by Paul Watkins
As I eat my breakfast, Martha fills me in with news about what’s going on at the mansion, but names and positions mean little without faces to go with them. She hints with brief comments here and there that tell me there is much to be learned from this source. Although I have little to go on, Martha appears to be an astute observer and a better than average judge of humankind. A few minutes later her tutorial is interrupted by the rapid pitter-pat of little bare feet in the hallway.
“Here comes Jeff-Jeff,” she says with a smile.
Martha turns in her seat as a little boy pokes his head in the door, sees his target and rushes headlong into her lap. Martha scoops him up in her arms and gives him a hug.
The boy looks over Martha’s shoulder and spies me. His eyes widen and he smiles a greeting. He’s a beautiful boy and the near-perfect image of his father.
“Say, hello, to Mr. Richards, Jeff-Jeff.” Martha says while softly patting his back. There must be some maternal instinct that kicks in whenever a woman holds someone in her arms. It seems they automatically begin patting the back of the object of their affections. perhaps feeling everyone could use a good burp every now and then. The boy buries his head in Martha’s shoulder and waves shyly without looking.
“This is Jeffrey,” Martha says with a smile, “but I think he’s going to be Jeff-Jeff for a little while longer.”
“Hi, Jeff-Jeff,” I reply, “how are you?”
I guess I don’t really know how to talk to guys this small.
No answer.
“I think it’s time for some breakfast,” Martha says as she heads for the pantry, ignoring my futile attempt to converse with the little guy. She lets the boy slide to the floor as she walks along. “Hop in your chair, Master Jeff-Jeff and we’ll see if we can’t find something you like.”
The youngster heads for the highchair at the end of the table and nimbly climbs to his lofty perch. Thirty seconds later Martha has a bowl of cereal sitting in front of him and he contentedly digs in. I have a feeling Martha rules her domain with an iron fist. Another feeling I have tells me she has many happy subjects.
Prior to my arrival, I had given some thought as to the best way to conduct myself in this job. After all, I am a bit older than A.J., and given my background, it will probably be difficult to keep my mouth shut at times, but I have decided that is what I must do. Another best thing I could do is to go back to my military experience. Yes, sir. no, sir. It should be very difficult to get into trouble that way. Generally speaking, the army tells you: if it moves, salute it… if it doesn’t move, paint it. So I shall be correct in all respects with regard to my new working relationship. Appropriately, following a slight noise in the hallway, a sneaker clad A.J. saunters in. I rise to the occasion.
“Good morning, sir,” I say with a smile.
A.J. is wearing sweat clothes. Looks like he’s set up to go for a run.
“Good morning, yourself, and what’s this ‘sir’ shit?” he replies with a scowl. “You didn’t call me, sir, when we talked a few days ago.”
He looks at the coffee and reaches for a cup, his attention diverted for the moment.
“I didn’t work for you a few days ago,” I reply evenly.
“Well let’s get something straight…” his gaze returns to me, the scowl still in place, “I’m a very informal guy and I don’t call anyone, sir, and I don’t expect anyone to call me, sir… got it?”
A.J. doesn’t appear angry, but he does look determined. Unfortunately this is an important point with me. All my plans revolve around having the proper relationship with my new employer. After all, I’m just trying to protect myself. Besides, since the service, I’ve never worked for anyone else. I’m not sure I can pull it off on an informal basis. I think I’d be better off at arm’s length for a while. Later on, if I make the cut, things may loosen up naturally.
“I think I know how you must feel,” I reply, “but you have to understand that if I’m going to manage this place, then I’m going to have to conduct myself in a manner that shows the respect due to you as the master of this house. People have to realize you are the boss and not their buddy. If I don’t show you respect, then neither will anyone else.”
“So what are you saying? Are you telling me you expect everyone here to call me, sir? Because if that’s what you think you’re…”
“Yes, sir,” I cut in. “Either, sir, or Mr. Jackson. You may have special employees address you in whatever manner you wish. For instance, friends you employ, whom you have known for years… I wouldn’t expect anything to change there, but I would like the rest to address you in a more formal manner.”
A.J. shakes his head and sits down next to his son.
“I don’t like it. It sounds like a stuffy movie. What am I supposed to call you?”
“Philip. would be fine.”
A.J. contemplates this state of affairs for four or five seconds and then a small smile creases his lips and he says, “Okay, Phil, Philip it is. So, Phil, what are your plans today?”
No one has called me, Phil, since my school days, but I ignore the shot… he is the boss, I must remember, and if he wants to call me, Phil, then that’s the name I’ll answer to. Besides, after taking such a strong stand on calling him, sir, I’m hardly in a position to complain about Phil. That would be more like shooting myself in the ass… forget the foot.
“I would like to meet the staff before making any definite plans for the day. Otherwise, I thought one of the first things on the agenda should be to start work on a budget for general operations. I am assuming from your comments the other day that you haven’t had the time to draw one up yet.”
Apparently this comment has great entertainment value for A.J. He throws his head back with a loud guffaw and an equally loud slap of his hand on the table. Jeff-Jeff learns quickly and slaps his hand on the table in imitation of his father. Unfortunately, his thumb catches the edge of his bowl and milk and cereal go flying. This brings Martha on the run with a cloth and a scowl that has absolutely no effect on A.J.
“You assume correctly,” he says leaning to the side to look around Martha’s ample figure as she busies herself cleaning up the mess. “The only budget around here, as far as I can tell, is all I’ve got. I agree. It’s something that’s long overdue. Why not make a rough draft and we’ll go over it when you’re ready. But before you make your rounds, I would like you to meet my family. I see you have met Jeff-Jeff here.”
He rubs the boy’s head with his fingertips as Jeff-Jeff closes his eyes with pleasure.
“How about Shana… has she come down yet?”
“No, not yet. Martha said she’s still in the nursery with her nanny. Her name is Mary Stanley, I believe. Actually, other than you, Martha is the only person whom I have formally met. That is, to whom I have introduced myself.”
A.J. acknowledges my comments and realizes for the first time that I’m still standing. He points to the chair and with a wave of his hand, directs me to sit down. Martha returns to the table and plucks Jeff-Jeff out of his chair. She wipes his face and hands with a moist towel and sends him on his way. This time A.J. and I watch Martha’s efficient ministrations rather than try to talk around her. Just as A.J. is about to speak, an absolutely stunning woman enters the kitchen carrying a little girl in her arms.
A.J. and I are both on our feet as he extends his hand towards me and says, “Sheri, I would like you to meet our new manager, Phil Richards. Phil, this is my wife, Sheri, and my little girl, Shana.”
Sheri is wearing the same type of outfit as her husband. only somehow she looks better in sweat clothes. Shana’s red playsuit is covered with Disney characters displaying various gymnastic feats. She, too, is wearing sneakers. Little kids’ shoes always make me smile. Exact replicas of their adult counterparts, the little athletes are ready for world-class competition. A child, barely able to walk, w
ill have traction soles and speed lines painted along the sides of his or her footgear. What an imagination those designers must have.
Sheri is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She’s about five feet seven or eight, perfectly contoured, and her smile is absolutely dazzling. Her eyes open wide as she comprehends A.J.’s statement. She seems to be trying to assimilate faulty data. Evidently I am his surprise for the day. She recovers nicely and extends her hand as Shana rides easily on her forearm.
“Hi, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m sorry if I seem confused, but I didn’t know A.J. had found anyone for the position. I mean. I knew he had hired someone, but I didn’t know you were coming today. Well,actually, I guess I knew you were coming sometime today, but… “
Her mega-watt smile smoothes any uneasiness I might feel at this point. Sheri is a lovely woman with charm to match her beauty.
I look over at A.J. who is just beaming at his wife’s verbal gymnastics. No question about it, he set her up and now he’s letting her twist in the wind. Never told her about the new manager… white, no less. I try to ease her off the hook before she hurts herself.
I’m still holding her hand as I say, “I’ve started. This morning is my grand entrance… such as it is. Anything you need, please do not hesitate to tell me. It will take me a while to get my feet on the ground, but it will make things easier if you tell me the way you want things as we go along.”
As I release her hand she looks at A.J. and says, “Honey, you should have said something earlier. I could have had a big list all made out for Phil here.” Then with a mischievous grin, “We could have buried him the first day.”
A.J., now confident his surprise has worked, begins to hold court.
“That’s what I was afraid of, but I’m not sure how long Phil is going to last. This is a temporary arrangement. He’s sort of on probation… if you know what I mean.”
Sheri’s reaction is one of pure astonishment.
“No, I don’t know what you mean,” she exclaims. “What an awful thing to say. Poor Phil probably doesn’t know whether he has a job or not.”
I figure I’d better jump in before things get out of hand and she has me feeling bad about the ‘terrible fix’ I’m in. Although, I must admit, ‘poor Phil’, does have a nice ring to it. It’s probably the kind of thing that works better when a beautiful woman says it. Coming from my accountant it wouldn’t sound so good.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Jackson,” I interrupt with the biggest smile I can muster for this joyous occasion. “The terms of my employment are very fair. In my view, all employees are on probation anyway. After all, if I don’t do a good job, then I should be fired. In any event, I’m comfortable with the way things are. I’m sure everything will work out.”
Sheri listens to my little philosophical speech and nods her agreement in a rather uncertain fashion as I conclude. Then she gives A.J. a stern look and says, “I still think some things are better left unsaid.”
Looking at the slightly chastened A.J., I think it would be good politics to get him off the hook as well. After all, I want my first day to start on a good note and I don’t need a pissed-off husband/boss on my hands.
“That’s just part of his charm, ma’am…”
“Ma’am!” Sheri shrieks. “What do you mean, ma’am? I’m not a ma’am. I’m too young to be a ma’am. You can’t call me ma’am!” She places Shana on the floor and her hands go to her hips as she stamps her foot for emphasis.
So much for good intentions. Now the ball is in A.J.’s court and he’s laughing so hard he has to lean against the doorjamb for support. He pushes away and reaches out for Shana.
“Come here, Chubbs,” he says, ever the helpmate. “Your mother is going to need her hands free to hit him.”
Shana’s wobbling like a little drunk in a high wind, intent on keeping her balance in the verbal storm that surrounds her.
What a prick. I give him a quiet look of desperation, hoping he might bring this to a gentle conclusion, but the look on his face tells me it’s a lost cause. He enjoys this shit. Now it’s every man for himself. It’s a well-known syndrome in law enforcement circles that the most dangerous assignments involve domestic disputes. The contestants can fight among themselves, but woe be unto him who intervenes, even with the best of intentions. That person often finds himself the common enemy of both participants… which is where I seem to be headed at the moment.
“I would hope you would assist me in this, sir,” I offer, “given our earlier agreement.”
Turning to Sheri, I continue, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jackson, I did not mean to upset you. I will not call you ma’am in the future, if that is your wish.”
Sheri’s response is a demure smile. However, A.J. practically jumps across the room, much to Shana’s delight. She lets out a tiny shriek, as she seems to enjoy all the bouncing and loud talk. I feel like I’m in some sort of cartoon. Usually this is the point where an eighteen-wheeler comes crashing in, or a building falls on one of the participants. Why do I feel like I have a target painted on my back?
“Hey, wait a minute!” he yells. “You can’t do that. If you’re going to call me, sir, then you have to call her, ma’am. That’s only fair. Come on, Phil, this is bull.”
“Bull!” Sheri cuts in. “I’ll give you bull! That was a terrible thing to do, letting me talk to Phil that way when it was all your idea.”
I sense this is as good a time as any for me to go about my duties. When in doubt, move on out!
“If you will excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, I have work to attend to. Very nice to see you both.”
Exit stage left.
Crossing the large kitchen, A.J. calls after me. “Wait a minute, Phil, goddammit! This is all mixed up.” Then in a softer voice I hear him plead, “Honest, Sheri, I didn’t have anything to do with this. I can tell you right now, the man’s a troublemaker. I can tell about those things, I really can.”
Yeah, right. Damn! This is already more fun than I’ve had in a year. How many people almost get fired in their first ten minutes on the job? Right now I think I’m one of the lucky few, but only time will tell.
CHAPTER 4
I take my leave through the kitchen door and walk towards the front of the house. The workmen should be coming in to work about now. If possible, I want to meet them all today. Martha told me a man named Ned Walker is the fellow in charge of the grounds crew. About thirty yards away, near one of the gardens, there are two men talking. One, much smaller than the other, is leaning on a rake and doing a lot of listening. He nods as the other man points to another garden near the far end of the house. From Martha’s description I think I know which one is Ned. She said he was a big man, a description that hardly does him justice. From my viewing angle, I don’t think there are too many things around here that Ned couldn’t lift, including cars and small buildings. The man is simply immense… make that huge. As I approach the men stop talking and the man I assume is Ned looks down at me patiently.
“Are you Ned Walker?” I ask mustering the biggest smile I can imagine. I suppose I tend to smile a lot when I’m confronted with a giant. He probably climbs a beanstalk to go home.
“That’s me,” he replies, also with a smile, but not nearly as nice as mine. “You must be, Mr. Richards.”
The man Ned had been talking with prior to my arrival ignores us as he bends over and collects a few tools and then shuffles off in the direction Ned had pointed out earlier. We both watch his retreating figure for a moment before I extend my hand to Ned and watch it disappear into his massive paw. Fortunately the giant is gentle and I am able to withdraw my hand intact. I like him even more now than before.
“Right, I’m Philip Richards. I would prefer that you call me Philip, if it’s okay with you.”
If it isn’t all right with him, I don’t know what the hell I’d do about
it. I could park a car his shadow. I suppose this business about first names could stand a little explanation. You see, while I want to have a formal relationship with my boss, I’m really a very informal person myself and I find it much easier to work with people if there are no artificial barriers between us. A double standard, I know, but I never said I was perfect. Besides, I have good reasons for wanting to address my boss in a formal manner. My situation is different, and I think I’ll just leave it at that. I have found people who are really good at rationalization can usually find reasons to explain their otherwise irrational behavior.
“Fine by me,” he replies in his easy-going manner. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Yes, there is something you could help me with. I’m not familiar with much of anything around here, but I have to start work on an operating budget and I would like your input with regard to the needs of the maintenance operation. With a place this size I’m sure there’s a lot going on. I want to sit down with you and get a better understanding of your responsibilities andwhat kinds of supplies you will need throughout the year.” Ned looks a bit troubled at this point. “I realize you may not have everything handy,” I add, “but we have to start somewhere and you are the best person to talk with about the grounds. No matter how little you think you know, you certainly know a lot more than anyone else about the costs associated with maintaining this place.”
Ned stands silently in apparent contemplation before he speaks. “I’m not sure how much help I can be, Mr. Richards, I …”.
“Ned, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I would like you to call me, Philip. Just, Philip, okay?”
“Sure. I guess you said that before. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Anyway, Philip, I was about to say I’m not sure how much help I can be, ‘cause I’ve never worked on no budget before. All anybody ever did was tell me what I could buy and what I couldn’t buy. I never did no budget work.”