Fatherless: A Novel (8 page)

Troy scanned
the faces around the room to gauge reactions. Kevin would land his formal presentation one minute early, an impressive first.
Opinions were now forming. Political calculations made. Sides chosen.

Reviewing his hastily crafted tally, Troy confirmed five in the Against column, Trisha Sayers most visibly of all. Only three
appeared warm to Kevin’s proposals. He optimistically marked them For. He presumed the remaining poker faces Undecided, including
the ever-pragmatic Brent Anderson, who rose from his chair to moderate fifteen minutes of questions and debate.

“Thank you, Congressman Tolbert.” Anderson visually sized up the same mix of faces. He momentarily studied his handwritten
notes. “Before we begin discussion I want to make sure we clearly understand your proposals. Can you please return to the
earlier slide titled
A Better Path
?”

“You bet.” Kevin waved back to a page displaying two items.

“That’s it. Thank you.” Anderson allowed a moment for the slide to refresh memories. “As I understand them, both of your recommendations
would reduce two large revenue streams.”

“Not reduce. Reinvest,” Kevin clarified. “Let me explain Proposal A first. Our present system indirectly penalizes parents
trying to raise future workers. Future taxpayers. Curbing downward population trends by even a small amount will generate
long-term revenues that dwarf the short-term investment.”

“How do we penalize parents?” Anderson asked. “Elder-care tax rates are the same for everyone.”

“The average parent spends around three hundred thousand dollars over a lifetime to raise each child. As adults, those kids
get jobs, buy homes, and launch businesses. Each will generate an average of one point six million dollars in lifetime GDP.
But, as you said, parents investing to raise future workers pay the identical elder-care tax as childless individuals who
spend the same three hundred thousand dollars on themselves.”

Kevin paused. Few in the room had ever thought about child-rearing as an investment in future economic growth. When it appeared
everyone was still with him, he continued.

“Fast-forward to age seventy. The childless citizen, the one who spent three hundred thousand dollars on himself, has no sons
or daughters paying into the system to offset his own withdrawals. He will receive the identical elder-care benefits as a
parent who spent decades investing to replace himself with one, two, or more younger workers now paying into the system.”

“So you think childless citizens should receive lower benefits?” Anderson asked.

“No. But I do think we should ease some of the burden on those creating our future tax base.”

“Are you suggesting we subsidize lifestyle choices?” Trisha Sayers appeared to take personal offense. “Give favorable treatment
just because someone spawns offspring?”

“Fewer citizens are spawning offspring, to use your words, than ever in our history,” Kevin replied. “Which is exactly why
we face a declining tax base amid skyrocketing elder-care expenses. Our incentives have pushed both of those trend lines in
the wrong direction.”

“Our charter is to close the deficit gap,” Anderson interrupted. “Cutting sources of tax revenue will make that much more
difficult.”

“Not cutting. Reinvesting,” Kevin corrected again. “If we shift the incentives in the right direction we encourage more bright
spot behaviors, which will actually increase revenue.”

“That might help us over the long haul. But what will it do to our short-term projections?” Anderson appeared highly skeptical.

“I won’t kid you. They will look worse at first,” Kevin confessed. “But after a few years they will improve sharply. Do you
remember the bright spot regions? The average household generates significantly higher GDP and spends far less on elder care.”

“How can parents generate more wealth when they spend so much to raise kids?” Anderson probed. “And how can communities with
fewer transitions spend less on the elderly?”

“Remember, necessity is the mother of invention,” Kevin continued with a wink. “Kids motivate everyone in the family to make
different choices than they would otherwise have made. Dads take extra shifts and second jobs. Moms scan coupons and launch
home-based businesses. Grandparents buy birthday presents and watch grandkids, providing cheaper and better child care while
giving them something better to do than rot away in retirement villages. The average married father, for example, earns seventy
percent more lifetime income than the average single man.”

“That can’t be right,” Trisha objected.

“It is right. For a thousand reasons, children give young adults incentive to work, save, and invest. They also give older
adults positive purpose. The numbers don’t lie. Our brightest economic regions have more kids and fewer transitions.”

“Have you run the projections on these proposals?” an Undecided asked, eagerly flipping through the supporting document.

“We have,” Kevin answered. “You’ll find them on page seven. A net gain after ten years. If we could affect a ten percent shift
over two decades we would generate six trillion dollars in additional GDP while reducing end-of-life expenses by two trillion
more.”

Troy noticed a slight rise in one of Anderson’s eyebrows. A budding For?

“And all on the backs of women!” Trisha erupted.

“Excuse me?” Kevin replied.

“The regions you call bright spots, Mr. Tolbert, look more like a retreat to the Dark Ages.” She glanced down briefly to confirm
her hunch. “I’m looking at a map of store placement for my company. It’s interesting how few of our outlets show up in the
areas you’ve highlighted.”

She stopped, assuming her point self-evident. The blank stares around the room prompted a reluctant explanation of the obvious.
“Our stores serve professional women. We have lots of outlets in Mr. Tolbert’s dark red regions. Almost none in his so-called
bright spots.”

Troy quickly connected the dots. Trisha’s fashions accentuated ladder-climbing gals, not diaper-changing moms. Women purchased
her clothes to make presentations, not to burp babies.

“Who do you think wipes the noses of all of those future taxpayers, Mr. Tolbert? Certainly not the fathers.”

Troy sensed trouble. He had seen the strongest, most decisive men shrink in the face of an offended female, especially one
as attractive and articulate as Trisha Sayers.

“Raising children requires enormous sacrifice from both parents,” Kevin countered.

“Am I correct to assume you have children, Mr. Tolbert?” Trisha asked.

“Three,” he replied. “Would you like to see pictures?” The comment prompted the intended laughter, shifting momentum back
in Kevin’s direction.

“Where are they now?”

“With my wife Angie.”

“What about when she goes to work?”

Kevin anticipated the end of her line of questions. “Ms. Sayers, my wife decided to put her career on hold after becoming
pregnant with our third child. Your point?”

“My point, Mr. Tolbert, is that higher fertility comes with a price tag.”

“Which is why we should stop penalizing those willing to pay it,” Kevin retorted.

“I mean that women give up far more than men when couples have kids.”

Anderson stepped in. “As much as we’d love to relive the battle of the sexes, Ms. Sayers, we don’t have time for that debate
today.”

An assortment of masculine chuckles peppered the room. Trisha leaned back in her chair and assumed a seething posture.

“But I’m sympathetic to Ms. Sayers’s position,” Anderson continued. “After all, it will be necessary to sell our plans to
a skeptical public. It might be political suicide to propose fertility incentives. But we can debate the specifics later. Right now we
need to decide whether we consider this idea a big-boulder option for further exploration.”

“Then I’ll state my first proposal plainly.” Kevin quickly retook the floor. “I want to re-incentivize growth by granting
one elder-care tax exemption for each minor dependent in a household. We project a slight dip in net revenue for four years
followed by offsetting growth thereafter. No net increase to the ten-year deficit projection.”

“And Proposal B?” Anderson asked, prompting Kevin to highlight his second bullet:

“Another significant revenue hit,” Anderson observed. “Only a small fraction of transition volunteers currently use the charity
option. Most want to help a partner, child, or significant other by transitioning the estate. If forced to give those assets
to charity we could see a significant drop in volunteers.”

Troy’s eyes met Kevin’s as Anderson finished making his point.

“Do you have any idea how much we save on entitlement spending with each transition?”

“About two hundred thousand,” Kevin said with calm confidence. “Plus about thirty thousand from the federal share of each
estate.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Will you be writing a personal check in the amount of a quarter trillion to make up the difference?” Anderson mocked. Even
those in the For column joined the laugher.

“You won’t lose one hundred percent of transition volunteers,” Kevin explained in good-natured irritation. “And the increase
in charity donations would give the nonprofit sector desperately needed capital to meet the demands our tattered social safety
net has created.”

Several nods around the room confirmed Troy’s earlier advice: “Shifting big-government programs to the private and nonprofit
sector plays well with fiscal conservatives.”

“Again, this is a growth strategy,” Kevin continued. “Seniors in bright spot communities work seven years longer on average
than those in high-transition regions. That’s seven more years of tax revenue. They also cost less. We spend half as much
on the elderly who are parents as we do on the elderly childless.”

“Half?” Anderson reacted. “How is that possible?”

“Partly because those with kids and grandkids stay healthier, probably because they have a greater sense of purpose. But mainly
because grown children provide free assistance to their aging parents instead of costly nursing home care.”

Kevin looked at the rapidly advancing clock.

“I could go on, but I’ve hit the highlights. I’d like to conclude by saying I think it’s time we found ways to grow our long-term
revenue base. Both of these proposals will do just that.”

His fifteen minutes ended. The time to vote had arrived.

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Tolbert, I think we should consider your proposals separately rather than as a pair,” Anderson insisted,
calling for the first vote before Kevin could react. “By show of hands, who supports forming a subcommittee to explore the
first Bright Spots proposal, elder-care tax exemptions for parents?”

Five hands went up immediately, then a hesitant sixth. One shy of a clear majority.

“Opposed?”

The five hands Troy had predicted joined Trisha Sayers’s simmering opposition.

Troy looked toward the host, who now held the tiebreaking vote. Brent Anderson’s eyes vacillated between Kevin Tolbert’s onscreen
summary and the fashion diva’s threatening glower.

“Approved,” Anderson announced without raising his hand.

Troy began circling names to serve on a subcommittee as Anderson derailed item two. “Does anyone support the idea of banning
transition volunteers from leaving an inheritance to their partners and children?”

Kevin started to correct Anderson’s phraseology, but stopped when he noticed Troy’s head moving from side to side in a quiet
effort to temper his boss’s enthusiasm. As much as both men hated the transition industry, they shouldn’t risk alienating
Franklin’s right-hand man. The first proposal had been accepted. The second would not be. Par at the end of round one.

Julia turned
sideways to inspect her full-body profile before leaving the ladies’ locker room. Though it had been two weeks since her
last workout, the glance boosted her confidence for the stroll past the free-weight room where, as usual, a crew of testosterone-laden
guys would conspicuously size her up against every other passing woman. Despite taking offense at the ritual, she was more
worried about losing the competition. Today she would score well above average.

The sounds of whirring elliptical machines and clanking barbells welcomed Julia back to her increasingly sporadic exercise
routine: a five-minute stretch, a two-mile treadmill run while watching her custom selection of news topics, and twenty minutes
of resistance training to strengthen her upper arms and torso. Just what she needed to push past a growing exhaustion incited
by her latest dreams.

Breathing the musky odor of masculine sweat prompted Julia to look toward her panel of judges, five pairs of eyes already
appreciating the view. Before she could relish the moment, however, Julia noticed a sixth man straining to curl his fifty-pound
dumbbell. It was Jonathan Sowell who, as during their recent date, seemed indifferent to her presence.

He probably didn’t see me
, she hoped, quickening her pace to avoid reliving her recent humiliation.

Guylanders
! She thought. It was the title of her Pulitzer-winning feature critiquing the dominant male culture. Many considered Julia the foremost authority on modern guys. Not men. Few of
those, eager to pursue a long-term relationship, existed anymore. Guys, by contrast, preferred the never-never land of boyhood
delights. Fewer and fewer chose the headaches of marriage or the sacrifices of fatherhood, half as many as their parents’
generation. A quarter of their grandparents’. In the 1960s almost 70 percent of men were married with kids by age thirty.
Two generations later, less than 20 percent. Julia would lay odds all five of her free-weight oglers worked part-time jobs
and shared apartments with fellow gamers, partiers, and bodybuilders. Each of them played the field of willing ladies rather
than trying to meet the expectations of a single life partner.

She knew for certain Jonathan Sowell had no interest in a serious relationship.

Finding an open mat on the opposite side of the facility, Julia sat down to begin the torture of stretching. Her hand reached toward toes once easily grasped, settling for an ankle. Forcing
her head downward, she positioned her nose just above a kneecap despite fierce protests from her lower back.

“Julia?”

The masculine voice startled her.

“I thought that was you.”

No!

“Hello, Jonathan.” It was all she intended to say.

“How are you? You look great.”

The flattery worked. “You too,” she replied with a slight smile.

“Great show the other night!”

Great show? Not great time together?

“How’s Maria?” he asked. No surprise.

“She’s fine. What’ve you been up to?”

“Work mostly,” he responded, eyes momentarily distracted by the tall blonde bouncing on a nearby treadmill. “You?”

“Been pretty busy working on a new feature for RAP.” It felt good to remind him of her professional stature, even though she
felt he was intimidated by her success. Few male egos could handle female strength. At least that’s what she chose to believe
over the alternative.

A moment passed.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your workout,” Jonathan said. “It was really good to see you again.”

Liar!

“You too. Stay in touch.”

Not likely.

Julia consoled herself by abandoning the stretching pad for a stress-crushing run. The only open treadmill stood beside the
bouncing blonde. Placing a water bottle in one cup-holder and her phone in the other, Julia hit
START
while nodding at the stranger. She felt slightly less confident running beside a woman who undoubtedly held the gym’s glamour
title.

Just as Julia reached her usual pace she noticed the illumined vibration of her phone. Glancing up, she saw that the clock
on the machine said 12:32 p.m.

She answered after tapping a tiny wireless speaker in her ear. “Hi, Paul. Can you hear me OK?”

“Fine,” he replied. “You sound a bit winded. Bad time?”

“At the gym. Now is fine,” she explained.

“Staying trim for the gentlemen?”

“Something like that.” If only he knew the joke.

Paul got right to business. “I’ll make this quick. You can hit pause on the debit story I assigned last Monday.”

Julia felt a mix of relief and disappointment.

“I’ll toss that piece to Monica so that you can focus on what has the potential of becoming a major feature.”

“No need. I’m sure I can handle both.” Monica Garcia was the last person to whom Julia wanted to hand over her notes.

“I don’t know, Jewel. This one’s pretty big,” Paul countered.

“Just tell me what you’ve got and I’ll decide.”

“Suit yourself, love. Do you have access to a tablet?”

She waved out of the news clip screen embedded in the treadmill to access a search field. “Sure do. What do you want me to
find?”

The neighboring blonde looked toward Julia, clearly impressed by a woman capable of three-way multitasking. Julia nodded casually,
claiming superiority on her own turf.

“Search ‘bright spots’ and ‘Franklin.’”

“As in Josh Franklin?” Julia asked.

“None other. I think he’s up to something, but I can’t quite connect the dots.”

“What dots?”

“He formed a covert team of young fiscal conservatives,” Paul explained. “They’ve been meeting behind closed doors for a few
days now.”

“Meeting about what?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. But I have a confidential lead that says it has something to do with an upcoming revision
from the Congressional Budget Office.”

“The budget?” Julia protested. “Come on, Paul. You promised a big feature.”

“Hear me out, Jewel. My sources tell me the trend lines look bad. Very bad.”

Taking a sip from her water bottle, Julia lowered the pace of her jog to make it easier to type
BRIGHT SPOTS
into the digital keyboard. Nothing of note surfaced until she added the name Franklin.

“Got it,” she said as she started to read. Only her accelerated breathing filled the silence on the line. “A short rumor piece
about a subcommittee of Franklin’s team researching something they call bright spots. But no details.”

“I want you to get the details,” Paul explained. “My sources tell me the guy behind this Bright Spots proposal falls in the
breeder camp.”

“Got a name?”

“Tolbert. A young buck with three kids. Can you believe it? Three!”

Julia hit the treadmill’s pause button. “Did you say Tolbert?”

“T-O-L-B…”

“I know how to spell it. I’m just surprised.”

“You know him?”

“Kevin Tolbert. His wife and I were close during high school. We keep in touch, but the friendship drifted.”

“Get close again, fast,” Paul ordered. “We need inside information on what Franklin plans to do. The editorial board wants
us to be proactive on this one. The budget revision has everyone nervous. We think Franklin wants to capitalize on the situation.”

“To do what?” Julia asked. “I thought he supported the Youth Initiative.”

“He did. But we don’t yet have access to the revised numbers. If public sentiment turns against the president, I wouldn’t
put it past that power-grabbing Franklin to jump ship, even if it requires entering the breeder asylum.”

Julia vaguely recalled a story in the alternative press predicting growing influence from a block of voters motivated by breeder
ideology. After decades disregarding warnings of ecological disaster, these families tended to have more than the sensible
one or two kids. A stark contrast to women like Julia or the citizens of Guyland. The story suggested radical fundamentalists
were the only people who had been having enough kids to create pockets of population growth. They had become a rather large
voting bloc, tilting political clout in their favor. Tens of millions of their kids had reached voting age, most echoing their
parents’ quirky politics. The shift was a bewildering nuisance to enlightened progressives like Paul and Julia, not to mention
their employer, RAP Syndicate.

“What do you want me to do?” Julia asked.

“Find out what this bright spot thing is all about. I don’t want Franklin or his pals catching us flat-footed. We need to
be ready to discredit any extreme ideas before they gain traction.”

“Deadline?”

“Not sure, but soon. We’ll want to run something before the CBO releases their revised numbers, and we don’t know when that
will be.”

“I’m on it.”

Julia ended the call to restart her run.

Glancing at her nubile competitor’s treadmill she noticed the pace, level five. Julia set hers to level six.