Chapter 5 #3
On my way home, I’m stopped by three people asking for photos and my autograph. That’s most definitely not normal for me. It’s kind of exciting to be recognized like this.
Without bothering to go inside my apartment, I head straight to the garage and get my car. I’ve never been to my father’s post-divorce bachelor pad, but I know the address.
Making my way out to the suburbs, I realize he lives only a few miles from my mother’s house. She kept my childhood home. Perhaps she’ll move when Pierce graduates in less than a year. Who knows? Who cares?
The one thing I did notice at our first two games is that my mother has developed a little plastic surgery habit.
She barely looks like herself, but I try not to stare too much or get too close.
She was attractive. Not in a super sexy way, but still attractive and always dressed extremely well.
I’m not sure why she messed with her face. She’s only in her mid-forties.
I pull into his driveway and look around. It’s a traditional Main Line house with old stone and stucco. It’s not what I was expecting. For some reason, I didn’t think it would be so…domestic looking. I was imagining a modern bachelor pad with naked women prancing around on the front lawn.
Okay, maybe not naked women, but something that says the Hugh Hefner of the East lives here.
I step out of the car and take a deep breath.
Wiping my clammy hands on my shirt, I make my way to his front door and ring the traditional doorbell.
I’m sure he’s the only house in the neighborhood without a Ring doorbell or a similar device.
There’s no way my dad’s tech-savvy enough to operate a camera security system.
The door opens, and he stands there with a rare smile on his face. He breathes, “Kennedy, I’m so happy you’re here.” I think I even see tears well up in his eyes as he motions for me to walk inside. “Come in, come in. Please.”
He steps aside, and I walk in. I look around. The inside is as domestic as the outside. No leopard rugs or stripper poles to be found. No black leather couches or giant speakers. “Your new house is…nice. It looks like Martha Stewart decorated it, not Ron Jeremy, like I expected.”
He chuckles. “Thanks…I think. I asked your mom to decorate it. I don’t know how to do this kind of stuff. It’s been a couple of years since I moved here. It feels like home.”
“Mom decorated your house? The person you divorced?”
He chuckles. “Yep. You know I’m clueless with decoration crap.
She loves that kind of shit. I wanted it to be like her house so Pierce felt comfortable whenever he stayed over.
We had a formal fifty-fifty agreement at first, but he’s almost eighteen.
Now he sleeps wherever he wants.” He mumbles, “He definitely won’t be sleeping here tonight. ”
“Why?” I ask.
My father scratches his fingers through his scruff, which I’m noticing for the first time has a little gray to it.
“Well, I told him he’s no longer allowed to come home at three in the morning like he did last night.
He replied that I don’t understand what it’s like to be him.
I said, you’re right, buddy. I’ve never cried tears over a Wi-Fi outage while wearing three-hundred-dollar sneakers I didn’t pay for. ”
I can’t help but giggle. That’s such a my-father thing to say.
He gives me a small smile. “Yep, he didn’t care for that too much. Stormed out of here.” He exhales a long breath. “This generation…”
I roll my eyes. Here we go. I’m about to hear how much harder Gen X had it.
“Anyway,” he interrupts himself, “I’m happy you’re here. Is everything okay?”
“Can we sit? I need to ask your advice on something.”
His face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “Of course.” He points toward the big glass doors covering the entire back side of the house. “Let’s go sit by the pool. I love it out there. It’s my favorite part of the house. I spend all my time back there in nice weather.”
“There aren’t any, like, Playboy bunnies in the pool, are there?”
He lets out a loud laugh. “Umm, negative. Never even met one.”
“Really?” It’s shocking. I half expected him to open the door with a maroon velvet robe and a pipe, surrounded by women half his age.
He offers me a drink, but I decline. We then walk through to the backyard pool area.
I understand why it’s his favorite place here.
It’s stunningly luxurious out here. The pool is huge and unconventionally shaped.
There’s a rock structure with a waterfall and a slide cut into it.
It’s rounded out by a beautiful summer kitchen, complete with a bar that has an oversized television sitting behind it.
There are multiple chaise lounges that look new and comfortable.
“Pierce must love this,” I say as we both sit in oversized chairs with cushions.
Dad sighs. “I think you’re right. When I’m on road trips, he’s supposed to stay with your mom, but when I come home, I always find beer cans and those girlie canned vodka drinks. High Boom or whatever they call it.”
I smile at his naivety. “High Noon.”
He points at me. “Yep, that’s it.”
I rub the high-end fabric of the luxurious chair. “This is really nice, Dad.”
He shrugs. “Better than the deathtrap lawn chairs I grew up with. Those things would eat you alive. But I survived, as did my entire generation, all without seven-thousand-thread-count fabric in our lives.”
I bite back my smile while he fidgets nervously. “Your season has started off well,” he offers. “That girl had it coming last night.”
I nod. “She did. That’s why I’m here.”
“Did you get fined by the team? The league? Do you need me to cover it?” He reaches for his wallet as if its contents would actually cover the cost if I were levied with a fine for my behavior.
I lift an eyebrow. “Have I asked you for any money since the day I left for college?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I’m always happy to help. Whatever you need.”
“Noted and appreciated, but it’s unnecessary.” I lick my lips nervously. “I just left Reagan Daulton’s office.”
He nods. “I hear she’s a hard ass.”
I twist my lips. “Yes and no. She’s a force to be reckoned with, but I think she’s well-intended and very smart.
She’s made me a few promises, and today she delivered on one of them.
I was offered a big endorsement opportunity.
The biggest financial offer I’ve ever had.
I think I might need a real agent. Can you help me find one? ”
His face lights up. “That’s great, sweetie. What company did it come from?”
I wince. “It’s…umm…female prophylactics.”
He pinches his eyebrows together. “I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s better you don’t know. Can you help me find someone? I know it’s not enough for big agents like Leo or Tanner Montgomery, but I’m sure some smaller agents would be willing to take me on with a contract like this one in the queue.”
Leo Anderson is my dad’s longtime agent and friend. He’s nearly as big as Tanner, way too big for me.
“I’m happy to call Leo. He’d do me a favor and take you on as a client.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be at the bottom of the food chain. I’d rather have someone a little smaller who I matter to. Does that make sense?”
He nods. “Of course it does. That’s smart. I should have a few names for you. Let me grab my Rolodex.”
He runs inside and returns a few moments later with an actual rotating card apparatus. I can’t help but start laughing. “Oh my god, Dad, I can’t believe you still use a Rolodex. You can store all that information on your phone.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. His flip phone. That has the antenna taped on with gray electrical tape. Yep, an actual antenna.
“Right, you still use that antique product. Why don’t you upgrade?”
“I don’t trust a phone without real buttons. Hell, I still drive a car that has an ashtray in the armrest.”
I gasp. “No you don’t.”
He smiles. “I don’t, but I had you believing it for a second.”
I let out a small laugh. He’s trying so hard right now. It’s kind of sweet.
He places reading glasses I didn’t know he wore on his face as he begins rolling through his contacts, one at a time.
Half the index cards are torn or stained.
He eventually pulls out the one he’s obviously looking for but scrunches his face.
“Crap, I spilled coffee on this one. I can’t see all the numbers.
Let me call your mom. She’ll have Ray’s number. ”
Ray Delgado. That makes sense. My father used him at the beginning of his career. He runs a small agency, but he’s a good guy from what I remember, and he represents several lesser-known athletes. He stayed friendly with my dad after my father moved to Leo’s bigger agency.
He opens—yes, opens—his phone and begins dialing before placing it to his ear. “Hey, Gin. Can I get Ray’s number? I spilled coffee on my copy.”
I can’t hear what she’s saying. He listens for a second before responding. “Kennedy needs it.”
And then, “Yes, she stopped by.”
After another pause, he says, “I’ll tell her. Can I get the number, Gin?”
He pulls out a golf pencil stuffed into the Rolodex and begins writing on the stained card.
“Thanks, hun. Yep, I’ll tell her. I said I would.”
He closes his phone and holds up the card. “Here’s Ray’s number. And your mom wants you to stop by the house after you leave here.”
I scoff. “Fuck. No. Not happening.”
“Ken, we’re your family. Let us in. Don’t act like this.”
“For complaints about the product, please see the manufacturer.” I stand. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”
I begin to turn away, but he grabs my arm. “Stop. I’m sorry. I promise not to pressure you. I’m happy you came to me.” He places the card in my hand. “Call Ray. He can help.”
I give him a small nod and mumble, “Thanks.”
He visibly swallows. “Did you get my email about the pickleball tournament? It’s after your season ends.”
I sigh. “I did. Let me think about it.”
“Okay, Marshmallow. Anytime you want to practice, just let me know. Anytime at all. I’m always here for you. Whenever you need me.”
Except for my entire childhood. I think it, but I don’t bother to say it aloud. It won’t change anything.