by Mary T. Kalnin
 

This morning my alarm clock rang at 7:00, just like every other day. I reached to shut it off, but my hand slipped and the clock landed on the floor, about ten feet from the bed. After mumbling a few choice words, and dad would still wash my mouth out with soap if he heard them, I got out of bed to pick up the clock, but I took too big a step and my foot landed on it; the next thing I knew I was falling. My arm hit the corner of the nightstand and my butt hit the floor. Boy, I could just hear dad. I certainly was wide-awake, so I figured that I could manage to shower without third degree burns, and I did. However, when I got out of the shower, I slipped on the bathroom floor. If I hadn't grabbed the vanity to steady myself, I'd have hit my head on it. I did twist my ankle, however. Gad, I'd been up for all of twenty minutes and I was ready to crawl back into bed and call it a day. Unfortunately I couldn't, because I had to be in court. I hobbled into the bedroom and started to dress. I managed to get my clothes on, but not by much. Luckily, I had to wear a suit because of the court appearance, so dad wouldn't see the bruise on my arm. All I had to do was keep from grimacing as I walked and sat. No problem, right? I'm a cop, right? Right. Well, it was time to go upstairs and face the music, or, in this case, dad. He probably hadn't heard me fall because he didn't come downstairs. At least, I hoped that was why he didn't come downstairs.

I took them slowly and managed to climb the stairs without further bodily injury, but my ankle hurt a little. I'd no more than hit the landing when I turned my ankle again. Oh, peachy. But luck was with me; dad wasn't anywhere to be seen. I felt a whole lot better, so I took a deep breath and started toward the kitchen. I figured that dad was in there because I could smell bacon and eggs, my favorite breakfast. Maybe dad had heard me after all; he or mom always fixed it for me when I was a kid and I was sick. Gee, I haven't thought about that in years. I was half way to the kitchen when I neglected to notice that the furniture had relocated. Ouch!! I tripped on the leg of a coffee table that I'd have sworn wasn't there before. At least I didn't fall. I grabbed onto the lamp and sent it to the floor. Dad was going to hear that, without doubt. As I stooped to pick up the pieces of the lamp I heard footsteps, and an all too familiar voice:

"Hi, son. Having trouble, are we?"

"Hi, dad," I replied. "No, we are not having trouble. We just tripped on the coffee table that wasn't there before. When did you move it?"

"I didn't. You did, two days ago."

"What do you mean I moved it? I never move the furniture."

"Sorry, kiddo, you moved this piece of furniture. Remember the night that you and Jesse decided to play cops and robbers? You wanted the coffee table for your hideout. It was move either the table or the couch. I told you to move it back. By the way, don't you get enough cops and robbers every day? You have to play at it, too?"

I grew serious for a moment and replied: "Dad, when Jesse and I play, nobody gets hurt. Neither of us has to do our job."

"I see. Steve, that suit always looks good on you, but why so dressed up? Hot date after work?"

"I wish. Court appearance. Jury selection and the opening arguments in the Daniels trial are over, and testimony starts today."

"I don't recall the case. Did I have anything to do with it?"

"No, it was an easy one. Daniels is the no-good who abused and killed his wife and child."

"Oh, yeah. Well, your breakfast is ready. Steve, what was the thud I heard downstairs this morning?"

"Nothing. I dropped the alarm clock."

Dad gave me that look of his, the one that says: "OK, I'll get the truth later." He ordered:

"Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

"Yes, sir. Thanks."

I started toward the kitchen but forgot about my ankle. I winced when I stepped and dad saw it.

"Steve, what's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?"

"Nah, I just twisted my ankle a little. It'll be okay after I walk on it."

I finally made it safely into the kitchen and sat at the table. I took a spoonful of jam to spread on my toast and spilled it on my white shirt. Dad had just come in to get another cup of coffee and saw the mess.

"Steve, what is the matter with you?"

"Uh, nothing. I guess it's just a bad morning."

"Are you nervous about testifying? This is nothing new for you."

"No. I don't know what's happening, but I'd better get myself under control. I'm going downstairs to change my shirt."

"Don't, son. I'll go get you another shirt and you finish your breakfast. Give me your jacket and tie too."

"Dad, that's not necessary, I can get it later."

"No, son. Let's give that ankle of yours a rest."

I had no choice but to take off my jacket and shirt and hope that dad's eagle eye would miss the bruise. Fat chance! He saw it.

"Steve, what happened this morning? And don't tell me you dropped the alarm clock!"

"Dad, I did drop the clock. I stepped on it when I went to pick it up and lost my balance. My arm hit the nightstand and I landed on my butt."

Despite his obvious resolve, dad couldn't control his laughter. I could see the smile breaking out on his face.

"Steve, I'm sorry, but I'd love to have seen it." Then he managed a straight face and asked me if I'd hurt myself. I told him no. He was still suppressing his laughter when he took my arm in his hands and checked the bruise.

"Steve, that's quite a trophy." He lost it again and then continued: "It looks okay though. Did you hurt anything else? Oh, yeah, your derriere. We'll discuss that tonight." He left the kitchen holding his sides. I was content to let him think that nothing else had happened, because if he knew that I'd slipped in the bathroom he'd really be worried. He doesn't laugh when it comes to the bathroom. I started to eat again and managed to finish. Dad returned with a clean shirt and played British valet:

"Sir, allow me to assist you."

"OK, dad, knock it off."

"Sir, you have already knocked several 'its' off. Might I suggest that you put this shirt on and leave now? Perhaps I should drive you. We wouldn't want you late for court."

"Ha, ha. Thanks dad, I appreciate the help."

I put my shirt and tie on and grabbed my jacket.

"If I leave now, I should get to court in good time. Bye, dad."

"Good, bye, son."

Just as I opened the front door, I heard him finally give in to laughter. Well, I guess it was pretty funny. I got into my car and, with some apprehension, started the engine. It roared to life just fine and I was on my way. I reached the courthouse in plenty of time, and spent about fifteen minutes waiting in the corridor outside the courtroom. Eventually I was called to present the case. Sometimes I think that I could administer the oath to myself. I managed to stay in one piece and professional during questioning and cross. It actually went pretty well. We've got this creep nailed. By the time I was dismissed, it was almost noon. I left the courtroom and went for my car; I thought I'd go over to the hospital and get dad. We could go to Bob's for lunch and I could check on the restaurant. I reached the courthouse garage and slipped on an oil spot. I didn't fall but I did twist my ankle again. That was the third time I twisted my left ankle. This was really getting old.

I finally reached the hospital, traffic was a real mess, and hobbled into the ER. After the third time, your ankle really hurts. Unfortunately Jess saw me and came over and said in his best smart aleck voice:

"Steve, having a problem?"

"I suppose you've talked to dad?"

"Yes, and I must say that I can't wait to get to your house tonight. Are you going to give us a lesson in the fine art of clumsiness?"

"What do you mean get to the house?"

"Hey, Mark invited Amanda, the boys and me for dinner. Don't look at me that way, he's your dad."

"Yeah. And, no, I'm not going to give clumsy lessons. It was a bad morning and it's over. Now, where is dad? I thought we'd go to lunch at Bob's and I'd check on the restaurant."

"He's in Pediatrics entertaining. He came in so full of laughter that he thought he'd pass it on."

"Terrific. I'm so glad that I can provide him with the impetus to entertain. I hope he gives me half-credit, at least."

"I'm sure that he will."

Jesse turned serious for a moment and asked:

"Steve, do you think that you sprained the ankle?"

"No, I don't think so. Dad probably told you that I twisted it earlier this morning; I slipped on an oil spot in the courthouse garage and twisted it again."

"Come with me."

We went into an exam room and he checked the ankle. He flexed it and I winced a little. He saw that and said:

"Sorry. I think that you're right; it's not sprained. Take it easy for the rest of the day, though. Oh, how was court? Did you get through testimony?"

"Yes. Daniels' lawyer grasped at straws all through the cross, so I feel good about this. We've got him. You know, Jess, I hate these cases. It's always worse when it's a child."

He looked at me with a great deal of compassion: "I know, Steve. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you had the case so there would be no doubt about conviction."

"Thanks. Oh, here's dad now. Hi, dad. You'll be happy to know that I managed not to kill myself."

"Yes, son, I can see that. Did you come by to hide for the rest of the day, or to see me?"

"I came by so we could go to lunch. You game?"

"Sure."

We went off to Bob's and things were looking up. I didn't hit anything en route and we arrived in one piece. I was beginning to think that the trials of the morning were behind me. Hah! Kevin, my head server, set my lunch in front of me, a nice plate of ribs and slaw, and I dropped a rib on my shirt. I must have a thing about white shirts. Dad excused himself and walked toward the kitchen. I thought that he was going to get some cleaner so the stain wouldn't set, but then I heard the laughter. It was bad enough that he was laughing, but he started to tell everyone else. Great. He did come back with a wet rag; we cleaned the shirt as best we could and finished lunch. The restaurant was in good shape, so I took dad back to the hospital and headed for the station. With any luck, I was in for an afternoon of peace and quiet.

About fifty feet away from the station driveway, I felt my left rear tire start to go flat. At least I wouldn't have to change it. After I reached the precinct, I drove the car into the garage instead of parking in the outside lot. I went to tell one of the mechanics about the tire, and slipped again on another oil spot. This time I fell but managed to land on a relatively clean part of the hard, cement floor. I got up to a round of applause and, summoning whatever shred of dignity I had left, bowed and suggested that they might not want to spread this around the station. Heck, at the rate things were going, I'd probably take a spill in the squad room, assuming that I made it to the squad room without breaking a leg or something equally inconvenient. I reached the safety of my desk and sat down. Well, I should say that I tried to sit down; I really just caught the edge of the seat and the chair rolled out from under me and sent me sprawling. Yep, I landed on my butt. Various and sundry "friends" came to my aid; upon determining that the only thing suffering was my dignity, they started to laugh. Spencer said:

"Hey, Sloan, thanks. It's been a lousy day and we needed the laugh."

"Anytime, Spence. You know that I love to help my friends out. And I would like to help you out, out of the window. It's not funny."

"Actually," said Hart, "it is."

Stuart helped me up, trying desperately to hide her amusement:

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, but I'll never tell them that. Thanks. Now, if you would do me one last favor?"

"Sure, what?"

"Adjourn to the ladies room before you laugh. It's been a bad day."

"All right. See you later."

She barely got that out before her face dissolved into a smile and she let out the loudest guffaw I've ever heard. Maybe I should have stayed at the hospital. I retrieved my chair and sat. I started to write reports and was half way through a big one when my computer froze. I couldn't get the blankety-blank cursor to move, I couldn't close the program, I couldn't reboot, I couldn't even get the shut-down menu. I was really in a mess when Stuart returned. She's the computer whiz kid, so I asked her to come over. She ambled over to my desk and said:

"Having a problem, Steve?"

"Yes. It's frozen. I can't even get the shut-down menu. Now what?"

She started to chuckle again and I shot her a nasty glare. She couldn't control herself this time and sputtered out:

"Turn it off. Wait thirty seconds and turn it back on. That should start it up again. You've probably lost everything and you'll have to start over. You are having a lousy day, aren't you?"

At this point, I started to laugh. "You don't know the half of it, Stuart. Thanks."

I did as she said and, much to my amazement, she was right. I started over. The fates were kind this time and I finished a fair number of reports before my phone rang. Ugh! I looked up and said:

"Spence, why don't you take that call? I'm not up to a murder, right now."

"Sorry, Sloan, I have to go question a witness."

"Sure you do."

I had no luck conning anyone else into taking it, so I reluctantly picked up the phone.

"Homicide, Lt. Sloan."

The voice on the other end reported a body in the park nearby. She was calling from a pay phone near the entrance. Could I come? I could hardly say "no." I would see her in about ten minutes. It was a hot day, so I didn't bother to take my jacket and tie. I went to retrieve my car and was pleased to see that it was ready and parked outside in the lot. I found a note on the windshield: "Didn't want you to injure yourself again. Pete."

I arrived at the park within ten minutes. I looked around for the woman who called me, and spotted someone sitting on one of the benches near the telephones. I got out of the car and approached her. As I neared the bench, she stood up to greet me. I pulled out my ID and introduced myself:

"Ma'am, did you call the police?"

"Yes, I did. Are you Lt. Sloan?"

I showed her my ID and said: "Yes. Where did you find the body?"

"This way."

She led me to it and I stooped to examine it. I guessed that it had been there for about thirty-six hours, if I remembered dad's bug theory correctly. I called for a medical examiner, with any luck it would be Amanda, and stood up to interview my witness.

"Ma'am, may I have your name, please?"

"Maria Sinclair."

I pulled out my notebook and reached for a pen when I noticed that she had a funny look on her face. "Something wrong, Ms. Sinclair?"

"Uh, if I were you, I'd take a look at my shirt."

"Oh, yeah, the stain. It's BBQ sauce from lunch. I was hoping it wouldn't show."

"It's not just BBQ sauce. Check your pocket."

While I looked at my shirt, she put her hand to her lips and tried to suppress a grin. Oh brother, a large, blue ink stain. I wanted to scream and run. Naturally I couldn't, so I pulled the felt-tip pen out of my pocket and continued the interview:

"Ms. Sinclair, how did you come to find the body?"

"I was walking through the park as I always do. I decided to take this path today and was just strolling. I always stop to smell the flowers. It relaxes me. Anyway, I stooped to check out the pansies, when I glanced into the bushes. I thought that I was seeing things and took a closer look. Actually, I almost panicked and went home. Then my sense of civic duty took over. I called, you picked up the phone, and here we are."

"You said that you decided to take this path today. Does that mean that you usually don't?"

I noticed that she was still staring at the shirt. I should have brought the jacket and maybe she wouldn't have noticed. Then I thought that she might be having trouble standing so near the body, so I suggested that we sit on one of the benches. She went to sit down and I went to grab some yellow tape from my car to cordon off the crime area. On the way back I walked across the grass just as the sprinklers came on. Oh, great. Drowned cop. She stood up trying desperately to hide her laughter and couldn't quite do it. She helped me tape off the area and we went back to the benches. I wondered what had happened to the ME. We sat and she said:

"I am very sorry, Lieutenant. I suppose that you could have done without this today."

"That's all right, Ms. Sinclair. Things have been going wrong all day. May I ask again, do you usually not take this path?"

"Oh, I apologize. No, I don't. I usually walk on the path that goes through the middle of the park. I thought that walking around the perimeter might be a nice change. I'm not sure that it was."

"I understand. Finding a body is nobody's idea of fun. Police officers aren't crazy about it either."

She asked if I thought that someone had killed the poor guy and I said it was likely. Finally the ME pulled up, not Amanda darn it. I asked Ms. Sinclair to wait just a bit longer while I spoke with him. When I returned I asked her a few more questions and gave her my card. She said that she was all right and could get home by herself. I told her to call me if she wanted to talk. I say that to all witnesses because after they've been home awhile, they feel the full impact of what they've seen. It's terribly stressful for them.

I returned to the precinct and entered the squad room to a round of applause and heckling:

Spence again: "Hey, Sloan, get into a water fight with the victim?"

"Ha, ha, Spence. No, actually I was on the losing side of a fight with the LA Park Department. Someone decided to turn the sprinklers on just as I was walking across the grass." Then I turned and said: "Nobody say anything." And for once, everybody complied. I took off my shirt and hung it up. Too bad I couldn't take off my pants. Maybe I'd dry out.

I started to write the report when the ME called. The autopsy would be ready the next day at around noon. It was now 3:00 p.m. Another two hours on duty, then home to my refuge. Oh, wait, everybody was coming to dinner. I wondered if I could talk dad out of having company, so I picked up the phone and dialed his cell number. After a couple of rings, he answered.

"Dr. Sloan."

"Hi, dad. I don't suppose that I can talk you out of having company tonight, can I?"

"Why, son? Having more problems?"

I could hear him laughing.

"Oh, no, dad. I just fell again, once in the precinct garage and once at my desk; then I forgot to cap a felt-tip pen before I put it in my shirt pocket; finally I lost a war with the Park Department sprinklers at a murder scene. Haven't had any problems at all. Hey, the best part of the day was the dead man in the park."

He got serious for a minute and asked: "Steve, did you hurt yourself?"

"No, dad. I'll live."

I shouldn't have said that because then he gave in to his urge to laugh. I was beginning to think that the fates were celebrating "Get Steve Sloan Day," and dad was in on it.

"Dad, I really don't need Jess making wisecracks. How about if I tell you I'm getting a cold? Those sprinklers in the park really did me in."

"Nice try, son. Why did you walk through the sprinklers? Did you have this irresistible urge to revert to your childhood?"

"Funny, dad, funny. No I didn't have an urge to revert to my childhood. I was coming back from the car with tape for the crime scene when the sprinklers went on. Ahhhh choo!"

"Steve, sorry, but I can't 'unextend' the invitation. Both Amanda and Jess have left. They're on their way now and I'm just about to leave."

"Oh well. Maybe I can make it back without driving off the PCH and into the ocean."

"Steve, that's not funny."

"Dad, this whole day hasn't been funny. Not if you're me."

Dad was still laughing. My other line rang so I said good-bye to dad and punched the button.

"Homicide."

"Lt. Sloan? This is Maria Sinclair."

"Hello, Ms. Sinclair. Something wrong?"

"No, I guess not."

"Tell me."

"I guess I'm not used to finding dead people in parks."

"Neither am I. In fact, I never get used to it."

"You don't?"

"No. I just deal with it. I just keep in mind that someone was murdered and it's my job to find out who did it and arrest him, or her as the case may be. Ms. Sinclair, try to take it easy tonight. Have your husband take you to dinner and then go to a movie. A comedy. I'll probably be by to speak with you tomorrow. I'll just need to wrap up a few details."

"That's fine, Lieutenant. Thanks for talking. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Ms. Sinclair."

Well, another citizen soothed. And then I had another hour and a half to wait. Please, no more phone calls. The powers on high heard me, and the time passed quickly. Before anything else happened, I grabbed my shirt and jacket and got the heck out of there. I made it home without mishap, and as I entered the driveway, I noticed that CJ and Dion were playing catch. I pulled off to one side and stopped. I got out of the car just as Dion tossed the ball. His aim was off and I ducked. The heel on my shoe slipped and I landed on my butt again. A cement driveway hurts. They both came over to me trying to hide their laughter. It didn't work but Dion did manage to say:

"Steve, I'm sorry."

"I know. Just be careful. Baseballs can knock a person out. Sometimes they can cause a concussion or worse. Let's go inside."

"OK. Steve, please don't be mad."

"Dion, I'm not mad. It's just been a bad day."

"Mom told us," continued CJ.

We went into the house and found Amanda, dad and Jess in the kitchen. Dad looked around and asked:

"Steve, are you still in one piece?"

"Barely." Jess saw the back of my slacks and inquired:

"Uh, Steve, did you sit in some dirt today?"

"No, I fell in the driveway just now."

Amanda turned and asked: "Steve, what happened?"

"My heel slipped."

"Why?" questioned dad.

I started to make up some nonsense answer when Dion spoke up:

"I threw the ball and my aim was off. Steve had to duck before it hit him, and he fell."

Amanda inquired with some urgency: "Steve, are you all right?"

"Yes, Amanda. Don't worry. We've talked about the damage baseballs can do. It's over. From now on, guys, play in front on the sand. It's too dangerous in the drive. OK? Now, come downstairs with me while I change."

We went into my bedroom and the kids sat quietly on the bed; I, on the other hand, opened a drawer and pulled it right into my stomach. Good kids that they are, they tried mightily to suppress their laughter. They couldn't and, by that time, neither could I. We had a good laugh. I went into the bathroom to finish changing and freshen up, while the boys flipped on my CD player. The next thing I heard was a full pre-teen concert backed by the Beach Boys' "Help Me Rhonda." They weren't half bad. When I entered my living room, I picked up a pencil to use as a mike, and we finished the song together. Dad called us to dinner so we shut off the CD player and went upstairs. As we walked through the living room, I pulled a stunt worthy of dad. I tripped over the ottoman and landed in the middle of the floor. Laughs all round and once more that familiar voice:

"Son, I see you tried to imitate me. I'll score it a five out of ten. Keep trying, you'll get it."

"Sure, dad, I'll do that."

I was pleased that I got through dinner without spaghetti stains on my shirt. Ditto for the ice cream and coffee. Finally, a successful meal! We played Monopoly for a couple of hours and the evening was finally over. The boys had fallen asleep so Jess and I carried them out to Amanda's car, and I stayed outside to see them off. After they left, I went back into the house. As I started to climb the stairs to go help dad, I tripped and fell all the way up. I heard a chuckle and looked up to see dad:

"My, my, Steve, you are having a bad day. Can you stand?"

"Yes. I think I twisted my ankle again."

I got up and found that I was right. I had twisted the ankle. I could barely walk on it. Dad's medical training finally took over, and he said:

"Never mind the kitchen. I'm taking you downstairs and putting you to bed."

I couldn't refuse. I was tired and really sore. Dad put my left arm around his neck and helped me to my bedroom. Heck, he even helped me change. He opened my bed and tucked me in as if I were five. I motioned for him to sit and he shook his head no.

"Gee, dad, afraid I might rub off on you? I think that the fates have conspired against me and it's 'Get Steve Sloan Day.' You should be perfectly safe unless you change your name."

"I'll be right back. I have something to show you."

I was finally safe, tucked into bed and lying back on the pillow. Dad returned with a slip of paper and an ice bag. He sat and put the ice bag on my ankle. He gave me a rather compassionate look and said:

"Steve, your ankle should be all right and your bruises will heal; but I want you to stay in bed for a day, just to keep off your foot. I'll stay down here tonight just in case you need something."

I didn't protest. I asked him to hand me the pad and pen that were on the nightstand and he complied.

"Son, I think I know what caused all your problems today."

He showed me the slip of paper and we both laughed and laughed. I had to agree with him, and I felt better knowing that tomorrow will be all right. I don't usually keep a diary or journal, but I had to get this on paper so I can read it over tomorrow. Otherwise I'd never believe it happened. The slip of paper was a page from dad's desk calendar. Today's date: April 1st.