Binding Arbitration (5 page)

“He better be the last client of yours to do so, or you’re going to have to find a very persuasive way to maintain your position in this firm.” Heavy oxygen mask breathing again.

I wanted to gag, but instead I made a crackling sound and said, “Sorry… going under post office… talk later…” And I hung up on the Rat Bastard.

The phone started ringing again and I involuntarily clicked it on, even though I had no desire to talk. “Hello, Jeanne.”

“Elizabeth Ann, I’ve been calling you all day. Why haven’t you called me back?”

“Jeanne, I have a job and a lot on my mind right now.” How many years could one get for smothering a sniveling mother?

“That’s the reason I’m calling. I drug all your cousins down to the lab in the last few days. You have that Dr. Seuss call down here, and get these results. How’s Cass feeling? Why don’t I come up, and stay with you all, and help you?”

I put my leather briefcase strap into my mouth and chomped down. The only reason I didn’t buckle it around my throat and cinch it tight was the thought of Cass spending the rest of his life taking care of Jeanne. The image was about as appetizing as dining on road kill in Death Valley with Satan.

“Elizabeth Ann, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Yes, Jeanne, I’m here.” I sighed. “Cass is feeling okay. I will call Dr. Seuss to get the test results from your lab. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a match.”

“Elizabeth, have you contacted Cass’s daddy?”

“No comment.” If Jeanne found out about Aidan, she’d think she’d won the jackpot at Wednesday night bingo. She would be all over him for God could only imagine what. And that would be a bitter embarrassment.

“Give me his name. I’ll look him up on the internet. I could help from here, if you don’t want me up there.”

“He’s had opportunities to claim Cass, and he didn’t. We live in the same city, and he’s never looked for us.”

“That explains why you moved all the way to Chicargo.”

“Jeanne, I did not come here to be close to Cass’ father. I came here to go to law school, and this was where I got a job. There are two lawyers in French Lick; it isn’t likely I’d get a job to support you there.”

“But this is where your roots are.”

If French Lick has roots, I’m cutting down every tree in the county. Scratch that, I’m starting a forest fire. “I’m never coming back to French Lick.”

“You’re gone up there, and your brother is living the high life in Florida. I thought by now you’d get tired of city life, come back home, and get married.”

“Jeanne, who’s there in French Lick to marry who has a speck of sense?”

“There was a Junior Cox or David Bazin, Penny just left him, and he was always sweet on you. If you had been nicer to him, you could have gotten him to marry you instead of her.”

“You want me to give up my career to come back home so I can be the wife of an adulterous hardware store owner? Are you sure you don’t have fewer expectations, or have your meds finally thrown you for a loop?”

“Elizabeth Ann, my medications are just fine. Some day Cass will be grown, you know, and you’ll be alone because you were too scared to give anyone a chance. Good afternoon to you.”

She hung up on me, which was our normal way of ending discussions, but usually I was the one doing the hanging.

I reclined against the headrest of the cab, thinking about what Jeanne said about being alone. Few people got all the love they felt they deserved in the world. I had decided at a very young age that it was better to fold my heart into a neat little envelope, never letting anyone in, rather than deal with the pain.

Had I decided that all at once, or had I folded it up piece by piece? A father that didn’t want me, a mother incapable of parenting me, abandoned with total strangers.

I did unfold that envelope for a short time, but it only left me hurting worse. No one chooses her parents, but I had chosen Aidan Palowski, I had chosen the man who had stamped my envelope “postage paid,” along with the other letters he’d received. I had never been marked “special delivery” for anyone other than Cass.

And I realized this afternoon, sitting across from Band-Aid Palowski, that Cass was the only stamp of approval I have ever needed.

5

MEETING IN MY BULLPEN

Catching a fly ball is a pleasure, but knowing what to do with it is a business. Tommy Henrich

Aidan 5 p.m.

I should have benched myself—impossible-to-remove glitter and all—but instead, I beat the red boxing bag until I had blisters on my knuckles. I thought of Libby, and I slugged it harder, as if I could release all my frustrations in an upper cut. My trainer, an easy going guy, stumbled backwards. “Hit the showers, Band-Aid, or I’ll blacken your other eye.”

Water cascaded over my aching head, steam surrounded me, but I couldn’t hammer the images from my head.
Cass Christian Tucker
. C.C. Tucker would be a great baseball name.

Noise blared from my phone, vibrating off the metal lockers, pulling me out of the solitude of the shower. Vanessa had chosen an incessant rap song ringtone to ID her calls. I couldn’t muster the resolve to deal with my fiancée now. I was willing to admit to myself that in the great scheme that was becoming my life, her assets weren’t out-weighing her liabilities.

6 p.m.

I slid my sunglasses back into place as the doors of the hospital elevator opened. An older, debonair gentleman stood against the paneled wall. I pushed the button for the 14th floor.

He looked up from the handheld device he was frantically shaking. “Technology,” he said continuing to stare. Appraisers always spelled trouble. The hair on the back of my neck rose, coming to sharp points beneath my shirt.

“Mr. Palowski, I’m Winslow O’Leary from the Tribune.” He extended his hand in my direction.

Crap
. I shook it. “Nice to meet you.” O’Leary put the go in gossip. He was an entertainment reporter, and he wasn’t averse to investigating anything illegal, unethical, or immoral.

“I hope you’re feeling well.” He looked me up and down.

“I’m one-hundred-percent. Just here for a visit.”

“The fourteenth floor has oncology offices.”

“I might need to go back to the information desk, then.” I examined his selection on the same keypad. “They validate your parking?” I asked for effect.

He raised his eyebrow. “Anything you’d care to share?”

“What kind of story did you say you were covering?”

“I didn’t, but I’m tracking prescription drug card fraud.” He folded his arms across his middle. “As a matter of fact, a corporation called CUX keeps coming up. It’s funny me running into you, seeing how your fiancée is on the board of CUX.”

“I have no comment on any of Ms. Vanderhoff’s holdings. We keep our personal and professional endeavors to ourselves.”

“You keep your personal endeavors to yourself, and she keeps her business practices to herself.” He raised a wiry eyebrow.

“If you so much as print you saw me in the elevator, I’ll call your editor. I’m sure he’s familiar with all the ins-and-outs of the new HIPPA guidelines.” The elevator chimed, and I held the door open. “I think this your stop. It was nice meeting you.”

He moved to the door, and then chuckled. “I’ve never heard anything other than exemplary things about you, so I’ll give you a piece of friendly advice: someone of an intimate acquaintance might be involved in illegal activities.”

That girl isn’t worth all the bullion in Vanderhoff Hall. All that glitters isn’t gold.

That encounter gave me pause, as I stepped off the elevator. Mr. O’Leary would have to run up four flights to locate me and he was much too distinguished to sprint for a story.

Dr. Rothstein’s office was at the end of an elegantly appointed hall. I stepped to the receptionist’s counter where an elderly, gray bearded fellow was reading the sports page.

As I approached, he stood and left the paper forgotten. “You must be Mr. Palowski. I’m Dr. Rothstein, but everyone calls me Dr. Seuss.” He pumped my hand while he examined me.

His lab coat was bright yellow, covered with characters from Dr. Seuss books—Thing 1 and Thing 2, Cat in the Hat, Horton the Elephant—and every letter of the alphabet. He couldn’t have been more than 5'6", but he walked with the confidence of a starter, as led me to his office.

I was pleasantly surprised to find his office decorated in a sports-theme. Brass plated, plastic trophies lined the shelves, pennants hung like valances above windows. Baseballs safely sealed in Plexiglas boxes, and framed newspaper articles from sports pages, gave the office more prestige than if it had been festooned with his framed diplomas. When I took in the first article, it was about a kid playing little league; he’d hit a grand slam in the bottom of the 9th to take his team to sectionals. “This is quite a collection, doc.”

“None of them made it to the Majors, or the NFL, but many of them played in college. A few even made it to the Olympics.

“It’s a terrible thing to tell parents that their child has cancer, so”—he took his seat behind his desk and waved at all the memorabilia—“when I give that diagnosis, there has to be some optimism that their children can also survive.”

“This is a powerful way to say it.”

“Cancer’s a powerful enemy. Leukemia had a twenty percent survival rate around the year you were born. Now we’re up to an eighty percent survival rate. Many of our new treatment options didn’t exist five years ago.” He tapped on his desktop. “Cancer isn’t a death sentence anymore. I fight it with anything I can—and hope is a powerful healer.” He motioned me to a chair. “So what can I do for you, Mr. Palowski?”

“I’ve come to talk to you about Cass Tucker.”

“Aha, you’re the anonymous donor.” He had his fingertips steepled in front of his face with his elbows resting on the desktop. “I see the resemblance.” He eyed my facial contusion curiously.

“What are Cass’ chances for survival?”

“His cancer has a ninety percent cure factor, if we find a bone marrow donor.”

“I’d like some of the specifics.” I stared him down.

“I’ll give you some pamphlets. Cass has Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia, the form of cancer most common among children. Acute Leukemia is associated with the rapid growth of immature blood cells; which makes the bone marrow unable to produce healthy cells. If you’re a viable donor, I will sit down with your physician to discuss the danger of the procedure. The side effects are minimal for donors, but you would want to make sure that you had your personal business in order. Your next of kin should be notified, and you will need weeks of recuperation.”

“And what about Cass’ case specifically?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Palowski; I will keep your confidence, just as I’m keeping Cass’ now.

“I left blood samples in the Lab. I ran into a reporter in the elevator so I’d appreciate your discretion.”

“I heard Mr. O’Leary was in the building, that old coot can be quite tenacious.” He leaned over a file cabinet, pulling out brochures. “But if your involvement here works out, you could raise donor awareness, sponsor and star in a public service announcement. The National Leukemia Foundation would love to have someone of your stature as a spokesperson.”

“Yeah. The guy who abandoned his kid.” I muttered.

“To quote my namesake: ‘Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple’.” He shook his head. “Did you and Elizabeth know each other at Indiana?”

From the first moment I laid eyes on her, she was trouble to my concentration, my libido, and my mental health. After six weeks of pursuit; I’d trapped her between my upraised arms against a bookcase, somewhere betwixt Shakespeare and Voltaire. “I want the witchcraft in your lips,” I’d whispered.

Instead of arguing, she’d grabbed me by the ears. She’s been all soft lips, liberal tongue, and nipping teeth. I’d contributed a willing body and a vulgar groan. She’d drawn away, licked her lips, and ducked under my arms. When she was about three yards from me, she’d tilted her head up like a siren on the bow of a ship and pursed a devil-may-care smile at me before she bowed.

She’d challenged me to pursue her, and I’d intended to, but when I pushed off, the bookcase fell backwards. I tumbled in a heap of literary tombs. I could still hear her laughing when the library’s elevator doors chimed closed.

“Yeah,” I said, answering the doc’s question, “Before she set me up.”

“She got herself pregnant all by herself?” Dr. Seuss asked, his wrinkled brow drawing my gaze again. “I’m not quite as old as I let on. I remember well enough all the places you can go.”

“I participated in the act, but not the outcome.”

“She must have known at the beginning of her pregnancy that she was accepted at Northwestern. She wouldn’t blow that to set a trap, even for a pro-athlete.”

“Northwestern University?”

“Yes, Northwestern Law School.”

Holy mother of God
. “She went to Northwestern Law School?”

“She’s a criminal defense attorney.”

I stood abruptly. The moment he gave me the literature I shook his hand and left. I started dialing numbers. I was getting a thorough background check on Elizabeth Ann Tucker.

I like that Dr. Seuss fella. ‘You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose’. Choose the right path, kid.

I imagined strangling the ump with his plaid bow-tie.

7:30 p.m.

The rap song blared through my cell, every fifteen minutes, like clockwork. I was sick of pushing the reject button. “Yeah?”

“Banford, darling, you’ve been a naughty boy.”

My real name is Banford Aidan Palowski, and I was known around Chi-Town by many names, Palowski to critics, Band-Aid to adoring fans, Aidan to my friends and family. No one called me Banford to my face, even my mother. Vanessa said it made me sound very east-coast-old-money.

“I’ve been calling you all day.” There was blaring noise in the background and glasses clinking together.

Crap
. “Sorry, Vanessa, I’ve had an eventful day.”

“Me, too. The photographer was late. Then my dumb-twitted assistant, Melinda, spilled coffee all over the Valentino I was supposed to wear for the shoot. She had to shop for a new dress, and the shoes she selected were cheap Franco Sartos. Who would wear shoes without leather soles? Did you know they don’t have a Ferragamo shop in San Fran? That’s why I’ve been calling you. I thought you would be a dear and pick them up for me.”