by Paul Watkins
“But what do you do for entertainment? Is that all you do… work?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Hey, I don’t want you to think this is some kind of horrible ordeal. It’s not. I am really enjoying myself. What I do is very satisfying… at least to me.”
I have the feeling I’m not pulling this off. She seems doubtful. Enter a funny thought, which, of course, must be expressed. “Say, is this some sort of mercy date? Does it look that bad?”
Again Karen’s delightful laughter tinkles through the car. If it were on a CD it would be a hit tune.
“Philip, I think you need therapy, but having any kind of mercy on you is the last thing I have in mind.”
What the hell ever that’s supposed to mean. But I guess she answered my question. At least, I think she did. Further conversation along these lines is cut off by our arrival at the restaurant. The Embers is a small place with a nice atmosphere. The lighting is dim, with candles at each table. Soft music comes from a piano tucked into a back corner by the bar. The bar area itself has just enough room for one or two groups waiting to be seated. We’re on time for our reservations and the maitre d’ kindly shows us directly to our table.
Karen and I decide to stay with wine, so we select a bottle of chardonnay. She places her purse on the chair next to her and I watch as she busily arranges her napkin and the items of silver that are not in perfect alignment.
“I’m sorry I failed to mention it earlier,” I offer quietly, “but I think you look terrific.”
“Why thank you,” she replies with a smile, “perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”
I decide to ignore the comment. “Tell me about yourself,” I ask. “How long have you been a writer?”
For the next half-hour Karen tells me a very interesting story about her parents, school, marriage, and her husband’s accidental death, approximately five years ago. Her parents had split up when she was ten years old. She went to live with her mother and soon acquired a half-brother when her mother remarried. He was four years older and she absolutely worshipped him. Growing up in a small town in New Jersey, not far from New York City, she had the best of both worlds: a quiet suburban world in New Jersey and the fun and culture of the big city.
She attended Brown University on a partial scholarship. Ever since she could remember, she said, she had wanted to be a writer. She had always wanted to write a book someday, of course, but in the meantime found she was pretty good with personal stories. She had a way with an interesting yarn about peoples’ lives… sort of classy gossip. It was very commercial and she soon had a small, but prestigious group of publications that were interested in her work. And then there was this thing about food and rent and so on. She had met her husband in college and they married soon after graduation. They had been married almost four years when he was killed in a tragic auto accident. She does not offer any additional details and I don’t press for any.
“I’m sorry,” I say by way of apology, “I didn’t mean to bring up any painful memories.”
“It’s okay. The memories aren’t painful anymore. At first you hurt all the time. Then you start to have periods when you don’t think about it at all. There’s just a void. After a while those periods grow longer and then, when you think about it, you think only of the good times. That’s where I am now… I have only fond memories.”
Listening to Karen, it’s difficult not to think of my own situation.
“I guess I’m not there yet. It still hurts a lot.”
I don’t have any expectations for this evening, but I don’t want to dwell on private matters.
“Okay, enough of that. What about your brother, whatever happened to him? Tell me more about what a brat you must have been when you were a little girl. Those memories should be pretty fresh… it was only a few years ago.”
Karen smiles and sips her wine.
“Thank you again, you devil, but you are not going to get through this night without telling me about yourself. Whatever happened to men who like to talk about themselves? How come I get to have dinner with a man who gets lockjaw every time he’s asked a personal question?”
“Count your blessings,” I reply, “you don’t know how lucky you are.”
“Let me be the judge of that. Come on… give!”
School and business are safe subjects and I cover them with enough detail to satisfy any listener other than Sheri, perhaps. The military is off-limits since women usually don’t want to know about that sort of thing anyway. But she seems to be most interested in my transition from business to my present employment. Since honesty is the best policy, I decide to lie. I tell her I tired of my job and simply decided to get into another line of work. Talking about retirement and travel at my age would give her the wrong impression and I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience.
The meal and the conversation make for a nice evening and I find myself having a good time. True to her word, she doesn’t ask one question about my employers or anything related to my job. I ask several questions about her brother and her childhood, but she seems content to talk only about her more recent history… and has practically nothing to say about her brother other than her original comment about how much she adored him when she was younger.
She is so incredibly attractive I find myself bouncing back and forth from visual image to lovely detail and back again. She has a beauty that is striking… almost mesmerizing. And I can’t help but notice how interested she is in practically everything. She’s well informed and knowledgeable on a wide variety of subjects. All this beauty and brightness leads one to ask the inevitable question: why isn’t she in a relationship? It’s easy to account for a few years after her husband’s death, but a girl as young, attractive and smart as Karen should have been spoken for long ago. I can’t help but wonder why she’s still available… assuming she is.
In any event, it’s none of my business. The last thing I need is to make a fool of myself over a woman like this who is involved professionally with my employers. The best policy in this case is to forget about it and stick to my work. But the evening has been fun and a welcome change from my normal routine. On the ride home I decide to do this sort of thing more often… not with Karen, of course, but certainly with the appropriate female companion. I wonder how one goes about the dating game thesedays? I know how Karen does it, but I don’t have a clue how I would make it work.
“What are you smiling about?” Karen asks.
I didn’t know I was smiling, but again, honesty is the best policy.
“I was just thinking about what a good time I’ve had this evening,” I lie.
What the hell, there’s nothing that will get you in trouble faster with a woman than telling her the truth… or telling her a lie. I suppose there’s a lesson there somewhere, too.
“Me, too,” she replies. She reaches over and puts her hand on my arm.
I wish I could believe her. She probably lies more than I do. We park the car back by the garage and walk slowly towards the front door. The night is crystal clear and absolutely calm. This far out in the country there are no lights to obscure the stars and the sparkling sky forms a huge umbrella over our little corner of the world. It’s really quite romantic and given another time and place I would allow myself to think different thoughts … but alas, not tonight. We climb the steps slowly, open the door and walk into the foyer. She stops as I turn and close the door.
“I did have a wonderful time this evening, Philip,” she says with a smile.
“Me, too,” I reply. “Thanks for thinking of me. I really did enjoy getting out for a change… I suppose I should think of doing it more often.”
“Yes, you should. I would love to… anytime.”
Our eyes meet, but I can’t read anything special going on there. I extend my hand and she responds, holding my hand gently. I raise her hand slowl
y and brush her knuckles with my lips. No sense in getting carried away. Damn, she smells good, even from this distance.
“Good night, Karen. Thanks again for everything.”
I release her hand and head for my room. The silence is total and I can tell she hasn’t moved from the spot where I left her. When you think about it, there probably isn’t any good way to end an evening like this. How do you bring a romantic evening to a close when romance isn’t an option?
CHAPTER 14
This morning’s run turned out to be another stumble and gasp session. I’m not hung over or anything like that, but I’m not used to having anything to drink late at night either… even a little wine. It seems I have gotten to the point in life where I shouldn’t have any drink with alcoholic content after a certain hour. Problem is… I’m not certain, exactly, when that magic hour is. If I had to guess, I suppose it wouldn’t be much past nine o’clock.
I know people who seem to drink all night long and not suffer any ill effects, but there are probably two differences between them and myself. In most instances, I think they seldom try to do anything early the next day that is physical in nature. That is, they do not maintain any high degree of physical conditioning. On the other hand, I believe I have developed less tolerance for alcohol as I’ve gotten older. I just have to pay more attention to what I’m doing, or pay the price.
For now, although I feel better than I did when I started, I decide to walk the last half mile to cool down as much as possible before arriving back at the ranch. Walking up the drive, I see Sheri sitting on the front steps watching my approach with what seems to be a mixture of amusement and a ‘you ought to know better’ kind of look.
“Can I see you a minute before you shower?” she asks with a look that seems just a little bit too innocent for this hour of the morning.
“Who said I need a shower?”
Her look changes to one of disgust. Nose in the air, head turned to the side, a ‘why do I bother?’ attitude.
“I guess I’m not used to those late nights,” I offer, wiping my forehead on my sleeve. “That run, to use the word very loosely, seemed a bit longer this morning. I think someone came in last night and bulldozed a few new hills. The hell of it is, the road has such a finished look… like it has been that way forever.”
I look at Sheri for sympathy or at least a show of concern. Nothing. I think her attitude might just sum it up for me… no one gives a damn when it counts. Now is when I need a friend… not a judge.
“Phil, let’s go into the library.”
Sheri’s manner is very businesslike. Not brusque exactly, but certainly no nonsense. She walks into the house and I trundle along behind like a truant child. She stands to the side, waiting for me to cross the threshold, and then quietly closes the door behind me. Glad she’s not holding a switch in her hand, she has a mean look about her.
“First things first,” she begins. “A.J. and I have talked and we have reached a decision in regard to you.”
Curiouser and curiouser. She seems sort of uptight… really wired about something, but I can’t think of anything that could have gone wrong since last night. Everything seemed okay then.
“It’s about your insistence on remaining so formal with us,” she continues with a slight, uncertain smile. “Look, Phil, we have tried very hard to see your side ofthis. We know it’s important to maintain discipline with so many people working here and in the restaurants, but we feel our relationship with you has changed since you arrived. So we would like to compromise. We can see where you may want to keep things sort of formal in certain situations, but we think we should be informal when we are alone or with our intimate friends. You have to be flexible, Phil. We all know one another better now. We are no longer just employer-employee… we’re friends… at least that’s the way we feel about it. It’s time for a change… we’re just getting more and more uncomfortable with things the way they are now… this barrier between us with you being so formal and everything.”
Sheri stops talking, takes a deep breath and looks at me, hands clasped together waiting for a reply. All our problems should be this easy.
“Sheri, that’s fine with me. I appreciate the gesture… I really do. Heck, I thought you wanted to talk about something serious.”
Sheri’s shoulders relax.
“That’s great, Phil. I just didn’t know what to expect. You can be so stubborn at times. Oh, and one more thing… I don’t want to pry into your personal affairs, but” and having said that proceeds to go ahead and pry… “how are things going with Karen? How do you feel about her?”
I want to laugh out loud, but Sheri would be offended and I would not want to do that to my newest best friend.
“I’m afraid you have the wrong impression about us,” I reply. “Karen is a very nice person, but we are not romantically involved or even romantically inclined. She is here working on your article and I think she just wanted a break… that’s all. My gosh, she’s just a kid. Why would she want to be involved with a man my age?”
“Philip, Karen is not a child. She’s at least thirty…”
“Well, let’s not argue,” I interject. “There’s nothing going on. Karen is a nice young lady and that’s it… that’s as far as it goes.”
“No, that’s not it!” Sheri says, grabbing my arm and giving it a shake. “How can a man who is so smart and capable in so many ways, be so darn dumb when it comes to a possible relationship? Don’t you want to have a life outside of your work? You haven’t taken any time for yourself since you came here.”
I back up and hold my hands in a defensive posture hoping to calm her.
“What about last night?”
“One night! It hardly counts. I’m talking about…”
“Look, Sheri, I appreciate your concern, I really do, but please try to understand… there isn’t any problem here. You know that old saying: if you like what you’re doing, it ain’t work? Well that’s the way I feel about what I do. It ain’t work. Don’t feel sorry for me… I’m in the briar patch.”
Now I get the long stare followed by a shake of the head. Dammit! Words can’t express how much I detest this type of conversation. I absolutely hate talking about anyone’s romance and least of all myown. Especially when I don’t even have a romance to talk about!
Sheri must be picking up on my distress signals.
“All right, Phil, you win… for now. But I’m not giving up on you. I’m going to get some outside interests for you yet. And from where I sit, I think you are more interested in Karen than you are letting on. Or maybe you’re so emotionally dense you don’t even know you have an interest. Could that be it?”
I laugh. “That’s not much of a choice, so I don’t think I’ll bother to answer. Besides, you’re too devious… I’d better keep my distance.”
“Don’t go too far, Phil. Remember, I’m the best friend you have here… not that animal-husband of mine. He’s just going to work you harder and harder so he can play golf. Meanwhile, the only thing you have to do to stay on my good side is keep me up to date on your love life.” She slaps her hands together gleefully and rubs them briskly as if they needed warming. “I love that stuff.”
I wave her off and open the door.
“I’m getting out of here. Maybe I’ll go back in the army where it’s safe… find me a nice war.”
“Hah!”
What kind of a saying is that? Hah! I don’t even know what ‘hah’ means. There’s a whole list of expletives I know and understand and ‘hah’ isn’t on it. I never heard ‘hah’ used in the army. Not once. Notever.
***
It’s been a long day and A.J. hasn’t been his normal ebullient self. In fact, he’s been downright morose. Something’s up, but he doesn’t seem to be in any mood to discuss it. We’ve gone about as far as we can go with various business issu
es and now our conversation is drawn out with long periods of silence. A.J. hasn’t signaled an end to the meeting, although he seems to have no apparent desire to discuss anything in particular. I don’t think it would do any good if we tried. His head just isn’t here today. But as I’m about to suggest we call it quits, he stirs and looks like he’s about to spit it out.
“Phil, I’ve got a problem and I don’t think it’s going to go away.”
It’s a nice beginning, but there’s little I can or should say. He’s playing with a letter opener on his desk, still thinking.
“I don’t know how serious this is, or even if it’s serious at all… but maybe we should talk about it.”
He continues to play with the letter opener, spinning it this way and that. It seems he can spin just about anything on his fingertips without giving it a second thought. He’s not exactly agitated, but his mood remains sullen, almost dejected.
“Monte has been in touch with me a couple of times in the last few weeks. The conversations started out low-key at first, but it’s gone way beyond that now. He came to see me last month in Chicago. He called ahead and I told him he could come by before the show. In a way it was a mistake, but on the other hand,
I suppose it was going to happen some time or other, no matter what.”
A.J. has been looking around the room during his discourse, but now his eyes come to rest on the desk and then on me.
“He wants his job back… wants to go back to the old days.”
A.J. slides his chair back from the desk and slowly turns towards the window. He groans slightly and then stands with his back to me. It’s hard to tell what could have happened to cast a shadow this long. It’s obvious whatever was said is still on his mind.
“It started with a job request… no, that’s wrong… it started with a job demand. He actually told me he was coming back, sort of like he had forgiven me. I thought he was kidding at first and then I saw he was dead serious. I laughed and told him to go to hell, told him I was happy with my present arrangement and that he was out for good. He stayed calm for a while and then he advised me to think it over… said it would be for my own good. Things started to get heated… mostly on my part, and then I was called out to start the show. He’s called two or three times since and I’ve just blown him off. But now he wants to meet again… says he wants you there.”