Phoenix Fire

by Chitwood, Billy

  Jason averted his eyes, feeling another surge of sorrow. She was about to tell him of her impending death. Suddenly he felt the urgent need to stop her, to tell her that she need not tell him anything. He would take her for a walk in the garden while the light was still good. He just could not bear to hear about her cancer, her dying. But he was being selfish, only thinking of himself. She obviously needed to tell him, to have it done with, so he must listen. He must listen and try to be strong for her. Then he thought of Jenny. Why was he thinking about Jenny? Because he loved her? Because he needed her? Yes, he loved her and needed her. And, even as Grandma Myrena began again to speak, he thought of Jenny at lunch with Carlton.

  “Sheila Broward came to visit me, Jason, and she had some disturbing things to tell me.”

  Jason swallowed hard and felt a strange sense of relief. Grandma Myrena was talking about Sheila, Carlton's lady friend, not about her cancer and her dying.

  “It seems that Carlton has gotten himself into some trouble. According to Sheila, he has become quite addicted to gambling. I should say, addicted to losing at gambling. He has lost very big, Sheila says. He's lost enough that he has even gotten money from her and lost it. We are talking considerable money. Sheila says their relationship is over … not because of the money but because she loves him and cannot reach him. Perhaps I should not tell you this but I've decided I shall: he has also borrowed from me on several occasions, on the pretense that the money was to be used for investment purposes.”

  Jason started to speak but Myrena gently held up her hand to stop him.

  “Oh, Jay-boy, I'm not worried about the money, although they are significant amounts. Thank God, John and fate have provided nicely for me. What does terrify me is the apparent pit that he has dug for himself. I have read frightful stories about people who are addicted to gambling, how they lose their families, their jobs, how nothing really matters to them except being able to gamble. I have often thought that it was preposterous to think that someone could get so lost within himself, so lost that he would destroy not only his life but other lives as well. It's very scary, and Carlton is showing all of the signs that we are told to look for. He is, or he seems to be, scatterbrained and very selfish. He is badly mistreating Sheila, possibly physically abusing her, and he is likely not sleeping well, if at all. He is also rude and insufferable a good part of the time.” She paused to sip her drink.

  “He's been insufferable most of his life, Grandma. It's his trademark.” Jason remembered his afternoon phone conversation with Carlton.

  “Yes, well, I know that you two have never gotten along as well as I would have liked. There was one period of time in your youth when you both seemed so close, during our camp out days up north near the dam. Ah, but I digress.

  “You two boys are two different people. That's obvious and superfluous, I'm sure. Your Grandfather John and I tried over the years to make allowances for Carlton, tried to be optimistic that the years would soften him. But it has not been so. We loved you both equally, although I'm sure Carlton would say that you got preferential treatment. It was just a matter of his negative adjustment after the death of your mother and father. You adjusted and went on with your life. Carlton seemed to find it easier to stay in his world of rejection. It is so difficult to understand, particularly when one is loved so much. I'm afraid, in fact, that our love for him might have led us to condone his actions too much for too long a time.

  “What really concerns me is that Carlton has a very responsible top level position in the business community and it worries me no end that he will put his job in jeopardy. He may even try to … Oh, dear God! He may try to embezzle from Heritage. He may have sunken that low, Jason.

  “So, the question is, what do we do to save him? We can't just leave him out there to destroy his life. At least, we have to know that we have tried to help him. I've told you all of this because you must not give him money, and it is a family matter, after all. He is your brother. We must try to help him.”

  Jason was shaken. “My first impulse is to help Sheila. She is a sweet lady and she really cares for the jerk. He's not about to pay back her money, or yours.”

  “That's been taken care of, Jason. Sheila did not want it to happen but there was a way to get her money returned. What really concerns Sheila, bless her, is what concerns you and me. Where will all of this take Carlton? Isn't unregulated gambling a crime in Arizona? Even, private gambling games in the home?”

  “Yes, it is. How did you get Sheila’s money back to her without her knowing about it?” His immediate reaction to his own question was that he should not have asked it.

  Myrena smiled and waved her hand. “That's not important, Jay-boy. A simple matter really with her bank … What do we do about your brother? That's the question.”

  Jason pursed his lips, sighed, got up from his chair and walked slowly to the window. The sunset's dazzling show was now tinged with a band of darkness on the horizon. An unbidden memory from childhood came to him, another time, of another Carlton, of another Jason.

  He finally spoke. “Perhaps we should do nothing, Grandma Myrena. Carlton is a grown man.” Jason turned back from the window and faced her again. “I've seen all my life how you, how Grandpa John, worked so hard to understand Carlton, to placate him, to give him time and again new chances when he had done something wrong. I was young myself, Grandma, and I loved him, too, but I knew what was going on. It bothered me. I worked hard at being close to Carlton, and it was a tough job. Then, as now, I did not feel like he deserved the attention he was getting. He only abused it. Oh, I'm not talking from a position of jealousy or envy. My inner security and knowledge of your love was never in question. It just hurt me to see how he treated you and Grandpa John. He was a selfish jerk then. He's a selfish jerk now. He has to take responsibility for his actions.” Jason paused, looked adoringly at Myrena, and went back to his chair.

  “Look, Grandma,” he continued, softly, “I've tried in my own way to get closer to Carlton. Just today, I called him, with that urge to get closer. He just made a game of it, mocking and sneering. I can try to talk to him again, let him know that we know of his gambling, try to get him to see the dangers ahead, but I honestly don't think it will do a particle of good. He's not an easy man to reach, and, actually, I don't believe he even listens to me. For you, I will try again, if that is your wish.”

  Myrena stared out the window for some time. The early evening light was now casting shadows upon her face. She looked stoic and statuesque, her chiseled features a mirror of haunting memories. Finally, she slowly turned again to face him.

  “Yes, please try, Jay-boy. You must at least keep trying. I, too, will talk to him. We both shall try very hard to reach him. Perhaps there might be a miracle out there for us …

  “Now, I would like to discuss something else with you. It is never a happy subject to bring up and discuss and yet I must. I'm meeting tomorrow with Paul Winfield. He is coming out to update and revise my trust and will documents. It is important for me to let you know what I'm doing.”

  Jason thought of interrupting but did not. Instead, he lowered his eyes to stare blankly at the floor.

  “I've thought on this quite a long time, Jay-boy, and the decisions I've reached are not open to change. Discussion, yes. Change, no. You are to receive the bulk of my assets with two exceptions. One, Carlton is to get this house and its furnishings. Second, he is to get the contents of the strongbox which is located in the right upper shelf corner of the master bedroom closet. The contents are nothing really significant and have no esoteric meaning. There are a number of old bonds of some value and a bundle of written notes relating to Carlton, notes of frustration and anxiety I'm afraid about my observations and concerns for his emotions. Oh, there are even notes of hope and of my unfaltering love for him.

  “You see, Jason, I could just not leave him anything. He is my grandson, and I love him dearly. The house and the bonds are of no little value to be sure. The personal notes w
ill convey to him, I hope and believe, my desperate wishes for his happiness. The notes may mean little to him, but, at least, I will know that I've tried to reach him. He will no doubt be disappointed in my last will and testament and his relatively small endowments. While I could not bring myself to totally exclude him from the estate, neither did I wish to reward him substantially for what can only be considered a selfish existence. After all, he has received during my lifetime some rather large stipends for what I thought at the times were honorable investments.

  “There is no anger attached to my final wishes, but there is sadness and disappointment. My notes to Carlton will hopefully suffice to give him the rationale for the will's disbursements. Well, my goodness, it seems I'm beginning to repeat myself.”

  Myrena paused, looked at Jason's downcast face, and she felt a surge of love and the desire to comfort him. But, then, simultaneous to the desire to comfort, there came a surge of pain. She turned from him and an involuntary gasp escaped her.

  Jason heard the near inaudible gasp and lifted his head to look at her. Then he stood and rushed to her side.

  “Grandma! Are you in pain?” He knelt on the carpet, touched her arm gently. He saw the pain etched in her eyes as she turned to face him.

  She managed a weak smile. “Oh, Jay-boy, I'm fine. I've just talked so damned much on a dreadfully distressing, uncomfortable subject and I've given myself a frightful headache. That's all. I'll just have Wardley bring me an aspirin.” She pushed a button on a side table console.

  Jason looked at her beseechingly, his eyes watery and soulful. “Can't I do something, Grandma? Please let me do something.” Anxiety spread through him, threatening to close off his breathing. She was protecting him by referring to her cancer as a headache.

  Myrena looked into his eyes and saw the pain in his soul. She patted his hand. “No, no, Jay-boy. Wardley knows of my headaches. He will know what to do. Please, sit down and don't looked so stressed.

  “We will have dinner shortly. Pot roast, I believe. That was always one of your favorite meals.”

  Wardley appeared, left, returned with what Jason knew must be Grandma Myrena's cancer medication for pain. Jason could see the concern on Wardley's face, but he could say nothing. He would say nothing. An even deeper agony now possessed him as he watched his Grandma's face slowly and subtly return to some normalcy as the medicine's quick palliative action gave relief.

  Myrena asked about dinner and was told it would be served within minutes.

  “There is more that I wanted to speak about, Jay-boy, your lovely new friend, Jenny, to whom I was so immediately drawn, and, well, some other things. But they can wait. Please don't try to make too much of what's been said. You needed to be aware of Carlton's gambling problem, and I wanted to share with you my estate plans. Should have done that long before now. We will talk again soon. Now, let's get us some pot roast.” She smiled broadly and stood, offering her arm to Jason. “Thank you, dear son, for allowing me to ramble.”

  Myrena had not caught her slip of tongue. Her use of 'son' had not gone unnoticed by Jason, and he gently hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. In so many ways and for so many years she was his mother and he her son.

  So many thoughts came as he slowly walked Myrena to the dining room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jenny Mason was concerned, a bit confused. Perhaps the confusion was laced with some anger.

  Dressed in faded cutoff jeans and yellow halter, her hair wrapped with a flaming red bandana, Jenny veritably attacked her chores of washing, drying clothes, and cleaning her apartment. Haydn's Symphony 101 was playing on her stereo system.

  Why had Carlton intruded himself into her lunch and life? It was so awkward and unsettling. His words were totally brazen, out of the blue, and she actually had considered him a bit daft. How could he have possibly conjured up in his mind that she was interested in him? He certainly seemed to think that she was. He must. Otherwise, why would he come on to her so strongly?

  She thought back to the lovely evening spent with Jason and Grandma Myrena, trying to isolate some moment or moments when she had interfaced with Carlton. She could remember no incident, no time, when she could have been misinterpreted as flirting with him or, to use the vernacular, 'coming on to him.'

  There was a period later in the evening when she felt that Jason had become somewhat remote toward her. She was concerned that she had inadvertently done something to upset him. Perhaps Jason had misread her gaiety and good cheer as a flirtation with Carlton. Even worse, perhaps Carlton had misread her.

  Then, the trip to 'Apple Brown Betty' with Jason was simply glorious, and the evening, purely divine. Surely Jason would have felt, as she so openly felt, the magic passing between them. He surely must have known that she was falling in love with him. The signals that she was receiving from him had indicated that he, too, was falling in love with her.

  Could she have misread the signals so badly?

  What about Carlton's intrusion at lunch? How was she to handle it? Should she call Jason and tell him about the odd encounter? Should she simply forget that the incident had taken place?

  She heard the loud steady buzzing of her clothes dryer and went to empty its contents in exchange for more damp towels and bed sheets.

  From the utility room she went to the kitchen to empty her dishwasher of the clean dishes and silverware. Oddly, it was a tedious task that she did not like. She smiled at herself when she was finished, thinking how silly it was to dislike such a simple chore.

  Next she attacked the carpet with her vacuum cleaner. The carpet, she noted in her mind, did not really need vacuuming. She was making 'busy work' for herself, she decided. She pushed the stop button on the cleaner, wrapped the long cord in a neat round pile around the hooks on the long handle and stowed it in the entry closet.

  She dusted furniture for a while. She became restless with this chore and quit. Then she sat with some ad copy strewn about the coffee table and floor. Haydn became monotonous and she exchanged the CD disc for another. She decided on a John Williams classical guitar disc.

  The thoughts kept intruding while she did her chores. Why did Jason not call her? She expected him to call. Perhaps he knew that she expected him to call and simply wished to tantalize her. But, no, he would not do that. Some other men she had dated might do that but not Jason. And, she must not begin to think that way. Those kind of thoughts could harm a relationship. She hoped that it was not already damaged.

  She could call Jason, of course. However, she was from that old school where it was not really proper for a woman to call a man. Oh, sure, the women liberation groups made it acceptable. But she was not given to the 'woman's lib' philosophy. She had never climbed aboard that 'feminist' wagon. Yes, there were some tenets about the feminist movement that just made good sense, like, equal pay for equal work, better job opportunities, recognition for women who made significant achievements in the work place. It was too often than men took credit for work actually done by women.

  All in all, though, she still enjoyed very much being a woman catered to and made over: the car door opened for her; the chair pulled out for her at dinner; sincere flattery. Jenny felt that the 'feminist movement' had taken things too far, had not truly recognized or accepted the simple truth about men and women. They were not equal, not in a whole lot of ways --- biologically, emotionally, physically. Some activities on the far side of the 'movement' were in Jenny's mind ludicrous: women boxing, playing football, fighting front line wars. The times, she thought, could change too drastically, too much, too fast. Sanity and sensible thinking should not be subverted, should not be free-thought into serious inconsistencies and moral nit-picking.

  Jenny smiled at herself, at her philosophical rectitude, at her silent 'holier than thou,' perhaps, pompous thoughts. What? All of these aberrant side trips just because she could not bring herself to call Jason Prince? Then, dammit, just why the devil did a great big part of her want to call him?

  Th
e dryer buzzer went off again, announcing an end of a cycle. Yes, indeed, good timing. Her thoughts, her brain, needed to be equipped with a cycle ending buzzer. Oh, well, for now, she would just use the dryer's buzzer.

  When she had emptied the last load from the dryer, she decided to run her bath and have a glass of wine. With the hot and cold valves adjusted on the bathtub for the desired water temperature, Jenny went to pour her wine. She had just recapped the Gallo bottle when the telephone rang. She almost spilled the contents of her wine glass by her reactive jerk. The loudness control was turned to its highest point. She hurried to answer the shrill ring. She glanced quickly at the microwave's digital clock. The time was 9:45 PM.

  “Hello, this is Jenny.” She spoke cheerily.

  “Hello, Jenny, I'm glad I caught you in.” The voice was glib and over confident, not the voice she had hoped to hear. “I've been thinking of you all day and all evening. I want very much to see you. Have you thought about what I said?” Carlton Prince paused. He knew that she would recognize his voice.

  Jenny indeed knew who the caller was and she was not sure just how to handle him. But, then, in a moment of clarity, she understood that there was but one way to handle this call. When she started to speak, their voices collided. “ Carlton …”

  “Are ...” he had started to ask her if she was still on the line. “Go ahead, Jenny.”

  Jenny could almost see his smug face through the telephone line. “Carlton, I had hoped it was clear at lunch that I did not want you to call me. It must be difficult for you to ...”

  “But, Jenny, surely I can't be that mistaken by my instincts. You were hesitant at lunch but you were simply uttering a woman's automatic responses. That was to be expected. Somewhere inside, you very much wanted me to call you. And I do believe you have been thinking about what I said to you.”

  “You are brazen and arrogant, Carlton, and I have no intention of continuing this conversation. You are dead wrong about which you speak. It is none of your business, but my only interest is in your brother. Your brother, Carlton! What has he done to make you so rudely disrespect him? Now, I don't wish to be rude myself but I do hope I've made it abundantly clear to you. I don't like hanging up on people. I prefer civility, so I will just ...”