"I'll send you on your way with gifts, and fine ones;
three chariot horses, and a polished car;
a hammered cup, too, so that all your days,
tipping the red wine for the deathless gods,
you will remember me."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 4, Lines 629-633. Used without permission.
 

MARTHA:

I know he wants to go.

Bad idea, and I know it. He's far too overtired-I can see it in his face. But sometimes, he's like a small child who doesn't know he's overtired, and equally recalcitrant.

"I think we should go home," I tell him.

Oh, and did I mention that drinking all this lovely Cabernet has made me unbelievably horny?

"Martha, I'm not going to drink. I'm going to be with friends. I am the best man, you know."

Well, that's true.

A best man who's going to be too tired to perform properly tomorrow...

And probably tonight, if he stays up much later.

"How about if we go for an hour? We'll say hello to everyone, and then we'll leave." His face is soft and pleading.

"Where are we going?"

"Mitch's. Highway 301 in Maryland."

"That's a good 45 minute drive." I don't know the exact location of the bar, but I do know where the highway is...it's dark, rural, and the travel time hardly justifies an hour...

"All right." I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. If it's typical of the bars that are scattered along 301, it's probably also smoky-and he shouldn't be around cigarette smoke...

He smiles at me, that soft, wonderfully delighted smile he rarely uses, but that I cherish so much. "They have a jukebox there, you know."
 

LANGLY:

"You think taking the kids with us is a good idea?" Ally asks me. She's carrying Patrick, who's still all fired up from having a ton of kids to play with all evening. I'm like so glad they had a kid's table. You wouldn't believe how much food was on the floor around it.

And Ally thinks I'm bad.

"Well, it's not like we can leave 'em here."

"Mommy, Langly, can I go with David's family? Please? His folks said it's all right." It's Miranda.

"David is?" I don't know this dude from Adam, and I'm not real sure about her getting in a strange car with a strange dude...

"He's Juliet's cousin's son, okay? Jesus, it's not like I'm going out with a serial killer! And his parents are driving!"

Ally looks at me. "I think it's fine."

"Are they sober?" I don't want my kid getting messed up because some idiot tied one too many on.

She looks at us. "Probably more than you two are."

Touche.
 

BYERS:

"John, whom are you riding with?" It's my father.

"I don't know. There're plenty of people going."

"Fine. Come with me. My driver is here."

This is an order, not an invitation.

It's probably just as well that Juliet has our car. She's sober...I'm significantly less so.

We settle in, and the driver puts the glass between him and us. My father is not democratic where the hired help is concerned-they're supposed to know their place, and their place, if you were to ask him, is not with us.

"This place we're going...what's it called?"

"Uh...Mitch's."

"And what sort of place is it?"

"It's...well...I think the best description...would be that it's a biker bar."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's...a biker bar. You know, country music, pool tables, and you can't get any drink with a name like Sex on the Beach." I blush when I realize what I just said.

"I see. I get the impression you've been here before?"

"Uh...yeah. I have." Many times.

"And...is this place...well...dangerous?"

Well, there is the sign at the entryway requesting that all weapons be checked...

"Well, sometimes somebody gets a bit carried away, has a little too much, but I've never seen anything more serious than someone getting a solid punch in the nose." Truthfully, I feel safer at Mitch's than I do in many places. Mitch likes and respects us, which means that the less amicable clientele steer clear of us. And they're actually few in number. The nice thing
about Mitch's is that people do truly mind their own business.

"We know the bartender. He owns the place."

"And would he be Mitch?"

"Yes...yes, he would. It really is named after a real person."

He sits back, musing. "When I was at Harvard, our favorite place to go to unwind was a bar that was frequented by Irish longshoremen in the Back Bay. Rough neighborhood, rough clientele, but real music on the jukebox, regulation pool tables, and honest drinks. Never had any trouble."

I quite honestly have trouble with the idea of my father in a longshoreman's bar. This is a man who thinks the Watergate Hotel's brunch is tacky. Not that he'd ever go there-he's a Republican.

"So...you don't mind?"

"Well, I am the father of the bridegroom...I think I should at least make an appearance."

He has always been big on appearances.

"Your bride's family is...interesting."

This is his way of saying, uncouth, low-class, and vulgar. On the other hand, there is Caroline, with her PhD in Shakespearean literature. And I did see him conversing with her. I don't think Caroline could be accused of being low-class were she dressed in rags and living in a cardboard box.

"Pleasant, though, if a bit rambunctious."

This is a major concession on his part. "They...enjoy life."

"Yes. They certainly do, don't they?"

I turn to him, and my eyes meet his. "Do you...enjoy life?" I must be more buzzed than I think. For me, this is an extremely forward question to ask him.

He doesn't answer, not for a long time. "Do I enjoy life? I enjoy making money. I enjoy taking risks, starting ventures, seeing them to maturity. I enjoyed your mother. Do I enjoy life? It never occurred to me that that was important. To me, enjoyment is a bonus, not to expected."

I nod, silently, ashamed for asking.

"What about you, John? Do you enjoy life?"

"Most of the time, yes." This is a factual answer. "Nowadays I do."

"So there was a time when it was...shall we say, significantly less enjoyable?"

Oh Christ, was there ever. And it lasted far too long.

"I'm guessing that the loss of your first wife was rather devastating."

To say the least.

"Yes." And right now, I'd really like not to think about that. This is supposed to be a happy occasion.

"What else?" He's probing me.

"Well..." I really don't want to go into what happened to me while I was at that electronics convention. My father knows that I met Susanne there, but he knows nothing of the circumstances of our meeting. And I would like to keep it that way.

But there was another time.

"Well...after you cut me off..."

He snorts. "You had your grandfather's trust by then."

"It wasn't the money, Dad."

He's quiet. "John, what you did was wrong."

"I don't see it that way, sir." I keep my voice quiet, level.

He's silent for a few moments. I should have never brought this up. On the eve of my wedding, I'm opening old wounds. Talk about bad timing. I'm notable for it.

"I know you do. That I have to respect."

What?!

"And the fact is, we do pay a living wage these days...and we offer benefits, to every employee...and we stay out of their private lives, which is more than most businesses do these days."

The anger in his voice is palpable.

"My first responsibility is to the shareholders."

I disagree, but I'm silent. I really don't want to argue.

"And I did learn...that some practices are more conducive to profit-making than others. You never do stop learning new tricks." He's looking out the window as he says this.

My father's business practices still leave a lot to be desired...but I will concede that since I exposed him, they have improved.

So why don't I feel like gloating?

"I supported this administration that's currently in power because I felt that they were the best representation of my interests...but I've discovered that that's not the case."

"Difference in philosophy, I gather."

"A diametric difference. I'm sorry, I can't hold with certain ideas that they have."

"What...do you plan to do?" There is always the next election.

He closes his eyes. "I'm not sure. I'm just not sure."

This may be the first time in my father's life he hasn't been certain of something. Or at least the first time he's admitted to it.

He looks weary. "John, this is supposed to be one of the good times. Let's leave politics out of it."

"I'm agreeable to that." More than he'll ever know.

We've now stopped in front of Mitch's. He looks at me. "And I could use a drink."

He's not the only one.
 

MICHAEL:

"Hi Mitch!" Kelly and me head over to the bar, and Kelly smiles real big at him. Hey, Mitch was happy when he heard we got engaged. Can't hate a guy like that.

"Hey, Frohike Junior! What brings you out here?" Mitch is serving drinks with both hands, not even looking at what he does. It's amazing-dude can pull a beer without even watching. Me, I'm lucky if I can hit my mouth without watching.

"About a million other people-looks like they're coming now."

He blinks his eyes. "Jesus Christ on a crutch, I musta been real bad in another life. God, how many'd you bring with ya, Junior?"

"Well, you know the prof's getting married tomorrow-"

"Seein' as I'm gonna be there, think I know that."

"-and all Juliet's relatives are in town, and they wanted to go drinking, so here we are."

"You brung that classy babe's relations out here?"

"Yeah, why not?"

He stares out at the crowd filling the place up. "They's not the fern-bar type, that's for sure. Guess I'm gonna have to go get some drink orders. My mama's out back, I'll get her t'gimme a hand."

"Genie's here?" My dad comes up behind us. "How fast did you two drive here? You trying to set a new land speed record?" He's glaring at me.

Too bad he can't drink these days. Martha let him have a glass of wine for dinner, but that was it. She's been real strict with him.

Better her than me. He wouldn't listen to me if his life depended on it.

"That's 'cause we drove here, Dad, not stopped for a quickie in the parking lot!"

Oops. I think I just pissed him off. Martha's blushing, and then she starts giggling. I think she's had a lot more to drink than Dad.

"Hey Junior, you get us a table?" Langly comes up behind me.

"You can't play, asshole, you only got one hand!"

He grins at me. "Yeah, bet I can whip your ass with only one hand, too!"

Hey, I'm up for winning some easy money.

"You're on, fuckrag."

And besides, gets me out of the line of fire here...
 

FROHIKE:

"I'm going to kill that boy," I hiss. And I will. Disrespectful little snot.

"Mel, take it easy," Martha lays a hand on my arm. "He's right, you know. And in law, truth is a defense."

She looks like a cat that just swallowed a canary. A fat, juicy canary.

It was not the parking lot. It was the scenic overpass on the way here, about ten miles back...

And that was no canary she swallowed.

"He shouldn't talk to me that way."

"Granted, but let's face it, Mel, we haven't exactly gone to great lengths to hide the nature of our...relationship from him."

"How could we? He lives in my house!"

"Exactly. And there'd be no point in trying. He's a perceptive boy, Mel."

"Not on certain things." And he's not.

"He'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind to miss us, what we're doing."

"He manages to be deaf, dumb and blind in enough other aspects of his life!"

"Mel, will you calm down? You're supposed to not get all worked up."

"I'm not."

She looks at me, deep in the eyes. "Mel, somebody just put 'No Place Too Far' on the jukebox...would you dance with me?"
 

Whether she really wanted to dance, or it was simply a ploy to distract me, I don't know...

But having her in my arms on the dance floor is...

Wonderful.

I feel young, and happy, and healthy when I'm with her like this.

And since the jukebox here only plays country, I don't have to worry about what anyone thinks of my schmoopy taste in music.

My errant son is over at one of the tables, setting up a game with...

Langly? The one-armed bandit?

He's an idiot.

If he had half a brain, he'd be out here...

Dancing with Kelly.

Sometimes that boy is such a moron.
 

MICHAEL:

This is gonna be cake. Langly can't do this. He's fucked up his first two shots, totally.

I'm gonna walk away richer tonight.

Mulder comes over. "I play the winner," he calls.

"Mulder, what're you doing here? You leave Scully with the kids again?"

He shrugs. "She wanted to go home, I wanted to come out. She said she didn't mind."

"Mulder, you realize Scully's gonna get canonized when she dies?" Langly says to him.

"St. Scully? What makes you say that?" Mulder is like, I have the face of total innocence, I know nothing.

"She puts up with you," I say.

Mulder looks wounded. "Excuse me, but she shoots better than me. And she's not afraid to, either."

"She should aim a little closer to some of your vitals," Langly says, chalking the tip of his cue, which is really a bust, since he can't lift up one arm very much.

"She has. Says that after this kid is born, I'm gonna get cut off, one way or the other."

Langly shudders. "Ooh, that's cold."

"Tell me about it." Mulder looks real unhappy.

"So which one's it gonna be?" I ask him.

He holds up his first two fingers and gives like the most miserable face in the world. He makes a snipping gesture with his fingers.

Langly and I both are like, eeuw!

"Do us a favor, Mulder, don't tell us when it happens," Langly says, setting up another shot he is sure to fuck up.

"Oh, and here I was gonna have you guys come along for moral support."

"Sorry, Mulder, you're on your own with this one."

"You guys are cruel," Mulder can play hurt puppy like nobody's business.

We're not buying.

Mulder strolls off to the bar, and I look at Langly. "Think she should do it without anesthesia?"
 

"Okay, okay, c'mon baby, in the corner, in the corner," Langly's chanting after he shoots.

Oh sure. Right. That was a totally bogus set up...

Wait a minute!

NO! This CAN'T be happening!

That fuckrag got them all in! No way!

"Langly, you cheat!"

"Not a chance, Junior. Remember, I only got one working arm!"

"How'd you do that?"

"Oh, right, I'm gonna tell you, and you'll tell two friends, and they'll tell two friends..."

Well, I'll get him on the next one.
 

NOOOO!!!

This can't be!

That asshole is winning! I'm down 80 bucks!

Aargh!

I've gotta make a recovery here.

I do a nice shot, but then...

Oh man. This is like soooo humiliating.

I've been beaten by a guy with one arm.

Langly's gloating. "Told ya, asshole."

"Oh, fuck you, Langly."

Mulder's coming back, beer in hand. "So? Who's the lucky girl who gets to dance with me?"

I'm expecting Langly to just rub it in that one-handed, he kicked the shit out of me.

Instead, he says to Mulder, "Here, you can play Junior while I go dance with Ally. He wants to hear all about your upcoming vasectomy."

You know, even when Langly's righteous, he's still such an asshole...
 

LANGLY:

I go and kiss Ally, who's got the kid on her shoulder, sound asleep. When I went to shoot, he was racing around here. Kid has two speeds-real fast or not at all.

"Hey, wanna dance with a winner?" I ask her.

"Yeah, who won?" She smiles up at me.

"Very funny."

"You beat Michael. One handed."

"Yep."

"And you think you deserve a dance for that."

"Uh-huh."

She sets Patrick down on the chair-he's so out of it, he doesn't even wake up when she moves him.

She walks out with me, she holds my hand. I know Ally's kind of shy about this, but I figure she's had enough to drink she won't mind.

We wait for the next song to start. And it's one of the ones we danced to first time we ever danced here-'For You I Will.'

I notice there's some other people out there dancing. Two of 'em look familiar.

M & M cutting a rug.

Actually, more like two high schoolers in heat. She's got her hands on his ass, he's rubbing her back...

I'm still getting used to the idea of Fro with a real woman. I mean, there was Dee, but that was so long ago, and I didn't know her much, and I was so messed up then...

Still, they got one thing right.

They can slow dance.

I always tell Ally we don't do it enough.

Tonight, we will.
 

FROHIKE:

"Mel, that was delightful," she says, smiling.

"You had enough?"

"I think so. It's getting late...and you're getting tired."

"I'm fine, love."

"Mel..."

"All right."

She leans over and whispers in my ear, "And I'm horny as hell."

She is insatiable, this woman!

END OF PART 90