The Mystery Texter

The Mystery Texter - Chapter 4 (of 8)

Fingers run up and down my spine. I have goosebumps everywhere. My Admirer knows how to make me tingle. It's gentle, firm, light, rough... I feel like a blob of jelly. Well, I'm not very jelly-like in one place. And based on the strength of my erection, lying face down has not had a negative effect. It's quiet as I get the massage of a lifetime.

My jeans are gone, my sweatshirt is gone... I'm left in just my underwear and my high-tops. Something tells me it won't be long before those are gone too. What do these talented hands have in mind for me next?

Suddenly my back rub is over. Fingers snap again and I'm face up, eyes still shut and unable to speak or move, but part of me is pointing straight up.

And then my alarm goes off.

~~

I hardly slept last night; my brain wouldn't shut off. Between Warren Lewis, William Jones, Brian Jones, The McLaughlin Group, my Mystery Admirer... There's no shortage of topics on my mind these days.

On the bright side, I used "the gift of time" to watch two more episodes of

The Wire

and get a good start on

Atlas Shrugged

.

Since I have dinner plans with Matthew and Leya tonight, I skip my almost daily journey to Whole Foods. It's still a couple hours before we head to the restaurant, so I lean into my recliner and catch up on texts and emails. Shelby has confirmed that she and Jose are both free Friday night. Perfect timing since my Saturday is now booked up. I have a reply from Nick too. I invited him to my place for tomorrow night's Bulls game. I think he and Matthew will hit it off. He says he's in.

I close my eyes, but a new thought forces them back open. I scroll through my text thread with Kyle and I sigh at my phone. Because of Dad's little faux pas last night, I had no choice but to tell Todd about William. Now I owe Kyle that same conversation.

I text:

Let me know when you have a few minutes. I need to talk to you about something and I'd rather tell you than type out a novel-length message. I don't do that crazy dual-thumb action texting thing that's all the rage with you kids today. Whatever happened to typing class? Remember 'Home Row'? Call me when you have a minute.

The three dots appear immediately:

LOL. Gimme a few.

I rest my phone on my chest and close my eyes. Cujo isn't starving yet, but it is closing in on his dinner time. He jumps up and gives me a headbutt to remind me that he exists and I'll have to feed him soon. I stroke him a few times and he settles in.

As my eyes droop closed again, my phone rings and the cat and I both startle. Kyle. No nap today.

"Hey Dad."

"Hey Kid."

"When are you gonna stop calling me 'Kid'? I'll be a college graduate soon."

"Never."

He sighs, but I can hear the smile behind it. "I was in the library when you texted. What's up."

"Where are you now?"

"The dorm. My roommate's out."

"First, I know how busy you are. If coming home again this weekend is a problem or if you have anything else going on... I love seeing you, but I'm okay. You don't have to. I'm really okay."

Maybe I should have texted. I sound pretty damn unconvincing to my own ears.

"Sammy can't get away, but he's letting me borrow his car. It's all worked out. This is important. Besides, you just 'assured' me one too many times. It rings hollow."

My kids are too smart. "Hey, what's up with Mr. English/Lit major here saying 'gimme'?"

He laughs, "I didn't

say

gimme. I texted it. Texting is its own thing. It has its own vernacular. Catch up, Dad. And I just made up for it by saying 'vernacular'."

Now I laugh. I love this kid. I miss him.

"So, last night, talking to Grandpa, Todd and your Aunt Janet, something came up and I need to catch you up too. You might have briefly met a couple of people at Mom's memorial service. Do you remember William Jones and his father Brian? William was a high school friend and his dad was the chief of police back in the day."

Kyle is quiet while he searches his memory. "Maybe? I don't know."

So, I tell him the same story I told Todd last night and about my plans for Saturday's meeting with both of the Jones men.

Kyle digests this new information. "Why didn't you tell me about William before?"

"My relationship with William has always been complicated. And if I'm honest, seeing him and talking about him has always been a painful reminder of one of the two worst nights of my life." I hesitate before adding, "I also always felt guilty about how things ended up for him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he was a victim that night too. And it happened to him at my house. Then, I completely abandoned him. He didn't have a support system of family and friends like I did. William only had his dad who was preoccupied with being the chief of police and coping with the exoduses of his wife and daughter."

"None of that is on you."

"I know," I sigh. "William never made anything out of his life with work, art, a family... He never became who he should have become. He struggled with addiction, though he's supposedly been clean for several years now."

I pause and Kyle remains quiet in the space I leave.

"I guess I always wondered if his life would have turned out different or better if I'd been there for him. He lost a lot and then he lost me too."

Kyle can tell I'm getting emotional. He says, "First of all, you now know that William brought the danger to you, not the other way around. Warren Lewis didn't know you; he came to your house because of William. Second of all, Dad, you can't do that to yourself. You were eighteen. You'd just lost your mom. Hell, you witnessed her final breaths before receiving a knockout blow to the head. In the aftermath, taking care of yourself had to be your priority. William's life is not your fault. No matter how fucked up it might be."

"I know." I sniff.

"Are you sure Saturday is the best day for this meeting?"

I sigh again, "I need to do it before I talk to The McLaughlin Group on Monday. Saturday is the day. I don't have much choice."

"Is there any way that you can bring someone to support you? Like Leya did at Starbucks? Which, by the way, sounds freaking badass."

I grin into the phone, "I wish, but no. We'll be in Brian's house. I'd have to be wearing a wire or something. Matthew already offered up his services. He was actually quite disappointed when I declined."

"He'd be perfect."

Yes, he would.

"I'll be fine," I say again, not sure which one of us I'm trying to convince. "Hey, Kid. Thanks for what you said. About William. It means a lot."

"Pfft. I didn't tell you anything you didn't already know."

Not wanting to end the call on a downer, I ask my son, "Do you know the song

Unchained Melody

?"

"Um, that's crazy random."

"Or have you ever seen the movie,

Ghost

?"

"Assuming these are even real things, then no and no. Why?"

Not surprising. Kyle is four years younger than Todd.

"They're real, Mr. Gen Z. I was considering options for my song at Todd's wedding. He's as clueless as you are. Aunt Janet is right; I've failed you both as a father. You should check out the movie. Maybe with Sammy."

Ghost

isn't exactly a father and son type of a flick.

"I'll add it to my To Do List."

~~

Babcock's Grove House is a short fifteen-minute walk from our building. Unfortunately, it's February in Chicago which means the weather could be doing anything. At the moment, it's twelve degrees outside with forty-mile-an-hour wind gusts and horizontal snow flurries. Matthew's car is parked closest to the building so he wins driving privileges.

Crappy weather on a Wednesday night means the restaurant is half empty. We get seated and the waitress asks for our drink order. I can count on one hand the number of times in a year that I drink alcohol, but it's Leya's birthday, so along with my dinner companions, I have a glass of wine. I order a simple glass of Pinot Noir while Leya orders something called Bricks and Roses and Matthew gets Frog's Leap.

I refrain from comment.

We toast to Leya's birthday. Keeping in mind that it's impolite to voice a lady's age, I say, "I remember being young enough to eat dinner without setting a reminder alarm to take an antacid an hour beforehand."

They both laugh.

Matthew says, "I'll be twenty-nine in a couple months. The thought of turning thirty in a year is depressing."

I scowl at him, "I know you're trying to get a rise out of me. If I react, then it's my own fault when the old man jokes start."

Matthew has a big grin on his face, "Well, you are the OG. The Old Guy."

I jab an elbow into his ribs.

"We're all getting older," Leya says. "I feel like I just finished law school, but in reality, that was ages ago."

"I can't believe I'm sitting here with two decades on the two of you and you're the ones complaining about getting old."

Matthew takes a sip and says to Leya, "His doctor told him he took ten years off his age."

Why do I tell Matthew things? "Just drink your Frog's Leap."

Leya takes a moment and looks me over head to toe, appraising. "I could see people thinking you're younger than you are. You look good."

"For an OG," I say.

More laughter.

While we eat, I ask Leya about school. She tells me that she stayed close to home. She graduated from Ohio State University and then went on to Moritz College of Law, which is actually in Columbus where she grew up. After passing the Bar Exam, she worked at her father's law firm.

I know she's really close with her family. I ask, "Why did you make the move out here?"

"It was time to break out on my own. I was actually recruited by my firm. I decided to fly from the nest and start a new life. Besides, I call home every week and Columbus is only a five-ish hour drive from here. I go home for holidays and the occasional long weekend. I feel like we see just the right amount of each other."

"Not to sound too 'Dad' or anything, but are you seeing anyone right now?" I sip my Pinot. "If I get too personal, just tell me to shut up."

"You're fine," she sips too. "No, not right now. Work's been really busy lately and I'm not in 'relationship-mode' at the moment."

"You told me that your job is usually boring meetings followed by boring paperwork. Do you like your job?"

If she is my Secret Admirer, it couldn't be more obvious that I'm on a fishing expedition.

"Yeah, I guess. Some weeks are better than others. Being a lawyer, especially in corporate law, isn't flashy or exciting like in books, movies and TV. But sure, the job is fine."

Hmm. Doesn't quite sound like passion to me.

Matthew wonders, "Were you born in Columbus?"

"I was adopted and I grew up in Columbus but I was born in Portland. I never knew or even met either of my birth parents."

"Oregon is a long way from Ohio," I say.

The restaurant is not very full, but Matthew sees someone he knows sitting at the bar. He excuses himself for a moment.

I take this opportunity to update Leya, "William and I are set to meet with his dad on Saturday. I really wish you could join in for more espionage, but we're meeting at his house."

"We wouldn't want William recognizing me anyway."

She has a point, though I don't imagine William being that keenly observant.

"Hopefully I'll get some answers." I tell her about my dinner last night with my dad, Todd and Janet and how we determined that there are three likely possibilities for the truth about Warren Lewis.

She listens with interest.

I take my last sip of my wine. "Oh, and I'm meeting with that McLaughlin Group on Monday."

"Did you get yourself a lawyer yet?"

"I don't think I need one for Monday, but I still have your email."

She puts a hand on mine and looks me straight in the eye, "Brock, call tomorrow. Set it up. This is a criminal case and your original testimony is coming into question. You need to protect yourself."

Text message from Unknown Contact to Brock Sanderson. February 10

th

at 9:56pm:

I guess I should give my three yellow shirts to Goodwill and repaint my bathroom. LOL. JK. I don't really have anything yellow either, though for me it's probably more coincidence and less active choice. This yellow thing explains a lot about your relationship with bananas.

I watched

The Wire

years ago. It might be my all-time favorite drama.

Episodes

is my favorite comedy. It's the best show that most people don't know about.

Two Truths and a Lie:

I used to live in a treehouse

My dad used to be a secret agent

I absolutely despise

I Love Lucy

- I hate Lucy

Serious:

Our back-and-forth thing we have going on here? I need it at least as much as you do. Maybe more.

Text message from Brock Sanderson to Unknown Contact. February 10

th

at 10:04pm:

Part of me wants to know who you are and part me doesn't want what this is right now to end. Confusing. It's like how I hate Country Music, but I really like Kacey Musgraves. Who knows?

I just finished season one of

The Wire

. I'm really getting into it. Is it wrong that Herc and Carver are my favorite characters? They make me laugh. I need to laugh. Maybe I'll give

Episodes

a try too. Either that or I can indulge myself with an

I Love Lucy

marathon. I'll text you favorite quotes.

LOL

Two of those last three are true? Really? Are you sure you haven't transitioned to Two Lies and a Truth? Someday - long from now (no rush) when I know who you are, we're going to laugh a lot going back through these.

Why did I commit to a funny thing every day? I'm not interesting enough that I won't run out sooner or later. I was texting with Kyle earlier and I was reminded of taking typing class my freshman year of high school (I won't say how long ago that was - this is supposed to be funny, not depressing). Did you take typing? Remember "Home Row"? Why the hell is the semicolon a part of the home row? How about the comma or the period? Even the freaking ampersand would make more sense than the damn semicolon. Who did the semicolon sleep with to get such an elite position on the QWERTY keyboard? Other than you (twice in your first text) who even uses the semicolon? I'm intimidated by it. I'm afraid I'll use it wrong. I also never say "whom".

~~

It feels weird to be almost completely naked, but my Air Jordan high-tops are still on. My eyes still won't open but I can sense a shift in the room. My Admirer has moved to the end of the couch by my feet. I think:

Please read my thoughts again. Please don't snap your finger and make them disappear. I haven't seen these shoes in three decades. I'd like to keep them.

My Admirer sighs. In that modulated voice, "It's more fun this way anyway."

I can feel a tugging at the lace of my left sneaker. Then it loosens. Finally, it slides off. The high-top hit the floor with a thud. Two hands grapple at my foot and I want to jump from the surprising sensation, but I still can't move. I am helpless. But after the initial shock, I realize that I am not being tickled. I am simply on the receiving end of a deep and tender foot massage. The ball of my foot, the arch, the heel, up my calf and back down... Wow. The feeling is sublime.

And then the finger snap comes and my sock is gone.

~~

Matthew makes a face and has only one word for me: "Why?"

I ignore that.

I needed to reload my beer supply so I stopped at Whole Foods earlier where I spent too much money on a too fancy, upmarket, snobbish brand that presumably tastes just as awful as the cheap shit.

He examines the bottle, shakes his head and Chuckles.

I ignore that too.

Then my buzzer sounds, "Hey, I invited my brother-in-law to join us tonight. I hope that's okay."

Matthew eyes me, sipping his frou-frou beer and grimacing. "Ritchie, right?"

I press a button and the speaker announces, "It's Nick."

I press another button and grin at Matthew, "No. It's Nick."

"I've deduced," Matthew grins back.

"Nick Madison. He's Laura's brother."

"Sure, it's cool."

Not that I gave him much choice.

Nick and I greet with a handshake that evolves into a hug and I introduce my two guests to each other. When I hand him a beer, he looks at it like it's an alien life form.

Exasperated, I say, "I don't know. I don't drink beer. There's a Whole Foods across the street. This is what they had."

Nick laughs. "It's okay. Don't freak out. I'm sure it's fine." He cracks it open, takes a sip and makes the same face Matthew made before. "Maybe."

I drop my head and Matthew laughs.

"I should have assumed that if you were hosting, it was BYOB." Nick jabs me playfully with his elbow.

Matthew chortles, "I like him already."

Matthew is Nick ten years ago. I figured these two would get along. I promised Nick at brunch the other day that I would text or call more often. People always say those things, typically at reunions or funerals, but they usually don't really mean it; it's just the polite thing to say. I meant it. I like Nick. And not out of obligation because he's Laura's little brother. For twenty years now I've thought of him more as a friend than as family.

The game is on but it's mostly just background noise. We're talking and having a good time. Matthew and Nick discover that they have a lot in common. One of their commonalities is knowing Kyle. Kyle hates being embarrassed and, unfortunately for him, embarrasses easily. As Dad, I know enough to keep out of it, but Matthew tells a story about receiving an intimate text from Kyle that was intended for Sammy, and we're all cracking up.

"He had been texting each of us earlier and forgot whose text chain was open," Matthew explains.

"Did you reply?" asks Nick.

"Oh, yeah. I said, 'That's really sweet, but can't we just keep being friends?'"

Now we're all laughing so hard, we're crying.

Eventually, Nick says, "When he was, I think six-years-old, it was the Fourth of July and everyone was over at my parents' house. Kyle was holding a sparkler and, for a second, moved it too close to his face. A spark flew into his eye and he freaked out."

I cut in, "I know this sounds horrible but the funny part's coming."

Nick continues, "When I say 'he freaked out' I mean Brock freaked out. Kyle was a brave little trooper."

Matthew looks at me and laughs.

"So, Laura stays with Todd and my parents at the house and I drive Brock and Kyle to the ER. By the time we get there and actually see a doctor, Kyle's eye is already feeling better. He can open it a little at this point and it seems like everything's gonna be okay, but we're there, so the doctor checks him out. He asks the nurse to bring in an eye chart. The doctor has Kyle stand about ten feet away from the chart and tells Kyle to cover his good eye with his hand and read this row, he points to the bottom row with the smallest letters. Kyle squints at it and says, 'I can't read that.' The doctor points to the next row up where the letters are a little bigger and says, 'Okay, read this row.' Again, Kyle squints and says, 'I can't read that row either.' The doctor continues to work his way up, row by row until he gets to the L P E D row where the letters are huge and he says, 'Read this,' pointing. Kyle's response is the same and the doctor is almost yelling, 'You mean to tell me you can't see this?' With a complete deadpan expression on his face, little six-year-old Kyle lowers his hand, turns to the doctor and says, 'I can

see

it, I just can't

read

it. It's not a word.' The doctor looks from Kyle to Brock to me and bursts out laughing so hard he literally falls down on the floor."