Once Upon a Time in London

Amy sobbed out loud.

"Wait...I'm gonna call him this morning and tell him to put everything on hold for the time being."

"Ok." She answered in a chocking sob.

There was silence for a long time. Amy crying and me silently mourning for everything we'd lost.

"Does your mother know?"

"Not about the pregnancy but the rest...yeah...had to...I needed a shoulder to cry on. She's one of the most forgiving people I know. Said you made a mistake and that I should forgive you. Right now, I can't. I'm too torn up inside..."

My voice trailed off.

"I understand..." she said in a tear laden voice.

We went to see my mother and the scene was like something out of a Hallmark movie. While she was very angry with Amy, she was more than willing to help. She took Amy in her arms and hugged her tenderly while my wife sobbed her heart out. I had tears in my eyes too.

However, there was another VIP that I had to visit before I left, my Uncle Lou. I called my uncle and asked if I could come and see him on a private matter. Right away he knew what I meant. He was my mother's brother and was a father figure to my sister and I after our dad passed away. He always treated us as if we were his very own. His generosity allowed me to attend university and law school.

Lou Graselli was a man who knew how to get things done, who knew important people. We never questioned how or why and instinctively we realized that it was better left alone. He had a small office close to the Italian Market in South Philadelphia above a well-known restaurant. When I was a kid, I enjoyed going to visit him mainly because it smelled so good. There was no sign on the door, so unless you knew it was there, you didn't have an inkling as to its existence.

Uncle Lou was an affable and charming man who commanded respect. Although loved by those who knew him well, he was feared by his enemies. One time I asked him why he took such loving care of me, my mother and sister.

"Mikey, we are blood and blood takes care of blood. If the situation were different, you'd do the same for me. Your father, God rest his soul, was a good man, a fine man. He always treated me as though I was his brother, not a brother-in-law. He would insist that we were family, a close family, and no matter what, family stays together. I never, ever forgot that!"

"Sure Mikey, say tomorrow morning at eight thirty? Capiche?"

"I'll be there and, thanks Uncle Lou."

Early the next morning, I went to see my uncle.

"Mikey, hey kid, give yer old Uncle Lou a hug!"

Now at the ripe old age of thirty-eight, I was hardly a kid but to someone of my uncle's generation, I'd always be a kid. For a man in his late sixties, my uncle looked extremely healthy, practically crushing me in his arms, very impressive to say the least.

"You're not old Uncle Lou, you look great!"

"Gotta take care of yourself Mikey. It's the only body the good lord gave you."

Something smelled delicious and I spied two covered metal chafing dishes.

"Hungry kid? Its Veal Scallopini, Angel Hair pasta and Broccoli Rabe."

"Sure, I'll take some."

Even though it was a little past eight thirty am, one did not refuse my uncle's hospitality. We ate and drank some potent homemade wine as I made mundane small talk. I learned a long time ago that Uncle Lou did not discuss business until after the meal.

"So, what's on your mind?"

"First, where did you get veal at this hour?"

My uncle chuckled quietly.

"Luciano's. Dom's wife is a culinary artist. Good huh?"

"Absolutely delicious!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now, what brings you to South Philly?"

I told my uncle about Amy and Derek. The whole truth and every sordid detail. But the pregnancy part really seemed to bother him. He's not easily shocked, but I could tell that my story got to him. He kept shaking his head.

"Sorry Mikey never would have suspected Amy."

My uncle always had a soft spot for Amy and the feeling was mutual.

"I had my suspicions and then I received this."

I pulled out the damning packet from my briefcase and handed it to Uncle Lou.

"That's a copy and I prefer that you look at it after I leave."

"Sure Mikey, I understand. Tell me about this Derek character."

To the best of my ability, I described Derek, his career, his upcoming divorce, and my hatred for him.

"Why Amy? He could have gotten any good backup singer in London. I know when he saw her that night his eyes lit up and my gut tells me it was all a ruse, just so he could fuck her. I wish I could get my hands on him but, I don't know how?"

My uncle had a serious expression on his face, he was thinking, and I kept quiet.

"I guess you want to know why Amy, why her and then well..."

The silence was almost deafening as my uncle sat very still, his tented fingers in front of his face.

"I want him to suffer Uncle Lou for what he's done to me, my marriage, my kids, our lives are a mess because of this."

My uncle when prodded could be a very dangerous man, especially when it came to family.

"Ok kid, let me take it from here. I don't want you to get your hands dirty. You're a good, clean-cut, respectable guy and I want you to stay that way. I'll have someone pay this Derek a visit. Capiche?"

We drank some more wine as the atmosphere turned more cordial. I gave my uncle any last-minute details I could think of and when he rose from his chair, I knew it was time to leave.

"Hey, kid, don't be a stranger, ok?"

I simply nodded as he gave me another bone crushing hug.

A couple of months later at work, I received a small envelope with an external hard drive inside. No return address, no means of identifying who it was from. I closed my office door and plugged it into my private laptop and waited. The sound quality was excellent but no video. It sounded like a reporter interviewing someone, then I recognized Derek's voice.

The line of questioning was standard, and I was wondering why someone would take the trouble to send this to me when the interviewers voice subtly changed. It had more of an icy or menacing tone.

"The backup singer on your last LP, did you know her very well?"

"Oh, Amy, yeah, great girl and just between us one helluva piece of ass. Get my drift? Ah, that's off the record, ok?"

"So, you had a, shall we say, a fling with her?"

"Oh yeah, I had more fuckin' and suckin' than I could handle. Her stupid husband would have never found out except my soon to be ex had a PI on my tail. Excuse me but what magazine did you say you were from?"

"National Enquirer."

"That rag, I would never have consented to..."

It sounded like they were in a hotel room judging by the acoustics.

"Just a few more questions..."

There was the distinct sound of a knock on a door.

"Who the hell can that be at this hour?"

"Oh, I have a photographer coming to take some pictures. I hope you don't mind..."

"Nah, man, it's cool. I'll have to change quick..."

"I have a few more questions."

I heard a door opening and someone or maybe two people entering the room.

"Is it true that you asked Amy to sing backup on your record just so you could fuck her?"

The interviewer's voice was deadly cold.

"Whoa...what kind of question is that? All I said was that she was good piece of ass. Hey, wait a minute...take yer hands off me."

"What is your opinion of Mike Fanelli, her husband? And be truthful or we'll beat the truth out of you."

"Mike's a nice guy..."

Before he could say anymore, a loud slap could be heard plain as day, then another, then a third. I could hear someone groaning and it was clearly Derek.

"I'm gonna have you bums arrested for assault...oof!"

"I don't think so. Now, Mike Fanelli?"

"That asshole, I'm glad I fucked his wife senseless..."

There were several thuds as Derek cried out in pain.

"Hmm...good, now we're getting to the truth."

Derek was groaning loudly.

"So, the only reason you asked Amy to sing backup was strictly so you could fuck her, she was just a piece of ass?" Yes?"

"Yesss." It came out as a gasping breath.

"And you could give a rat's ass about her husband Mike?"

Apparently, Derek didn't answer fast enough because he sharply cried out in pain.

"Yesss."

"And you have no remorse for your actions?"

"I do now..." Derek was crying.

"That doesn't sound like the truth, does it boys?"

No one said a word, only Derek breathing heavily and sobbing.

"I'll repeat..."

"No, at the time no I didn't. Please stop. I've got lots of money. Name your price, fifty g's, a hundred g's? Tell me its..."

The sound of punching was very clear as Derek shrieked in pain.

"There is no price Mr. Hough. That's insulting. By the time we're finished with you, you'll wish you'd never been born. Ok, gag him."

They worked Derek over for a good five minutes, the sounds were distinctly there.

"Ok, throw some water on him, wake him up."

Then it continued for another five minutes.

"This guy is a real weeny, he keeps passing out. Ok, more water."

Then finally it came to a halt after another few minutes.

"Leave him on the floor. Take everything and let's blow."

The last sound I heard was a door closing.

Instantly, a picture came on the screen. There was Derek lying on his back, face a bloody mess, probably beaten to a pulp. There were pics from several angles, but my favorite was the one with a small sign over his crotch that read: "This is what happens to men who fuck with other men's wives."

For the next few days, I looked for any news item about Derek. Then, on Yahoo an interesting piece about his admission to the hospital. It said he'd been mugged and severely beaten. The rest of his current tour was cancelled. Not much else except the police were looking for the assailants.

Maybe his career was over, and to this day, he's never staged a comeback. Through the grapevine, I heard that his voice was now a raspy croak, much like Joe Cocker's at the end of his career. Sometimes, paybacks a bitch!

About a month after I was in Jacksonville, Amy called me at my office. We were civil toward each other and chatted informally for a few moments but there was an undercurrent of excitement in her voice.

"Mike, I wanted to talk to you about something that I remembered. Please bear with me. In all the excitement of going to London, I completely forgot that we made love, or had sex the night before I left. I don't know why it took me so long to remember but I'm almost one hundred percent positive. Don't you recall? There's a definite possibility that this child could be yours."

I stood up at my desk and nearly had a panic attack as the recollection of that night finally opened in my mind. Slowly it came back as I was hesitant to have sex with her, but we made love several times that night because it would be some time before we'd see each other. It wasn't the best sex, slow, gentle, and needy. But it was still hazy in my memory, did it really happen?

"Oh my god, Amy...I guess I do but I can't completely remember."

"When are you coming back to visit the girls?"

"Next Saturday."

"Can we at least talk? Several factors point to my getting pregnant before I went to London. I can explain better in person."

After I hung up the phone, a feeling of hope pervaded my spirit. Could the child be mine? And if it is, I've wasted time not being there for Amy. But don't get ahead of yourself, I thought, the baby could very well be Derek's. I spent the week in cautious optimism.

That Saturday, Amy and I met briefly. Apparently during the initial ultrasound, the fetus development was closer to when Amy and I had sex. Also, the caveat existed that it could be Derek's, but she swore they didn't have unprotected sex until sometime during her third week in London when they ran out of condoms. Was she certain? She was very sure but...did I believe her? Only time would tell.

Life in Jacksonville was lonely. I mostly ate, slept, and worked. Despite the cost, I decided to fly home every weekend to spend time with my girls. I was coming home for Christmas, when the girls confronted me with news that wasn't a surprise.

"Dad, mom told us she's pregnant. Did you know?" Emma asked me.

"Yes, I did."

The next question shocked me.

"Is it yours?" Melissa asked.

Better to answer a question with a question.

"What did mom say?"

"She refused to answer when Emma asked her if it was that guy Derek's. We're not stupid dad. Since she came home from London, nothing is normal."

"Look at it this was way, you're going to have a little brother or sister, ok?"

That's where I left it.

Christmas was a sad affair with the family split apart. Amy had the girls Christmas Day, and I would have them the 26th. When I went over to pick them up, they weren't ready, and Amy asked if she could talk for a minute. She was wearing yoga pants and showing in the belly department. Although I understood it could be mine, it disgusted me to see her like that.

"Mike, I received a check from Derek's promotion company. I wanted to know what I should do with it?"

Amy showed me the amount and it was low five figures. It irked the hell out of me. It said for services rendered. Yeah, payment for all the sex she had with jerk off. Isn't that how sluts earn their living? I thought cynically.

"Put it in a college fund for Emma and Melissa."

"Ok, that's a great idea, thanks."

She could tell I was extra grumpy.

"Are you alright? You look very angry."

I should have kept my mouth shut but I just could not.

"Amy, since we both know he only asked you to sing so he could fuck you, is that a check for slut services rendered?"

The look of disgust on my wife's face could have stopped traffic.

"I worked for that money, the studio singing, the concerts. I worked my butt off for it!" she stated emphatically.

"Oh yeah, you worked your butt off all right, mostly nights. But you keep telling yourself that fairy tale, it should make you feel better." I said scathingly.

Amy was furious and walked away in a huff.

I spent Christmas vacation in Philadelphia and was with my daughters as much as possible. I tried to plan as many fun activities as I could and as one can imagine, time flew by. On the flight back to Jacksonville, I felt downright morose.

Since our little tete a tete about her check for "slut services rendered," Amy and I were barely on speaking terms. I kept up with pregnancy news via my mother who went to all her appointments. According to mom, everything was progressing normally and on schedule.

Amy's parents retired to Florida about ten years ago when her father made a small fortune in the dot com craze. When that ended, he invested heavily and wanted the warmer weather for his arthritis. Too bad, at a time like this they would have been a big help, but I wondered if she even told them she was pregnant.

By mid-January it was obvious that my assignment in Jacksonville would be extended past the year mark. While I liked the challenges, I missed my daughters and the Philly scene, especially the sports. I avoided dating and realized I was still married. I had every intention of calling Bob Simon to get the divorce ball rolling but always came up with an excuse not to.

Slowly, Amy's frosty attitude toward me thawed. My wife was an intelligent woman, and I was hoping that my mean-spirited remarks about her check for "slut services rendered" had sunk in. She was entering her third trimester. The girls sent me group photos with Amy in them, she looked like a whale.

Between work and traveling every weekend, I was approaching burn out. Because I was putting in ten and twelve-hour days, there wasn't much downtime in the evenings. Life was a hectic mess. I needed someone to talk to, a professional. Through my work resource, I found a therapist. Dr Sheldon Hunter was only two blocks from the office, and I could take a long lunch for appointments.

The first two visits were filled with background info about me, Amy, and the post London disaster. He'd listen attentively, at least I thought so, but he had little to offer. The man was so droll, I wondered if he was alive or a robot. The benefit to me was rehashing the entire debacle and it had a way of helping me to see the situation more clearly. So, I guess inadvertently, Dr Hunter was therapeutic after all. At the end of our third session, I thanked him for his time, and said I would no longer require his services. He seemed shocked by that, but I don't think the man uttered more than a half dozen sentences, including hello and goodbye the entire time.

While I was in Jacksonville, Amy's due date approached. My dear mother made sure I was in the loop and when Amy's water broke, she rushed to the hospital with her. A few hours later, a seven-pound ten-ounce healthy baby girl was born. Instead of being overjoyed, I was filled with doubt. It should have been a joyous occasion but instead, the fear that it was Derek's consumed me. I called the hospital later that day.

"Hi Amy. I guess congratulations are in order. I'm coming home tomorrow, so I can take the DNA test."

I could tell she was crying.

"Amy? Are you there?"

"Michael, it's your mother. She's too upset to talk right now."

"Ok, tell her I'll see her tomorrow."

"Yes son. Have a safe flight."

Before I went to the hospital, I stopped at the doctor's office to take the DNA test. A simple cheek swab and it was done. But fear thundered in my heart because if the baby was Derek's, it was the end of us. I would never willingly raise another man's child, especially his, as my own.

When I entered the room, Amy gave a wan little smile.

"Hey, how ya holdin' up?" I asked.

"Ok for now."

I made no move to hug or kiss or congratulate my wife and I'm positive that it bothered her.

"They're bringing her in a few minutes to feed."

"Have you thought of a name?"

"I really like Larissa."

"What's special about that?"

"Do you remember my roommate in freshman year of university? She died from leukemia, and I always wanted to honor her memory in some way."

I neither gave my consent nor objection but I did recall the girl. A sweetheart who died too young.

The nurse brought the little girl in as Amy lowered her gown to expose her breast. The baby latched on to the nipple right away.

"Mike, I know this should have been a happy occasion but, I...I'm sorry. I've had plenty of time to think about all that has gone down and well...I regret it so much. I've wronged you horribly and I feel nothing but shame for my actions. You were so right about him, but I was just too blinded by the experience to see it clearly."

"Amy, that's enough. Right now, take care of the baby. We'll talk later. My mother will help you, as much as you need her."

With that I walked out of the room and to the nearest tavern. I drank bourbon until I couldn't see straight. Drunk as a skunk, I was. The bartender called me a taxi and I don't remember the ride home. I had one hell of a hangover the next day. Emma and Melissa called, and I explained my predicament. They told me they were going to the hospital to pick up Amy and the baby to bring them home. My spirits plummeted again. Hair of the dog, I reasoned and reached for a bottle of Blanton's. I needed Sunday to sober up and get my head straight for the return to Jacksonville. My flight wasn't until 9pm so I went to the gym to work out and sweat out the booze. It helped tremendously but that awful nagging feeling that my life was going to get a whole lot worse kept intruding.

Lucky for me, work kept me too busy to think about the sorry situation in my life. I decided not to return to Philadelphia the next weekend. The girls were busy with their mother, the new arrival, and I didn't want any part of that scene. Time seemed to just float along like a boat on a calm stream. I'd been working nonstop for two weeks when I got the call.