BALLS Read online

  The board met once a month, and Dad promised to let me know the next meeting date as soon as possible so I could back out a timetable for “Operation: Evangelists.” My plan was to begin having one-on-ones a week or two beforehand to minimize the leakage factor—it’s always easier to keep a secret the sooner you’re allowed to tell it.

  Well, for most people . . . My dad, it turns out, was the exception. He wanted to be my biggest evangelist, but he hadn’t found his voice yet.

  ••

  “We told the Pratts and the Orrs,” Mom announced triumphantly over the phone.

  “Did you tell them or did Dad?”

  “I told them, of course. Your father hasn’t told anybody yet.”

  I couldn’t get those last six words out of my head. I had been feeling more and more uncomfortable about Dad taking on the responsibility of telling the board and I’d finally realized why: He hadn’t had any practice telling anyone. There was no way he was ready for something this big. I could coach him, but the fact remained: I was the one who could tell my story best, and the more I thought about it, the more strongly I felt that the news should come directly from me. There was way too much riding on this meeting, now just three weeks away. I had to say something.

  I arrived early for Sunday dinner to find my mom in the kitchen negotiating a stack of pots and pans.

  “Hi, Shtine, can you put this pan up top for me?” (You know my mom’s short when she has to ask someone who’s barely 5’4” for help.)

  “Sure, Mom. Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s in the bedroom going through his closet. He’s threatening to buy some new shorts. All the ones he has make him look like he’s wearing diapers.”

  I laughed. “Hey, so Mom, I’ve been thinking it might be better if I was the one to tell the executive board, not Dad. But I know he really wanted to do it. Do you think he’d be hurt if I—”

  “Oh, he’d be re-lieeeeved. He’s been stressing over it for the last two weeks. He’s never really had to tell anyone, you know. I always do it.”

  “Yes, I know. And you do a great job!” I kissed her on the cheek and ventured to the master bedroom where Dad was standing in front of his side of the walk-in closet (the smaller side), his feet surrounded by five or six pairs of shorts in varying degrees of khaki.

  “Get rid of them all,” I said, deadpan.

  “You’re here early. Hey, you need any Bermuda shorts? I got a bunch of these I’m getting rid of.” (This would become a ritual between us; Dad trying to pawn his clothes off on me despite our obvious size difference.)

  “No thanks, Dad. Gauchos are out of style. Hey listen, I’ve been thinking about the board meeting. I really appreciate you wanting to be the one to tell them, but I think it should probably come from me. It will show I respect them and that I’m not ashamed. Plus I’ve been telling the story over and over now for months so I might be able to explain it better and answer any questions they have directly. What do you think?”

  Mom was right. While he tried not to show it, he was clearly relieved. “Yes, sure, if that’s what you want. I mean I’m happy to do it, but you’re probably right . . . I could set you up?”

  “Yes! Great idea. It’ll set the tone and show you support what I’m doing.”

  “Okay, that’s what we’ll do.”

  He smiled warmly, then turned his eyes back toward the closet. “Hey how ’bout some golf shirts . . . Look, look at this one—never been worn.”

  “I gave you that one.”

  “That’s why I thought you’d like it.”

  ••

  With just one week to go until the board meeting, my dad’s assistant, Marilyn, called to let me know “Big Ed” wanted to see me in his office. A proud mom in her mid-forties, she had a great sense of humor and a penchant for brightly colored pens and paper clips. Her good nature and calming presence made her an office favorite. She’d only been with my dad a few years, but already felt like part of our family.

  When I arrived she was fielding a call. Did Marilyn know? She had to. Mom surely must have told her. They talked on the phone pretty much every day, and Mom was on a telling spree . . . I gave her a wave and headed straight into Dad’s well-appointed corner office, the inside of which remained a mystery to most of the agency. I crossed the Oriental rug, passed the wall of framed advertising-themed New Yorker cartoons, and made myself as comfortable as possible in one of the stiff wingback leather guest chairs across from his ginormous yet elegant desk. No longer on the creative floor, I looked incredibly out of place in my faded Levi’s, untucked Polo, and Jack Purcell sneakers.

  “You goin’ to wash your car?” Dad asked.

  “Ha ha. What’s up?”

  “Well, I hate to do this to you, but I had to move the board meeting.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “I have to go to Germany for a big VW meeting. I didn’t think I’d have to but the client wants me there.”

  Fuck! “That’s okay,” I said, trying to mask my disappointment. “I understand.”

  “I’ve asked Marilyn to reschedule it for the following week. She’ll let you know as soon as she nails down the day.”

  “Okay. Hey, Marilyn knows, right?”

  “Yeah. She saw that article you gave us on my desk, so I told her.”

  “You did?” I said, impressed.

  “Well . . . I started to,” he admitted, “but she said she already knew. Your mother told her.”

  On my way out I stopped at Marilyn’s desk. “So the meeting is being rescheduled,” I griped.

  “Yep.”

  I sighed.

  “You know, Kris, I think you’re very brave.”

  “Thanks, Marilyna.” (I always called her that.)

  “Can I give you some advice?”

  “Sure.”

  “If you’re gonna get a penis, make it a big one.”

  ••

  T minus three days and four hours: I am a nervous wreck, unable to think about anything else. I keep rehearsing what I’m going to say to the board in my head, trying to identify potential red flags, and imagining all kinds of hypothetical outcomes. It’s all I can think of that Sunday as I drive to my parents’ house on autopilot and pull into the empty space in the driveway between my sisters’ cars.

  “Happy Father’s Day!” I announce, entering the house, gift in hand.

  Dad was sitting in his chair watching golf, TV remote securely in his grasp. Mom and Gram were in the kitchen. Wendy and Jill were nowhere to be seen, which meant they were up in their old bedrooms surveying the contents of their closets and making sure every item was still present and accounted for.

  “Hey, Shtiny,” Dad yelled. I put the gift on the counter with the others, next to mom’s homemade chocolate layer cake with the “hard” chocolate frosting (Dad’s favorite), kissed Mom and Gram, and headed over to give Dad a hug.

  “Want a cuke?” he asked, passing me a small plate of crudités akin to the larger one sitting on the coffee table untouched.

  I took a cucumber slice and mid-crunch he broke the news.

  “I had to move the board meeting again.”

  Nooooooooooo!

  “I meant to tell you on Friday . . . four out of the eight members couldn’t make it so it’s now gonna be next Monday.”

  Great. I had a pit in my stomach the size of a cannonball and now it would be lodged there for another eight freaking days.

  That week at work I was in a fog. I could barely concentrate, let alone come up with any award-winning headlines. Instead I spent most of the time discussing the anxiety I felt about Monday’s upcoming event with my team of evangelists, who looked at me with sympathy each time I showed up in their respective offices with word of another postponement. No one had leaked the news (as far as I knew), which confirmed that I had entrusted my secret to the right people.

  By Thursday afternoon I felt like a prisoner counting down to his parole hearing when, as if on cue, the phone at my desk rang. I recognized my da
d’s extension.

  “Hey, Kris. Um, I’m sorry to do this to you again but we need to move the meeting.”

  “What?! Are you serious?” I could feel myself crumbling inside.

  “Yeah, Ron can’t make it now, so I thought we should change it since he’s probably the most important one from your standpoint.”

  “No, Dad, I can’t go through this again. It has to be Monday. I’ll tell Ron myself beforehand. Just please, please DO NOT cancel it.” My voice was elevated and quivering. I was ready to lose it. I managed to hold it together, though mostly because there was a nosy art director hovering outside my office.

  Dad’s voice became softer and more sympathetic. “Okay, we’ll leave it on Monday. Ron’s going out of town though, so you should try to get to him soon.”

  I hung up and immediately called Ron’s assistant. She told me he was off Friday and was flying out of town Monday afternoon. Shit!

  “Do you need to show him concepts?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Present radio? He’s done that over the phone a few times.”

  “No, it’s not really work-related.”

  “Oh . . .” I could tell she was curious and was bracing myself for more questions. “Well, if it’s important I could squeeze you in Monday during his lunch hour. Just be at your desk between twelve and one and I’ll call you when he’s ready.”

  Phew. I hung up, took a deep breath, and looked up at the clock. 4:15.

  Fuck it. I’m going home.

  ••

  Sunday, T minus twenty-seven hours. Instead of the kitchen, we’re all in my parents’ dining room. The mood around the table is somber. I’m getting the sense that my family is likening this afternoon’s meal to the Last Supper. I, on the other hand, feel oddly upbeat. Dare I say, even a little bit excited. Maybe it’s because I’ve had so much practice telling people that I’m feeling confident and well rehearsed. Maybe it’s because this meeting has been hanging over my head for a month and a half and I’m finally going to get it over with. Whatever the reason, I assure my family, mainly for the benefit of my dad, that I am up to the task and looking forward to getting past this monumental step. Nobody says it, but we all know that after my announcement at tomorrow’s board meeting, none of our lives will ever be the same.

  After dinner, Dad asked me if I wanted to take a ride to Ogilvie’s, the local hardware store. I loved going there with him as a kid, because in addition to all the cool tools and stuff, they had a lollipop tree at the register with Dum Dums, free for the taking. Knowing Dad’s propensity for luring us into the car with a quick errand we might enjoy and then holding us hostage while he completed the rest of his secret to-do list, I made sure I used the bathroom before we left. For all I knew, he had dry cleaning hidden in the trunk, a gas tank on empty, bills that had to be mailed, and an urgent need to get the car washed before it rained. I also suspected he wanted to talk to me about the meeting tomorrow. My suspicion was confirmed when, after leaving Ogilvie’s, he turned left onto Route 20 instead of right.

  “Hey,” he said, “there’s a house I wanna show you over on Meadow-brook.” Read: I need to extend the duration of the ride so I can talk to you about something.

  “Okay . . .” There was silence for a few seconds and then he began. “So I was thinking about tomorrow and what I was gonna say . . . I had Marilyn put your name as the last item on the agenda so it wouldn’t be a surprise when you came in.”

  “Oh, good idea.”

  “I figured the meeting starts at four o’clock, so you should come down around five and wait outside the board room. I’ll have them break for a few minutes and then come out and get you.”

  “Good plan.” Wow, he’s really thought this through.

  “I was gonna introduce you . . . I mean set you up—you’ll know everyone there.”

  As he rattled off the members’ names, I pictured them all in my head. Seven wealthy, middle-aged men, all white, all likely Republican, and all with backgrounds in account service or finance—the conservative departments in the agency. Oh boy.

  “Ron won’t be there,” Dad reminded me. “Did you talk to him already?”

  “No, he was out Friday. I’m going to tell him tomorrow around noon. Before he leaves for the airport.”

  “Oh . . .”

  I read Dad’s hesitation as worry—worry that would be too much for me in one day.

  “It’ll be like a warm-up for the main event,” I joked.

  He laughed and then took me through what he had planned to say in his setup. It went something like this:

  You’ve all probably noticed Kris’ name on the agenda. Kris has been dealing with something serious for a long time and up until now has confided only in family and close friends who’ve all been very understanding and supportive, including myself. The next year or so is going to be very challenging and Kris is going to need our support as an agency to help get through it. We both felt it would be best for you to hear it directly from Kris.

  I told Dad it was a perfect setup and that I wouldn’t change a thing. I especially loved how he didn’t use pronouns. That night I slept well, knowing that tomorrow he would be in my corner.

  ••

  Ironically, the day I spent the most time in the ladies’ room at Arnold was also the same day I announced to the board I was really a man. It was 4:45 p.m., and I had peed around twenty-six times. The only thing I got done that day was a lot of flushing. This is what I’m thinking about as I take the stairwell down to the tenth floor on my way to the boardroom. It occurs to me that today it should be called the “board-doom,” and I congratulate myself for such stellar word play. Good one, Shtine! It was comforting to know that even in the face of the most nerve-wracking event of my life, I could still keep my sense of humor. Even if only for a moment.

  As I approached Marilyn’s desk we locked eyes, mine filled with dread, hers with sympathy. “They’re still in there,” she said.

  “I’m a little early.”

  “You’re just like your father,” she said, and then perfectly imitated him as only an assistant can. “If you’re not early, you’re late.”

  I smiled. “So I hear I’m actually on the agenda.”

  “Yep, typed it up myself.”

  She handed me her copy to look at. There I was, right next to 5:00 p.m. and just after the words coffee break.

  “Your dad figured it would be a good excuse to break, and give people something to do while he left the room to come out and get you.”

  Again, I’d underestimated my father. That was pretty smart. It’d be easier for me to walk in there if people were up and around chatting and not sitting in their seats gazing at me expectantly, although that would happen eventually, I was sure.

  “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be. I told Ron earlier today. At lunch.”

  “Ooh. How’d that go?”

  “It was awkward. He had a plane to catch so I only had fifteen minutes. The poor guy hadn’t even taken two bites of his sandwich when I lowered the boom. I don’t think he knew what to say, so I just kept talking so he wouldn’t have to say anything. But in classic Ron fashion he boiled it down to one line: ‘That must’ve been really hard.’ I told him I was announcing it to the board, and since he couldn’t be at the meeting I wanted him to know first. I think he appreciated that. Anyway, it was good practice, right?”

  “You’re gonna do great,” Marilyn said and then picked up her ringing phone. As she told whoever it was that Mr. Eskandarian was not available, I looked up at the clock. Five on the nose. And I had to pee again. What if I go and I’m not here when they’re ready for me? I’ll just hold it. No, then I’ll be distracted. I’ll go really fast. I got Marilyn’s attention while she was on the phone and pointed to the restrooms. She nodded and signaled for me to go quick.

  When I returned, the door to the boardroom was still closed. Phew. I sat down in Marilyn’s guest chair and took a deep breath. I looked down at my hands, wh
ich were shaking slightly on my lap, and noticed a small blue ballpoint pen mark on the thigh of my pants. I wasn’t sure what to wear to this shindig, so I left the jeans at home and went for gender-neutral corporate casual: Gap flat-front khakis and a light blue linen shirt. Just as I began to wonder if my wardrobe selection too closely resembled that of “Pat” from Saturday Night Live, the door to the boardroom opened and my dad came out.

  Showtime.

  ••

  The “board-doom” was roughly the size of two large offices. In the center of the room was a long dark mahogany table, which throughout my high school years sat in our dining room. But even if my mom strolled in with a tray of desserts to go with the coffee everyone was drinking, there was no way I was going to feel the slightest bit at home sitting at this table. Well, unless she served her famous Heath Bar Pie, then maybe . . . no, not even then.

  With the exception of one of the men who was sporting the traditional navy blazer with gold buttons, all seven board members were rocking full-on suits and ties. I sat down next to my father at the head of the table, feeling underdressed but thankful I wasn’t wearing jeans, and waited anxiously for everyone to finish fixing their coffee and return to their seats. Knowing Dad had an eloquent setup prepared was the only thing that helped calm my nerves. With the group now seated, I tried to control my breathing and waited for my father to speak. He cleared his throat and began.

  “I’m sure you’ve all noticed Kris’s name on the agenda. Kris has something very important to share with you. So, Kris . . . ”

  Wait, what?

  With all eyes on me, I turned to Dad to see if that was really it. He looked back at me apologetically, then stared down at the table.

  Yup.

  I squeezed his arm to let him know it was okay, took a deep breath, and turned to the group, using humor as my segue. “Thank you, Dad, for that lengthy introduction.”