Free Hardly Working by Betsy Burke

Doyle…”
    â€œRupert.”
    â€œRupert. I’d like to get a glimpse of him first. From a distance, you know? Not have to commit myself. Without him knowing anything about me.”
    â€œSure. Of course, Dinah. In the interests of not prejudicing your opinion, I can see how you’d want to take your time before you decide whether or not you really want to get to know the man. You might take one look and decide it’s better not to. He might not want to have anything to do with you. Or me.” He laughed again.
    â€œWhat’s the problem?” I was picturing my mother with some impossible kind of man. A married politician? Another mad scientist? “Does he have a high-profile job or something? Would this create a scandal for him?”
    â€œNo, no.”
    â€œOr is he some kind of criminal?”
    Rupert Doyle frowned then bit his lip. “There have been accusations, and he has felt like a criminal at times, but no. Or rather, it would all depend on who you asked. No, he’s not a criminal although he has been accused of being one.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œYour father is a representative from a distinct moment in history. An icon in some ways. Not an easy history, not at all. I would say that the very fact he’s alive implicates him. Or so he would see it. You may have the chance to find out about it as you get to know him. If you decided you want to get to know him. But I think the person to give you all this information is your father himself. You need to hear the story from the horse’s mouth, as it were.”
    I shook my head.
    What was he talking about? I was as unenlightened as ever with all his beating around the bush. “Okay. So. Now. What’s his name and where do I find him?”
    â€œYou can find…just a second, Dinah.”
    The man with the collapsed face from the front desk was standing in the doorway signaling to Rupert.
    Rupert held up an authoritative palm to him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He turned back to me. “Listen, Dinah. Let’s do it this way, for the sake of Auld Lang Syne. And then we can catch up. I’d really like to catch up on your mother, too.”
    My face must have twisted a little. My expression made him add quickly, “And you, of course. Hell, I remember you when you were just a little—”
    The front desk man pointed his thumb toward the street, and said loudly, “Cab’s here.”
    Rupert said, “Look, we can…hell, I gotta go…got a production meeting at…” He looked at his watch and grimaced. “Christ. It started five minutes ago.” He slapped some money on the counter and started toward the door. I hurried along after him. His last words before he was out thedoor were, “You meet me here at seven Friday night and I’ll take you there myself. You have a car?”
    I nodded.
    â€œGreat. Wouldn’t mind seeing the old picaro again myself.”
    Â 
    I idly sharpened pencils. Ian Trutch was locked up with Ash. There were fleeting glimpses of him and whiffs of his aftershave hanging on the air, but that was all. Ash was looking delirious behind her thick lenses. She’d taken the clips out of her hair and let it down.
    Penelope was declaring all-out war on me. It’s amazing what a total lack of carnal knowledge, of real sex, can do to a person. I mean, at least if the rest of us weren’t actually having sex, we still had our experiences and memories to fall back on, but Penelope… Penelope was beginning to show the mental strain that comes with ITD—Incoming Testosterone Deficit.
    She had the war drums going strong when we got on to the topic of funds for AIDS awareness and sex education. She had a litany of sexual terrorism tales, nasty little stories on hand to make her case for chastity. Poor Lisa, who was genetically predisposed to being nice to everyone, to her own detriment, got stuck