Chapter 3
Jeff Tracy rubbed his hands through his thick, but graying hair. It was a worrying time, though he tried to hide it from his sons. Tracy Industries was going well, well enough for rumors of a hostile takeover to be flying around the financial world. It was going to take a lot of wheeling and dealing to save his company, and it was going to take time. Time away from his family.
With three of the boys out in the world it was easier and harder. Scott and Virgil had naturally followed in his footsteps and both were top notch fliers and in the astronaut program. John had gone more into astrophysics and astronomy, but had also joined his brothers in the Air Force. Soon, it would be Gordon's turn and then Alan.
Then again, Jeff wasn't so sure about Gordon these days. People had been warning him for years about the perils of raising teen-age boys. Jeff had little or no trouble with Scott, Virgil, or John. Well, actually John had gone through a shaggy stage when he let his hair grow long and tried to grow a beard. The wispy blond hairs that grew sparsely on his face was such a disappointment that he gave up. John's hair when long also manifested a tendency to curl in waves that most women would kill to have, so that ended John's brief rebellion.
Gordon was making up for his brothers. The sweet, enthusiastic young man who won a gold medal in the Olympics was replaced by a surly bear who complained loudly or sulked silently. Jeff supposed it had to do with hormones or something. Gordon's swimming coach had once said that Gordon had enough adrenaline to run a train. He was like one of those little wind up toys that bounced all over the table and then fell over exhausted. The night that Gordon had won his gold medal they had a family party. Gordon had fallen asleep in the middle of it and didn't even wake up when his father put him to bed. It was probably the last time Jeff would carry one of his boys or tuck them in. His back couldn't take it.
If it was hormones then why wasn't he out dating pretty girls instead of hobnobbing with the likes of Judge Jones daughter. You'd think the daughter of a judge would be staid and steady, but she was anything but. She dressed like a bag lady and attracted trouble, along with his son, like a magnet. They were notorious at school for their pranks and practical jokes. Put them in the chem lab and a cloud of noxious smoke would clear out the school. Large objects like pianos and hen houses showed up on the roof of the gym. Chalk was fixed with sound generators to make a supersonic screech that caused every dog within a mile to howl in dismay, and gave the assistant principal chronic ulcers. Mind you she was polite enough when she came around and called him Mr.T which for some reason made Gordon and her break into giggles. It must have something to do with the old films the two were constantly watching.
The loud slam of the front door heralded the entrance of the young man himself. There was no cheery voice or greeting. Just the thump of a backpack on the floor and then the unmistakable sound of the refrigerator door opening.
Jeff grinned. Now that was something all his boys had in common. Good healthy appetites. He walked into the kitchen to see Gordon staring into the refrigerator. This was also typical. How many fridge light bulbs had burnt out in the last ten years? He couldn't remember. He waited for the typical line. Gordon didn't disappoint him.
"There's nothing to eat."
"Good afternoon, Gordon. Nice to see you home. There's plenty to eat. Make yourself a sandwich." Jeff said.
Gordon bristled. Not home two minutes and Father has to start with the manners lecture. He was always telling him to do things.
"Do you have much homework?"
"Some." He had a pile. He shook the milk carton. There was only about an inch left in it, Alan had gotten home first. He put the carton to his lips to kill the last of the milk, it was the only humane thing to do."
"Gordon! Use a glass!" Jeff said sternly.
"There was only a little in the carton, I was going to throw it out." Gordon swiped at the milk decorating his upper lip.
"You are not an uncivilized being. Use a glass." Jeff found himself lecturing and then stopped as his son turned a blank gaze on him. Gordon picked out a glass from the cupboard tipped the last few drops from the carton into it and drained it.
"Better, sir?" The tone was acidic and fringing on the insolent.
"You better get to your homework." Jeff sighed. This wasn't going well.
"I'm going out tonight. Em and I are going to watch some movies at the Youth Center."
"Gordon, I really wish..." Jeff began and then shut his mouth. "Don't be out too late."
"Em's father doesn't bug her." Gordon muttered as he went up the stairs to his room. "Lucky Em."
"Mummy? Dad? I'm home." Em put her backpack carefully on the hook in the kitchen. Dad went ballistic if the front of the house was less than pristine. She eyed the door to her Dad's office. It was closed, so that meant he was home, but didn't want to talk to anyone. Well, if she wanted to go out tonight that meant bearding the lion in his den. She tapped on the door and not waiting for an answer entered.
"Dad."
Her father was engrossed in a pile of papers on his desk. He gave her a brief glance and returned to them.
"I'm going out tonight." she began, hoping some of this would get through to him. "Since Charlotte is here, she can be with Mummy."
"Very well. Now, leave me alone. You know I'm busy."
Em took a breath of relief when she closed the study door. That went well. Maybe having her sister Charlotte here would work out after all.
She then went up the stair to the third floor where her mother was. She was greeted sourly by Miss Angel, the day nurse.
"You're late."
"No, Miss Angel. I'm not late. I'm on time."
"Don't you get sassy with me Maartha." She smiled at the wince she got out of the teenager. She hated being called Martha and especially hated the whiny way that her family and the nurse used it. "Your father the judge can't afford to lose me. I could quit"
"What and miss out on this cushy job, where you can sit and watch all your soaps and do as little as possible? I don't think so."
"Maarrtha? Is that you? Come and see what I've done today." Her mother's soft voice interrupted the usual argument.
"You'll see someday!" Was Miss Angel's parting shot.
"And I'll get you and your little dog too." Em mocked at her back, sounding like the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz.
Martha Jones looked at her mother who sat in a fluffy dressing gown. The room was dark, as usual, the blinds almost closed and the drapes pulled to tightly. He mother had always been so beautiful. Until the accident 4 years ago. Her mother had been driving and had hit another car killing everyone. She herself had only a concussion, but later they had found that there had been brain damage. The sophisticated beautiful wife of successful Judge Malachi Jones became a bed-ridden nervous woman who had fits of depression, bought of mania, and an increasingly more and more difficult childish behavior.
Em opened the curtains despite her mother's mews of protest. If only her father cared enough, maybe mummy wouldn't be so bad. As it was, despite the day nurse, most of her mother's care fell on to her shoulders. Something she was finding harder and harder to bear. Her father grudgingly sat with her mother on her nights out, few as they were. Em admired the fine piece of needlework that her mother was working on. Tomorrow her mother could tear it to shreds with her fingers or forget about it completely.
Then there was Charlotte now, to contend with. Charlotte had been sent to stay with her aunt right after her mother had her first fit. Charlotte had become so hysterical that it was impossible for her to be at home, or so Dad had said. Now, she was brought back to help with her mother's care. Something Charlotte didn't want and she made that clear to her sister, though she had not dared to go against their father - yet.
The atmosphere in the Jones house was dark and oppressing. She wished that she had a father like Gordon's. He at least was interested in his son's school work and talked to him. Lucky Gordo.
Jeff Tracy rubbed his hands through his thick, but graying hair. It was a worrying time, though he tried to hide it from his sons. Tracy Industries was going well, well enough for rumors of a hostile takeover to be flying around the financial world. It was going to take a lot of wheeling and dealing to save his company, and it was going to take time. Time away from his family.
With three of the boys out in the world it was easier and harder. Scott and Virgil had naturally followed in his footsteps and both were top notch fliers and in the astronaut program. John had gone more into astrophysics and astronomy, but had also joined his brothers in the Air Force. Soon, it would be Gordon's turn and then Alan.
Then again, Jeff wasn't so sure about Gordon these days. People had been warning him for years about the perils of raising teen-age boys. Jeff had little or no trouble with Scott, Virgil, or John. Well, actually John had gone through a shaggy stage when he let his hair grow long and tried to grow a beard. The wispy blond hairs that grew sparsely on his face was such a disappointment that he gave up. John's hair when long also manifested a tendency to curl in waves that most women would kill to have, so that ended John's brief rebellion.
Gordon was making up for his brothers. The sweet, enthusiastic young man who won a gold medal in the Olympics was replaced by a surly bear who complained loudly or sulked silently. Jeff supposed it had to do with hormones or something. Gordon's swimming coach had once said that Gordon had enough adrenaline to run a train. He was like one of those little wind up toys that bounced all over the table and then fell over exhausted. The night that Gordon had won his gold medal they had a family party. Gordon had fallen asleep in the middle of it and didn't even wake up when his father put him to bed. It was probably the last time Jeff would carry one of his boys or tuck them in. His back couldn't take it.
If it was hormones then why wasn't he out dating pretty girls instead of hobnobbing with the likes of Judge Jones daughter. You'd think the daughter of a judge would be staid and steady, but she was anything but. She dressed like a bag lady and attracted trouble, along with his son, like a magnet. They were notorious at school for their pranks and practical jokes. Put them in the chem lab and a cloud of noxious smoke would clear out the school. Large objects like pianos and hen houses showed up on the roof of the gym. Chalk was fixed with sound generators to make a supersonic screech that caused every dog within a mile to howl in dismay, and gave the assistant principal chronic ulcers. Mind you she was polite enough when she came around and called him Mr.T which for some reason made Gordon and her break into giggles. It must have something to do with the old films the two were constantly watching.
The loud slam of the front door heralded the entrance of the young man himself. There was no cheery voice or greeting. Just the thump of a backpack on the floor and then the unmistakable sound of the refrigerator door opening.
Jeff grinned. Now that was something all his boys had in common. Good healthy appetites. He walked into the kitchen to see Gordon staring into the refrigerator. This was also typical. How many fridge light bulbs had burnt out in the last ten years? He couldn't remember. He waited for the typical line. Gordon didn't disappoint him.
"There's nothing to eat."
"Good afternoon, Gordon. Nice to see you home. There's plenty to eat. Make yourself a sandwich." Jeff said.
Gordon bristled. Not home two minutes and Father has to start with the manners lecture. He was always telling him to do things.
"Do you have much homework?"
"Some." He had a pile. He shook the milk carton. There was only about an inch left in it, Alan had gotten home first. He put the carton to his lips to kill the last of the milk, it was the only humane thing to do."
"Gordon! Use a glass!" Jeff said sternly.
"There was only a little in the carton, I was going to throw it out." Gordon swiped at the milk decorating his upper lip.
"You are not an uncivilized being. Use a glass." Jeff found himself lecturing and then stopped as his son turned a blank gaze on him. Gordon picked out a glass from the cupboard tipped the last few drops from the carton into it and drained it.
"Better, sir?" The tone was acidic and fringing on the insolent.
"You better get to your homework." Jeff sighed. This wasn't going well.
"I'm going out tonight. Em and I are going to watch some movies at the Youth Center."
"Gordon, I really wish..." Jeff began and then shut his mouth. "Don't be out too late."
"Em's father doesn't bug her." Gordon muttered as he went up the stairs to his room. "Lucky Em."
"Mummy? Dad? I'm home." Em put her backpack carefully on the hook in the kitchen. Dad went ballistic if the front of the house was less than pristine. She eyed the door to her Dad's office. It was closed, so that meant he was home, but didn't want to talk to anyone. Well, if she wanted to go out tonight that meant bearding the lion in his den. She tapped on the door and not waiting for an answer entered.
"Dad."
Her father was engrossed in a pile of papers on his desk. He gave her a brief glance and returned to them.
"I'm going out tonight." she began, hoping some of this would get through to him. "Since Charlotte is here, she can be with Mummy."
"Very well. Now, leave me alone. You know I'm busy."
Em took a breath of relief when she closed the study door. That went well. Maybe having her sister Charlotte here would work out after all.
She then went up the stair to the third floor where her mother was. She was greeted sourly by Miss Angel, the day nurse.
"You're late."
"No, Miss Angel. I'm not late. I'm on time."
"Don't you get sassy with me Maartha." She smiled at the wince she got out of the teenager. She hated being called Martha and especially hated the whiny way that her family and the nurse used it. "Your father the judge can't afford to lose me. I could quit"
"What and miss out on this cushy job, where you can sit and watch all your soaps and do as little as possible? I don't think so."
"Maarrtha? Is that you? Come and see what I've done today." Her mother's soft voice interrupted the usual argument.
"You'll see someday!" Was Miss Angel's parting shot.
"And I'll get you and your little dog too." Em mocked at her back, sounding like the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz.
Martha Jones looked at her mother who sat in a fluffy dressing gown. The room was dark, as usual, the blinds almost closed and the drapes pulled to tightly. He mother had always been so beautiful. Until the accident 4 years ago. Her mother had been driving and had hit another car killing everyone. She herself had only a concussion, but later they had found that there had been brain damage. The sophisticated beautiful wife of successful Judge Malachi Jones became a bed-ridden nervous woman who had fits of depression, bought of mania, and an increasingly more and more difficult childish behavior.
Em opened the curtains despite her mother's mews of protest. If only her father cared enough, maybe mummy wouldn't be so bad. As it was, despite the day nurse, most of her mother's care fell on to her shoulders. Something she was finding harder and harder to bear. Her father grudgingly sat with her mother on her nights out, few as they were. Em admired the fine piece of needlework that her mother was working on. Tomorrow her mother could tear it to shreds with her fingers or forget about it completely.
Then there was Charlotte now, to contend with. Charlotte had been sent to stay with her aunt right after her mother had her first fit. Charlotte had become so hysterical that it was impossible for her to be at home, or so Dad had said. Now, she was brought back to help with her mother's care. Something Charlotte didn't want and she made that clear to her sister, though she had not dared to go against their father - yet.
The atmosphere in the Jones house was dark and oppressing. She wished that she had a father like Gordon's. He at least was interested in his son's school work and talked to him. Lucky Gordo.