ALAN SWYER

Jail Break

Chuck Stone often told friends, only half in jest, that if his wife Carolyn had been in charge, the Hundred Year War would have been no more than a Hundred Day Skirmish. As for Covid? With Carolyn running things, it would have ended quickly and been forgotten. As for homelessness, if anyone could possibly find a solution, it would be Carolyn.

His wife's organizational skills, Chuck proudly boasted, were second to none. It was Carolyn who organized the Hollywood Community Garden when they were living nearby. And reinvigorated a failing reading program for inner city kids.And repeatedly got out the vote for issues and candidates she deemed important.

When asked about his role in Carolyn's endeavors, Chuck often chose words like accomplice, Sherpa, and partner-in-crime. What he failed to mention was that when a project seemed to be going south, or when Carolyn had a rare bout of self-doubt, the role he assumed was cheerleader, buoying her selfconfidence and reminding her of how often she turned defeat into victory. That, however, ignored the times – such as when a city official failed to deliver a promised truckload of mulch for the Community Garden, or when the landlord of the building housing the reading program threatened eviction, or when some NIMBY types objected to one of Carolyn's Thanksgiving dinners for the downand-out – that he used guile, bombast, or even trickery to come to the rescue.

In their private life, not surprisingly, it was Carolyn who was the master planner. She oversaw the scrimping and saving that allowed them to contemplate leaving their cramped apartment for a house. She chose a neighborhood on LA's Westside, then went on countless forays until she found the appropriate fixer-upper. With Chuck serving as combination truck driver-laborer, crisscrossing LA County, then lugging, painting, grouting, and tinkering, Carolyn selected the color schemes, furnishings, and art that would adorn their walls.

Remodeling was relentlessly stressful – surviving on take-out food while the kitchen was being updated, plus towels next to their bed to wipe their feet when the floors were being redone.To handle the pressure, Carolyn and Chuck pretended their lives were a comedy routine. “Adore this faucet?” Carolyn would playfully ask. Or “Are you in love with this sconce?” “Now my life is complete,” Chuck would respond, or “I've been dreaming about this doorknob my entire life.”

At other times Carolyn and Chuck made believe their life was a sitcom. “Okay with you?” Carolyn would ask about a paint chip, a rug, or a set of glassware. “Yes, dear,” Chuck would reply. “Sure?” “Yes, dear.” “No misgivings?” “No, dear..”

When they turned their attention to landscaping, Chuck started responding to questions in a different way. “He-haw,” he would playfully bray, calling himself the family donkey as he removed unwanted shrubs, dug holes for citrus trees, or toted bags of peat moss and fertilizer. But whenever a problem or dispute arose – with a merchant, or a delivery that arrived broken, or a plumber who stood them up – it was Chuck who went to war. Crises were turned into triumphs, transforming a nondescript cottage into a bright, comfortable place that was a reflection of their life together.

A charming house, for Carolyn, was only a step toward what she desired most: a family.Nevertheless, with her toiling away on what she hoped would be her second published children's book, and Chuck putting in long hours on an animated TV series about a talking dog with an attitude copped from old Richard Prior routines, it was only while splurging on Champagne and caviar for a stay-at-home New Year's Eve dinner that the subject was finally addressed.

“Think it's time?” Caroline asked coyly after they toasted.

“To get a puppy?” teased Chuck. “Or buy a Hockney? Or take a trip to Puerto Vallarta?”

“You know –”

“As in having some fun?” Chuck asked suggestively.

“Let's call it fun with a purpose,” specified Carolyn. ~

What was supposed to be fun took an unexpected turn when one, two, three, four months in a row Carolyn's period arrived.

Each time, Chuck tried his best to console her. But still, hope gave way to tears.

“l'll never happen,” Carolyn sighed one night over Vietnamese food.

“Sure it will,” insisted Chuck.

“How can you say that?”

“Because like everything else, we'll make it happen.”

~

A visit to a fertility clinic was scheduled, followed by a battery of tests: sperm count for Chuck, then hormones, a trans-vaginal ultrasound, and an examination of post-coital mucus for Carolyn.

“This is too much,” whispered a disconsolate Carolyn as the two of them were leaving yet another round of trying sessions.

“We'll get there,” Chuck assured her.

“With our bedroom a science lab?”

“If that's what it takes.”

In the weeks that ensued, Chuck was on-call twenty-four-seven.Whenever Carolyn's basal temperature was optimal, his priority was to race home.

That continued until Carolyn made an announcement over strawberries and granola one Saturday morning. “I'm not sure,” she began, “but –”

“But?”

“I think I missed my you-know-what.”

“That calls for a celebration!”

“Not until I get tested.”

“Now we can celebrate,” said Carolyn, guardedly elated, when the result was positive. “Sushi? Champagne at that new French place?”

“With you pregnant?”

“One little fling won't hurt.”

“Still –”

“Chuck,” said Carolyn, “women in China have babies in fields.”

“Glad we're not in Xian.”

A couple of Saturdays later, after shooting baskets at a local playground, Chuck and his friend Stu Bressler stopped for a beer.

“How's Carolyn feeling?” Bressler asked once they were served.

“Yours truly's become a world champ at squeezing grapefruit juice.”

“You lost me.”

“It helps her morning sickness.”

“And otherwise?”

“Truthfully?” asked Chuck.

“Sure.”

“The guys who prepare for a space launch? Or invented electric cars?”

“What about 'em?”

“When it comes to preparations, they've got nothing on her.”

Day after day, week after week, new items were added to Carolyn's to-do list, then checked off once accomplished.

Chuck, whose duties now included smoking a turkey breast every Sunday so that protein would be readily available, entered a whole new world as he accompanied Carolyn on mission after mission. Pediatricians were quizzed about breast-feeding, vaccinations, and their willingness to allow the baby to stay with Carolyn in the hospital rather than being sent to the nursery. That led to the selection of an easy-going guy named Dr. Meeker.

Diaper services were investigated. Agencies representing women who could help with housework and shopping were contacted. Then came expeditions in search of a crib, blankets, and other baby needs.

Through it all, Chuck asked few questions until one Sunday morning. While the two of them were eating steel-cut oats with blueberries, he broached a subject gingerly. “What about your mother?” he asked.

“What about my mother?” Carolyn responded, suddenly on=guard.

“Do you want her here?”

“Right,” said Carolyn with an exaggerated sigh. “A drill sergeant is all we need.”

“Sure?”

“Beyond sure.”

~

The second semester, aside from periodic checkups and repainting the baby's room, became a time of waiting. Carolyn was gaining weight, but not too much. Her vitals seemed fine, and the same was true of the infant. Then a decision was made. Despite the ultrasounds, they would keep the gender a surprise. What mattered was to them not boy or girl, but a healthy baby.

Then, one Saturday afternoon while they were headed for a stroll along the beach, Chuck repeated a question. “Still certain about your mother?”

Carolyn winced. “Don't you know the joke?”

“Which one?”

“At the first female President's inauguration, a reporter asks her mother how she feels about her daughter's success. Proudly the mother answers, 'Her brother's a doctor.'Do you really think I want her to tell me not only how to parent, but how to dress and furnish my house, all the while reminding me how much my podiatrist brother makes?”

As the third trimester approached, the soon-to-be-parents found their lives switching gears. Childbirth classes were added to their weekly schedule. An exploratory trip was made to the hospital chosen by them, during which their desire to have the baby remain with Carolyn was definitively reaffirmed.

“Two-and-a-half weeks to go!” Chuck announced on a Tuesday morning as they left their final encounter with the Ob/Gyn before the big day. “Confident?”

“I guess,” replied Carolyn.

“If ever anybody's been prepared, it's you.”

“Not us?”

“You're the mastermind.”

~

That evening, the so-called mastermind looked far from certain as she and Chuck ate a sagacious dinner of salmon and salad.

“What's up?” Chuck asked as Carolyn gazed off into the distance.

“I keep feeling like something's about to go wrong.”

“Hey –”

““Like I missed something. Or there's something out of our control.”

“Dr. Seigler says everything's fine.”

“Easy for him to say, having gotten on a plane for Maui.”

“As long as he's back for the birth.”

“But will he?” wondered Carolyn.

“Think he's going to be abducted by spacemen?”

Carolyn frowned. “Know what I'm going to do?”

“Those pelvic exercises?”

“Go to Costco.”

“Don't we already have everything?”

“We can always use more napkins, paper towels, and stuff.”

“If I ask a question,” said Chuck, “promise not to bite my head off?”

“Depends on the question.”

“Is this what's called nesting?”

Carolyn shook her head. “Not funny.”

An hour-and-a-half later, when he heard Carolyn return home with what turned out to be a trunk full of paper goods, sponges, detergent, and soap, Chuck was immediately given a warning. “Not a word,” said Carolyn.

Silently, Chuck unloaded the purchases, then sat down in the living room with his iPad.

“Want to watch an episode of “Peaky Blinders?” Carolyn asked a few minutes later.

“Only if you really want company. Otherwise I'm going to sack out early.”

“What if I twist your arm?”

“It won't take much twisting,” Chuck responded with a smile. ~

In need of a good night's sleep, Chuck climbed into bed after the episode. But just as he was about to nod out, he was startled by a series of shrieks.

“What's wrong?” he hollered as he dashed into the bathroom.

“My water broke!” answered Carolyn.

“B-but you're not due –”

“Tell that to the baby!”

~

His drowsiness gone, Chuck did his best imitation of a race car driver as he sped to the hospital.

At the reception area, people were chatting amiably when Chuck charged forward. “My wife needs attention!”

Sir,” responded one of the women on duty, “we'll see her in due time.”

“After she gives birth right here?”

Carolyn was admitted instantly.

~

Further evidence that the best planning in the world can go awry came with the realization that instead of the vacationing Dr. Seigler, the baby would be delivered by someone they had never met.

Fortunately the fill-in, a young man who introduced himself as Dr. Kaplan, calmed Carolyn with a confident manner, accompanied by assurances that all would be fine.

During the delivery, which proved to be anything but easy, Carolyn was at her best: diligent, determined, and willfully upbeat.

Chuck, in contrast, found himself vacillating between jubilation and nausea.

Still, when it came time to cut the umbilical cord, he rose to the occasion. Carolyn then held their newborn son for several moments before handing him to their pediatrician, who did a quick examination.

After bidding a fond farewell first to the substitute Ob/Gyn, then to Dr. Meeker, Carolyn at last started to nurse the baby, whom she and Chuck announced would be called Jeremy.

The peacefulness in the delivery room ended abruptly, however, when in stepped an officious nurse whose name tag read Sheila Sullivan.“Time to take the little one,” she proclaimed.

“Take him where?” asked Carolyn.

“To the nursery.”

“He's supposed to stay with me,” explained Carolyn.

“Only,” replied Nurse Sullivan, “if you were going to the maternity ward,”

“Whoa!” protested Chuck. “Where exactly is she going?”

“It's overcrowded, so it'll have to be in another ward,” insisted Nurse Sullivan.

“Let's step into the hall,” Chuck demanded.

“It won't make any difference, since rules are rules.”

“Oh yeah?” said Chuck, ready for battle.

Taking the nurse's arm, Chuck led her into the hallway. “First and foremost,” he then said, “my wife's not going to any ward where there are sick people.”

“Sir –”

“I haven't finished. Second, there's no way in hell our son'll be separated from her.

“Sir, who's in charge here?”

“Me,” insisted Chuck. “It was arranged that mother and child would not be separated.”

“But you have to understand.”

“No, you who have to understand. We get what we were promised –”

“Or?”

“Jail break.”

Nurse Sullivan froze. “S-sir –” she muttered.

“You've got five minutes to make something happen.”

“To do what you're suggesting, we'd have to call the pediatrician –”

Chuck pulled out his iPhone. “Okay. And?”

“Call my supervisor –”

“You want to do it? Or shall I?”

The nurse glanced at her watch. “I-it's nearly 2 in the morning.”

Chuck frowned. “Now you've got four minutes.”

“Sir,” pleaded Nurse Sullivan, “you're putting me in a no-win situation.”

“Correction,” insisted Chuck. “You put yourself in that situation.” ~

Victorious, Chuck watched as Carolyn and Jeremy were moved to a private room. “Happy?” he asked Carolyn once the three of them were alone.

“Ecstatic,” Carolyn replied, “as well as hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. But –”

“But?”

“You realize that the nanny's not ready to start –”

“Chuck nodded.

“And the diaper service needs to be alerted –”

“Yup –”

“And there are half a million things still to do.”

“So what do you want me to do first?” Chuck asked.

“Truthfully?”

“Truthfully.”

“You won't get mad?” asked Carolyn.

“I won't get mad.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Call my mother,” said Carolyn with a shrug.