What Would Donald Hollinger Do?

I can only imagine the fainting spells, and gasps of horror at J.'s reprehensible behavior. How dare he make such an accusation of sweet and innocent Em? How dare he use such language and insult her with his notions about the purity of her intentions?

Thank God it had been an actual conversation or it would be forwarded to every and all cell phones in our network and going viral by midnight.

J. sat and waited. The phone call was satisfying on many levels, but Em was only one small, dim-witted part of the larger problem. The ranks are closed. There would be other attacks. But, nonetheless, he'd made his point. He had seen through Em's thinly veiled agenda and had called her on it. She may think she had deftly handled his objections, that her obvious reputation for truth and innocence would clearly work in her favor, but he had hit his mark. And they all knew it.

What he was waiting for was a call back.

It would not be from Sheila. She'd had exactly one confrontational conversation in her adult life, and it had been with me, and it had been an abysmal ass-kicking. Even her mood stabilizers and whatever other therapeutic whammy she may subscribe to could not motivate her to go down that ill fated path again.

It might come from Endora. The self-proclaimed matriarch of the Cullen family might actually make a call, but would have to be coached on content, and would call only when she knew she'd get your voicemail so she could screech and chastise without the possibility of any type of retort or counterattack. The worst kind of bully. (Note to self: learn how to transcribe voice mail to YouTube with hilarious synchronized sock puppet show)

But really, the call should come from Chuck. J. has said that if someone insulted or denigrated me, he didn't care if the guy was Mike Tyson, he'd knock on the guy's door and he'd have to answer to him. But we all knew that Chuck, the perpetual nursing student who cooks and cleans and dotes on the older ladies in the family, would never call J. No, he'd retreat to the bosom of his circle of women, and nod his head in agreement that Uncle J. was a big meany.

We've seen this side of Chuck before. Once, in an obvious lapse in reason, Chuck had offended a young woman in the family in a way that could not go without comment. To not mention it would have been to accept that he'd crossed a boundary. J. did not rant and rave and make a federal case out of it. He merely called Chuck and said he'd like to talk about it.

Before he knew it, Sheila and Endora and all the other hens had gotten involved and were backing J. off of the matter like a rabid pack of she-wolves. So Chuck, rather than facing J. had rallied the women and hidden behind their aprons.

I don't know what Donald Hollinger would do in a situation like this. But I have to believe that he'd grow a pair.