Family Bonds

Chapter 8, Episode 2

"Big man on campus. That's what we called men like you. Athletes who do well—in the classroom, on the field, in the sack. Is that's what they called you there, a BMOC or its equivalent?" Oliver waved at Chet to sit down, his voice disarmingly calm even as his questions became more pointed. "How many girls did you sleep with in the three years you were there, Chet? Four or five?"

"More than that." His voice was barely above a whisper, feeling vaguely guilty when he thought of them.

"Were you seeing how many you could bed, comparing what you did with your fraternity brothers? Keeping score? If you did, are you proud of that?" Oliver pressed, his face serious.

"Hey, it happened. They came on to me most of the time," he protested. "It didn't mean anything. We were just having a good time."

"Didn't mean anything? Sex is just another sport to you? If any of those girls were virgins, I'll bet it meant more to them than you think. Even if they weren't."

Chet didn't know what to say as he stared at the floor. He felt a wave of remorse when Monique's tearful words echoed in his ears.

"And then you got that girl pregnant."

Chet's heart stopped. "Did Dad tell you?"

"Doesn't matter how I know. Was she the first one you knocked up?"

"Far as I know." He tried to act casual, but his answer sounded flip.

"You weren't being careful with the others? Not using protection? Or they didn't tell you they were pregnant, didn't ask you to step up and do the right thing?"

"The condom broke, Oliver. I always used protection—most of the time, anyway. And I always asked if they were on the pill."

"And they said they were."

Is he going to remind me every time I see him? "Can I help it if I'm—" Chet clamped his jaw when Oliver interrupted.

"What? That you were able to convince them? I'm not questioning your powers of persuasion or your libido. That doesn't make you any different from most young men your age. But consider how those girls think of you. Life is too precious to be characterized by a series of meaningless physical encounters." He stared at Chet. "The good Lord gave you a fine mind, but your juvenile exploits may destroy your chances to use it to do some good in this world."

Chet opened his mouth to speak then shut it again.

"Don't get yourself in the same emotional bind as other men," Oliver continued. "I have a pretty good idea what your father did when he was younger. He would probably never admit it—and I'd prefer you not tell him I said this—but I suspect he harbors all kinds of bad feelings regarding what he did as a young man. And, unlike Eddie, you're going down the same path."

"Dad hates my guts." Chet frowned. "I'll bet he's glad I'm not around anymore. Ever since high school, even before, all we ever do is piss each other off. Why I moved out."

"Correction, Chet." Oliver's tone took on a hard edge. "Your father loves you. You're his son. But he fears for you, because of your behavior."

The attorney sat down. "I'm not your father, and he probably isn't all that happy you're working here, even if it is only after-hours. He doesn't much like lawyers—except as a necessary service he needs for his business, to keep things running smoothly."

"What he said, more than once."

"Try seeing what life is like without dipping your wick every chance you get simply because the girl is willing—maybe even eager—to sample your wares."

Chet stared.

"Life is a lot more than casual sex, my boy. Try being celibate for a while. You might just discover that sex is even better when it involves a real relationship, maybe even love, something that's bigger—a lot bigger—than those casual encounters you've been enjoying."

The silence in the kitchen began to wear on Chet. He looked into the perceptive gray eyes of the attorney. "My dad said you have a son. Have you talked to him like you're talking to me?" Dad's never said these things, at least not like this.

The soft light in Oliver's eyes dimmed and his voice flattened. "We never had the chance—he didn't live long enough for me to have to worry about his sex life."

"Sorry. I didn't know."

The lawyer's right shoulder rose slightly. "Wouldn't have expected you to. Are you going to think twice before you act on your impulses?"

"I'll think about it."

Oliver's voice resumed a commanding tone. "Assuming you still want to be one, what kind of lawyer makes that kind of namby-pamby response when challenged?" He stood and tossed the soda can into the trash receptacle.

"Good throw."

"Answer my question, Chet."

"Yes."

"What's important here is not your sex partner's morals, but yours. Are you a prisoner of your hormones or are you going to learn to control your urges? You're a man, not an animal. You need to start acting like an adult—as it regards the sex. And all the rest. Can you do that?"

"I can do it." Chet hoped his voice sounded firm enough to convince Oliver. Enough to convince himself.

"I'll see you tomorrow." The man glanced around the kitchen as if checking to see what was left to clean. "One more thing."

"What?"

"Whenever you're inclined, we'll talk again. Any topic you want." Oliver waved at him as he left the office.

How many weeks ago had they had that talk? Chet rolled over and looked out the window. No booze, no speeding except that one time. Funny, what had seemed so important, so much fun before, no longer interested him.

His dad had never talked with him like Oliver. Maybe he should have. These days, the only girl whose image came to mind was Jane, and they'd dated only a few times. But how he felt about her was more intense every time they were together, even when it was just coffee at the Bean Blossom.

Oliver had said love on a foundation of friendship was the best kind. Wasn't that what they were building, he and Jane? When they kissed, he could tell she liked it, liked him. But what about his past? Would it keep her from ever really trusting him?

He reached for his books. If he was going to stay on track, he couldn't get behind—and he wanted to talk to Oliver again, about getting into law school and maybe even doing an internship at his firm, even if his dad disapproved.

"First things first," he muttered to himself. The barbecue. He would talk to Bert and Jane about that. Maybe she'd come even if Bert told her not to. But Chet hoped he could convince the old man to let him see her to prove to Bert that whatever he might have heard was old news and not how Chet was now.

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