His name was Nick Fogarty and, oh, was he smooth. He began to ply Mom with sweet talk from the day he set foot in the corporate headquarters and he never let up. Normally, Mom would easily have dismissed the lines of such a slickster but in her rather uncertain emotional state, she was vulnerable to his attentions.

After two weeks of pressure, she finally gave in and met Nick for a Tom Collins at Zasu's Paradise Lounge, not far from the office where they worked. He was quite charming and, perhaps sensing Mom's trepidation, he behaved in gentlemanly fashion. Mom drove home in a fog, more confused than ever. Sure, she loved her fiance, the man who was to be my father, but was he the man she should marry? Was she too young to settle down? And what of Nick? He was so worldly, so exciting.

Her answers came the next day, when she inadvertently picked up an extension, overhearing a conversation in which Nick was reminding his wife -- his wife?! -- just how much he loved her.

Trembling at the thought that she might have thrown over my father for such a louse, Mom marched into Nick's office, told him the jig was up and informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he was to refrain from speaking to her in the future or she would go to Mr. Garrett with all the sordid details of Nick's behavior.

It wasn't until two years later that Mom revealed to Dad her brush with disaster. Dad was, of course, furious with Nick, with whom he'd chatted baseball as recently as the previous summer's office picnic. Not being the violent sort, however, he fought off the urge to give Nick a sound thrashing, opting instead to drop by his house every night for two weeks, ring his doorbell and run.

Copyright © 2000 Brett Leveridge. All Rights Reserved.