There was not much dilatation yet, though. Well, all right.I called her. No answer. She must be in labor by then. I hailed a cab. It took me a few tries to get one. It raced me to the first traffic jam.That's where the real stress set in.Why had I come to L.A? Was it love? Was it responsibility? Or just plain curiosity? I can't tell you, really. But I can tell you one thing: I could not stay away.Irene had left two weeks before Christmas, half a year ago. They were the worst holidays ever. Kindly enough, it rained most of the time.I stayed at home.The lights, the throngs and everything that makes New York such a wonderful place during the Christmas season seemed to conspire against me. A conspiracy to hurt me. To kick me in the guts and laugh at me.I often relived the horrible goodbye we had at the airport. What on earth had made me fuck that up so gloriously? Why did I have to return all the time to the subject of the child and who the father might be? Well, the answer was easy, I. One Saturday, Jordan had been out ‘doing things - don’t ask’ I was told. When we got ready to go to bed, Jordan asked me if we could “have a glass of wine after... ?” What this was ‘after’ was left unsaid, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be disappointed. I got a bottle of wine and two glasses and went to our room but discovered that Jordan wasn’t in bed. “I’ll be out in a minute. Please sit on that straight chair” she said. I looked and saw that Jordan had brought a plain wooden chair – no upholstery and no arms – from our spare room. I took my seat and told her I was ready as I waited to see what she was up to.Surprise, wasn’t the word to use when Jordan as she came out of the bathroom. She had on a girl’s school uniform complete with pleated tartan skirt and knee high white socks. She had her thumb up to her mouth. “Um Daddy, I was kinda bad today in school” and with that she hung her head. ‘Oh, games,’ I thought to myself, ‘okay I can play along.’“What did you do? Did you do.
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