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A Phone Call
Jul. 13th, 2009 02:27 pmDorian sighs, rubbing his eyes as he stood in his office in his beach home in Los Angeles. He turns around and looked out at the sun rising over the water. It is too damned early for this, especially after the long night he’d had before his driver had brought him home and he’d passed out.
“Beth, I really don’t have the patience for this,” he snaps into the phone.
The pleasant-sounding, female voice on the other end of the line laughs. “You’ve had plenty of time,” she says, the British accent making her voice sound a little grating.
“I send you £2000 a month. That’s more than most people in the States make in a month,” he growls. “You can’t possibly need more funds.”
“No,” Beth replies. “I don’t. Your son needs his father. I want to send him to you for a year in the States.”
Dorian feels himself pale. “Have you gone daft? I can’t have a child here, Beth.”
“Why? Too busy tomcatting about? He needs his father, Dorian. One year,” she insists.
He grits his teeth. “I’ve never even seen him. What the hell am I supposed to do with a six-year-old? I haven’t even told the person I’m seeing I have a child! You’re complicating my life, Beth, and you told me that would not happen if I sent you the money.”
Beth sighs on the other end of the line. “I’ve changed my mind. Stop paying for him, if you like, but he will be on a plane to see you in a month. Teach him to ride a bicycle or play the piano or to catch a ball. I don’t care, Dorian, but be his bloody father!”
Dorian hangs his head, knowing she would send him whether he wants her to or not. “A year. A year, Beth, no more.” He could hire a governess for Christopher, he was certain. Sarah would delight in having a child in the house, but she could hardly be expected to take care of his home and a child. “Call me when you have everything arranged.”
“Thank you,” Beth murmurs. “I know we parted on poor terms, Dorian, but I’ve never spoken ill of you to him. He knows all about his father, has seen your photo in the papers. It’s unfair of you to keep away, to keep him away.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Beth,” he grinds out, just wanting to hang up. After some half-hearted farewells, Dorian hangs up.
After a moment, he shouts a string of curses in four languages before flopping back into his desk chair.
A bloody nightmare, that’s what this was.
What was he going to do with his son for a year?
And what the hell was he going to tell Ganymede?
“Beth, I really don’t have the patience for this,” he snaps into the phone.
The pleasant-sounding, female voice on the other end of the line laughs. “You’ve had plenty of time,” she says, the British accent making her voice sound a little grating.
“I send you £2000 a month. That’s more than most people in the States make in a month,” he growls. “You can’t possibly need more funds.”
“No,” Beth replies. “I don’t. Your son needs his father. I want to send him to you for a year in the States.”
Dorian feels himself pale. “Have you gone daft? I can’t have a child here, Beth.”
“Why? Too busy tomcatting about? He needs his father, Dorian. One year,” she insists.
He grits his teeth. “I’ve never even seen him. What the hell am I supposed to do with a six-year-old? I haven’t even told the person I’m seeing I have a child! You’re complicating my life, Beth, and you told me that would not happen if I sent you the money.”
Beth sighs on the other end of the line. “I’ve changed my mind. Stop paying for him, if you like, but he will be on a plane to see you in a month. Teach him to ride a bicycle or play the piano or to catch a ball. I don’t care, Dorian, but be his bloody father!”
Dorian hangs his head, knowing she would send him whether he wants her to or not. “A year. A year, Beth, no more.” He could hire a governess for Christopher, he was certain. Sarah would delight in having a child in the house, but she could hardly be expected to take care of his home and a child. “Call me when you have everything arranged.”
“Thank you,” Beth murmurs. “I know we parted on poor terms, Dorian, but I’ve never spoken ill of you to him. He knows all about his father, has seen your photo in the papers. It’s unfair of you to keep away, to keep him away.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Beth,” he grinds out, just wanting to hang up. After some half-hearted farewells, Dorian hangs up.
After a moment, he shouts a string of curses in four languages before flopping back into his desk chair.
A bloody nightmare, that’s what this was.
What was he going to do with his son for a year?
And what the hell was he going to tell Ganymede?
