“We must do it again soon,” he whispered back. Then, conscious of the triteness of his words, he added, “I want very much to see you again, Jenny Mason. It has been pure enchantment.”
“Please call soon,” was her final whisper.
His hand gently touched her hair as their eyes lingered in the moment. “Soon,” he said, “Very soon.”
Then he was gone, and Jenny was alone.
Long into the night on her bed she listened to the nocturnal sounds around her, watching the frantic light dances of the distant stars. The moon was full and the distant mountain peaks were majestically illuminated and silently recorded all movement and thought. His face was there, strong and vital, his azure eyes sparkling, his lips parting and inviting, just below a brilliant white halo of the moon.
Just seconds before she gave way to sleep, she thought about the swiftness with which one's life could be altered. She could not imagine being very thankful to a streak of lightning, but, oh, she was. For some reason her mind conjured up an image of brightly serene butterflies and an enormous bowl of jellybeans.
Chapter Six
Carlton Prince signed the documents on his desk, his lips pressed downward at the corners, his brow furrowed, his darkly dull brown eyes a hard indifference.
The work had become so methodically rote and predictable. It was almost too easy. His mind was like a computer, absorbing corporate balance sheets and day to day accounting figures with a facility attributable to many years of experience. He could quickly and meticulously spot aberrations in corporate numbers games and just as quickly make his adjustments. He knew that he was good at his job and it was, despite its sameness quality, an activity that still gave him some modicum of pleasure. He had definitely found his niche in the world of work.
Carlton Prince shared his brother's good looks and physical makeup. Both were six feet tall with little body fat. Carlton's hair was light brown and thinning where Jason's hair was black and full. Both men had angular faces, possessed handsome Roman countenances, neither with a deliberate or conscious propensity for vanity. Jason regularly jogged, enjoyed outside activities to stay fit. On occasions of irritability and money matters, Carlton lifted weights and punched heavy bags at the gym. Jason was tanned. Carlton was pale. Carlton was casual and sometimes sloppy in his. Jason was a natty dresser. For the most part, all was right in their worlds of work. It was the emotional DNA that separated the two brothers and kept them from having a closer bonding.
While Carlton found a relative peace in his professional life, he was inured to the role of a malcontent. He was an inveterate naysayer and grumbler. He was convinced that his life was manipulated and programmed by uncaring parents, now dead, and a grandmother who clearly favored his brother. While alive, his grandfather was the only person who seemed to understand his worth and value as a human being. Oh, his grandmother had at times attempted a show of affection but it was clear upon whom she wished to direct most of her attention and love. Quite clear. She preferred Jason to Carlton, and it was unfair. Grossly unfair.
At age thirty-eight, Carlton Brainard Prince was a jealous and vindictive man. His handsome and slender physical features were offset by a downward turning mouth and his negative behavior. If the sun was shining in a clear forever sky Carlton predicted rain and dark clouds. If his grandmother showed him affectionate moments, he was wary of an underlying deceit. He was chronic in his negativism.
Carlton's secretary, Rita, rapped tentatively and entered his office. “Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Prince, but Mrs. Wimsley is on line three for you, and Mr. Logan wants to see you at 2:30 this afternoon about the upcoming shareholders meeting.” Rita was previously instructed to clear all calls with him. He wanted no calls put through to him without his screening.
“Damn!” he blurted, “wish the hell he'd get off my case about that meeting. I'll have everything ready. Okay, Rita, I'll pick up line three. Tell Logan I'll see him this afternoon.”
Carlton was vice president and controller of Heritage Tool and Manufacturing and he felt that he did not get the respect he deserved. Shaking his head in silent irritation, he picked up the telephone.
“Hello, grandmother, what's up?” He could be sure she wanted something from him.
“Hello, Carlton. Are you very busy?”
“I can talk, grandmother. There's nothing that won't wait.”
“Are you coming to dinner on Friday night?”
“Yes, I was planning to come. Usually, I do.”
“I know, Carlton, but I wanted to know if Sheila might be coming with you. Are you still seeing her?”
“Haven't seen her for a few weeks. We're more or less not seeing each other at the moment. Why are you asking about Sheila?”
Carlton felt a tinge of remorse and wariness. He had said some nasty things to Sheila at their last parting and had physically mishandled her. He hoped that she was not trying to cause problems for him with his grandmother.
“Just wondering, Carlton. She left a lovely pair of earrings when she was here last. I thought she might be missing them. Anyway, Jason is bringing a new young lady and I thought you might want to know, in case you didn't want to come alone.”
“Thanks for your concern, grandmother, but, at the moment, it looks as if I'll be coming alone. Is that a problem for you?”
“Of course not. I just wanted you to know so you wouldn't be surprised or feel awkward if you were alone. It's been so seldom that you boys bring someone to the house.”
“It doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you, grandmother. I won't be uncomfortable either way. Maybe I will ask Sheila to come. Either way, don't be concerned for me. I'm a big boy.”
“That's fine, Carlton. Good. Then, I'll let you get back to your work. See you on Friday. Have a nice day, grandson.”
“Thank you, grandmother. You, too, have a nice day.” He said his parting words with formality and indifference.
He sat for some long moments, assessing his grandmother's telephone call. He always suspected ulterior motives in the actions of others, even his grandmother's actions. He doubted that her call was merely an RSVP matter. That would be too simple. It was probably more a goading call, just her way of letting him know that Jason had a new girlfriend. She had no doubt wanted more from the call. Maybe she wanted to know if he had prior knowledge of the new woman in Jason's life. Maybe she wanted him to say he was not coming for Friday's dinner. Whatever her real reason for calling he knew that it would have something to do with Jason's best interests. Well, he could not care less about the new woman in Jason's life, and his mission on Friday night would be fun. He would plan on being as disruptive and rude as possible.
The Friday night dinners at Grandmother Wimsley's hilltop home had become tradition. They had started shortly after Grandfather Wimsley's death some seven years ago and was initially intended no doubt as a support type get-together for the grieving widow. Then, they had become obligatory and habitual time slots to serve as family times to discuss current events and personal problems. The dinners also provided a forum for grandmother to provide information on the family's 'state of the union.' For the most part, the dinners were enjoyable and had kept the family closer than it otherwise might have been.
For Carlton, the Friday night dinners had provided him the opportunity to discover just how Jason was steadily ingratiating himself to the matriarchal head of the family, just how Jason was establishing himself as the 'favorite son.' It was so obvious that Jason was given the most attention at these weekly repasts, but Carlton never complained or made it an issue. He knew what was happening, and that was enough. He would just bide his time and see if his brother made any mistakes on which he could capitalize. Besides, grandmother was helping him lately with some of his financial woes, and he surely did not wish to rock the boat too much.
All of his life Carlton had meekly and quietly submitted to the 'holier than thou' persona of his brother. Jason had always been shown the preferential treatment around his grandmother.
Jason was the grandson with grandiose plans, projects, and superior positive thinking. Carlton had never openly revealed to Jason just how much he was disdained by his older sibling. Perhaps Carlton's feelings were obvious because Jason seemed to ignore and avoid his older brother most of the time.
These were Carlton's perceptions. He would never consider that perhaps his perceptions were flawed. No, he was never wrong in his assessments of people. This, he firmly believed.
When he had finished the paperwork in front of him he grabbed his suit coat from the tree rack in the corner and started to leave his office. The phone stopped him, and he returned to his desk.
“Yes?” he barked at Rita, the phone barely up to his ear.
“Sorry, Mr. Prince. There's a Mr. Danzetti on the line for you.” Actually, Rita enjoyed being a minor thorn in Carlton Prince's side. With all her years at Heritage Tool and Manufacturing he still demeaned and harassed her with his surly and arrogant behavior.
There was a hesitation while Carlton thought about his caller. Reluctantly, he responded, “Put him through, Rita.”
“Prince, this is Frank Danzetti. You've ...”
“I asked that you never call me at my office, Mr. Danzetti. I don't like the intrusion.”
There was a heavy pause at the other end of the line, then a hard chuckle. “You 'don't like the intrusion?' Did I hear you right? You 'don't like the intrusion?'” Danzetti never gave Carlton a chance to respond, cutting him off in mid-word. “Listen, Prince, don't pull your big corporate power crap with me! You know why the hell I'm calling. So, you might start making with the talk I want to hear.”
Carlton did not answer. The silence on the line was palpable.
Danzetti spoke again, “Anytime, Prince. Mr. Lupo wants some disposition on your debt. Talk to me. Talk to me now!”
When Carlton responded his voice still held an overdose of arrogance and irritation. “Mr. Lupo knows where I stand. I've given him my assurance.”
“Yes, of course you have, but you must be pretty damned dumb to think that your assurances have no time-line. Let me make it very clear for you, Prince. You settle up the score with Mr. Lupo within forty-eight hours or you'll have to worry about more than a telephone intrusion. You got me, Prince? I can't say it no plainer.”
“You're a vulgarity, Mr. Danzetti, and I don't appreciate being talked to this way.”
“I give a crap, Prince, what you appreciate! Talk to me! Really talk to me.”
“You can inform Mr. Lupo that my account will be cleared by Friday night. And, I repeat, Mr. Danzetti, I do not want you to call me at the office ever again.”
“And, again, I say 'up your ass.' I will tell Mr. Lupo what you've said. For your sake, I would keep very close to the Friday time frame.”
There was a sharp click and an ensuing dial tone.
Carlton Prince stood for some seconds, the phone in his hand, his countenance a dark and hard portrait of mixed emotions. Then, he sat again at his desk. He pulled within his reach a sheaf of papers, some checks of various sums, and a large, thick ledger book. He picked up the phone and dialed Rita's extension.
“Yes, Mr. Prince?”
“I don't wish to be disturbed for any reason for the next thirty minutes. Make sure I'm not.” without waiting for Rita to reply, he put the phone back in its cradle.
At her desk outside of Carlton Prince's office Rita slowly replaced her own phone and stared at the closed door of his inner office. “What a terribly rude man,” she thought aloud in a low, barely audible voice. If she were not making such good money, there would be no way she would put up with his brutish behavior.
Rita called the switchboard and told the operator not to put any calls through to Mr. Prince for the next hour. Rita then left for an early lunch.
Chapter Seven
The great house wore its nostalgia serenely and its warmth beckoned like the unhurried flame of a large fireplace. In the spacious parlor where the gold, gray, and mauve colors blended in lovely profusion, Jason, Jenny, and Myrena Wimsley sat looking out the huge plate glass wall onto the pool and the magnificent Monet like haze of flowers beyond. Soft light classical music could be heard from hidden speakers along the high carved wooden walls. They sipped at their cocktails and sat comfortably in sporadic periods of silence.
If Jason had wanted his Grandmother to bond quickly and fondly with Jenny Mason in their first meeting, he would have been pleased to know Myrena's thoughts at the moment. It had not taken long for Myrena to see the obvious magnetism between the two young people. Instinctively, she had liked Jenny, and, in their brief conversation, had judged her to be not only lovely of looks but charming and wise as well.
Jenny's blonde tresses was skillfully coiffed into a fluff which framed her pretty and lightly made-up face. She wore an elegant outfit of powder blue and gold which fitted her light coloring and also blended nicely with the interior furnishings of the grand house. The string of pearls was a simple supplement to the ensemble. Myrena was quite impressed with the young lady.
Jason's choice of clothing for the evening was a gray silk shirt and black slacks, adding a most pleasing symmetry for the couple. Myrena thought they made a striking duo and she saw a special glow in her grandson's eyes. Perhaps this was the lovely lady who would finally lay claim to his heart. Myrena found herself wishing this to be the case. His previous attitude toward women, toward love and marriage, had seemed somewhat indifferent, even cool and hard at times. Myrena felt strongly about the validity of her instincts, and very good about Jenny Mason.
They sat on soft ornate wing chairs in a huge room with various pieces of furniture of another era. A large corner fireplace, light from the big window, the high sculpted ceiling, the ever present tray-bearing Wardley, and the light classical music brought some magical time dimensional illusions for Jenny Mason. She felt a marvelous sense of déjὰ vu, like she was here in another life. She had a great sense of belonging, an awesome sense that some generational truth was being shared with her.
Myrena, her partially gray hair rolled tightly into a bun at the back, was demure in a light brown dress with yellow trim. She looked at her turquoise necklace timepiece. “Oh, I do wish Carlton could be on time now and then. Well, dinner will be served at the appointed time, Carlton or no Carlton.”
“He's not all that late, Grandma. You said dinner would be at 8:00 tonight instead of 7:30. It's only 7:20, and he's never here before now. If he's true to form he'll show at the last moment, just as we're seating ourselves at the table.”
“Yes, you're right, I suppose … Jenny, my dear, tell me a little more about yourself, your work, your family.” Myrena smiled sweetly and sincerely.
“You shouldn't get me started on my family and my work. I run on and on.” Jenny smiled and took a quick look at Jason. “Well, I'll try the really short version. I work for the Stratford Advertising Agency on North Central as an Account Executive. I love my work because I get to see the results of my efforts in magazines, newspapers, and on television commercials. Are you familiar with the currently running TV ad for Raintree Cosmetics?”
Myrena nodded affirmatively. “Why, I do believe I've seen that one. There's a beautiful horse, a chestnut, crossing a stream and going under a waterfall.”
“Yes, that's mine! That was so enjoyable, putting that ad campaign together. I even met the horse.” Jenny giggled. “But that's an example of my work, trying to create an image in advertising for the client and his-her product line so that the company and its goods and-or services become easily recognizable and subliminal to buyers' purchasing decisions. It is just too much fun to be called work.
“Oh, well, that gives you an idea of what happens in my nine to five world. Born and raised in Lawrence, Kansas, and my parents still live there. My father has owned and operated a movie theater back there for thirty years. Dad and Mom still live in the same old two-story colonial of my youth. The memories are beautiful, so many good friends and good times.” Jenny paused, looked at Jaso
n, back to Myrena, and smiled. “I'll stop now. Told you I'd run on and on.”
Myrena patted Jenny's arm. “It's all very interesting, my dear. What brought you to Arizona, to the Phoenix area?”
“My college roommate came out here first. She fell in love with the valley and the climate. I came for a visit and fell in love myself, with the valley and climate. Went home, got my clothes, and returned.”
At that point Wardley entered again with another round of cocktails and a fresh tray of hors d'oeuvres.
“These should hold us until dinner, Wardley. Thank you,” and, pausing, she added, “and why don't you pour a drink for yourself. Sit and relax for a spell. I'll ring you if needed. Rosemary has dinner all prepared and will serve us. You've been on your feet too much today.” She smiled pleasantly at Wardley, and he nodded a 'thank you, madam.' “Please go on, Jenny dear.”
“Actually, there is not much more to tell, Mrs. Wimsley. You know how Jason and I met … the lightning episode. My life has been somewhat dull compared to most people. Then, again, lightning does not strike everybody. Guess I'm unique there.”
Jason had left his seat and was standing in front of the fireplace, sadly looking at a portrait of his Grandfather. To Jenny, Myrena spoke, “Jason is looking at a painting of his Grandfather, my late husband, John.”
Myrena and Jenny stood and went to join Jason at the fireplace. Jason glanced at them, then returned to the portrait. “This painting is so much like him, Grandma, so true to life. It captures his rugged good looks and his tough pioneer spirit. It's like I'm almost expecting him to speak.”
“He was so handsome, Mrs. Prince. He must have been a very strong and active man. His sun-bronzed face contrasts so eloquently with his white hair and angular features.” Jenny paused, glanced at Jason. “Jason favors his Grandfather. Who was the artist?”
“A man by the name of James Mardel. He lives in Carmel by the Sea in California. He's still there, I believe. He painted this portrait of John from an old photograph in one of my photo albums. He did quite a remarkable job.”
Phoenix Fire Page 4