The Letter - Chapter 49

I woke up Monday morning realizing I was still in my mother’s house.  I had heard some stirring in my bedroom, and then I heard the door quietly close.  I pushed aside the bed curtains and saw a school uniform hanging on a stand beside the vanity.  I thought about refusing to go along with Mother’s plans to send me to the Academy, but decided leaving this compound might provide some opportunity to contact my Dad or my friends who could help me escape.  I showered, dressed and went down to see if I could get some breakfast.  When I got to the bottom of the stairway, Mr. Hughes met me and escorted me to the dining room where Mrs. Tomlinson had prepared French toast.  Mother was nowhere to be seen.  When I had finished breakfast, Henry appeared in the doorway.  He escorted me to the waiting limousine and drove me to my new school.  He opened the door and watched me walk into the school where I was met by the Headmaster.  

The Headmaster told me that he had had a long conversation with my mother.  He assured me I needn’t be worried because I would be well protected while attending school here.  I wasn’t sure what his assurances meant, but assumed he was telling me I would be watched constantly and there would be few, if any, opportunities for escape.  He escorted me to my first class where the teacher introduced me to my classmates. 

Classes were much smaller than what I was used to in my public high school.  I counted 18 in my English class.  They were reading The Sun Also Rises.  I sat and listened as I hadn’t read any of it.  As I sat there, I absentmindedly put my hands into the pockets of my school blazer.  I felt a scrap of paper in my right pocket.  I palmed it and discreetly held it out of the sight of the teacher to see if it was something other than one of those ‘inspected by #43’ slips of paper that you sometimes find in new clothes.  In fact it was a note.  I stuck it in my book and feigned reading along with the class while I read the message.

 Sorry I missed you this morning.  You were still sleeping when I put the uniform in your room.  I know it can be hard starting at a new school in the middle of the year.  I wanted you to know that my sister, Diana, is also a senior at the Academy.  Maybe you’ll have classes together and you two will become friends.  Your servant (and friend), Minerva

The bell rang for the next class. I followed my classmates who all seemed to be going in the same direction – to Social Studies.  As I walked through the hall, a girl with long, dark hair and brown eyes came up beside me.

“Hi Jennifer.  I’m Diana.  Did Minerva tell you about me?”

“Actually, she left a note in my pocket, which I read just before English class ended.  Very nice to meet you,” I smiled at her.  “So you’re a goddess just like your sister.”

Diana laughed.  “Yes, I suppose so.  Our younger sister is named Luna – the moon goddess.  Our mother was a professor of ancient history in Syria.  She expects great things from each of us.”

“Very interesting.  Does she teach at one of the universities here?”

“No, she was unable to get a position.  Now she works at my father’s restaurant.”

“I think it’s horrible that there’s so much discrimination against Muslims in our country right now.”

“So do I.  But my family is Christian.  You know that Syria was home to one of the largest groups of Christians in the early days of the church.”

“I’m sorry.  Like my father always says, when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”

“What?”  She stopped at the doorway to the classroom where our next class would be.  The late bell rang and the students moved toward their seats.

“I’ll explain later,” I whispered as Diana left me to take her seat.  The teacher pointed me to an empty desk and welcomed me to Social Studies class.

By lunchtime, I was feeling more comfortable with Diana, but the other students seemed less friendly – like someone had put the word out to steer clear of the new girl.  During lunch, I asked Diana if I could use her phone to make a call, but she told me students were not allowed to have phones in the school.  Students had to pass through a metal detector each morning, and if a phone was found, it was impounded in the office till the end of the day.  If a student needed to make a call, they had to use the office phone.  I decided to stop by the office right after lunch and asked to use the phone.  I was told my mother had given strict instructions not to allow me to use it. 

I began to feel like a white collar criminal in one of those country club prisons.  This school was nice and my mother’s mansion was an amazing place to live, but at the end of the day, I couldn’t leave.  I couldn’t go outside for a walk, I couldn’t call my friends, and most importantly, I couldn’t see my father.  I had to concentrate on finding a way to escape. I wasn’t sure how far I could trust Diana, but decided I didn’t have much choice.  I followed her to her locker after our last class.

“Diana, I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you taking me under your wing.” 

“I am happy to be a friend to you.  I know what it is like to be a stranger in a new place.  My parents brought me here when I was a young girl, and it was difficult.  At least you speak the language here.”  She smiled.  “And Minerva told me a little about you.  She said you were in a bad situation with your father, but now you are safe.  Under your mother’s protection.”  She smiled again.

I grabbed Diana’s arm.  “No!  You’ve got it all wrong, Diana.  I love my father.  I enjoyed living with him.  I want to go back to his house.”

Diana backed away a step, a look of disgust on her face.  “But he does things to you that no father should.  That’s what Minerva told me.”

“That is a lie.”  I stomped my foot for emphasis.  “I don’t know who is spreading these disgusting lies about my father.”  I started to cry.  “God, I could really use a friend now.”

Diana pulled a tissue out of her blazer pocket and handed it to me.  “I’m sorry, Jennifer.  I believe you.  I can see how upset you are.  Someone must have lied to Minerva.”

“And I can bet it was her employer – either my mother or her husband.”

“But why would they do this?”

“It’s a long story.  Do you have to go?”

“Minerva is picking me up from school.  She can wait a few minutes.”

I proceeded to tell Diana about my mother walking out on us, the divorce, her having no contact with me for two years and then all of a sudden wanting me back with her.  “She literally kidnapped me from my high school semi-formal and is holding me like a prisoner until I don’t know when.  I haven’t even been able to call my father to tell him I’m alive.  Aren’t prisoners supposedly allowed to get one phone call?  Well not me.  Not this prison.  And the office here won’t even allow me to make a call – on instructions from my mommy dearest.”

“This is horrible, but I do have to go.”  The hallway was now empty except for the two of us. “Can I do anything to help?”

“I really need to get my phone.  I left it in my purse at the dance.  I’m sure my best friend Liz would have picked it up.  Could you call her and see if she has it?  If she does, then we just need to figure some way to get it to me without my mother finding out.”  I tore a sheet of paper from my notebook.  “Let me give you her number.  Please call her and let her know I really need my phone.  Liz is bright.  She’ll figure something out.”

Diana took the paper and hurried toward the door.  I walked slower, knowing that Henry would be at the door waiting – to take me back to my country club prison.

The Letter - Chapter 48

My meeting with Joe McKay had been a huge disappointment.  I walked out of the building on The Boulevard of the Allies that housed his firm’s offices and headed for the garage where I had parked my car.  As I walked, I recalled the events of the morning.

Joe’s secretary, Sheila, called me around 8:00 AM to let me know that Joe had gotten my messages.  She asked me to come in at 11:00 to meet with him.  As soon as I arrived, she ushered me into Joe’s office.  Joe was taking notes on a legal pad as he pored over papers strewn about his desk. 

“Hi, George.  Come in.”  He stood up to shake my hand.  “What a mess, huh?”

“Yeah, Joe.  I’ve been worried sick.  Hardly slept all weekend.”

“I can understand that.”  He glanced at his notes.  “Well, I called Melissa’s attorney first thing this morning to find out what the hell they think they’re doing.  First, he acted like he had no idea what I was talking about.  Then he went on about a self-help remedy to protect Jennifer from the perceived danger of continuing to stay with you."

“Are they still pushing that ridiculous abuse argument?”

“I don’t know.  I think Sidney knows he’s on shaky ground, but for now, it’s about all he’s got.  He hedged a bit.  Honestly, I don’t think Attorney Lutz had any idea his client snatched your daughter.”

“Wouldn’t Richard have told him in advance?”

“Richard’s in California.  I’m not so sure he has any idea that his wife has done this.  I’m told he’ll be gone all week.”

“So what did Lutz say he’s going to advise his client to do?”

“He didn’t commit to anything.  Said he was going to discuss the matter with Melissa and that he’d get back to me.  I’ll bet he’s desperately trying to get hold of Richard.”

“So how are we going to get Jennifer back, Joe?”

“I’m working on it, George.  I’ll call you as soon as I know more.  But this is wrong, and I’m pretty sure Lutz knows it.”

“I hope he tells that to Melissa.”

“Yeah, and let’s hope she listens to him.  She’s pretty strong willed.”  Joe stood up and extended his hand.  “Hang in there, George.  We’re going to get this resolved.  Who knows?  Maybe this will piss off the judge enough that he or she will be more sympathetic to you.”

“No one’s been assigned yet?”

“I expect that to happen very soon.”

As I was leaving, I told Joe about my interview with the TV station. 

“Be careful,” Joe said.  “Sounds like you could be sticking a thumb in Richard’s eye.  You know his position on gun control, right?”

“Yeah, Joe.  But it’s important to rally those who want some sanity.  I think they’re feeling like it’s hopeless.  I’m trying to change that.”

“Good luck.”

                                                *                      *                      *

I pulled into the parking lot at the television station.  I was early.  I walked into the main entrance and told the receptionist why I was there. After a few minutes, Tom Brannigan came out to meet me.

“George, thanks for coming.  It’s good that you’re here a little early.  They want you in makeup before we tape.  Just some light stuff so you look your best.”

“Sure.  Just point me in the right direction.”

When makeup was finished with me, I was escorted to the set.  Two chairs behind a desk.  After a few minutes, Tom Brannigan walked in with a sheaf of papers.

“Looks like I have a lot of questions,” he winked at me.  “Actually, these are blank and just for show.  The real questions have been uploaded to the teleprompter.  Are you ready?”

“Sure.”

“Ted, are we rolling?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Brannigan.  You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Tom Brannigan looked into the camera.  “Good evening.  With me here in the studio is gun control advocate, George Leskovic.  Mr. Leskovic wrote an article about the tragedy of gun violence which was published yesterday in the editorial section of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.  He also recently participated in a candlelight vigil at City Hall which turned physical when counterprotesters attacked some of the vigil participants.  Mr. Leskovic, you were caught on camera punching one of the counterprotesters.  Does that mean you’re okay with physical violence – just not with guns?”

“Uh, that was not my proudest moment, Tom.  I apologized to the guy afterwards.  I’m most upset that it was a distraction from the message that violence doesn’t solve anything.”

“So tell us George, why this issue is important to you?”

I proceeded to lay out the statistics describing the number and frequency of gun deaths in America, including suicides, individual shootings and the mass shootings which received the most publicity.  “The fact is, Tom, no other products are manufactured and sold in this country for the sole purpose of killing human beings.  I’m not talking about guns used by hunters.  I’m talking about military style assault rifles and even hand guns that have no purpose other than killing people.  Sure, a lot of people die from automobile accidents, drug overdoses, alcohol and cigarettes, but none of those products are designed to kill people.”

 “I see your point, George, but none of those products are protected by the Constitution.  What about the Second Amendment?”

“Tom, none of the rights granted by the Constitution are without limits.  For example, the First Amendment guarantees freedom of speech, but doesn’t allow someone to yell ‘Fire’ in a crowded theater.  Our country has long accepted certain reasonable restrictions on firearms.  No one is suggesting taking guns out of the hands of law abiding citizens.  But the pro-gun advocates won’t even consider allowing restrictions designed to keep guns out the hands of criminals.”

“Speaking of pro-gun advocates, George, your ex-wife’s husband, Richard Zingerman is running for Congress and says he won’t allow any restrictions on guns.  What would you like to say to him?”

“I would say, be willing to listen to those voters concerned about gun violence.  Be willing to compromise to protect the lives of people threatened by the easy access to guns.”

“And if he’s unwilling to commit to that?”

“I’d say I hope the voters choose someone who is willing to make that commitment.”

“Do you intend to campaign against Zingerman?”

“Well, he’s not running to represent the district where I live, but I do feel strongly about this issue.”

“So that’s a yes?”

I smiled.  “We’ll see, Tom.  We’ll see.”

With that, Tom Brannigan wrapped up the interview and the cameras stopped rolling.  He told me he thought it went well, and wouldn’t require a lot of editing to run at 6:00 PM.  He thanked me, and I left the station and drove home.

The Letter - Chapter 47

“So how was your telephone conversation with George?” asked Beverly.  It was Monday morning and she had invited me to meet for coffee at our favorite local coffee shop.

“Well, it was nice to finally connect with him,” I said as I sipped my caramel latte.  “He was nice, but

apparently he’s going through a bit of a family crisis right now.”  I explained what George had told me about his ex-wife taking their daughter.

“My goodness! Taking the law into her own hands.”  Beverly leaned forward with a look of disgust.  “Sounds like the ex is every bit as charming as advertised.  And according to that nastygram you received, he’s still very much in love with her.”

“George was surprised to hear about that letter.  He suspects that his ex somehow found out about me and sent it.”

“Hmmph.  Wouldn’t need Sherlock Holmes to figure out that mystery.  I figured as much, though I had no way to prove it.”

“I sent the letter to George.  I thought it might be helpful to him in getting his daughter back.  Do you think that was a good idea?”

“I think a cheese Danish is a good idea.  Your sending that letter to George was a great idea.  I’ll bet it will come in handy one way or another.  And speaking of cheese Danish, excuse me for a minute while I go back to get one.  Can I get you anything while I’m up, Ellie?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m betting you still have a few weeks before you’ll need to squeeze into a wedding gown.  A bear claw?”

“You’re terrible,” I laughed.  “A blueberry scone then.”

“Thank you.  Be right back.”  Beverly purchased the pastries and returned to our table.

“George says his ex’s husband is running for Congress.”  I took a bite of my scone.

“Kidnapping will garner him some votes.”

“Right.  I wonder how he’s going to explain that when it comes to the attention of the voting public.  I actually went on his website.  He’s pro-gun, anti-choice, a climate change denier, and says gay marriage is against God’s law and should be against ours as well.”

“A moderate Republican then?”  Beverly gave me a wry smile then took a bite of her cheese Danish.

“Actually, the current Congressman is a moderate Republican.  This guy is trying to outflank him on the far right in the Republican primary.”  

“How did it come to this, Ellie?  I mean we both came of age in the sixties – me a little earlier than you, but we were so idealistic.  Our generation was going to change the world.  We were going to reject the materialism of our parents, save the environment, eliminate racism, end war.  It was going to be peace, love and everyone living together in some kind of perfect harmony.  The dawning of the Age of Aquarius.  What happened, Ellie?”

“I wish I knew.  Too many of our generation traded their love beads for Rolex watches.  They got rid of their VW Microbuses and bought gas guzzling SUVs.  They voted for George W. Bush and Donald Trump.”

“I can’t believe it when I think about it sometime.  Bush and Trump are both from our generation.  Instead of taking the country forward, they’ve tried to take the country back to some ideal time that never really existed except in the minds of the super-rich.  Like the ayatollahs that wanted to take their country back to the 14^th century, these guys want to eliminate the modern social safety net constructed last century so the rich can keep more of their money and the poor can go back to a sort of Dickensian existence.”

“What did Ebenezer Scrooge say?  Are there no prisons?  Are there no workhouses?”

“Exactly.  Well, Ellie, this has gotten to be an extremely depressing conversation.”

“Well, look on the bright side, Beverly.  Some things have gotten better in this country.”

“Yes, but so much more progress could be made.  President Obama got healthcare passed, but the Republicans have been trying to take it away ever since.  Why?  How can anyone feel society would be better off if more people were sick.”

“Perhaps they should just die and decrease the surplus population.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken you to see Dickens’ Christmas Carol,” said Beverly.  Anyway, your George’s issue is gun control.  I hope he can convince a few people to do something.  Perhaps he should run against that nutty husband of his ex.”

“I think he lives in a different Congressional District.”

“Then he should run for whatever District he’s in.  You two would love living in the Nation’s capital.”

“No thank you.  Anyway, I don’t think he’s interested in entering politics.  He’s hoping to persuade through the power of the pen.”  I finished my coffee.  Are you going to have another cup, Beverly?”

“No, I’ve got some errands to run.”  She finished her coffee and put on her coat. 

I stood up to say goodbye.  “Well, I’m still trying to finish Gilead.  Thought I’d do it yesterday, but I got distracted with George’s problems.  I think I’ll buy myself another cup of coffee and read here for a while.  My book is in my purse.”

“Sounds good, Ellie.  I enjoyed trying to solve our country’s political problems with you here, but now I’ve got some more important things to do like pick up my dry-cleaning and buy a chicken for dinner.”  She gave me a hug and walked out the door.  I pulled the book from my purse and set it on the table and walked to the counter to order another latte.

The Letter - Chapter 46

I stepped out of the tub and drained the water.  I toweled dry and wrapped myself in the thick, terrycloth robe that was hanging on the door.  I started to blow dry my wet hair when I heard someone knock on the bedroom door.  I turned off the hair dryer and heard the door unlock.

“Good morning, Jennifer.  Is it all right if I come in?”

I walked back into the bedroom and saw my mother looking in through the partially open door.  

“Sure.  It’s your house.  Do whatever you want.”  I didn’t care if she knew I was upset.  She came into the room and closed the door.  “So, how long do you intend to hold me captive in your castle?”

My mother was dressed like she was going to some country club to lunch with similarly situated wives.  Her dress was utterly fashionable and her hair was perfectly coiffed. 

“I’m sorry, dear.  I thought it best for your safety.  I didn’t want you to have an accident wandering around in unfamiliar territory.”

“Yeah, whatever.  How soon can Henry the Henchman take me home?”

“Oh, don’t be unkind, Jennifer.  I know bringing you here like I did was a bit bizarre, but I wanted you to see what it will be like to live here – so you can have a more balanced opinion so to speak.”

I sat down on the small bench in front of the vanity and brushed my hair.  As I looked in the mirror, I saw my mother standing behind me.  “Balanced?  So if the judge asks me where I prefer to live, I can compare living in your luxurious mansion to sleeping on a bed of straw in Dad’s hovel – something like that?”

“Jennifer.  She put a hand on my shoulder.  “I just want you to give me a chance.  I know I didn’t do right by you when I left to be with Richard.  But Richard’s been good for me, and I think you’ll like him.”

“Does he approve of your kidnapping me and holding me prisoner?”

“Be nice to me, dear.  I am your mother after all.  Actually, Richard is in California for a few days preparing for a trial in Los Angeles.  He should be back by next weekend.”

I turned around to face her.  “So he doesn’t know about this?”

She sat down on the edge of the bed.  “One thing he’s always admired about me is how I take matters into my own hands.”

I decided not to press the point.  “Mother, I need to get home.  I have school tomorrow.  And I’m sure Dad is worried about me.  I hope you’re not planning to keep me here under lock and key.”

“No, dear.  You are now free to move about the cabin.”  She smiled at her attempt at humor.  “I should warn you, however.  Richard’s dogs roam the grounds and they are trained to attack intruders.  Since they don’t know you, they would consider you an intruder.  In other words, don’t think you can just walk out the front door and head for the gate.  You need to stay inside where it’s safe.”

That sounded ominous.  I stood up.  “Well, I’d better get dressed.” 

“I hope the clothes I picked out are to your liking, Jennifer.  As far as your schooling goes, I’ve enrolled you at the Academy.  I’ve asked the housemaid to iron your school uniform.  You’ll start there tomorrow morning.  And don’t worry about your father.  I’m sure he’s enjoying a little alone time.  It’s been unfair of me to have burdened him with all your care for the past few years.”

I decided it was useless to try to argue with her.  Maybe if I give the appearance of cooperating, she’ll be more willing to loosen my shackles.  “All right, Mother.  Let me get dressed so I can explore my new home.”  I smiled at her.  She stood up and patted my arm.

“Now that’s the right attitude, dear.  I actually have a luncheon appointment, so I’ll leave you to enjoy your new surroundings.  Mr. Hughes can help with any questions you might have, and Mrs. Tomlinson will fix you a tasty lunch.”

“Perhaps I’ll explore the libraries while you’re gone.  I’m interested to see what you have in your collection.”

“Again, Mr. Hughes can be helpful.  He is very familiar with what is on the shelves.”

“And maybe, I’ll work on my pool shooting.”  I tried to sound chipper.

“Sounds like fun.  I’ll check to see how you’re doing when I get back.”

My mother left the room.  I noticed that she didn’t lock the door.  That’s a start anyhow.  Now, I’ll get dressed and start exploring.  Every puzzle has a solution and every chain has a weak link.  I won’t discover it sitting in here and moping about my predicament.  My best chance was to be friendly with the servants to gain their trust while looking for a way out of here.

Leaving Well Enough Alone

“Leave well enough alone!”  How often have I heard that admonishment?  Yet most often, I have ignored it.  What does it actually mean?  The online Wiktionary defines the phrase as meaning “to avoid trying to correct, fix or improve what is already adequate.”  Really?  I should just settle for adequate?  Unfortunately, perfection is the standard I try to meet, though more often than not it gets me into trouble.  Sometimes that trouble comes upon me quickly enough to see my mistake.  Sometimes it takes a while.

A few months ago, I noticed that a few of the tires on my wife’s car were a little low on air.  This is a fairly recent problem.  It used to be that I pretty much ignored any tire that didn’t look close to flat as the car sat in the driveway.  Back then I switched between summer and winter tires and figured the tire shop would make sure the air pressure was right when they made the switch for me.  These days I have all-weather tires so there is no need to make that switch.   However, modern technology has put sensors in the tires so that the car dings at you when tire pressure goes below what the car’s brain believes is the minimum pressure for safe driving.  So when I heard that ding a while back, I drove the car to the local gas station that offered free air. 

While adding air, I happened to notice that one of the tire valves had lost its screw cap.  Now I knew that there is really no need for that cap.  Sure, it may help keep out gunk from the road which might impair the valve’s function at some point in the distant future.  But it’s not like it helps keep air in the tire.  Anyway, I found some old caps in my basement workshop, so rather than leave well enough alone, I pulled out a brass cap and screwed it on the valve.

Fast forward to the present.  I drove my wife to work in my car; hers hadn’t been driven in about a week.  When I got home, I decided to pull her car out of the driveway so I could position it behind my car.  Then it would be ready for my wife to drive to work the following day.  I started her car and began to back out of the driveway when I heard that ding.  One of the four tires was low.  Well, I thought my wife would appreciate it if I took it to the gas station and filled that tire.  According to the dashboard display, two tires were at 35 psi, one was at 32 and the low one was at 27. 

The recommended pressure for the tires on her car is 32 psi.  But given the fact that they are bound to lose pressure over time, I figured 35 was a good place to be.  So I filled the low tire to 35.  Then I decided to add a little air to the one that read 32 so all four tires would be at 35 psi.  That was the tire where I had put on the brass valve cap.  Try as I might, I could not unscrew that cap.  There was a car behind me waiting to use the air pump, so I gave up on it, got in my car and drove home.

“Leave well enough alone!”  The tire pressure in all four tires was certainly adequate at this point.  But that stuck cap was a challenge I couldn’t resist.  I figured I just couldn’t grip it tightly enough with my fingers, so I went to my tool box and got a pair of pliers.  If I could get the cap off, I could stop at a gas station on the way to pick up my wife from work to bring that sucker to 35 psi.  But as hard as I could grip that cap with the pliers, they just slid over the metal and the cap refused to turn.

 

“Leave well enough alone!”  If I couldn’t grip the cap tightly enough with pliers, then why not try my vise grip pliers?  I went back to the tool box and got them.  I tightened the vise grips on the cap, twisted, and then heard the sickening sound of air rushing out of the valve stem that had torn apart in my effort to remove the screw cap. 

I pulled out the spare, which is not actually a real tire.  I looked at the lug wrench and jack.  And then I briefly came to my senses and called AAA.  They arrived in about a half hour and put the spare on the car.  This was bad, I knew.  But how much could it cost to replace a valve stem?  I drove it to the local national chain auto parts and repair store.  An hour and a half later I found out that replacing a valve stem with a sensor that lets you know the air pressure in your tire is a bit more expensive than replacing a valve stem used to be.  I also learned that one should never use a metal cap because the metal will corrode, and the cap will get stuck.  Not leaving well enough alone had a cost, and that cost was $139. 

As I drove back home, I tried to figure out a proper apology to my wife for having to spend that much money to fix something that wouldn’t have been necessary if I had just left well enough alone.  I started to rationalize my various actions based on my good intentions in replacing a missing valve cap and then trying to get it off so I could add air to the tire.   That, of course, brought to mind another well-worn adage – the road to hell is paved with good intentions!

The Letter - Chapter 45

Ellie Kosko.  Think of that.  It was really nice of her to call.  Talking with Ellie had helped me to feel a little bit better.  I now felt more confident this would all get resolved for the best.  At least I know where Jennifer is and that she’s safe.   I’m sure Melissa wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.  And if I don’t hear from him today, I’ll be able to reach Joe McKay tomorrow morning to discuss what we need to do to get Jennifer back.  It’s kind of funny that Ellie was so concerned about the comments on my article.  I opened my computer and went to the Post-Gazette’s website to see for myself.

There were many supportive comments from those who agreed with my arguments.  But Ellie was right.  There were a number of comments insulting me personally for my views and a smattering of comments that included veiled threats.  The newspaper had published my personal email address at the end of the article, so I decided to see of anyone had emailed their comments to me.  Again, there were several supportive emails, most of which came from people I knew from my days as a corporate attorney.  But there were a few emails that were actually a little frightening.  I sent responses to the people I knew and considered whether I should respond to the negative emails.  I decided they were just trying to blow off some steam.  No matter what I might say to them, I wouldn’t be able to persuade them to my position, and I certainly didn’t want to say anything to incite them further.  Ignoring them was the best course of action.

Just then my cell phone rang.  I didn’t recognize the number.  Perhaps it was Joe McKay returning my call.  I answered the phone, hoping that one of the threatening commenters hadn’t somehow gotten my number.

“Hello.  Is this George Leskovic?”

I hesitated.  “Uh, yes.  This is he.  Who is this?”

“Hi, Mr. Leskovic.  This is Tom Brannigan from WTAE TV.  How are you?”

“I’m fine.  What can I do for you?”

“I read your article in the Post-Gazette this morning.  It was very well written.  Gun violence is kind of like the weather.  Everyone talks about it, but nobody ever does anything about it, right?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond.  “Mr. Brannigan, I don’t want to be rude, but what is it that you want?”

“I’m sorry.  I can understand your wariness.  I read the online comments to your article.  If nothing else, the issue you wrote about stirs up a lot of emotions on both sides.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were involved in that altercation at the vigil last week weren’t you.”

“I hate to admit it, but yes, that is true.”

“Like it or not, Mr. Leskovic.  Between the film footage last week and your article in today’s paper, you have become the spokesperson for those in our area that would like to see some type of controls on guns.”

“Mr. Brannigan, obviously you know that over 90% of Americans believe there should be some controls, such as background checks.  And yet, Congress refuses to do anything.”

“Well, a movement has to begin somewhere, Mr. Leskovic.  That’s where you come in, if you’re willing.  I would like to interview you – to give you a soapbox, if you will, to try to energize that ninety percent to actually get something done.  Would you be available to come to our studio tomorrow, let’s say, around 2:00 PM?  That will give us enough time to get it ready to air on the six o’clock news – and at eleven.”

I thought about Jennifer and what I might need to do tomorrow to try to get her back.  “I think that would be all right, Mr. Brannigan.  Actually, I am in the middle of a custody fight with my ex-wife and that could affect my availability.  Perhaps I could call you tomorrow once I have a better idea how that is going to affect my schedule.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.  I hope you can get it resolved quickly.  Sure, if you aren’t available tomorrow, we can reschedule.  But it’s a hot story now, and I’d like to strike while the iron’s hot if you know what I mean.”

“Sure, I understand.  Look, if you don’t hear from me, I’ll be there at 2:00 PM.  What’s the best way to contact you?”

“Let me give you my cell phone number.  You can use it to reach me 24/7.”

I wrote down his number.  “Okay, Mr. Brannigan.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  Should I wear a suit or something?”

“Business casual is fine.  We’ll be behind a desk, so as far as I’m concerned, pants are optional.”

I smiled at the phone.  “Thanks.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  I hung up.  Wow.  What have I gotten myself into?