I'm afraid that I'm going to have to make a small administrative note. The reader has been very patient with me thus far in my tale. However, to maintain accuracy with regards to the timeframe from this point forward, I must dramatically abbreviate some of my entries. As you notice the days flying by, please take note of the relative high points as I plunge recklessly toward the introduction and integration of one new major character in our little drama and a brief reintroduction of an older one.
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NOVEMBER 24th, 2011
For the first time ever, Tod did not make it to Pop's house for Thanksgiving dinner. He called to make his regrets (though he didn't talk to me, personally), and explain that he had a job interview on Friday in Salinas. That, of course, was a lie. He was so pissed off about what I'd had him do that he didn't want to be around me.
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DECEMBER 2nd, 2011
This was the first day I became cognizant that Elaine was away from the house more and more often. When I asked her about it, she told me that she was really getting into the Christmas spirit this year, and was hanging out at the mall and other shopping centers. I didn't question her further. Looking back on it, I should have known that her devious little mind was hatching some exotic scheme ... the type that only Elaine seems capable of putting together.
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DECEMBER 9th, 2011
I decided to phone and have it out with my brother, and if he didn't answer my call (the way he'd refused to answer my three previous attempts) I was going to track him down and talk to him in person. To my surprise, however, he picked it up on the second ring.
I told him I was sorry, and he said he accepted my apology. That sort of threw me a little. I was expecting a bit more indignation, and maybe a verbal fight. Somewhat at a loss for words, I mentioned that we'd missed him at Thanksgiving ... that we should go out and do dinner soon ... that maybe we could do some skiing up in the mountains. I tried to start all sorts of lines of conversation, with only non-committal comments and grunts in response, until I finally broke the code. He was still pissed off at me, but it was going to be alright. He just needed to nurse his righteous anger a few more days before finally allowing the hard feelings to slip away. I'm not sure just HOW I knew that, but I did. Maybe some of those old wives' tales are right after all. Maybe twins DO just know.
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DECEMBER 14th, 2011
I arrived back from a day at the UCLA Library. I had decided to finish up the doctorate, taking one or two courses in the next semester. After all, I only had five courses and the thesis to go. Traffic was bad, and it took me two and a half hours to make it home. I'd phoned ahead twice to tell Elaine that I was going to be late. Whatever foul mood the freeways had produced fled, however, when I walked in the front door and was assaulted by the wonderful aroma of the meal my wife had prepared. I walked into the kitchen just as she was finishing with the salad, and she turned to me, smiling and shy in a wonderfully slinky negligee, rushing to give me a deep kiss. I asked her the occasion, hoping beyond hope that I hadn't forgotten something important, but she just moved away from me and took a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. I tried to take it from her to pop the cork, but she insisted on doing it herself. She'd obviously orchestrated this, and after finally bouncing the cork off the ceiling and squealing as the bottle frothed onto the tiled floor, she poured a full flute for me, but only two scant drops in her own glass. She smiled broadly while the glasses dinged musically together in a toast.
"Is that all you're having?" I asked, with a lifted eyebrow.
"I'm not having any alcohol for nine months," she told me merrily, and then shrieked in laughter as I picked her up and twirled her about several times.
Through the course of the meal and the hour in bed making love afterwards, she told me about her appointment at the doctor's office, confirming what the home pregnancy kit had already indicated. She was wonderfully excited and happy, and glowed almost constantly. We talked about the future, where the nursery was going to be, what colors we were going to paint it, where the little tyke was going to go to college, and on and on and on.
Finally, lying in my arms after a very, very tender lovemaking session, she began tracing circles through my chest hair, which meant, I knew, that she had something serious to say. "What is it, Pet?" I asked her.
"I am better than you," she said softly.
"Oh, ARE you now?"
"Yes," she answered without humor. "I am capable of more diverse thought processes."
"More ... diverse?" I asked, grinning. "Diversity isn't always better, where thought processes are concerned."
"But yes, it is," she told me. "I believe it is, anyway. It is the way I am. I would like you to respect me, please. Respect the way I am."
I frowned. "Elaine, you should never doubt my respect for you ... ever. What is this all about?"
"I have faith, Rod. You do not. For you, faith is only a belief that needs to be proven scientifically. Without that evidence, faith ceases to exist. For me, faith doesn't NEED to pass a test to survive."
"Are we talking religion here?" I asked curiously. I looked down at her, into her eyes, and couldn't read whatever was there. "Tell me what it is that you believe," I urged. "And yes, I WILL respect whatever it is."
She took a breath. "Rod, this child is yours. Not Tod's ... yours. We had sex the day before Tod and I ... um ... did it. And we had sex the day after." I couldn't stop a small smile, and I instantly regretted it. She looked away, hurt.
"Pet, I ...."
"Rod, this is just a feeling I have. Call it a conviction, if you want. Deep in my heart, deep in my soul, I just KNOW that this baby is yours." She sighed deeply. "Now, I realize that you have the power to make me change my mind. I know that you can hypnotize me and ...."
"Ah, THAT's what this is about!" I said, nodding. Now, my smile was genuine, and she seemed to pick up on that, a look of hope in her eyes. "Pet," I told her earnestly, "first of all, I cannot MAKE you think something you don't WANT to think. Hypnotically, I can suggest something ... but your conscious mind doesn't HAVE to accept that suggestion if it doesn't want to. And secondly, I would never try to force you to believe something that you didn't want to ... or vice versa. Of course I respect you. I love you."
She was silent for a long time, and I, being a rather dense fellow, didn't realize that she was crying. Maybe there's a reason guys are dense. As it turned out, being silent and just holding her was exactly what I should have done. I decided to consider such actions in the form of a scientific theorem. I could call it "natural male dominance through denseness."
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DECEMBER 19th, 2011
I don't know what there was about Southern California that attracted pulp authors from the early Twentieth Century, but there sure were a lot of them (many transplanted from out east ... the way most Californians were). Carroll John Daly, Raymond Chandler, Erle Stanley Gardner ... the list goes on and on. But right at the top of most critics' lists sits Edgar Rice Burroughs. Burroughs' large ranch, between Burbank and Thousand Oaks, eventually became the city of Tarzana (and if you can't figure out how they came up with that name, then you obviously don't know who the man was). I had just returned from a fan convention there when I was verbally accosted by my lovely wife.
"Where have you BEEN!?!" she shrieked, pushing me back toward the door.
"I told you ..." I stuttered defensively, "... they were having this pulp convention ...."
She was shoving me back in the direction of the car. I wisely decided not to argue. "I've been trying to call you!" she shouted accusingly.