along and get a bite?”

  “Sure,” Rebecca beamed. “But I make a pretty good sandwich. You have to drop me off anyway. Why not come in and I’ll make you lunch?”

  John stopped and looked her over from head to toe. Rebecca was a fine-looking woman, and he liked her, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get involved.

  “Okay,” he eventually said. “Do you have any beer at your place?”

  “No,” she frowned. “But isn’t there a liquor store right downstairs?”

  The dance studio was on the back side a small strip mall, which was also the second level. A narrow stairway led down to the stores on the first level that faced the main road, and there was a small liquor store on that side.

  “Right,” John said, “good idea.” And without thinking he took her hand as they walked that way.

  * * *

  When John saw the leather-bound copy of The Lord of the Rings in a place of prominence on Rebecca’s book shelf he remembered that Jillian had the same edition. But in Rebecca’s apartment the book had a decidedly Roman Catholic context, surrounded by Chesterton, Lewis, Howard, O’Connor and Vanauken. On Jillian’s shelf it was next to books of spells or stuff about the magical properties of herbs.

  John sipped at his Fordham’s Tavern Ale and studied the room while Rebecca made the sandwiches in the kitchen. She was clearly Catholic, but not obnoxiously so, it seemed. There was none of that hideous Catholic art from the 50s, and the books all seemed to stay on the respectable, normal side of the spiritual life. No conspiracy books about Fatima or the Jesuits.

  She also kept a neat house, which put John at ease.

  “Ready?” she said a moment later, coming out of the kitchen with two trays. The first was piled with half sandwiches – far more than the two of them could eat. The second was divided between pickles, raw veggies and cookies.

  “Quite a feast,” John said with a smile as he pulled out a chair for her. When John sat at the head of the table, Rebecca scooted her chair a little closer.

  They chatted about current affairs as they ate, although John always turned the conversation to an interesting back story, or some less-well-known side of the issue. He had made it a habit to watch for signs of interest when he spoke with women, but with Rebecca he hardly had to bother. She might as well have tattooed “take me” on her forehead.

  * * *

  John lived in a small, inexpensive townhouse in South Laurel. He had been saving his money for years to get a place by the water. Maybe on the Severn, or the South River. But he didn’t skimp on the furniture, which he could take with him when he moved. So while the outside of the house didn’t look like much, the inside was quite nice. At least the rooms that he bothered to furnish. Two were empty.

  In his future house he would have wood paneling, but there wasn’t any sense investing in that in the town house. Instead, he bought a special paint kit that’s typically used on kitchen cabinets and spent a weekend making the dry wall look quite a lot like expensive wood paneling. He had a leather easy chair next to a small magazine rack and lamp stand, a nice brown leather couch and two Queen Anne chairs.

  He ran water through the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen and connected it to a very nice walnut cabinet with a small sink. It served as his wet bar, and it was well stocked with liquor and most any sort of glass you could want.

  His weekday routine consisted of a small dinner followed by two fingers of
Black Eagle bourbon and a book. On the weekends he didn’t like to be in the house much at all, unless he was entertaining guests.

  This evening he intended to head up to Ram’s Head in Savage for dinner and a musical performance in the rathskeller. Just as he was getting his jacket there was a knock at the door.

  “You just don’t get the message, do you?” he asked when he found Jillian on his doorstep.

  “We need to talk,” she said, and tried to walk into the house. John blocked her path.

  “I’m on my way out,” he said, moving his body out the front door in a way that didn’t allow her any room to slip into the house beside him. “And I don’t give a damn what you have to say.”

  He walked past without another word and headed to his car.

  “John, eventually you’re going to have to talk to me,” she said from his doorstep as he opened the car door.

  John closed the door and drove off.

  * * *

  “Table for one?” the attractive young hostess asked. She’d been watching John as he waited in line for a table, and she started to play with her hair when he got to the front.

  “If you’ll join me I’ll take a table for two. Otherwise, I’ll sit at the bar.”

  She smiled and walked him to the bar. On the way John caught her looking at his shoes and his watch. As she handed him the menu she whispered, “I get off at nine.”

  “Meet me downstairs,” John said without looking at her, and then ordered a beer.

  When his Thai Chopped Chicken arrived ten minutes later, a professional woman took the stool next to John and they shared a drink and casually flirted. They both seemed to know that they were just playing, but John caught the hostess watching them.

  After dinner John went downstairs to the rathskeller, careful not to give the hostess even a stray glance as he went. He played cricket with a couple younger guys, and then a few games of pool with two men his age. At 9:05 the hostess showed up at his side while he was concentrating on a bank shot.

  “Wait,” he said in a commanding voice, then missed the shot and looked at her with a frown.

  “I’m sorry, did I mess you up?” she asked, apologetically.

  “You can make it up to me,” he said, setting down his stick. “Get us both a drink. I’ll have the tavern ale.”

  John had been practicing the “cocky, arrogant” thing for weeks now, but it was still hard for him. He had to admit that it worked, but he didn’t like it much.

  The hostess came back a minute later with a beer for him and some fizzy pink thing for herself. They engaged in light banter at one of the little round tables for about ten minutes while the band finished setting up, then stayed for the first set.

  It was mostly 70s classics, and the three-piece group was better than John expected. When they played “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, John remembered the time it played on the radio while he and Jillian were on their way to the fateful Halloween party.

  After the first set John said he wanted to go outside and get some air, and Brittney the hostess followed without being asked.

  “I’m sorry, are you cold?” John asked when they got outside and Brittney bundled her arms around her chest. “Here,” he said, taking off his sports jacket and offering it to her. Once she had the jacket on she also snuggled under his arm.

  They stood on the balcony for a while, looking into the dark woods behind the Ram’s Head, and listening to the sounds of the Patuxent River flowing by. John asked her what it’s like to be a hostess, and she surprised him with some very amusing stories about parties and drunks and old men who can barely walk but who like to flirt with her.

  “This is a pretty impressive place,” John said, looking around. It was built in an old mill. Parts of the structure were pretty old, but much of it had been restored. John knew a lot about the type of construction used in this period of Maryland’s history, and he pointed out some of the more interesting things.

  “Let me show you something,” Brittney said, and took him on a tour of the more secluded spots on the deck.

  * * *

  The next morning John gathered the books he had borrowed from the library back when he was studying about Wicca, and he noticed one that didn’t seem to fit with the rest. He didn’t even remember borrowing it. It was an analysis of various arguments for the existence of God.

  He set the stack down and decided to spend an hour with that one before dropping them off.

  Most of the arguments he’d heard before, and he merely skimmed them, but one held a peculiar fascination for him. It hinged on the concepts of contingency and necessity, and the author insisted that most people have the wrong idea about the “first cause” argument.

  John had always heard it as a chain of temporal causes: A then B then C then D, through time, with the conclusion being either that you have to have an endless string of contingent causes or you have to have one necessary thing at the beginning of the chain to stop the sequence.

  The other version of the argument didn’t involve time – it dealt with what caused things right at this very moment.

  When you push a ball with a stick, it’s not as if you push the stick and then it pushes the ball. It all happens at the same time. And except for the wiggle room in the hitches, the fifth train car doesn’t move and then pull the sixth car. Each car is moving because the engine is pulling, and the whole train stops when the engine stops. This form of the argument didn’t rely on thinking back to a first cause at the beginning of time. It said there has to be a first cause right now. In fact, at every moment. And that, this author claimed, was the real meaning of the “first cause.” Not something back in the depths of time that got things moving, but a constantly present cause that continually keeps the universe going.

  John set the book down with a thoughtful expression and ran it through his head for a while, then he piled the books into his canvas bag and headed out to the local library.

  * * *

  On the way home from the library, Jillian called again. John shook his head in annoyance. He was going to have to deal with this sooner or later.

  “What?” he said after plugging his blue tooth into his ear.

  “John, can we please talk,” Jillian pleaded.

  “If we talk will you leave me alone?” he asked.

  She was silent for a long while.

  “Okay, maybe I’m asking for too much. If we talk, will you leave me alone for a week?”

  Jillian laughed at that. “Okay. Deal.”

  “Meet me at Longhorn tonight at six thirty, and bring your own money,” he said.

  “Okay,” Jillian said very quietly. “Thank you, John. I’ll see you then.”

  John drove the rest of the way home in a foul mood, and when he got there he walked straight to the liquor cabinet.

  * * *

  Despite making strenuous efforts to project body language that said “we are not on a date,” the hostess at Longhorn kept smiling at them like they were the cutest couple in the world. This annoyed John even more, and as soon as he sat down he ordered a double bourbon.

  Jillian tried to make small talk, but John was too surly to participate. Eventually her patience wore thin and she pounded her fist down on the table, drawing some attention from the neighboring tables.

  “John, this is your child,” she complained bitterly. “Don’t you feel any obligation at all?”

  “Why should I?” he asked, sipping his drink nonchalantly.

  Jillian shook her head in disbelief.

  “I thought you were the ‘be responsible for your actions’ type,” she said.

  “I am, but I don’t think that applies here. Let’s say you had scratched my hand and took some of my DNA, then went to some mad scientist and he figured out how to impregnate you with it. Should I feel any obligation to that child?”

  Jillian shook her head and frowned as if that was the stupidest thing in the world.

  “It wasn’t like that,” she said angrily. “You were quite a w
illing participant.”

  “I guess I’ll have to take your word for that, since I can’t remember that night at all. But even if I was, it was under false pretenses. I didn’t know I was your rent-a-dad. I don’t have to play by your rules.”

  “So I have to play by your rules?” she asked sarcastically.

  “You can do whatever you want,” John said, spreading his arms as if the world was at her disposal. “I’m not telling you what to do. But I’m not letting you tell me what to do either,” John said. “I’m doing what I wish and going where I want to go. If other people want to come along, that’s their business.”

  Something like hope gleamed in Jillian’s eyes, for just a moment. John immediately regretted that he’d opened the door to her “coming along.” But she was still so angry at him, the hope was quickly replaced by the return of her acid glare.

  “I can still file for child support,” she said vindictively.

  “You would lose,” John assured. “And if I thought there was any chance you would win, I would leave the country before I would pay you one dime.”

  “Why are you so stubborn?” she almost shrieked.

  John laughed. “Right. The natural state of affairs is for me to let you pull my strings and manage my life, but if I don’t want to play along then I’m the stubborn one. Listen to this, and listen carefully. There is no way in Hell you’re going to beat me.”

  Jillian looked at him long and hard, and eventually something changed. She finally started to believe he was serious.

  “So what would ‘your way’ look like?” she asked. “Just so I know what we’re talking about.”

  “What do you mean?” John asked, although he knew exactly what she meant.

  “Be honest, John. You were in love with me once, and you do feel at least a small amount of responsibility for this baby. Just imagine .... Tell me a story. Imagine a way that we could work this out.”

  “For starters, you wouldn’t see anybody.”

  Jillian nodded.

  “I mean nobody,” he clarified. “For months. You’d have to prove to me that you’ve reformed.”

  Sean was supposed to be out of the picture, but he’d been fooled by that game once before. He could picture himself as the cuckolded fool – paying Jillian’s expenses, providing for the kid, while she snuck off for midnight meetings with Sean.