Father of Mine

"I'm coming! I'm coming! Don't hang up!" Chandler pleads as he jumps out of the shower. He wraps a towel around his waist and charges into the living room to answer the phone. Each ring sounding louder and more impatient. He leaves little puddles of water every few steps, and the steam from the hot shower he was taking starts to billow out from the open door.

If he took a moment, he would begin to overthink the consequences of his current course of action. There's a chance it could be that girl from accounting who he finally worked up the courage to ask out. Maybe she was calling to cancel at the last minute. If he let it go to the machine, she might feel uncomfortable backing out of their date tonight by leaving a message, and if so, then it would still be on. Or, what if it is her, and she needed some crucial information from him, say the address of the restaurant, and by not answering, she would never get the response she required and might not show up. Normally, the endless possibilities of how this could go wrong would have frozen him in his tracks as he went back-and-forth working out every disastrous outcome. Fortunately, he didn't do that, maybe because the phone was already on its sixth ring, or maybe because he was relaxed from the hot shower, whatever the reason, he just grabbed the receiver and answered the phone.

"Hello?" There was silence on the other line but he was sure he could hear someone breathing. "Hello, is someone there?"

"Chandler?" He stiffened up as soon as he heard the person speak his name. It was unmistakably the husky, low voice of his father. Ever since he moved into the city last year, Chandler had been avoiding both his parents, his father specifically. His goal, when striking out on his own, was to wash everything from his past away and embark on a new chapter in his life. Where he was no longer that boy with the family problems everyone knew about. The kid whose parents never showed up for anything. The teenager, perpetually embarrassed and alone. The college kid who never went home for the holidays. Now that he had his own apartment in Manhattan, he could be whoever he wanted to be, or at least, whoever Monica let him be without calling him out for acting strange. He knew for damn sure that he'd never get a girl like the one in accounting to be interested in him if she knew everything from his sordid past. "Chandler? Are you still there?"

Reluctantly, he swallows down and finds his voice. "Yeah Dad. I'm here."

"Great. How is it going son? How is life in the big city."

"It's fine." Chandler's face becomes tense and strained. "Look, Dad. I don't really have time to talk. I'm getting ready to go out. Is there something you needed?" He knew he was being cold to his father, but he didn't care. Yes, maybe brushing him off after not talking to him for over a year could be perceived as harsh, but Chandler feels he is more than justified in doing that.

"No son, I don't need anything." His father sounded very different than he had over the last few years. When he returned home after abandoning his family, his measured and almost iambic style of speech was gone. Instead, he sounded boastful, confident, and almost musical. Yet, today, none of that was there. "I just wanted to tell you I was in town."

"Oh, is there some club you're playing at this week or something?"

"No, nothing like that. Actually, you remember my friend Jack Peterson? He used to come around the house when your mother and I were still married. Anyway, he died and I'm here for the funeral." Chandler was still caught off-guard from his father's rather meek tone. The boisterous, larger than life character he had been, seemed drained of his vigor.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Dad. I'm sure you'll look lovely in black though. Now, I hate to do this, but I really have to go."

"Wait! Son, I wanted to, no; I need to see you. Can we have lunch tomorrow? I'm staying at a hotel near the Village. I just need to talk to you. I promise it won't take a long time."

Chandler became quiet, holding the receiver off against his shoulder, still dripping on his floor from the shower, and still not sure what to say. "Yeah. I guess. Fine. What hotel? " He accepted his Father's invitation before he could stop himself.

"That's great son. Look, I'm staying at The Marlton. It is..."

Chandler cuts him off. "I know where it is. Fine. Say one 'o'clock?"

"Sounds great." For the first time during the phone call, Chandler's father sounded less like Charles and more like Helena. "Chandler, thank you."

Chandler hangs up the phone before either one of them could say goodbye. He grumbles a bit and rubs his face. He is sure having lunch with his father is a mistake, but he was better at avoiding people than confronting them, even over the phone. So, now he will have to see his father. Someone he swore he would never see again.

A few hours later, Chandler finds himself already walking up the stairs to his floor, his face still affected by his brief conversation with his father, which is probably why his date bombed. As he reached the final landing and turned to go to his apartment, he saw Monica as she was just about to walk into her place across the hall. "Hey, that must have been some date. It's over and it isn't even 9:30pm."

"Yeah." Chandler's voice trailed off.

Monica turned to face him as he approached his door. "Chandler, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I'm sure the date was great."

Chandler chuckles. "No, it wasn't. But whatever. I don't even know her last name."

"Pfft. Typical." Monica flashes a smile but becomes concerned when he doesn't respond. "Hey, are you okay? You don't look so good. Are you getting sick?"

Chandler slumps his shoulders. "I'm just tired. I'm going to go to bed"

"Okay, well, maybe we can do something tomorrow."

Chandler pauses and looks at her before entering his apartment. "Oh, uh, I can't. I'm going into work. Maybe after that. We'll see."

"Oh." Monica, sensing something is amiss, walks towards him as he turned his back to her to open his door. She was about to put her hand on his shoulder, press him to talk to her, but at the last minute, she pulled away.

Chandler, not aware of how close she was to him, walks into his apartment and offers a low, "Night" and shuts the door.

Monica stands outside her door for a few minutes, looking at Chandler's apartment. She thinks again about going over and seeing what is wrong, but, knowing Chandler can be mercurial at times, and understanding that he benefits from spending time alone to brood, she decides to leave him alone for the night.

The next day, Chandler enters the hotel lobby of The Marlton apprehensively. During his walk over here, he thought about bailing on his father. He really didn't want to come here. He would have skipped out on him entirely, but he was certain that his father would say something to his mother, and eventually his mother would say something to him. Chandler didn't want to have to deal with all of that. He saw this as ripping off a Band Aid. He wanted to try and make this as quick and painless as possible.

Once he was inside, he started to look around; trying to find a statuesque, masculine woman. With his father's penchant for wigs, he knew he wouldn't be able to recognize him by his hair color or style. He scanned the room but he could only see a young couple with a child seated on a couch by the wall and an older man in a suit, with his back to the front door, seated at a high chair in front of a counter. He figured his father must be running late and went to sit down in one of the other chairs, near the counter, with a view of the elevators.

When he sat down, he looked over at the man and, from shock, had to blink his eyes a few times. It was his father. Chandler hadn't seen his father in a suit, much less in any style of men's clothes, since he was a child. It was jarring, and his father looked sad and colorless. If he hadn't already mentioned the funeral, Chandler would think his melancholy state was due to the clothes he was wearing.

He approached him slowly from behind, studying him, just to confirm that it was indeed Charles Bing. "Dad?"

Charles smiles and stands up. He reaches to hug Chandler but Chandler extends his hand to him instead. They shake hands formally, like strangers. "Son, I'm so glad you came. Come on. There's a little coffee shop right next door."

"What's with the suit?"

"Oh, this? Drab, I know. Well, it's for the funeral." His father hugs himself, looking embarrassed at the outfit.

"Oh, I figured you would go all mob-wife with a black dress and a veil."

His father chuckles. "Oh I would have. But, well, Jack and I, well, when your mother and I were still married, Jack and I had an affair, and his family never knew about him. His sister did, but no one else. So, she made me promise not to dress, well, not to be in a dress."

They exit the hotel in silence and walk out onto the street. Charles motions towards the café a few doors down and they make their way over, walking inside and going to the front counter.

Chandler scoffs as he looks over the menu that is scrawled on a chalkboard, hanging over the register. "Can you believe these prices? Why would anyone make a habit of buying coffee at one of these overpriced shops when you can get a pound of it from the grocery store for less and just make it yourself is beyond me."

His father purses his lips. "Oh, I don't know. Sometimes it is nice to be out. Sit with a friend and enjoy a cup of coffee. You can people watch. Maybe you meet a nice man. Or, in your case, a nice girl."

"Gee, thanks Dad."

Chandler orders a coffee and a scone and his father gets tea and a prepackaged salad. "I've got to watch those carbs. I don't need one of my dresses to split while I'm in the middle of 'I Will Survive'. That one is always a crowd pleaser. You should come to one of my shows. I'm in Vegas now."

"Dad. I've seen plenty of your," Chandler uses his fingers to make air quotes. "shows. I've seen enough shirtless dancing men to last me a lifetime."

His father shakes his head. "Oh no Chandler, that was just rehearsal. This is the real thing. This is Vegas."

Chandler just offers up a sarcastic. "I'm very happy for you."

They are quiet for a few minutes until Charles tries to break the tension with small talk. "So, son, have you seen your mother lately?"

"We aren't exactly that close."

Charles shakes his head. "That's a shame. I know your mother and I don't get along, but you should really try and talk to her. She probably misses you."

"Thanks, but maybe you aren't the most qualified to be doling out the family advice?" Chandler starts to become visibly upset.

"Okay, I deserve that. Look, son, I know I haven't always been there"

Chandler cuts him off. "More like you have never been there."

Charles takes in a deep breath. "Okay, maybe I deserve that too, but maybe we could try and fix that. I'm here now. I want to try and be a part of your life."

"Pass."

Charles becomes incredulous. "What?"

Chandler lets out a frustrated sigh. "Look, Dad. Don't worry about it. Okay? You don't have to try and ease your conscience. I absolve you. So now you can go out to Vegas and live your dream guilt-free."

"Son, look, this isn't about you forgiving me. I know you don't approve of my lifestyle, but I will not apologize for being who I am. It took me a long time to figure that out. I am not going to be like Jack, all bottled up. Hiding who he was all the way up until the day he died. I can't go back to being that person."

Chandler laughs. "Dad, shut up. I don't care about your lifestyle. I care that you left me when I was a kid, and if we're being honest, you weren't all that great before you left either. You were too busy having affairs and having sex; sex that I got to witness firsthand several times because you didn't know how to lock a door. You disappeared and didn't come back until you were," he pauses, looking for the right words to say, "your new self. And when you did come back you still didn't really care about me. It was all about you and your stupid costumes and your stupid dance numbers that you made me take a part in. You never asked me how I felt about any of it. Don't pretend you care now. Do you know what dancing for your dad in his drag revue after he sleeps with your teacher and shows up to your school dressed like Jayne Mansfield does to the social life of a 15-year-old? Don't get on your high horse thinking this is about you being gay. This is another dumb attempt to make yourself feel better about what a terrible father you were, and I am not helping you do that."

Chandler gets up and storms out of the café. Charles watches the door close behind him and drops his head down.

Later that evening, Chandler finally makes his way home after spending the day walking around the city. Upon hearing him in the hallway, Monica jumps out of her door. "Hey, you feeling any better?"

He smirks a bit. "Not really."

"Well, look, I have to try some new recipes from the restaurant so I can get used to how to prepare them. How about you come over, and I feed you and we can drink some wine and we can watch a movie and you can just try to forget about whatever it is that's bothering you." She puts her hand out to hold his.

He smiles and takes her hand. "Okay, that actually sounds really good. Let me just go change my clothes."

She smiles and let's go of his hand. She tilts her head a little and looks past him towards his door. "Okay. Great. I think your phone is ringing."

Chandler turns around and walks into his apartment. Before he can answer the phone, his machine picks up.

"You've reached Chandler Bing. I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message. Thanks."

"Chandler, Hi. It's Dad. Look, I would be lying if I tried to say that what you said this afternoon wasn't true. And maybe I was being selfish and I didn't think about you. But I really want to try to do that now. When I get settled in Vegas, I'll call you and leave you my number. Maybe, you can come out to see me. I'd really like to try and make it up to you. I'm sorry son, and I hope you'll call me."

Chandler looks down at the answering machine for what feels like an eternity. Never moving. Just watching the red light on the machine blink. Finally, he shakes his head, walks over to the machine and presses down on the "delete message" button.

After changing into some comfortable sweats, he walks into Monica's apartment. She is standing in the kitchen, several bowls and different kinds of foods are spread about the counter and table. "Hey, that smells good. Can I do anything to help?"

Monica, without turning around, focused on the food she is preparing in front of her, shakes her head. "No, I have to learn these and do them myself. You can just sit down. I grabbed Die Hard from the video store; I know you like that one."

Chandler makes his way to the couch and stretches out on it. "Thanks. Food, booze, my favorite movie. Are you trying to get on my good side?"

"Well, if I'm being honest, it just looked like you could use a little pick-me-up."

Chandler slowly nods. "Well, you're right. I do."

"If you want to talk about it, I'm here."

He turns to look over at her. "Thanks Mon. Really."

"So who was that on the phone? Was it the girl from the other night?"

Chandler looks down at the floor for a moment, "No, It was nobody. Nobody important."