Introduction
I had an idea for a story, about an author's stories coming to life. Obviously, my stories don't come to life, so - though the story is told in the first person by the author, I am not
that
author rather I am the one who wrote this story.
The characters, locations, and stories are all fictional. Fictional - as in not true, not meant to seem true, and not based in or on truth.
Here goes.
Can Fiction Cause Reality?
My name is Dennis Comstock, I wish I could say you know my name from the Nikki Brand novels. Unfortunately, the only readers of those novels, to date, are editors at various publishing houses - all of whom have suggested I might try another profession.
I should not be so hard on myself. All have shown interest, but suggested Nikki, a mayor of an unnamed major city, should be more like this or less like that. Nikki is an independent - woman and politician and consequently not quite right for either conservative or liberal editors.
The more I change Nikki to be what they want, the less they are interested in her - she is then, too ordinary. That saga is a whole different story.
I can afford to be an unpublished author because I am married to Pat Welch. At home she is Patty Comstock, but at International Widgets, where she is COO, and top dog, she thinks Patty too "girlish" and uses her maiden name. International Widgets is the manufacturing division of Global Gadgets, my wife is a contender to be CEO of the parent company before she retires.
Patty and I have two children. David, ten, was born when Patty was 31 and I was nearly 31 - I am four months younger than my wife. Michelle is fourteen months younger than her brother.
Our marriage is a strange one in many respects. We are fine with our roles. We love each other. I love raising two beautiful children. Our fear, as expressed by Patty is that her children might not be able to pick her out of a line up.
If Pat is to become CEO of Global, she needs to be head of sales and marketing for the parent company before she is in her mid-forties. That job is currently held by Pat's biggest rival. He needs operating experience before he would be considered for the top job. There is often talk of the two of them switching jobs after another year, or two.
While Patty loves her children, she is driven to be CEO. People in competition for those jobs have no limit on how many hours they will work. Any time a question arises about job or family, it is easy to fall into the trap of - the family will always be there, this might be the thing that puts me over the top. Her boss, the current Global CEO, uses that dangling carrot with Pat, often. He doesn't estrange himself from his family by making my wife work more hours.
From this description, you would think there was tension between Patty and me, but there isn't. She loves her life. I love my life. We love our life. David loves his life.
Michelle is nearly nine. Suddenly, she needs a mother. These days about half of her friends live with only a mother. She is not happy.
Guys are guys, we go with the flow. Women, even "little women" don't. When they are unhappy, silence suffers - they don't.
Patty got home at 10:45 pm, not all that unusual. Michelle had been in bed, "asleep" for nearly two hours. As Patty and I kissed and loved one another, a little voice said, "I am basically an orphan. Why do you come around at all?" She turned and went to her room.
She could have hit Patty with a hammer and hurt her less. Tears welled and were quickly swallowed. Patty used a little gallows humor, "Wow, not yet nine. I'd say she is out of control, but I know her mother. We only have a decade before she will start to see things more clearly."
"Let me go talk to her. I don't like her getting out of bed to say things like that to her mother."
"Denny, let her be. I can go in and get into it with her, but she is up too late and that will end her chance at a good night's sleep. Believe me, she and I will have ample opportunities in the next few years. It is clear I am going to need to wear my big-girl-panties, or she'll run right over me."
"Patty, quit being an exec. I saw the tears. She is your daughter."
"I know. More than that, she has a point. We need to talk about that. She does need things from me, that David didn't, and that you can't do well."
"I can tell her anything." I said, defensively.
"You can't hang with her and be her girlfriend/mentor. She needs me to be a mom. You need to help me with that."
"How can I help?"
"Denny, we were made for each other. I can't tell you how cathartic it is for me to come home and find you and your unconditional love. I can be an absolute terror, or a total fuck-up, or in the middle of everyone genuflecting each time I go by, because I am a super star - it is all the same. Here is where my center is. Here is where my sanity is."
"And this helps Michelle, how?"
"That's my point. It doesn't. This is where I come to be with you and to tell you about my shitty day, and for the last four or five years listen to how Nikki should approach failing schools or dangerous streets. Then, we make sweet love, and I can take on another day. Michelle doesn't fit in that. You need to make me be a better mother."
"Patty, you're dreaming. You don't do what I say. I don't do what you say. We live wonderful lives because we allow and enable one another to be free. Our marriage works so well because a mutual freedom we choose is to be together."
She came over to me, in my oversized chair, sat on my lap, and put her head on my shoulder. I held her and we were still. No words, no movement, just contemplating our conversation. She often did this when I was right, and she wished I weren't.
She was right about our lifestyle. When we married, I was partner in a company which did payroll, insurance, and 401(k) retirement programs for small businesses. I did the work; my partner made the sales. Our clients numbered forty or more companies in three cities, there was no way I could visit them and get any work done. So, I worked from home.
Pat (her work persona) was a super star, rising fast. We wanted children and decided I could be the stay-at-home parent, since I was already at home. Everything worked well, for a while. My partner kept selling to more clients and we hired additional people to do the work. Suddenly, my job was in part, supervision which needed to be face-to-face. But I was bound at home.
Patty and I liked me at home with the kids, so we decided to sell my half of the partnership. My partner loved the idea, the purchase price was to pay me about half of what I had been making, for ten years. That enabled me to be an as-yet published author and still contribute to the household accounts.
Nearly five years ago, when the sales arrangement started, I still made nearly as much as Patty. Now, Pat makes easily twice what I do, even without her substantial year-end bonuses. But my contribution is what we agreed to, and we are happy - I am not a "kept man".
