Los Angeles | 2009
Mark's POV
I knocked on the door of the Pritchett house across the street, my daughter Erin standing patiently beside me. It was simple task: deliver Erin to her carpool rendezvous point. Gloria had graciously offered to take Erin and Manny together to the Dunphy residence for their playdate.
The heavy wooden door was pulled open to reveal Gloria. She wasn't ready to leave yet—dressed in a vibrant silk robe with a coffee cup in one hand—but she still looked more glamorous than most people do at a formal event.
"Ay, my beautiful little angel!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she knelt down to Erin's level. She then looked up at me, her smile dazzling. "Mark, welcome! Come in, come in." She gestured us into the grand entryway. "I am almost ready, just one little minute to become beautiful for the world. You wait here."
She turned her head toward the grand staircase. "JAY!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the house. "Come down and talk to our handsome General! Don't be rude!"
She gave me one last brilliant smile before disappearing up the stairs, leaving a faint trail of expensive perfume in her wake. I stepped inside as Erin went off to find Manny. The house was impressive—modern and stylish, but with a comfortable, lived-in feel that was different from the precise order of my own home. My eyes scanned the living room and landed on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Amongst the family photos sat a meticulously crafted model of what looked like a P-51 Mustang, its silver paint gleaming in the morning light. A flicker of professional interest sparked in me. Jay Pritchett, it seemed, had good taste in aircraft.
I was still studying the P-51 model on the mantel when Jay Pritchett walked in from a hallway, a large, flat model set in his hand. He seemed surprised to see me still standing in his entryway.
"Still here, Mark?" he asked, his tone dry. "Figured Gloria would have recruited you for a fashion show by now."
I ignored the jab and nodded toward the box under his arm. "New acquisition, Jay?"
Jay looked down at the box, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Something like that. F4U Corsair. Keeps the hands busy."
"A classic," I said, my professional interest genuinely piqued. "The bent-wing design was a nightmare for carrier landings, but you couldn't beat its performance in a dogfight." I gestured toward the mantelpiece. "The P-51 you have up there is a beauty, too. You got the detail on the exhaust stacks just right."
Jay's gruff exterior cracked. He stopped and looked at me, genuinely impressed. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Just what I'd expect from an Air Force guy."
"It's my business to know them," I replied with a small smile.
He looked down at the new, unopened box in his hands, then back at me, an idea clearly forming. "I was thinking of finishing this one today," and for a man like Jay, the offer was surprisingly direct. "Well," he said, holding up the box, "an extra pair of steady hands is never a bad thing on a Corsair. If you have the free time, that is."
The offer was unexpected, we had known each other sometime but never really shared interests apart from good whisky. I thought about the mountains of paperwork waiting for me, the endless briefings. Then I thought about the simple, quiet focus of building something with my hands.
"It's a good way to spend a relaxed day," I agreed. "I'd be happy to help."
"Good," Jay grunted, a look of actual satisfaction on his face. "Let's get to it." He turned and led the way toward the kitchen countertop just off the living room, a new, unexpected alliance forming over a shared love for glue and meticulously crafted plastic.
The kitchen countertop had become our command center. Pieces of the F4U Corsair were laid out with military precision, the scent of model glue hanging faintly in the air as Jay and I worked on assembling the pieces. There was a silent camaraderie between us.
The peace was broken by the arrival of Gloria, Erin, and Manny, getting ready to go out.
"I wish I could stay home with you and fly toy airplanes," Manny said, his voice full of genuine longing as he peered at the intricate plastic parts.
"They're not toys, Manny," Jay immediately corrected, his tone defensive and gruff. "They're models, and they're very complicated. You want to fly one of these, you have to know all about airfoils, drag, lift, and thrust. These are all principles of aerodynamics."
Manny, unfazed, simply pointed to the box. "The box says twelve and up."
"Where?" Jay demanded. Manny pointed it out, and I watched Jay squint at the tiny print, his expression one of pure denial.
"You can fly toy planes with Jay next time," Gloria interjected smoothly. "Today, I want you to spend time with Luke."
"Why?" Manny asked.
"Because his mother invited you, so you go. Family should be close," Gloria said, her logic absolute.
"I'm pretty sure this is a typo," Jay grumbled, still staring at the box.
I saw the flicker of embarrassment on Jay's face and the look of logical disappointment on Manny's. I decided to step in.
"He's right, Manny," Mark said, stepping in. "The box may say twelve and up, but that's how a person develops their interests. My own passion for the Air Force started when I first saw some older kids building a model tank. I got my first model airplane when I was thirteen, and I spent hundreds of hours on it." I looked from the boy to his stepfather, a new level of respect in my voice. "The fact that Jay still pursues his passions with this kind of focus, even now... that's a sign of a healthy mind."
The effect was immediate. Manny looked at Jay with a newfound sense of awe. And Jay… Jay looked at me with a rare, unguarded expression of genuine gratitude.
"Come, Manny, Erin," Gloria said, breaking the moment. "Time to go."
"Bye Daddy", Erin chirped.
"Bye Bug be on your best behaviour okay", I replied.
"I will", her voice echoed.
Gloria ushered the kids out the door, leaving Jay and me alone again in the quiet. He cleared his throat, picked up a piece of the fuselage, and handed it to me. "Well," he grunted, a small smile on his face. "Let's get this healthy mind to work." I chuckled at that as we got back into the grove of things.
…
We had been working for about an hour, our focus entirely on the delicate task of assembling the pieces of the remote-control plane. Jay had a surprisingly steady hand. We had moved our workstation to the living room sofa, the parts laid out on the coffee table like a complex puzzle.
Just as I was applying a careful line of glue to a wing strut, the doorbell rang. A moment later, Phil walked in, a bundle of restless energy.
"Hey, Jay!" he boomed, his eyes lighting up. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd pop by for some boys' time!" He then noticed me on the sofa. "Oh, hey, Mark!" he said, his enthusiasm not dimming in the slightest. "What are you guys up to?"
"We're building a model remote plane," I answered, carefully setting the wing in place.
Jay grunted without looking up from the fuselage he was holding. "It's complicated, Phil. Lots of small parts. You'd probably glue your fingers to your face."
"Right, right. Small parts. Got it," Phil said, his smile faltering only for a second. He was left standing silently and awkwardly as Jay and I continued fixing parts to the plane. He hovered near the arm of the sofa, shifting his weight, trying to look interested and helpful but clearly not doing anything. I could feel his awkward energy radiating from him.
After another minute of this, Jay let out an exasperated sigh. "You just awkwardly standing there makes me feel uneasy. Fine!" he snapped, finally looking up. "Sit down. You can help."
Phil lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, though he still looked deeply uncomfortable as he sat next to Jay on the sofa. He perched on the very edge of the cushion, his hands hovering nervously over the model pieces, as if afraid to cast a disruptive shadow on our work.
With an added hand from Phil, we were able to complete the work in record time. Phil was clumsy initially, his enthusiasm getting the better of him, but he quickly acquired the deft hand to glue and attach the pieces. We sat back, admiring the finished Corsair, a sleek and formidable machine.
"Well, gentlemen, now that the hard work is done, shall we go enjoy the fruits of our labour and fly the plane?" I asked, looking at Phil and Jay.
"Right on! We should totally check out how it works in real-life conditions!" Phil said enthusiastically.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go. I know a playground for model planes," Jay added, grabbing his car keys.
…
The field was a wide, open expanse of green, perfect for flying. Jay was a natural, his hands steady on the controls as the Corsair sliced through the air. The awkward air between him and Phil was still present, with Phil offering a stream of breathless commentary that Jay mostly ignored.
"I should get one of these. I've always loved planes. If my life had gone a little differently, I think I would have been a pilot", Phil said expressing his aspirations. I raised an eyebrow at that thinking about Phil as a pilot.
"I'm sure it would have been an honor to serve with you Phil had you taken that path", I said indulging him.
"I know right I could have been your wingman", he said excitedly.
"You're a little too young to me for that but sure Phil", I added.
"Hey, what would happen if you turned the remote off and then back on real fast?", Phil said curiously.
Without missing a beat I chuckled, "I take back my words"
"Yeah, you would have been a great pilot", Jay voiced in.
"I can see why you like this, it's so peaceful. I mean, the whole world disappears when you're out here. There was this summer when I….", Phil drawled on and it was sucking out the sereneness of flying the plane from Jay, to be honest even I was beginning to feel a little annoyed with the constant chatter.
"Tell you what. There's another trick," Jay said with a wicked grin, turning to Phil. "Ever play 'Threading the Needle'?" He pointed to a large, freestanding hoop someone had set up on the field. "You grab one of those hoops over there and go stand way, way, way at the end of the field, and I fly the plane through it. Simple. I used to do it with Claire and Mitch when they were kids. You wanna try it?"
I immediately stepped forward. "Jay," I said, my voice calm and analytical, "that's a high-speed, low-altitude manoeuvre with Phil in the target area. The margin for error is zero. I'd advise against it."
Jay just shrugged it off. "Ah, he'll be fine. I won't be too harsh."
Phil, desperate for Jay's approval, puffed out his chest. "I'm ready, Captain! And then I get a turn at flying it?" He jogged over and stood a few feet in front of the hoop, waiting.
I watched the plane bank and line up for its approach. It came in fast, a low buzz growing louder. It dipped slightly, and I saw Jay curse as he corrected its course. It was too late. The plane wobbled, veered sharply to the right, and flew right into Phil's face.
There was a dull thud and a surprised yelp. Phil stumbled back, his hands flying to his nose. When he pulled them away, there was blood on his face. Jay, meanwhile, rushed past him to where the plane had crashed on the grass, kneeling down to inspect the damage. "Is anything broken?!" he yelled, clearly not talking about Phil's face.
My training took over. I strode over to Phil, who was looking dazed. "Sit down, Phil. Head tilted forward," I commanded, my voice firm. He did as he was told. I took the hem of his polo shirt, tore a clean piece off, and pressed it firmly against his bleeding nose, administering emergency first aid. I turned to Jay, who was still fussing over a snapped propeller.
"Jay, ready the car. We're taking him back to the Dunphy residence. Now."
"Ah, he's being a sissy, he's okay," Jay grumbled, finally looking over.
"A SISSY?!" Phil shrieked, his voice a high-pitched wail of pain and indignation. "WHY DON'T YOU LET ME FLY A PLANE INTO YOUR FACE AND SEE HOW YOU FEEL?!"
I sighed, lifting Phil up to carry him. "The car, Jay."
Being around this family consistently results in unplanned, dramatic situations.
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That's all folks. See ya next week.