Faking It(36)

“I’ve booked a couple more interviews for you next week,” he said. “Think you’ll like these ones, and they should come with less drama than others have.”

I put my seat up. “That’s great, who?”

Dad checked his rearview mirror and switched lanes. “Up and comer in the Paralympics. Hand cycler. She’s got a really wild story and will come off very well in the interview. I have to tell you, I wish my arms looked as good as hers do. Other one’s an American wrestler.” He stopped and smiled.

I liked to see dad smile more than just about anything. It was tough to get one out of him, and even tougher to make him laugh. “What are you smiling about? We’ve done wrestlers before.” This was going to be something odd, which sent a thrill up my spine. Occupational hazards and irritations aside, I really loved doing the show and I knew it had the potential to grow into something much bigger than it was. The ad revenue alone would be enough to pay a mortgage down the road, if I ever left home.

“Not like this,” said dad. “He’s an aspiring American sumo wrestler.” He laughed, and it was music to my ears. “I’m just picturing the two of you together. I think you’d fit in one of his legs. He made me feel tiny, and that doesn’t happen often.”

It certainly didn’t. Dad projected larger than his average size. The thought of him next to a sumo wrestler tickled me every bit as much as what he had been thinking about the same guy and me. “Whoa! Thanks dad! Is he going to be in one of those diapers?”

My knowledge of sumo wrestling was as desolate and patchy as you might have guessed. It didn’t extend beyond the diaper. Wait, surely it wasn’t called a diaper. I was going to have to do some research.

“You got it, baby. If you do these two well, you’re going to be set. And no, I doubt he’ll be dressed for competition. Now remember, I’ve been setting them up for you, but if you keep getting better, and you will, then every interview is going to lead to more requests for interviews, and then my work will be done. I’m just the foot in the door. You’re still closing them and making your way.”

I kissed my palm and pressed it against his cheek. “You’re the best. I won’t let you down.” I was often struck by how lucky I was to have such a father. Lots of people didn’t. And lots of people had fathers who weren’t there, weren’t as invested in their success. Chantell would occasionally suggest that maybe my dad could be less involved in my life, or I could be a little more independent, but I ignored her. She was just jealous.

“You never have,” he said. “I know you never will.”

Well, that made one of us. I was grateful, but I was also relieved. After Braden, I didn’t have any more interviews lined up that were worth crowing about. A few prospects, but nothing with any obvious potential to be huge hits. At my age—not that I was old, but even at twenty-three years old I knew that I could be more independent—a small part of me was wondering if I shouldn’t have more of a grip on my career, if I was too much of a daddy’s girl, but then dad would give me the next offer and my career would take an upswing that I couldn’t have found without him. And of course, Chantelle always said it sounded like a dream: a good father and a manager and agent combined. But that’s what she would say: Chantelle was as lazy as she was loyal, bless her heart.

What she didn’t add was that he was also my landlord. Twenty-three and still living at home, my dad paying for my home. I would leave someday. I would. Seriously, I would. It was the same old tedious thought loop that kept me awake many nights, and this wasn’t the time for it.

“So?” he said, and I knew what was coming next.

“Yes, father of mine? What wouldst that have of me?”

He laughed. Twice in one night, miracle of miracles. “Tell me about Braden. The interview.” His voice wasn’t as warm as it had been. Who knew what he was thinking?

I exhaled so hard that the windshield in front of me fogged a little. “Oh brother. That guy. Dad, I kind of hate him.” Hate warring with lust. The worst mix in the world. I certainly wasn’t the first woman who wanted to bang a guy nearly as much as I wanted to slap his dumb hot face off. But that was definitely not a conversation I was getting into with my dad.

He nodded. “I know what you mean. I can’t come at it the same way as you, the relationship between a coach and a fighter is just too different, but I’ve seen how he is with women. I wanted to believe that he would do better by you, given that you’re my daughter. Now, you don’t need to give me any details. In fact, you probably shouldn’t. As long as you’re okay, I still have to do right by him as a fighter. I’ve been around Braden for so long that I still think of him sometimes as the kid that walked into my gym in the beginning, not who he has become. You wouldn’t have believed how gentle he was back then. Not in the ring, no, but that was perfect. Soft everywhere else, vicious once that gate closed.”

He was forgetting that I had been there when Braden had walked in. I had wondered who he was and whether he had earned the swagger that he walked with. But I had never seen the side of Braden that dad was talking about. Mr. Softie.

The mention of Braden being soft reminded me of just how soft his naked body had not been when he performed that impromptu striptease in front of me. Good Lord that package. But this was exactly the kind of thing I didn’t want to be thinking about in a car with my dad while said dad was laying down wisdom for the ages.