by David Harp
Chapter 41
J. Alfred
Haley was captivated by Claude’s story.
“This is beginning to sound like a mistery novel” she said to Claude, “but it was real for J. Alfred.”
Haley sighed heavily as she tried to imagine J. Alfred’s torment.
“Has he ever experienced anything other than tragedy?” she asked. “How did that little boy become one of the wealthiest men alive?”
Claude hesitated as he lifted a cup from his desk and gulped a deep swallow of water.
“J. Alfred has lived an extraordinary life, but I’d be less than truthful if I didn’t admit his father’s death changed him. He never got over the murder and handles his anxiety by immersing himself in whatever project is in front of him. It’s the same drive which made him rich and built this institution. He has experienced some happy times in his life, but he has had more than his share of misfortune.”
Claude explained that he helped J. Alfred start his own business when he was only twelve years old.
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Having struggled with myopia, J. Alfred turned his energy toward improving vision. Claude helped him build a small factory which originally made inexpensive non-prescription sunglasses.
His company, the IMICRON Corporation, became one of the largest manufactures of sunglasses in the world. The profits were reinvested into the newly emerging field of corneal contact lenses, eye drops, and medicines.
By the time he entered Yale College in 1958, J. Alfred was already a millionaire. He joined the secret society Skull and Bones in his senior year and learned of a clandestine organization known as the “Qabalah.”
The Qabalah was a mysterious organization even to the rich and powerful members of Skull and Bones. J. Alfred learned the Skull and Bones was essentially a good-ole-boy club where members shared influence and information to maintain their power and wealth.
The Qabalah, on the other hand, was a true underground organization with connections in every corner of the globe. Skull and Bones members referred to them as Caped Crusaders because of the cloaks they wore. It was understood they were powerful and ruthless. “Don’t mess with the Qabalah,” was a common refrain heard by J. Alfred whenever he asked questions.
He shared the little he learned from Skull and Bones with Claude. They both vowed to continue searching for answers, and to determine if the Qabalah was responsible for John’s death.
Between his passion for business and his paranoia of the Qabalah, J. Alfred had little time for anything else, but in 1962 he fell in love. If there ever was such a thing as love at first sight, J. Alfred experienced it with Angela.
He had recently finished his undergraduate work at Yale and was being haunted by recurring dreams of his father. He packed his Crown Imperial convertible and retraced the route his family had taken to Florida back in 1947 when he was six years old.
When he arrived at Weeki Wachee Springs, he decided to visit the mermaid show to see the American Broadcasting Company’s new theater. He hoped to recapture some of the wonder he felt as a child. The attraction looked completely different, having expanded from a seating capacity of eighteen to five-hundred, but the mermaids had changed very little. Much to his delight, he was once again mesmerized by the girl behind the glass as he remembered his childhood dream:
The exquisite creature swam effortlessly through the cool clear water. Her hair flowed gently behind, like a shimmering waterfall within a blue ocean. Her gaze met his, and her smile made him tremble. His outstretched hand tried to touch her…
“Would you mind sitting down? We can’t see,” barked a large balding tourist irritated by the man standing in the middle of the underwater theater. The man was J. Alfred who slinked back into his seat, embarrassed by his peculiar behavior, but still captivated by the girl behind the glass. It was the last show of the day. An attendant told him the mermaid’s name was Angela.
J. Alfred Weston was a rich, handsome bachelor whom girls had vigorously pursued all the way through college. But here he was, pining over a girl in a fish tank, acting like an awkward teenager.
“Excuse me,” he said as the woman walked to her car with a friend. “Are you Angela?”
She was a little startled at first. It was not unusual for strange men with uncommon fetishes to stalk the performers. As their eyes met, she felt an inexplicable connection like the discovery of a long-lost friend.
“Hi, do I know you?” she asked.
“I was the guy touching the glass during your last show. This is going to sound weird.” He took a deep breath. “I was here fifteen years ago when the theater first opened. I would swear that I saw you then.”
“That was you? You have grown!” Angela laughed, but realized he was serious. Rather than being insulted that he thought she could be that old, her fingers instinctively reached for his hand as she explained.
“You probably saw my mother. She was one of the first mermaids to perform. People say I look just like her.”
J. Alfred’s confused expression transformed into a mixture of comprehension and relief.
“I guess you could say I’ve had a crush on your mother since I was six.”
“That’s sweet,” Angela said, “But you may have seen her last show; she died fifteen years ago.”
J. Alfred was filled with awkward panic as he struggled to speak. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say!”
“Don’t apologize,” Angela said. “I don’t know why I told you. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. You were being sweet.”
“Would you let me take the two of you out for dinner?” J. Alfred asked.
Angela turned to her friend Cathy and whispered for a moment.
“O.K., but there’s only one place in the area to eat. It’s called the Bayport Inn. They serve great fish and German potato salad. Cathy will ride with me in my car, and you can follow in yours.”
Both cars pulled into the parking lot at the Bayport Inn a few minutes later.
“Angela and Cathy!” said a man with a heavy German accent as he greeted them at the entrance to the restaurant. “It’s nice to see you again. Who is your young man friend?”
“This is, uh, uh,” Angela turned toward J. Alfred. “You know, I don’t think you gave me your name.”
“It’s J. Alfred. Sorry, I’m usually a little less absent minded.”
“Well Jalfred, pretty girls make me forget things too.” The man said, intentionally mangling J. Alfred’s name. “Right this way.” He led them to a table in the middle of the restaurant.
Angela looked inquisitively at J. Alfred. “Jalfred? Am I saying that right?”
He answered, “It’s J,” he paused, “Alfred.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but that comes across a little pretentious.” Angela smiled and then added, “I bet you got beat up a lot on the playground.”
He replied with little expression, “I was taught at home. My first name is John, but I go by the first initial in honor of my father who died when I was six.”
“I am sorry,” Angela said softly. “What’s your last name?”
“Weston,” he replied.
“J. Alfred Weston,” she pronounced as if making a ceremonial proclamation. “It sounds very distinguished.”
Angela’s friend realized she was being ignored and interrupted, “Hello? My name is Cathy, I’m sitting right here.”
Both Angela and J. Alfred laughed nervously, trying to conceal their instant attraction for the other. The magnetism was apparent to Cathy, the waiter, and everyone else in the restaurant.
“Cathy,” Angela chuckled, “I’d like to introduce my friend Jalfred.”
“How do you do Jalfred?” Cathy cackled as she extended her arm to shake hands. J. Alfred accepted her hand, pulling it to his lips.”
“It is a pleasure my dear lady,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “Now tell me, what do you lovely ladies enjoy doing, other than teasing unsuspecting visitors?�
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“Most people think we get tired of being in the water with our jobs, but most of our free time is spent enjoying the river,” Angela replied. “It’s my home.”
“Angela has a cabin on a beautiful property where the river meets the Gulf,” Cathy added. “It’s the perfect place to launch your boat.”
“That sounds like a lurid proposition,” J. Alfred replied.
“Not at all!” Cathy countered. “If you travel left up the river, you enter a beautiful world of familiar plants and animals. If you turn right toward the Gulf, you enter a realm of endless horizons and infinite possibilities.”
“You sound like a poet.” J. Alfred said to Cathy.
“I know it’s trite, but the river inspires me,” she replied.
“I am having a few friends over to my place tomorrow,” Angela said. “Would you like to come by and see it?”
“I would love to,” J. Alfred replied
And so a three-way relationship began. Not an illicit affair between J. Alfred, Angela and Cathy, but a bond between J. Alfred, Angela and the river.
J. Alfred became good friends with Cathy, but fell deeply in love with Angela. He stayed the summer with Claude and Noreen in Highlands County, but made frequent trips to Bayport.
“You are going to wear out your car driving to that girl’s house every day,” Noreen teased.
To get Angela to stop calling him Jalfred, J. Alfred deliberately mispronounced her last name of Weisenberger as Weeeesinbooger. Angela relented, but refused to call him J. Alfred. Instead she called him “Al,” but insisted, “Jalfred will always be my secret code name for you. This is important, if you ever receive a message addressed to Jalfred, you will know it’s from me.”
Both Angela and J. Alfred had lost a parent at an early age, and they had many other things in common. They enjoyed living close to nature, had a strong faith in God, relished sporting arguments, and shared an insatiable scientific curiosity.
The happiest days of their lives were spent together at Angela’s cabin that summer. The building was a little tattered, but the three-acre lot with ancient oak trees and endless gulf views became their personal paradise.
As they grew closer and shared intimate secrets, Angela explained how her mother had been struck by lightning and died on Sunday, October 26, 1947. The date stunned J. Alfred because he was certain his childhood visit to the mermaid show occurred the day after she died.
Had he seen the ghost of a dead woman? He reasoned, maybe the mermaids all looked alike to a child… maybe.
By the start of fall, J. Alfred sensed Angela was keeping a secret which was bothering her. He decided to force the issue.
“Spill it. There is something you’ve been wanting to say.”
Angela took his hand and led him to the front porch. They sat on an old wooden bench without conversation until she worked up the nerve to speak.
“I have chronic myelogenous leukemia. It has been in remission after taking 6-mercaptopurine, but it could can back at any time. I wanted you to know before we get any more serious.”
A single tear ran down J. Alfred’s cheek. “I could not be any more serious. I love you and I want to get married as soon as possible. Will you marry me?”
“No,” Angela quickly replied. She was afraid J. Alfred’s proposal was being offered in sympathy, or without thinking it through. However within a week it became clear J. Alfred would keep asking until she said yes. She accepted on his seventh proposal, and Noreen helped organize an outdoor Christmas day wedding at Angela’s home.
J. Alfred and Angela moved to a beautiful house in New Haven, Connecticut where his business was located, but they kept Angela’s cabin. In September 1963 their daughter Rebecca was born.