Working Class Hero

"What's the matter?" William sneered. "Think you're not man enough to keep her from your betters?"

"My betters?" Johnny laughed mirthlessly. "I'm going to forget you said that. The day you're a better man than me will be the day when pigs fly. Ain't happening. But let's forget about that and get down to business. Let me ask you a question. How long have you lived in this city, Mister Broadacres?"

"About a year," William said. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Just answer my questions and I'll enlighten you," Johnny said as he began pacing the floor in front of William's desk. "How long do you think I've lived here? How long do you think my family's been in this city?"

"How am I supposed to know that," William said. "Look, I have things to do and I don't have time for this pointless inquisition."

"For your information, Mister Broadacres, I've lived here all of my life," Johnny said, ignoring William's impatient outburst. "I was born and raised here and I've never lived anywhere else. My great-grandfather came here in 1887 with the railroad, which means that the McMullens have been in this city for five generations, counting my kids. We helped build this place. Now, do you know what that means for you?"

"I haven't the foggiest," William said.

"It means that I'm the insider, the hometown boy, the working class hero, and you, sir, are an outsider," Johnny said. "This place is pretty clannish. We're generally welcoming of newcomers, but you have to prove yourself, and there is a -- how should I put it? -- a probationary period. We're awfully protective of our own, and we don't take kindly to outsiders coming in and trying to steal our women."

"That's not my problem, bud," William said. "And I still don't see how that gives you any call to make me resign. I'm just getting started here. And as to 'stealing your woman,' as you put it, I'd say may the best man win."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Mister Broadacres," Johnny hissed after he'd casually strolled behind the desk and leaned over real close to William's ear. "The game ends now. And here's why. It all has to do with baseball, Little League baseball to be exact. When I was 9-years-old, I started playing ball, and I was put at shortstop by my coach, who put his son at second base. We quickly became a team, and when we were 10, we were on the same team again, and we won the city championship, made all-stars and got as far as the state finals. Later, I was paired with that same kid in high school. We played together for both our junior and senior seasons, and we won state our senior year. Now, I don't know how much you know about baseball, but they call the shortstop and second baseman the keystone combination, because it's the heart of a team's defense. The second baseman and shortstop have to work together like a well-oiled machine, and you have to have each other's back on every play. That second baseman became my best friend in high school, and we're still close to this day."

"What in the hell does that have to do with me?" William said. "What does that shaggy dog story have to do with anything pertinent."

"Oh, but it is entirely pertinent, Mister Broadacres," Johnny said. "Who do you think that coach was, back when we were 9 and 10-years-old, the one who teamed me with his son?"

"I can't imagine who," William said, perplexed. Johnny just smiled evilly, because he knew he had Broadacres right where he wanted him.

"The coach was Richard Bradberry and the second baseman was Randall Bradberry," Johnny said.

William sat back in his chair, stunned at the revelation that his boss was a lifelong friend of Johnny McMullen and that the founder of the firm had been their coach.

"You see, Mister Broadacres, we take care of each other here," Johnny said. "Now, you are going to submit your resignation and you're going to leave town. Immediately. If you do, you may actually practice law again somewhere else. If you don't, I'll make it my business to ruin you, and I can do it with two phone calls. You may think I'm just a dumb factory worker, but I'm president of Machinists Local 474, which is the largest union in this part of the state. I'm surprised you didn't know that. That means that politicians at every level try to curry favor with me. I'm a political ally of the mayor -- it also helps that we went to school together -- and I'm on a first-name basis with every other political figure that matters in this area. You've already messed with me more than most folks around here would tolerate, but I'm going to let it slide -- for now. Your resignation, Mister Broadacres, and this all goes away. You pick up and move on, and life returns to normal. Balk, and I promise you won't like your life from here on out. Do we understand each other?"

William Broadacres knew when he was beaten. Delectable as she was, Patricia McMullen wasn't worth sacrificing his career or his life over. He had clearly underestimated Johnny McMullen, and there was no getting around him.

William had no doubt that a union man in McMullen's position could bring resources to bear that he was unable to cope with. Not only could political influence be used against him, but there was also the implied threat of more unsavory characters that he believed McMullen could call on.

Moreover, William didn't like his chances in a physical confrontation with the man. Sure, he had a significant size advantage and he worked out to stay in good shape.

But he had been sizing up McMullen as he stood confidently in front of the desk, or when he was pacing the floor like a panther on the prowl, and he didn't like what he saw. He could see that McMullen had broad shoulders and powerful hands, and there didn't appear to be an ounce of fat on him.

No, as badly as he wanted Patricia McMullen for himself, he was smart enough to realize that the game was over. Galling as it was to admit defeat, it was time to cut his losses and move on to the next encounter, wherever that might be.

He just nodded his head, Johnny nodded his head, then Johnny turned on his heel and strode out of William's office. He didn't look back.

Johnny saw Randall Bradberry chatting with Patricia, and they were both surprised to see him emerge from William's office. Patricia had a look of concern on her face, but she trusted her husband to do what was right.

She'd been a little concerned when she'd awakened to find Johnny already showered, dressed and gone. Usually when he worked swing shift, he slept in, and after last night she expected to find him zonked.

"Hey man," Randall said as he gave Johnny a hug and a hearty handshake. "Everything OK?"

"Well, yes and no," Johnny said. "As far as that matter we discussed last week, it's all good, but I'm afraid you're about to be short an attorney again."

"I take it he's quitting?" Randall said.

Johnny gave his wife an even look as he nodded his head.

"I guess we'll manage," Randall said with a shrug. "It'll save me the trouble of firing him. I was never taken with him in the first place, but Dad liked him. But then Dad never met anyone he didn't like."

"True; your dad was great that way," Johnny said. "Look, can I have a word with Patricia for a moment? I won't keep her long."

"Sure," Randall said. "I think I can spare her for a minute or two. Glad everything worked out. You two are awfully important to me and I'd hate to see anything happen to you. Call me if you need anything."

Johnny guided Patricia to the break room and closed the door. Then he gathered his wife in a tight embrace and just held her as the emotions washed over him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered tearfully.

"That's the last time I want to hear an apology over this," Johnny said, lifting his wife's chin off her chest so he could look her in the eyes. "I love you and it's behind us. Like I said last night, I'm disappointed that it got as far as it did, but I'm glad you came to your senses in time. And maybe we can start looking into buying a bigger house. You know we've got the money in savings for a nice down payment, and I think we can afford to take on another reasonable note."

"Sweetheart, you don't have to ..." Patricia began, but Johnny silenced her.

"Shhhhh," Johnny said. "Patricia, my main goal in life has always been to make you happy. If you aren't happy in a small house then let's change that. It's about time we got someplace better anyway. We can afford it, and if it makes you happy, we'll do it. We can even keep our current house as a rental property."

"Oh, Johnny, maybe I don't deserve you, but I love you so much," Patricia said. "You are the best."

After returning Patricia to her desk, he happened to catch sight of one of the other secretaries, a good friend of his wife's who gave him a nod and a wink. Johnny winked back at her and walked out of the office smiling.

It sure was nice to have friends in strategic places, he thought with a chuckle.

^ ^ ^ ^

Patricia McMullen sat at the table that dominated the small den in their house, much as she had a few weeks earlier. Only this time, she was feeling buoyant, rather than morose, as she had been that particular day.

She was waiting for Johnny to come home in a few minutes so she could give him the news that she was pregnant.

She hadn't been feeling well for several weeks, and when she missed her period for the second straight month, she knew. She'd bought a home pregnancy kit the day before, just to be certain, and taken a half-day off that day so she could do the test while she was alone.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of Johnny's pickup truck pulling into the drive, and her stomach did somersaults. She wasn't entirely certain how he'd react to the news that they were going to be new parents again, so late in life, but she knew they'd deal with it the same way they had dealt with everything else that came along -- head-on, decisively.

Johnny came in the kitchen door, as he always did, and stopped short when he saw Patricia sitting at the table with a worried look on her face. He looked at her face, then down at the little strip of paper that indicated the positive pregnancy test and his face split in a slow grin.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" he asked in a slightly incredulous tone of voice.

Patricia just nodded as she stood up to hug her husband.

"Wow," he said slowly. "It's a good thing we're closing on that house this week. We're going to need a bigger place."

"Are you OK with this?" Patricia said. "I mean, we're both over 40. What are the kids going to think?"

"I'm fine with it," Johnny said. "A little shocked. When do you think it... You don't think it was that night, do you?"

"I think so," Patricia said. "Maybe it was God's way of helping us work through the problem. I hope you're happy. I know we didn't plan this but..."

"Of course I'm happy," Johnny said. "After all, a good Irishman always wants lots of babies, right? And as for the kids, I'm sure they'll be fine. It's not like they have any choice. They'll learn to love this baby just like we will."

"Oh, you are my hero," Patricia said emotionally. "My working class hero. I'm all yours, Johnny McMullen, and I will be until the day I die."

Johnny just held his wife tight as he thought about the past few months and how close they'd come to not having this moment. They had weathered a crisis that could have broken them apart and come out stronger than ever.

Yes, he thought, maybe he was a working class hero.