The Father's Son Read online

  “Okay,” said David as he promptly pulled up for a jump shot and put it right through the net.

  Tom retrieved the ball and handed it to David again. “You will need ten more of those, Hondo.”

  David laughed at the “Hondo” reference to his favorite Celtics player John Havlicek, then started up with a similar move, faked the shot and drove hard to his right for a layup, but Tom had spun around and blocked the shot before he could reach the basket and it bounced off David’s leg.

  David was impressed. He handed the ball to Tom at the top of the key. “Nice block, Bill,” he said, referring to all-time great Bill Russell.

  “It was at that!” He drove immediately to his left and elevated to lay the ball in the basket off the backboard. He also hit his next three shots. Tom seemed just as strong going to either side and was a great shot. David was able to steal the ball off Tom’s dribble and bring it back out to the top of the key, making a quick burst to his left and under the basket to score on a reverse layup. Tom was beaten but still up in the game by a four to two score.

  They both knew this would be a battle even as Tom extended his lead to a commanding ten to five before losing the ball off his foot. Most players did not have the killer instinct to finish a game, but David realized this was not an issue for Tom. Tom got the ball and backed David in close enough to the basket to shoot a favorite turnaround jump shot for the game winner, but just as he did, David was up in the air with Tom and tipped the ball out of bounds. Tom was taken by David’s effort and determination to play the game to the end. Tom finally won the game, by only two points, on a generous bounce off the rim after a nice bank shot.

  They were both breathing deeply and dripping with the sweat of a good game.

  While trying to catch his breath, Tom said, “If the other nine games are going to be like that, this is going to be a long night!” They played four more games with Tom winning three out of the five total games. All the games were close and the last one went to a back and forth with a twenty-eight to twenty-seven score before Tom won by two points. More players showed up to play full court five-on-five games. They had been watching the battle of the last two games David and Tom played and were enjoying the competitive nature of the games and their talent.

  One black player, with a black hat on backward, yelled out, “Hey, Tom. I think you have your hands full with this hustler. I can recognize one from a mile away. How much did he take you for tonight?”

  David retorted, “If I’m a hustler, why am I buying him the beer tonight?”

  The player shot at the basket. “You old guys are welcome to play full if you’re interested and don’t need your wheelchairs,” he laughed in a friendly way.

  Tom said, “We’ll be back next week with our canes to whoop those butts of yours before those shorts drop to the ground. How do you keep those things up while you’re playing, anyway?”

  The player grinned while he kept shooting. “My shots are the only thing that’s gonna drop tonight!”

  Tom and David picked up their gear as they walked off the court and onto the surrounding grass.

  Tom wiped his forehead. “That was some good basketball. I enjoyed playing with you. Are you interested in paying off the winner down the street?”

  David was not going to avoid buying a beer for the winner, and he wasn’t going to let Tom off the hook when he planned on beating him next time. As they walked, they were so absorbed in talking that David hadn’t noticed the street they were on until they got closer to the bright lights over Fenway Park. The Red Sox were playing the Yankees tonight and needed to get on a roll if they were going to catch them. They had lost last night to the Yankees by a score of six to zero and hope was fading.

  David said, “You’ll never get tickets for this game. Let me call up to the IMS company box for—” Before he could finish, Tom was chatting with the guy at the ticket window, and David saw a hand slide two tickets to Tom under the window bars. David shrugged with curiosity as he walked into the stadium with Tom to two grandstand seats. David hadn’t sat in the grandstands since he moved up at IMS Corp and started sitting in the corporate box to entertain important customers. They sat down in the best place to be in Boston on a summer night—Fenway. Pedro was warming up and had his game face on. David climbed the stairs to the back and bought two beers and two franks, then brought them back to their seats, handing Tom his championship prize.

  Tom smiled broadly. “I cannot accept all the credit alone for this incredible win tonight. I have to give a lot of the credit to you, David, for helping me to win.”

  David chuckled and took a sip of beer from his thin plastic cup and a bite of his Fenway Frank. “Who do you know to get last minute tickets to a Yankees game?”

  With half of his hot dog in his mouth and mustard on the corner of his lip, Tom smiled. “I have connections with someone very high up. I hope Petey has a good outing tonight. He pitched a great game against New York in May. I think he had at least ten strikeouts in that win when we were in first.”

  David nodded in agreement. The Sox were now down by eight games with their all too common drop off in late August despite a full house of almost thirty-four thousand fans.

  As New York’s second baseman, Soriano, led off, David observed, “If we can keep Soriano off the bases, we may have a chance.” Just then Soriano hit the ball to third and on an error reached second base. Jeter bunted to move him over and Giambi grounded into a double play scoring Soriano to put the Yanks up by one run.

  Tom rolled his eyes at David and feigned a smile. “What were you saying again?”

  As a pitchers’ duel was shaping up, they sat and enjoyed the summer evening, and talked about the baseball season, about basketball, about nothing in particular. David felt like a kid who had anxiously moved into a new neighborhood and then found a great new friend living next door. There was an ease to the conversation. At one point, David said, “You know, I don’t even know your last name.”

  “Hey, I thought you were just superficially interested in my dashing good looks, my jump shot, and free Sox tickets. I didn’t know you cared.”

  David laughed. “So?”

  “It’s Fitzpatrick, Mr. Kelly.” David was more than puzzled because he hadn’t mentioned his last name to Tom. David raised his eyebrows until Tom fessed up. “Well, I always check out people thoroughly before I play basketball for a beer. You never know what kind will just drop their breakfast to help out at a food pantry and then meet a complete stranger in the park.”

  “Come on. You are not getting off that easily. How did you know my name?”

  Tom confessed. “Okay. I wasn’t sure. When we were talking at the pantry, there was something about you that looked a little familiar. Then, when you were down nine to two—”

  “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  “—and you fought as hard as you did, that and the release of your jump shot reminded me of someone I watched play in high school. Also, when we were getting tickets, and you mentioned IMS Corp company seats, I was pretty sure who you were and thought I’d take a chance.”

  “Nothing you just said answered my question.”

  Tom laughed. “Okay. I played basketball for Hyde Park High, and in my junior year, we were in the State Tourney playoffs with a tough team. Unfortunately, we lost in a double overtime game to Chelsea, but I stayed to watch the other division games in the Garden. There was this small forward playing for the Lynn English Bulldogs. Lynn was down by twenty-eight points in the second half, but this player pushed his teammates to stay with it. He must have scored twenty-five points alone in the second half, diving after balls, and playing great defense against a much taller player. This player had a certain move to create separation and a quick release that was hard to defend. They lost their game by one point, but that desire to win and never give up attitude stuck with me.”

  “That would be pretty impressive if you could recall my name from a game played twenty-one years ago.”

  �
��Actually, when you mentioned the company you worked for, it clicked for me. I tried being a sales rep a few years out of college for a competitor of IMS Corp. They were fast growing and an aggressive nuisance in the market, and we had to figure out how to best beat the IMS sales teams at strategic customers. Everyone was aware of this hot-shot young sales manager at IMS who was making that task incredibly difficult. That guy was David Kelly, and when I first saw you this morning bouncing my ball in your three-thousand-dollar suit, I thought, only a very successful sales guy dresses that well, and there was something about all those puzzle pieces that made me think this may be that same guy. I took a chance, and now I would say you owe me another beer if I’m right.”

  Without saying a word, David stood up and climbed the stairs to get two more watered-down Fenway beers as the fourth inning started.

  When he returned, Tom said, “Thank you, Mr. Kelly. Now let me ask you a question. What made a successful executive like you show up for one-on-one basketball with a perfect stranger?”

  David paused for a second. “As my mother used to say, ‘I haven’t the foggiest.’” They both chuckled and returned to watching and critiquing the game. The Sox bats were flat, making the Yankees pitcher, Mussina, look stronger than he was. The Yankees scored four runs in the seventh and another two in the eighth to cruise to an embarrassing seven to nothing win over the hapless Sox.

  David and Tom turned to each other at the same time and said in unison, “Hey, maybe next year,” and shook their heads with a smile.

  They filed out of the park with the remaining fans, holding their basketballs under an arm as they talked about the game. Back outside on Jersey street, Tom asked, “Which way is home for you?”

  David pointed northeast. “Probably Brookline Ave to Beacon would be the fastest.”

  “Can you make it home without a proper escort, young lady? I have an early morning and am heading this-a-way.”

  “Yeah, me too. Despite losing in two sports tonight, I had fun. Maybe again sometime?”

  Tom was already walking east on Van Ness Street with his back to David and his basketball spinning on his index finger like he was a Harlem Globetrotter. “Next Wednesday,” he hollered, disappearing into the dark.

  David shook his head, smiled and noticed that he felt happy in a very odd way. Normally after losing to someone, especially someone he recently met, he would’ve been obsessing about how to win the next time, and after a Sox loss to the Yankees, he would’ve been let down, but tonight he was neither focused on how to win nor feeling disappointed. He just enjoyed his evening and appreciated something about it he couldn’t describe during his short walk home. After a quick shower and laying out his clothes for the morning, he was in bed and slept more soundly than he had for quite some time.

  Chapter 7

  That next morning, David was still feeling up from the basketball game and decided to play a joke on Izzy when he arrived before she did. He closed his office door to make her think she had beaten him in again. He waited until he heard her stirring around her desk, then opened his door and smirked at the expression on her face. She turned and walked off, returning ten minutes later, coffee and schedule in hand. “Mr. Kelly did your mama ever tell you that you were—never mind. Here.”

  David took a sip of the hot coffee. “Thank you, Izzie. Let me know when that meeting in Cambridge is rescheduled.” He thought about how much he liked and respected Izzie. As much as he had faced struggles in his own life, he could not imagine being a refugee from Haiti, a single mother of three living in Dorchester, and keeping it all together. He was glad he could help her with stock bonuses and once surprised her younger girls with a piano and lessons.

  As Izzie closed the door slowly behind her, a call came in on his direct line. Jill. He hadn’t called Jillian at all yesterday.

  “I didn’t hear a word from you all day after Tuesday night. What, did you meet someone else?”

  He could hear the pout in her voice. “As a matter of fact, I did—” Then he heard a loud click on the other end of the line.

  He called her back several times in a row. After the third attempt, he glanced at the time and had to get on with his day. He attended his meetings but continued to call her number during the day. He knew he hadn’t done a single thing to undermine her trust and wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Jillian had talked to David about the lack of affection from her father, whose constant negative and sometimes abusive critique eroded her feelings of self-worth. While they had both lifted themselves up from poor and emotionally difficult childhoods, he thought they both still had sensitive reactions to questions of trust.

  Finally, he sent her a text message. As far as I know, he was a manly kind of man.

  She texted back, Sorry! Can I take you out tomorrow night? :) I have class tonight.

  David responded a few minutes later, Nobody I’d rather be with than my girl Friday. :)

  David had meetings until late and ended up going out to a local pub for beers and dinner with several of his associates. Kevin seemed to be his normal self again. They talked about the major deals they were working to close the quarter and tried to top each other’s stories about odd customer personalities, summer vacations, women they met on business trips, and how much money it would take to quit this great gig they had going. They had all risen in the company and enjoyed a high level of material wealth, prestige, and respect at work and with their “friends.” They would never have to worry again about the basic necessities their parents had struggled with every day. The group laughed, sang, argued, and ragged on each other mercilessly. A few times, Kevin laughed loud enough to carry to the four corners of the pub, but then occasionally looked across the table at David with eyes that seemed somehow empty and distant.

  As midnight approached, David wondered for the first time if any of them were really happy. They were now either divorced or periodically cheating on their wives and rarely seemed satisfied despite all that had come their way. Knowing they would be there until the doors shut, he picked up the tab and another round for the rest of the crew before heading out alone to the dark and practically empty street.

  Back home, he was in bed, but sleep took longer than usual, and it reminded him of the restless nights he had when he was eight, nine, and ten years old.

  The next day passed quickly. He finished up at six o’clock so he could meet Jillian at Columbus Park. Despite the great Italian restaurants and bakeries that dotted the streets of the North End of Boston, David didn’t normally patronize them. His memories of living there and then abruptly leaving were not ones he cared to think about, so he avoided going back as much as possible. As David’s thoughts roamed, Jillian came up silently behind him and placed both hands over his eyes saying in as deep a voice as she could muster, “If you want to come out of this alive, just turn around and put your hands—”

  David interrupted, “—around your waist and give you a kiss?”

  Jillian smiled. “Something like that.” David held her tight and gave her a long kiss. “Okay, exactly like that. I feel like I haven’t seen you for a month.” They sat for a few minutes watching the docked boats and the sun lowering in the sky over the harbor while they talked about sailing on the Charles.

  Jillian jumped up. “You aren’t the only one on this team that can come up with date ideas, you know.” Taking both of his hands, she pulled him up from the bench and walked away from the North End. Relieved, he took her hand and her lead.

  They walked along Atlantic Avenue and came to Rowe’s Wharf, where the Boston Harbor Hotel, with its magnificent multi-storied archway that opened onto the harbor. Jillian had reserved a table on the patio with a view of the harbor stage that held a large movie screen. The hotel sponsored free movies on Friday nights in the summer, and the restaurant made for a great spot to sit with a drink or have dinner while watching. The maître d' showed them to their table and held the chair for her as David sat with an impressed look on his face. Jillian inquired, “So, is th
is okay?”

  David took her hand and said, “Okay? It’s perfect. The table is perfect. The evening weather is, I assume, as ordered and the idea is wonderful. Thanks for asking me out!”

  Jillian smiled and reached in to give him a kiss just as the waiter arrived at the table to ask if they would like anything to drink before ordering dinner.

  Their drinks came, and they chatted about their day. Jillian questioned, “So. Who was your date on Wednesday?”

  “What date? Oh, you mean who was the ‘other man’ I met?”

  Jillian's eyes widened. “Was there more than one?”

  Shaking his head, “No. No. It was really nothing. I was having breakfast at—”

  “At the Eastside?”

  “No. They had to close for a few weeks, so I tried a different place and noticed a man who drove up to what I thought was a vacant building. He started unloading crates and boxes of food to take in.”

  Jillian raised her eyebrows. “And?”

  “And nothing, really. He drove off when he was done.”

  “That was it? That’s why you couldn’t call me that night?”

  David shook his head. “No. That was the week before. The next Wednesday, I ended up going back to that same cafe for breakfast and this man, Tom—”

  Jillian interrupted, “How did you know his name was Tom?”

  David explained the course of events in detail before finally answering her question. “Then he invited me to come down to play basketball at the Back Bay Fens courts that afternoon.”

  “And you did?”

  “Yeah. For some reason, that afternoon, I was pulled to go. There was something different about him. His ease and confidence intrigued me. We had a great set of games and the loser, yours truly, had to pay up. So, he took me to the Sox-Yankees game.”

  Jillian said, “Wait a minute. You had to pay up by letting him take you to the game?”