Chapter 42
Pulling up at the kerb in front of Donna’s place, Al rolled down his window as he eyed the gathering out front. Addison, Sam, Donna, Tom—Already? That was fast—and… ‘Janis.’
He nodded to Tom, leaning an elbow out the window. He wore his crisp white uniform and hat, fully decorated with a career of bars and ribbons. “Afternoon, Captain Beckett,” he said. “Don’t suppose you have another round of colourful language for me today? Last time you left me a voicemail I had to take notes, because those were some mucho creative insults.”
Tom was pale, and neglected to meet his eye. “Uh, not today, Admiral.”
“Oh, Al,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I can only imagine the two of you butting heads over me. But lay off of my big brother today, okay? I just told him… well, pretty much everything, and you know how crazy it all gets.”
Al cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he looked at what he now knew was not his daughter. “Oh, I know.” He hiked a thumb to his back seat. “Alright, who’s coming?”
Addison hurried to the car, followed by Ben. Al looked to the unmoving Sam curiously. “What about you?”
“I’m staying with Tom while he, uh… comes to terms. But if you need me, I’m just a phone call away.”
Seeing how shaken Tom looked, Al nodded in acceptance of that. “Fair enough.”
The two ‘teens’ climbed in and fastened their seat belts, and Al eyed the visage of Janis in the rear view mirror with suspicion.
Ben gave him an anxious smile. “Heya… Dad…”
“Don’t call me that,” he said, cringing. “You know, I shoulda noticed something was off when Ziggy was so nice to you.”
“Sorry,” Ben said. “It was Ziggy who told me not to come clean, you know.”
“Yeah, she’s a stickler for the rulebook,” Al muttered, gripping the steering wheel and peeling out into the street. “When it suits her.”
“You look sharp as ever in that uniform,” Ben offered. “I haven’t seen you in it for… maybe five or six years. Not since the early days of our project.”
This caused Al to raise an eyebrow. “You know me in the future, huh?”
Ben nodded. “Yeah, I knew you.”
Knew.
Yeah, there was no sugar-coating it. Al knew the cigars would catch up with him some day.
“Was it… preventable?”
Ben looked uncomfortable. “I don’t… I don’t think so. I don’t really remember. And it might have changed since I leapt.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you ain’t meant to know your own death.” Al bit his lip as he considered. “But on the bright side, least I know I’ll live that long.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “Nobody can say you didn’t live a full life, Al.” He smiled, looking out the window. “You used to tell the most outrageous stories. I could never tell if they were true.”
Al snorted. “That’s for me to know. Ben, was it?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice to properly meetcha. How long’ve you been here, anyway?”
“Since about the time Sam arrived. We leapt together, so it stands to reason we probably got here at the same time.”
“And so, uh, that little scene at the breakfast table this morning…”
Ben gritted his teeth. “Those were… not my words. And I’m sorry about that.”
Al chuckled. “That’s my Janis for ya. Too damn stubborn to let a leaper do his job without giving notes.”
Ben echoed Al’s laugh. “She’s going to become a great physicist, you know? If it weren’t for her help…” he trailed off, eyes darting to Addison next to him. “…Uh, anyway. I consider her a close friend.”
“I knew she’d do great things,” Al said proudly. “She’s gonna shine at Caltech. Beats staying in this old city, that’s for damn sure.” As he finished his sentence, he pulled up his car by the duelling protests on the high school campus. “And as if I needed an example, here’s some rednecks to prove the point…” He turned to the back seat. “Alright, where’s this principal?”
“In the auditorium,” said Ben, “at least that’s where he was an hour ago.”
“Okay.” Al cracked his knuckles, opening the car door. “Anything I should know about this guy before I go in there and hold his feet to the fire? I’ve met him a few times, but it was only ever your basic pleasantries.”
Ben and Addison exchanged shrugs.
“Look, I only just met him,” Ben said feebly. “He’s in a bad mood and he’s scared of the media attention—that’s all I can really tell you.”
Al crossed his arms. “I wasn’t asking you, kid. What does Ziggy say? Isn’t your hologram hangin’ around here somewhere? Ask her; it’s what she’s there for, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ben shot a look behind him, in the third row of seats. “Anything worth knowing, Addison?” He listened a moment before beginning to relay what the invisible Addison was telling him. “Principal Ronald Curtis… fifty-three… twice divorced, known for being stingy with teacher supplies. In fifteen years he retires and moves to Florida. Nothing else to tell.”
“Twice divorced, huh?” Al stroked his chin. “In another life, I had five marriages. And divorces. Might be an opening.”
“In another life?” Addison tilted her head.
“Lot can change with time travel,” Al said simply, before leaving the car and heading into the crowds.
Putting on his best no-nonsense stride, the mass of people divided like the Red Sea as his military aura startled them into submission.
“Thank you for your service,” one of the anti-gay protesters said as he passed.
Al stopped in his tracks, turning to the man with a withering look. “Hey, pal. Do you know how many gay men are in the military?”
“No—”
“That’s because of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,” he continued. “But believe me, there are plenty. Will you be thanking them for their service too? Or are you gonna go with your Bible verse there and call for their death like you’re an enemy combatant?”
It had been years since Sam had evolved Al’s views on gays in the military, and ever since, he’d been a vocal advocate for the abolition of the horribly homophobic rules still in place. And more and more, bigotry towards the queer community had been boiling his blood. Since Janis had come out as bisexual, he’d had even more skin in the game, and it truly was gloves-off time, he thought. This fight had to be won.
“Personally, I would ask for them to be dishonourably discharged,” the man responded, slowly shrinking away from Al.
“Oh yeah? Well I guess it’s a relief that instead of making those kinda calls, you have so little goin’ on in your life that you’ll stand around a high school trying to ruin my daughter’s prom night.” He took a step closer to the man, itching to feed him a knuckle sandwich, but knowing that wouldn’t help his cause. “You nozzles better be gone by the time I come back out,” he finally said, before turning on his heel and proceeding to the auditorium.
A woman with glasses was milling just out the front, smoking a cigarette.
“You work here?” he asked as he approached.
“Yeah. Can I help you, sir?” she peered at his medallions and pins. “Uh…”
“Admiral,” he said, assuming she was trying to figure out his rank. “I’m here to see Kurt.”
“You mean Mister Curtis?”
“Yeah, him. The principal.”
She pushed the door open for him. “In there. I hope you’re not with those guys…” she bobbed a head towards the protesters. “He’s getting ready to call the cops on ’em, you know.”
“I am not with those Bible bashers,” Al snapped, before regaining his composure, brushing a loose hair on the side back, and pulling down his shirt. He stepped into the auditorium, where some cheap decorations hung along the walls.
Holding a clipboard and looking down at a folding table being set up was the principal.
“Principal Curtis?” he asked loudly, garnering the man’s attention.
“What is it now—?” the man replied reflexively, before he saw Al standing in his uniform and his eyes widened. “Oh, Admiral Calavicci…” he swallowed nervously. “Hello.”
“You’ve got yourself some explaining to do,” Al said, arms crossed. “So let’s hear it. How come my daughter’s crying right now ’cause she can’t attend her prom?”
Well, she probably would be if it was her.
Ron placed his clipboard down onto the table with a dramatic sigh.
“Look, I’m sorry about Janis. I really am, okay? And the McCall girl, too. But surely you understand the hell that group out there is gonna be raining on this school if we go through with this whole… lesbian thing…”
“I understand the hell I’m gonna be raining down if you don’t change that mind of yours,” he growled. “Now either you join us here in the twenty-first century where love is not an exclusively held privilege of straight people, or I’m gonna personally haunt your every waking moment. I’m very good at that kinda thing, you know.”
Curtis looked shaken, and he rubbed his eyes. “Oh god, can’t you see how I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, Admiral? But the fact is, this school simply doesn’t have the resources to deal with this kind of thing. Frankly I’d rather have you up in my face than a news camera, because the camera represents a million more people than you.”
“Resources?”
Curtis gestured around at the decorations. “Look around you! Look at this trash. You think I go out of my way to buy these crummy balloons from the discount racks? This school has no money and we’re relying on scraps. We don’t have some PR manager to talk to the press, and I’m sure not trained for that.”
He wandered to the stage, leaning against the raised surface and shaking his head. “Hell, the teachers have to buy their own damn chalk.”
“So that’s it, is it?” Al said, joining him against the stage. “You’re out of moolah.”
“Well, that’s a major factor in my decision, yes.”
Al frowned. So he could try to keep forcing the issue, but without the cold hard cash, he wouldn’t get far.
“I’m no stranger to budget cuts myself,” Al said thoughtfully. At Curtis’s look of incredulity, Al smirked. “Oh, Congress have endless money to fund war, don’t get me wrong. Never can reach a limit on military spending. But scientific research? Oops, suddenly their wallet’s in their other pants. Right now my main gig’s coming to an end ’cause of that.”
“So you understand that there’s nothing I can do. Short of a generous donation…”
Al snorted. “Sorry, I’m fresh out.”
“Well, there you have it.” He looked downward in defeat. “My hands are tied. Sorry, Admiral.”
Al huffed, and headed for the door. It seemed as though nothing was going to change this guy’s mind. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, placing a call to Sam; maybe he’d have an idea of a Plan C.
* * *
As Principal Ron Curtis surveyed his hard work, he sighed. The prom decorations sure looked pathetic. Balloons that could only be filled half way before popping, banners that had been in use since 1983, a drinks table with thin plastic cups that crumpled if you so much as looked at them wrong.
The DJ for the night was going to be one of the art teachers, Mark Dickerson, with his personal CD collection. He hoped the guy wouldn’t show up stoned this time. Last year, the delays between songs had gotten grating, by all accounts.
Boy, he was glad he wasn’t one of the students that would be looking back on this lacklustre event for the rest of their lives.
“Alright Wilma, let’s go take a break,” he said, stretching and looking at his watch. “We have two hours ’til showtime. Wanna get a bite?”
“Sure,” Wilma said, sliding out from under the stereo system and dusting her hands off. “Lemme guess, you won’t be buying.”
“You know how it is.”
The two of them shared a grim look before turning for the door. Ron hadn’t made it out of the auditorium when the cell phone clipped to his belt began to ring.
“Hello, this is Ron Curtis,” he answered.
“Hi Mister Curtis,” came a man’s voice. “You’re the principal of the South Mesa High School, right?”
“Yes, I am—to whom am I speaking?”
“Well, my name’s Doctor Sam Beckett,” the man said.
Sam Beckett… have I heard that name before? Well, there was the playwright I guess.
“I’m a Nobel Prize winning physicist and, uh, philanthropist,” the voice continued.
That’s it, I remember him from Time magazine some years ago. Why would he be calling me?
“You know, I heard through the grapevine that your school was going to allow your first ever same sex couple at prom, and—”
Ron let out a nervous laugh. “Uh, well, the thing about that is—”
“— and I just wanted to show my deepest appreciation to your school for being so progressive in the face of a possible backlash. That takes a special kind of principal.”
“Mister—I mean Doctor—”
“In fact, I’m so impressed that I’m willing to give a sizeable donation to your school to show my gratitude at your bold, brave stance.”
Ron stopped dead in the doorway. “A donation, you say?”
“Absolutely. I’d like to present the cheque at the prom tonight, if that’s possible.”
Ron licked his lips. “Just how… sizeable… are we talking here?”
“How does two million dollars sound?”
Ron held onto the door frame, suddenly weak at the knees. Could this be true? Had his prayers been answered?
“Hello? Mister Curtis?”
“I…” Ron cleared his throat. “I humbly accept your generous donation, Doctor Beckett.”