dadinc

D.A.D. Inc. - Part 1

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley sat in her office with the gentleman from "D.A.D. Inc." sitting opposite her.   He was a distinguished-looking gentleman with neatly combed gray hair, a small gray moustache and a gray suit. Mrs. Harrison-Stanley thought of the song, "A Foggy Day in London Town."

"Tell me again, Mr. Soames, just how 'D.A.D., Incorporated' works. I'm afraid that I'm completely computer illiterate."

Mr. Soames' face betrayed none of his inner thoughts, but he did think it was preposterous in 2020 for someone to still be computer illiterate.

"It's simple, dear lady," Mr. Soames said.   "Each 'D.A.D. Inc.' brochure comes with a transporter disc. You simply pop it into the transpo-communicator window of your OmniComp system and type in the code."

Mr. Soames opened the manual and flipped through it, as the pages glided by, Mrs. Harrison-Stanley chewed her cuticle and looked at the varied men displayed on each page.

"Here we are," Mr. Soames said, he had stopped at one of the pictures.   "This is Mr. Harris Tucker, a very popular dad. "

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley heard a disturbing thud overhead, but she tried to ignore it. She looked at Mr. Harris Tucker.   He was very handsome.   Dressed in a deep brown suit which complimented his blond hair and tan face, Mr. Tucker appeared to be about forty years old or so.   He had an athletic build, she could tell that even with the suit. He had a briefcase in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

"Mr. Tucker is particularly good at monitoring homework and helping children study. He is very gentle, but not overly demonstrative - you'd be surprised how many people want that in a D.A.D. Inc. dad. He is also good at teaching table manners. He doesn't show a great deal of anger, but when he is angry, he will punish. But of course, all our dads do that.   And that's partly what you're looking for, isn't it Mrs. Harrison-Stanley?"

"Um....yes," Mrs. Harrison-Stanley said nervously.

"And here," said Mr. Soames flipping a few more pages, "is Mr. Grant Parker, a very different type of dad." The page showed a red-headed man in full cowboy gears. He had a lasso in one hand and the thumb of his other hand hitched into his belt."

"Mr. Parker is a great favorite with little boys.   He is often so very popular that very little discipline is required. How old did you say your boy was again?"

"Fourteen," Mrs. Harrison-Stanley said, "Hollis is fourteen, and I don't think....."

Another thud sounded overhead and then, before Mrs. Harrison-Stanley could answer, the door of the office opened and a gentleman in what was unmistakable a butler's outfit came in.

"Yes, Drake?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt you madam," Drake said, "but Master Hollis is upset and his room is suffering."

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley looked at Mr. Soames and sighed. She turned back to Drake. "Drake, couldn't you.....?"

"No, madam," Drake said firmly, "not after last time."

"Excuse me, Mr. Soames," Mrs. Harrison-Stanley said, "my son is having some difficulties." Mrs. Harrison-Stanley hurried from the room.

As she rushed up the wide stairway that lead to the second floor of her baronial home, Mrs. Harrison-Stanley cursed her dead husband, Malcolm. "How dare you die and leave me with all of this."

Mr. Harrison-Stanley had died of a heart attack the very night his only son had been born fourteen years earlier. Sometimes Mrs. Harrison-Stanley thought that Malcolm had chosen to have a heart attack rather than deal with Hollis.

The sounds of banging were much louder now that she had reached the second floor, and Mrs. Harrison-Stanley was not surprised to Hollis' nanny, Ms. Nancy, hiding in the hallway.

"Chicken!" Mrs. Harrison-Stanley hissed at her. "You're discharged!"

"Good," said Miss Nancy and she fled down the stairs.

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley paused outside of her son's room, steeling herself, and then - after another crash - opened the door.

Hollis was standing on top of his bed amid the mess he had created. He was, or would have been, a good-looking boy, about five foot five with curly brown hair and a trim build.   His features were fine, but they were not composed into a very pleasing picture.   Hollis was in a rage.

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley looked at the books, table lamp, pictures, games, action figures, desk drawers that had been thrown around the room.

Hollis jumped off the bed and faced his mother as she came in.

"Why are you doing this?" Mrs. Harrison-Stanley cried.

"You know why, mother?" Hollis shouted.   His face was red and perspired from the efforts of his anger. He stamped his foot on the floor.   "All of my friends are going to the Skyhotel tonight to celebrate the Jupiter landing, and that stupid asshole that you hired to be a watchdog, told me I can't go."

"It's not Miss Nancy's fault," Mrs. Harrison-Stanley said, trying to make her voice as calm as possible, "I told her to tell you that.   Tomorrow is school, and you can't possible go to the Skyhotel it's a (she lowered her voice) 'Pleasure Dome.' What friends are going there?!"

"My friends," Hollis raged on. "Besides what the hell do you care.   You're going out yourself later."

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley sighed she had a lot of social obligations and Hollis always made her feel guilty about them.

"Hollis, I can't get out of tonight's dinner at the Wagners, but you mustn't even think of the Skyhotel I've head that all sorts of outrageous things go on there."

"Yeah," Hollis grinned, "I know."

"You know?!"

"Yeah, I've been there once before. See you didn't know about it and nothing happened don't have a kitten now."

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley put her hand to her forehead. Once again, silently, she cursed Malcolm. Her son, her fourteen year old boy, had been at an infamous establishment. Of course she had never been there, but she had heard of the bizarre games and sexual contests that happened there.   She had also heard that young boys were particularly welcome.

"Oh god, Hollis, I can't cope with this.   You cannot go and that is that. If you don't stop this outrageous behavior, I will have to call the Air security to post a guard around the house."

"You can't do that!" Hollis shouted. "I'll....I'll hurt myself."

"I have someone waiting for me downstairs," Mrs. Harrison-Stanley said to her son, "and I have to go back.   I'll come up when you've calmed down and we can talk some more."

Hollis laughed.   "Yeah, when I've calmed down.   How much air have you got in your lungs, mother."

"What?"

"To hold your stupid breath," Hollis sneered.

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley left the room, making a concerted effort not to slam the door behind her.

Mr. Soames was sitting patiently in her office when she got back downstairs.   He had turned to a new page in the brochure and had it spread open on small mahogany table they had been sitting at.

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley sat down and looked at the picture. It showed quite a burly gentleman almost shockingly so.    He was dressed in the military outfit of a astroship pilot.   He had a thick chestnut-colored beard and moustache. He was holding his pilot's cap in one hand, so Mrs. Harrison-Stanley could see his full head of very curly hair, and in the other hand he held a slide rule and some charts.

"Captain Riskin is a specialty dad, called on when things get, how shall I put it," Mr. Soames paused, "a little out of order."

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley stared at the picture of the strong masculine man.   She thought of Hollis raging over-her-head and the horror of the Skyhotel.

Without a word, Mrs. Harrison-Stanley wrote out a check and handed it to Mr. Soames. Mr. Soames slid some papers toward Mrs. Harrison-Stanley.

"You must understand Mrs. Harrison-Stanley," Mr. Soames said, "that 'D.A.D. Inc.' is a branch of the government now. It's an offshoot of a very special organization that was started back in 1998 in a small clinic that has gotten the nickname of 'Applied Psychology.'   All D.A.D. Inc. dads have been specially trained and tested to insure that they meet with the highest government standards.

Our goals are more than just stopgap measures we hope to put a D.A.D. dad into every home and to have every biological dad train with D.A.D."

"Tell me again what the acronym stands for?" Mrs. Harrison-Stanley asked.

"'DISCIPLINE and DEVOTION'," Mr. Soames said, "two of the key elements in fathering. Once you sign those papers, you are part of the D.A.D. network.   That means that D.A.D. will put monitors in your home and you will be alerted when a D.A.D. dad is required.   You may chose from the catalog, but....."   Mr. Soames paused, "you cannot choose not to choose."

"I understand," Mrs. Harrison-Stanley said.   She was very sure that she understood and very sure that this was a necessary step.   Some small part of her rankled about the government control features, monitors etc., but what else could she do.   This was all Malcolm's fault.

*    *    *    * *    *    *    **    *    *    **    *    *    **    *    *    **    *    *    **    *    *    **    *    *

After she signed the papers, Mr. Soames offered to give Mrs. Harrison-Stanley a demonstration of how the OmniComp system would operate once the transporter disc had been properly inserted.

Omnicorp was a small table top computer wired to what looked like a metal detector at an airport. Of course it wasn't a metal detector this was the matter transporter that had almost made airports obsolete.

Mr. Soames showed Mrs. Harrison-Stanley how to load the disc and then how to type in the information for whichever D.A.D. dad she requested.

"If the dad of your choice is busy elsewhere, you will get a response to that effect on your screen and you can simply select another dad.   There are over fifty in the brochure. By the way, on the back of each picture is a descriptive passage to aid in your selection.   I highly recommend that you read Captain Riskin's."

Mr. Soames packed up his small suitcase and shook Mrs. Harrison-Stanley's hand. "You have made a wise move, Mrs. Harrison-Stanley.   You have joined a large and growing group of people who recognize the importance of D.A.D."   Drake appeared, almost as if by magic, and showed Mr. Soames out.

Another crash was heard overhead and this time, an accompanying shout, "I'm going to hurt myself mother I really mean it."   There was a pause and then a last parting word, "COW!"

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley grabbed the brochure and flipped to the Captain Riskin page. She looked at the bearded, bear-like man, and then turned to the description on the page of the picture.

Captain Max Riskin is a genuine astro-pilot who has recently joined
D.A.D. Inc.   He is deeply concerned about the youth of today and
recognizes the significance of his role as a D.A.D. dad.

Captain Riskin is a strict dad, whose firm no-nonsense style, coupled
with his amazing physical strength makes him an idea dad for partic-
ularly difficult boys.

Captain Riskin knows exactly how to get order and how to keep it.
Be prepared he is extremely strict and will not hesitate to bend a
boy to his will. Satisfaction guaranteed - but he does it his way.

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley shuddered. Hollis needed discipline, but Captain Riskin sounded very extreme.   She flipped the pages and came to the picture of Mr. Harris Tucker.   Mrs. Harrison-Stanley sighed.   Mr. Tucker looked like the kind of man she wouldn't have minded having as a father.   She could imagine him with a pipe and slippers and a dog.   And, he was amazingly handsome. She also felt that his first name, Harris, might be a good omen.

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley turned on the OmniComp system and typed in Harris Tucker's code.   Then she punched it in.

The portal began to glow, brighter and brighter until a dazzling umbra filled the space within the portal. When the glow dimmed, Harris Tucker stood there just as he appeared in the brochure.

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley stepped forward and held out her hand.

"Mrs. Harrison-Stanley," Mr. Tucker said in a deep. chocolatey man's voice.    "I'm very glad you sent for me."

"You...you know me?"

"Of course," Mr. Tucker said without explaining, "the OmniCorp began monitoring you the moment Mr. Soames put the disc in the system has retroactive memory so I know all about you.....and my son.   I think I'd better go up to Hollis, don't you."

"Y-es," Mrs. Harrison-Stanley said nervously. "He can be very difficult."

Mr. Tucker smiled and deep creases carved his handsome face into Marlboro man planes, his teeth were snow bright. "I'm his dad I think I can handle him."

Mrs. Harrison-Stanley noticed that Mr. Tucker carried his briefcase and paper with him as he headed upstairs.    Mrs. Harrison-Stanley followed him to the foot of the steps and called after him, "Please, be gentle with my little boy."

Mr. Tucker turned and flashed another brilliant smile, "Mrs. Harrison-Stanley, please remember, Hollis is my son too." And then he was gone off down the hall.

Hollis was writing "F U C K   M O M M Y !" on his bedroom wall with a black El Marko when Harris Tucker came in.    He turned and gaped in surprise at the man.

"Who're you?" the boy demanded. "What're you doing in my room."

"I'm dad, son," Harris said. He came right in and sat on the bed. "Looks like your having a little temper tantrum, aren't you boy."
"Eat shit and spit grit!" Hollis snapped back.

Mr. Tucker shook his head and reached for his briefcase. He popped it open and Hollis got a peek at what was inside.   He saw a folded strap, a wooden ruler, something that looked like a ping pong paddle and a hairbrush.

Mr. Tucker looked up from the suitcase and eyeballed Hollis. Then he nodded and took the hairbrush out of the suitcase.   He closed the suitcase and put it at the side of the room.   Then he saw down again on the bed.

"Come here, son," Harris said. "Dad needs to talk to you."

Hollis didn't like the look of this at all. He made a quick judgment about Mr. Tucker's seat, the distance to the door and the chances of racing by for a quick getaway.   He took off and miscalculated.

Harris Tucker's foot shot out and Hollis tripped. Before he could hit the floor, however, Mr. Tucker made a fist grab for the seat of the boy's trousers and lifted him right off his feet. Hollis thrashed, but Mr. Tucker held him at arm's length effortlessly.

"All D.A.D. dads have received muscle enhancements quintessential in child-raising," Mr. Tucker informed Hollis.   Hollis wasn't paying that close attention.

"Get the fuck off me!" Hollis said, trying to punch Harris.

"Son, you have a nasty mouth, and dad doesn't take to that."

"What do you take to," Hollis shouted, "banging a fourteen year old?"

"That's done it," Mr. Tucker said. "I'm a reasonable dad, but you are way out of bounds.   I'm afraid that I'm going to have to punish you, son.   I'm going to wash out your mouth."

Mr. Tucker looked about and found the bathroom directly connected to the boy's room.   "Yes," Mr. Tucker said, "I'll start with your mouth and finish further south!!" Harris Tucker chuckled at his own joke. Then, still holding his 'son' like a bag of meal, he headed for the bathroom.

"Let's go, son. Dad has some scrubbing out to do, and then I think some castor oil and we'll finish with a good old fashioned hairbrush spanking on your bare bottom of course."

Hollis yelled, as dad took him to the bathroom.

(to be continued)