by Paul Watkins
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snaps back at me. “Are you here for the job or not?”
The pencil skids across the desk surface and slams into a manila folder, bouncing teeter-totter fashion before coming to rest.
“That’s correct,” I reply quietly… after all, I don’t want this interview to turn into a shouting match. “I’m here for the job, but the only thing we have discussed so far is that I am white. And, I might add, when I came here, I didn’t know you were black.”
The only way to finish a comment like that is to stick out my tongue and blow him a big, juicy raspberry.
His head wouldn’t have to go back much faster and he would have a guaranteed case of whiplash. A.J. sits back with a sullen look on his face… he looks a little frustrated and a lot pissed.
“Give me one good reason why I should hire you for this job? How do I know I’m not just buying a bunch of trouble? What the hell, the minute you come in here, I’m going to have everybody in this joint all over my little black ass. What the hell am I going to say to these people?”
He gestures grandly as he concludes his statement. One would think he was addressing a multitude of admirers, instead of one ‘don’t-give-a-shit’ job applicant. I spent a good part of my professional life in sales. If this were a sales call, and in a sense I suppose that’s what it is turning out to be, I would say this man is asking to buy.
“If you are the person making all the decisions here,” I respond, “and if you are running this operation in addition to all the other things going on in your personal and professional life. then, if I were you, I would want to nail this operation down with the most competent manager I could find. I would want to be free to do the things I’m good at… the things I like to do.
“To answer your question, I will give you not one, but two good reasons why you should hire me. The first is I am competent… very competent, in fact.
Second, I am honest and I will see to it that the people who work here are honest as well, or they will not stay on.”
There was no way to know I had just hit a very tender nerve. A.J. did not react in any particular way to my statement, but I was to learn a bit later that he had just fired his business manager the previous day. The man was a brother and a long-time friend, and a thief. The man had started small and then took larger and larger amounts until it finally came to A.J.’s attention.
“What did you mean when you said you were not sure if you wanted the job or not? Maybe we’re just shoveling smoke.”
With this he retrieves the pencil, spins it once and then throws it on the desk and spikes his comment with, “Dammit!”
I pause a moment before replying. He seems pretty agitated.
“Well, for openers, I do not know what you want done, or what my level of authority would be. I know nothing of the staff, and finally, what the compensation or benefits are.”
A.J. slowly pushes his chair away from the desk and crosses his legs. He takes a deep breath and seems to be making a conscious effort to relax.
“That’s easy,” he replies. “The job is to manage the estate. I believe you already know the size of this place… two hundred and fifty acres, which includes about twenty acres of lawn. There are tennis courts and a swimming pool. There’s a grounds staff and theylook after all that. There’s the house staff. There’s a cook and maids and security for both my family and myself. There’s equipment to maintain the property, automobiles, and toys… everybody has toys!
“We have been here only two months and money is flowing out like a river at flood stage. I have no idea what the hell for. We’re decorating and redecorating. At the same time we’re trying to live a normal life and throw an occasional party or two with friends. You can’t believe the bills I get… hell, I can’t believe the bills I get. That’s what I have for openers. I could go on, but I’d ruin my whole day.”
I can see where this would be perturbing, but it’s hardly insurmountable.
“Would all those people report to me,” I ask, “and if so, what would my level of authority be?”
“Yes. All those people and all those functions would be your responsibility… except for my personal security.”
“Why not your personal security?”
“Because those people are friends of mine and all they do is watch out for me… once in a while the kids… but basically just me.”
This is a good a time as any to straighten out this mess.
“That arrangement wouldn’t work… all security would have to report to me.”
“Why?”
I like him already. Some young hotshots his age would just argue and try to bull their way through an issue like this. He’s asking for a reason.
“Because I would be responsible for the people watching your family. You spend a great deal of time here and that would mean certain security people would report to me and others would not. If I needed someone to cover another member of your family, I would have to go through you. If you weren’t around, it could be a problem. It would get complicated. Anything you want, you come to me. Everyone has just one boss.”
“This is getting confusing.”
“No, it gets complicated when people do not know who directs them. when we have people here who work for you, but not your family. Keep the organization simple. If you are going to have a manager on your staff, then that person has to have real authority to do the job. Do you have a problem with giving adequate authority to do the job right?”
He ponders my question briefly and then replies, “No, I guess not.”
I nod my head accepting his answer and continue, “Okay, if we have general agreement on all that, let’s move on to more mundane matters. How much does the job pay?”
“Thirty thousand a year with two weeks vacation. room and board.”
I could tell him that I would be willing to work for nothing just to get involved with something, but at this point it most likely wouldn’t be very good strategy. Probably better if I take a different tack.
“I’m afraid that’s unacceptable… at least for me. I would want fifty thousand a year.”
My reply bounces A.J. right out of his chair.
“Are you crazy? I don’t pay anybody fifty grand.”
“Look at it this way,” I counter looking up at him, “if I am not worth it, you can fire me after thirty days. Hell, you can fire me after thirty minutes. If you cannot afford it, fine. But if it’s simply a matter of not knowing what you are going to have to pay to have the job done right, then why not do it on a trial basis? In the meantime, if you wish, you can keep looking for my replacement.”
The silence is palpable, but I’m a patient man. He’s really grinding this one.
After what seems like a long time, but is probably no more than a few moments, he finally nods his head and says, “All right. If your references check out, you’ve got a job. When can you start?”
“I will need a few days to get my things in order. I can be here next Monday if you wish.”
His reply is immediate, almost as if he were going to say it no matter what.
“What I wish is for you to get your ass in here by Saturday. Take it or leave it.”
I think if I said tomorrow, he would have said, today. this afternoon, he’d say, now. If I had said I’m ready to go now, he would have said, too bad you weren’t here yesterday. Since he doesn’t want to do it at all, at least he’s going to do it on his terms.
“Fine,” I reply, “I’ll be here Saturday.”
No sense staying past the sale… he might change his mind. I get up and extend my hand.
“Thank you for the opportunity. If you don’t mind, I will put off meeting anyone else until Saturday. I would like to get back and wrap up my affairs.”
A.J. again nods his agreement and shakes my h
and, this time with a bit more authority and enthusiasm. He even gets up out of his chair. I don’t think he’s as happy as he’s ever been, but he appears to be comfortable with it. Still, I can’t help but wonder why he did it at all considering the circumstances. I really don’t think he likes my whiteness one little bit. Hell, I know he doesn’t. On the other hand, I have to give him his due… regardless of whatever he feels in that regard, he kept an open mind.
“I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers for our agreement… assuming things check out.”
“An agreement won’t be necessary,” I say with a shake of my head. “If we cannot trust each other, a piece of paper isn’t going to make any difference. I give you my word, and I will repeat it on command, I will not sue you and I will not write a book about my experiences here. If you want me to leave, a one hour notice will be fine.”
A.J. actually smiles for the first time since we met.
“Hell, I wasn’t even thinking about something like that. Would you write a book if I asked you to?”
“I suppose it would depend.”
A.J. laughs.
“I’m not going to ask you about that right now, but someday I might. Look. I’m running out of time. Don’t be late… first thing Saturday morning.”
I turn and wave as I reach the door. AJ.’s eyes are boring right through me. I wonder what he’s thinking. and I wonder, too, who it was who said you should beware of what you wish for… you might get it.
CHAPTER 3
Wrapping up my affairs has gone much more quickly than expected. Part of the reason for this is that getting things done is almost always easier when you can get someone else to do them for you. John and I had already discussed most of the legal matters, so all I had to do was sign a few papers to take care of that end of things. After all, I’m not exactly leaving the country.
As for the house, I have long been blessed with the MacNamaras. a husband and wife team going by the first names of Jack and Mary. They are both as Irish as Patty’s pig… or is it Paddy’s pig? We sort of adopted each other about twelve years ago after Jack had been laid-off from his job. Mary was the head chef for a corporate cafeteria and she longed for something with less volume and more quality and creativity. Laura and I hired them to help us with our home and it wasn’t long before they became our extended family. The Irish have always been strong on loyalty and Jack and Mary are no different in that regard. I would trust them with my soul.
I told them I was leaving for a time to take a position as a consultant. They would never understand or accept the truth. In fact they would probably be hurt, thinking my problems were somehow due to a failure on their part. Nothing could be further from reality, for had it not been for them I’m sure I would have had a much more difficult time of it. So I left them in charge of everything with enough money to see them through the next year of operations. There will probably be more money in the account a year from now than I have given them to work with.
I asked Jack to drive me to the Jackson’s home so he would know where I am if, for some reason, he ever had to go there. Also, I do not want to have a car with me. It would be an imposition to ask for a place to garage it and certainly unsightly to have it sitting outside all the time. We left Friday afternoon and stayed at a nearby motel last night.
Driving to the house at first light, Jack is duly impressed. We off-load the luggage and after a fatherly pat on the back and a handshake, Jack is on his way. Things look a little different in the half-light of dawn and the total quiet of the countryside is interrupted only by the growing cacophony of the birds as they argue about whatever it is that seems so important to birds at this hour of the day.
There’s a light on near the back of the house. It’s probably in the kitchen, so I head for the back door. I have three large soft covered bags and one carry-bag for suits. I brought five suits with me. It’s doubtful that anyone would ever know how many suits I have since they all look alike… blue pinstripes, gray, or variations of those basic colors.
Long ago I decided the army was right: one dress uniform is perfect for most occasions. All the rest of my clothes are casual. I know… Boring! Actually, all I did was exchange one uniform for another. But I never thought of wearing a suit/uniform for business as anissue one way or the other. My goal was to eliminate an unimportant decision from my life. Do away with another area where something could go wrong. I just wanted to focus my sights on running the business and doing the things that counted while not getting caught up in a lot of non-essential, irrelevant trivia. After all, I’ve never been a fashion plate and my business certainly didn’t require a clotheshorse to run it.
A soft tap on the door and a person I suspect is the cook comes and peers through the glass, holding her hand to her eyebrows as if trying to shield her eyes from the emerging sun’s rays. She studies me carefully, then notices my luggage and decides to let me in.
“Hello, Mr. Richards,” she says with a smile. “I’d shake hands, but they’re all flour. I’m Martha, and, as you might have guessed, I’m the cook.”
This is followed with a hearty laugh and a slow shake of the head.
“A.J. said he hired a white man to be the boss around here, but I thought he was just telling another one of his stories. That A.J., he’d rather lie than tell the truth any day.”
Again a laugh and another head shake. She walks to the stove and then turns around to look me over from a different angle.
“Of course, he might have just hired you for the day to help him pull this thing off. Would you help him do something like that? Fool ol’ Martha?”
Before I can answer, she laughs again and shakes her head still one more time.
“Naw, you look like the real thing. If you were a phony, you would be talking a mile a minute trying to convince me you were for-real, instead of letting me run on and make a fool of myself.” She points to a chair. “Bring your bags in and sit over there. I’ll make you some breakfast.”
I let the door close lightly so the latch does not engage. I don’t know if the lock is set or not and I don’t want to have to call Martha to let me in again. I grab two bags and leave one to hold the door open while I retrieve the rest and place them in a corner out of the way. Straightening from my task, I brush my hands together and return my attention to Martha who is rummaging in the fridge with her back to me.
“Martha, I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t want any breakfast right now,” I tell her. “I would rather just… “
I’m cut off in mid-sentence by a stern look. No laughing or head shaking now. Perhaps I had better reconsider and give in this one time.
“Well, okay. Maybe a cup of coffee and some toast would be good about now.”
The smile is back. I should have been a diplomat working for the U.S. State Department or some such outfit. I could have achieved world peace by now instead of running some estate no one ever heard of.
Martha nods and walks to the refrigerator. Close call. As she goes about her business, I take the opportunity to look around. The kitchen is a fairlylarge room with all the latest equipment. There’s a stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator over against the far wall. Martha’s work area is a large island with a sink and a cutting board. Copper pots and pans hang from a wrought iron rack suspended from the ceiling where two skylights illuminate the kitchen as the emerging morning sun begins to compete with the artificial lights.
The range is a restaurant-style gas stove with six burners of various sizes. The kitchen table sits off to the side. The table is made of oak and could probably accommodate ten or twelve people comfortably. It occupies an area bordered by a bay window at one end. I’m standing on still more oak. The floor is made of tongue and groove oak planks with a clean, but dull finish. It’s a nice way to do it… a bright shine would not fit in this utilitarian atmosphere.
The diamond shaped leaded gla
ss windowpanes recast the sun’s rays into multicolored lights that dance gently through the room. The overall effect is pleasant and I find I am very much at home already.
Martha walks over and places a cup and saucer on the table. In her other hand she holds a silver coffeepot. She fills my cup, places the pot on the table and returns to her duties. Somehow the sterling silver pot fits right in the men’s club decor. There’s a partially open door across from me, near the entrance to the kitchen. I lean over and see that it leads to a large pantry for storing kitchen supplies. A few minutes pass and Martha returns with a plate of eggs, ham and toasted muffins and places it in front of me. Her countenance is stern and challenging. It appears I’m being tested.
“What’s this?” I ask. “All I wanted is coffee and toast.”
“You’re too thin.” Comes the reply from a woman who is about five foot nothing and weighs around two hundred pounds on her lighter days. “It’s early and you have a long day ahead and I don’t want you in here every ten minutes asking for a handout. So eat while I see if I can find you some dessert.”
“Dessert! For breakfast! Look, Martha, I’ll have some of this, but I’m not having any dessert. So forget the dessert. All right?”
Martha smiles and walks over to the cupboard while it slowly dawns on me that I’ve been had. Obviously, she never intended to serve dessert, but she threw it in so she could cave to where she wanted to be anyway. I’m certain it’s the first of many skirmishes to come… and I have a feeling we are going to get along just fine. Martha returns with a cup, fills it from the silver pot and joins me at the table.
“Why don’t you get a plate, Martha, and have some of this?” I gesture towards the ample serving. “I’ll never finish it.”
Martha shakes her head.
“You’ll finish it. Besides, I don’t want to get fat.”
I keep a straight face and nod my head in agreement, afraid to look her in the eye. I don’t want to lose all my hard-won points, earned for eating a delicious meal I don’t need. Besides, ‘fat’ is a relative term. It’s also the kind of word that can get a newrelationship off to a very rocky start, so even though it’s her word, I don’t think I’ll acknowledge it.