Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

  “You’re right mother,” Jillian says, annoyed. “I should have known that they were the kind of people who were likely to have their house burned down.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Barbara Anne snaps. Jillian prepares to be told that her mother doesn’t care for her tone of voice, but the expected admonition is not forthcoming, leading Jillian to suspect that Barbara Anne must have been more worried about her than she’s letting on. “The point is,” Barbara Anne explains, “that scandalous things are much less likely to happen to you if you don’t socialize with disreputable people.”

  If you only knew just how disreputable these people really are, Jillian thinks, imagining what her mother’s reaction would be if she knew about the orgy. If you only knew.

  ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍

  I don’t have to go downstairs and mingle with my “guests,” G.W. muses. I could stay up here with Barbara Anne, watch some TV, get some work done.

  But once the plane is safely in the air, he decides that he really should accompany Jillian down the winding staircase after all. For one thing, his duties as a host require it – if nothing else, Sunshine is an invited guest, and does not deserve to be snubbed. For another thing, it’s not fair to leave Jago alone in the lounge with those people. And finally, although his talk with Lieutenant Phillips has pretty much convinced him of the futility of pursuing the investigation, he has a bone to pick with Nathan just the same.

  The lounge occupies most of the center cabin on the main level of the 747. The floor is thickly carpeted, a subdued pattern with hints of soft geometric designs, ellipses and quarter moons. The ceiling is covered with acoustic tile and dotted with recessed fluorescent lights. Groups of brightly colored sofas and loveseats divide the large cabin into several comfortable sections. Two round tables stand in the center of the cabin, each surrounded by half a dozen wooden stools. A long bar lines one wall, the bottles fitted snugly into felt-lined cases to secure them against damage. The only indications that the cabin is anything other than a typical land-based cocktail lounge are the rows of small oval windows that line the side walls – and the fact, not obvious at first glance, that all of the furniture is bolted securely to the floor.

  Jago and Nathan are seated on adjacent stools by one of the center tables, deep in conversation. From the perturbed concentration evident on Jago’s brow, G.W. can tell that the coach is, not surprisingly, finding the discussion troubling.

  Off in a corner. Sunshine sits on a small loveseat, her back to the doorway in which G.W. and Jillian are framed. Across from her, on a sofa, a large, slovenly man and an even larger woman slouch torpidly on the cushions. Could these people be Nathan’s followers, like Sunshine? G.W. wonders. Why, they’re old enough to be her parents.

  “I hate to leave you with this motley crew,” G.W. whispers to Jillian. “But I think I’m probably only gonna stay down here for a little bit.”

  “That’s okay, Daddy. I’m going to go to sleep in a little while myself. I’m exhausted.”

  “I’ll bet you are. Sunshine must be pretty beat, too. Why don’t you take one of the bedrooms and let Sunshine take the other?” G.W. suggests, motioning to the adjacent doors in the center of the far wall. “Everybody else can sleep out here on the couches if they want to.”

  “I better have Sunshine come and sleep with me,” Jillian says. “If I don’t do that, she’ll probably give Nathan the other bedroom and sleep out here on a sofa.”

  G.W. shakes his head. “She really is under his spell, isn’t she?” He can feel his anger start to rise once again. Nathan and I are gonna have a serious talk, he thinks, investigation or no investigation. “Personally, I think the man’s a real slimeball.”

  To G.W.’s surprise, Jillian closes her eyes and shudders, as if she’s reliving a particularly unpleasant memory. “Believe me, Daddy,” she says, shaking her head, “you don’t know the half of it.”

  4.4.2: In the Air

  “Hey, lady,” Jillian says as she plops down next to her on the sofa. “How are you holding up?”

  “Good, Jill,” Sunshine says earnestly. “Real good. I’m a little tired, but I feel fine.”

  “Doesn’t she look good, Daddy?” Jillian turns to look over her shoulder at G.W., who stands behind the sofa. “She wanted to buy everything in white, but I made her get some colors. Don’t you think she looks good in pink?”

  “Stunning,” G.W. says, admiring Sunshine’s form in the pink shirt. (Later, when Sunshine stands, G.W. notices that she’s also wearing pink shorts, pink socks, and pink running shoes. And pink panties, too? he wonders.) And Sunshine’s face actually turns a little pink as well.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Ken… G.W.,” Sunshine says brightly. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “I walked in on little cat feet.”

  “Sandberg.”

  G.W. looks up at the speaker, the large man seated across from Sunshine. What a grub, G.W. thinks. If this guy is one of Nathan’s followers, then I guess that enlightenment must involve drinking a lot of beer. “Say what?” he asks.

  “Sandberg. That bit about ‘little cat feet.’ It’s from a poem by Carl Sandberg. Although I think he was talking about fog, G.W., not you.”

  G.W. smiles genially. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” he says. And the woman, he thinks, she’s even more of a slob than he is. How can people let themselves go like this? And why is she looking at me so slyly? Surely, she’s not going to make a pass at me, is she? What a disgusting thought.

  “Naw,” the fat man says, “we wouldn’t take advantage of anybody.” He grins, obviously believing himself to be terribly witty.

  Smartass. “I mean,” G.W. explains, “that you know my name, but I’m afraid that I don’t know yours.”

  “Oh, sure you do, cowboy,” the rotund woman says, a mischievous sparkle in her otherwise dull eyes. “We’ve met, all right. You just don’t remember.”

  Is this some kind of game? G.W. wonders, confused. Or does she have some spiritual meaning? Like maybe we met in another life, or something?

  “G.W.,” Sunshine finally says, “these are my parents, Corinne and Roger O’Malley. You met them a long time ago, remember? You told me about it? Back at Nature’s Bounty, the food stand that we…”

  Although Sunshine prattles on for a few more seconds, G.W. doesn’t hear another word. The cabin seems to tilt and grow smaller. His breath catches in his throat. His heart pounds. He feels dizzy and more than a little queasy. He reaches out and leans on the back of the sofa for support.

  Corinne… Corinne O’Malley. The former Corinne McVeigh. The fastest female swimmer in the world, G.W. remembers, shooting through the water like a bullet. The Olympic heroine, the tiny girl with the big heart and all that gold draped around her neck. The lithe, hot-blooded sprite who took me in her mouth behind the counter while little Sunshine led Barbara Ann and Jill off to find an outhouse in the fields.

  This fat cow is Corinne McVeigh? It’s… it’s impossible. It can’t be true.

  “Yeah, you remember me now, don’t you, cowboy?” Corinne chortles. She laughs, a lewd cackle. Her body shakes grossly with the effort.

  For some reason, perhaps to re-orient himself, G.W. turns to look at Jillian, his jaw slack, his mouth wide open, his eyes glazed. But Jillian returns his gaze with a steely-eyed squint and an accusingly arched eyebrow. Oh my God, he thinks; she knows. They told her, those bastards, they actually went and told her.

  G.W.’s mouth snaps shut, and he turns away from his daughter. “Good to see you again,” he says weakly, in a vain attempt to recover his composure. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Jesus, he thinks, I routinely bluff my way through million-dollar business deals, why am I falling apart now?

  “I remember it as if it were yesterday,” Corinne says, and cackles again. This time, Roger snickers with her.

  Good Lord, G.W. thinks, this is Roger O’Malley. The Olympic cyclist. The lean bag of sleek muscles. And he’s gone to seed just like hi
s wife. He doesn’t look quite as revolting as she does – but he sure doesn’t look good.

  What’s happened to these people? Is this what happens to athletes who don’t stay in shape?

  Is Jillian going to look like this in twenty years?

  He shudders at the thought. Too horrible to contemplate.

  “Well, I guess I better go tend to my other guests,” he says, smiling a sickly smile as he makes his escape. “Good to see you folks again,” he lies.

  And by the time he reaches the bar, Manolo, reading his employer’s body language from clear across the lounge, has already poured him two fingers of Jack Daniels, neat, just the way he likes it.

  4.4.3: In the Air

  “But surely you want her to realize her full potential, yes?” Increasingly frustrated, Jago tries to keep his voice under control. “You said yourself, just a minute ago, that everyone should do the best they can, all the time. The point is that she is actually capable of performing at a much higher level than what she is producing now. She has much talent, but it is raw, undeveloped. She needs to be molded. Her energy must be channeled. She could be a great champion.”

  “Is that important?”

  Jago suspects that he’s being teased – in fact, he’s pretty well convinced that this entire conversation is pointless, that Nathan is merely toying with him – but he doggedly plugs on. “Of course it is important,” he says earnestly. “Every human being has a duty to develop his natural abilities to their greatest extent. Anyone who does less is shirking his responsibility. Where would we be if everyone did just enough to get by? If everyone was content with mediocrity? We should never be satisfied with what we can already do, Nathan. We must pursue excellence. We must strive for perfection. That is the only way that society can function properly. Everyone must give to the best of their abilities.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like a communist.”

  Jago stiffens, then forces himself to relax. Obviously, he’s being goaded, but he has to admit that there’s some truth in what Nathan says. Although he fled Czechoslovakia to escape the stultifying noose of communist bureaucratic restrictions, he has to admit that some basic socialist principles, inculcated in him throughout his childhood, have remained with him. “It is true that both communists and capitalists may strive for excellence,” he explains. “However, in communist countries, people are forced into endeavors by the state, with no regard for their own personal inclinations. Here, we have the freedom to choose our own destiny. But liberty is not license, Nathan. Freedom is no excuse for lack of discipline. We have no one to tell us what to do, so it is doubly important that we motivate ourselves. Do you not want Sunshine to set an example for other young people?”

  “Ah, Jago.” Nathan smiles. “You’re so idealistic. So earnest. To you, everything is black and white. You see everything with distinct outlines. For you there are no blurred edges, no shades of gray. And the zeal with which you try to spread your vision is quite contagious. I’m sure that you must be very effective at what you do.”

  “Please, Nathan, do not flatter me.” Jago is both pleased and annoyed at the same time. “And please, let us stick to the subject, shall we?”

  “Ah, yes, I understand.” Nathan nods. “Your single-minded determination does not easily tolerate attempts to stray from the path. But to which subject is it that you wish me to confine myself?”

  “Why, to what we have been discussing, of course,” Jago sputters. “To getting Sunshine to come to SMU next year so that I can train her. So that she can become the greatest triathlete that the world has ever seen.”

  “And yet, as I understand it, SMU isn’t eager to have Sunshine in attendance. My understanding is that even if Sunshine were to decide that she wanted to attend SMU, the school might well decide that it doesn’t want her.”

  Jago waves the objection away as if it were trivial. “Politics,” he says, with a confidence that he does not at all feel. “That is all just politics. Don’t forget, G.W. is on the board. If you agree to let Sunshine come to SMU, I am certain that I can pull the necessary strings to make it happen.”

  “It’s not for me to ‘let’ Sunshine do anything,” Nathan says. “I suppose you see me as some kind of Svengali, but you are quite mistaken. Sunshine makes her own decisions. If she wants to study with you, she will study with you. If not, she won’t.”

  “But surely you must admit that you have a great deal of influence over her,” Jago persists. I should just give up, he thinks. We keep going over the same arguments, again and again, and we are just spinning around in circles. I am making no headway at all. But this may be the only chance I get to spend any amount of time with Nathan, and I will not feel right about it unless I give it my best shot. “If you were to recommend to Sunshine that she come to SMU next year, why then I am certain that she would be there,” he explains, confidently. “As it is, I cannot even get her to consider it.”

  “You overestimate my influence…” Nathan begins – then he stops and smiles broadly. To Jago, the effect is startling. Nathan almost always wears a grin, which at times becomes what might be called a smile but which usually comes across as more of a smirk. But Jago has never seen the bearded face break into such an unaffected smile.

  “Perhaps I should choose my words more carefully,” Nathan says. He rubs his jaw, which is noticeably discolored from the blow he took earlier. “The last time I used that phrase, it turned out to be quite a surprising experience.”

  4.4.4: In the Air

  “Somebody take a poke at you?” G.W. asks, as he eases himself onto a stool across from Nathan.

  “Precisely,” Nathan says, genially, still smiling. He gestures to the other side of the cabin, where Sunshine and her parents still sit; Jillian, G.W. notes, must have already slipped off into the bedroom. “Corinne took exception to one of my explanations,” Nathan says. “And, as you may know, Corinne is a very expressive person.”

  “Corinne did that to you?” The woman is full of surprises. “If anybody gets rowdy, I might have to boot somebody off the plane. I sure hope you two have made up.”

  “Oh, yes. It was never a problem, really. Simply a momentary burst of energy that happened to be aimed in my direction. We drove here together, and I assure you that there were no further fisticuffs. She was quite apologetic, actually, although I assured her that there was no need.”

  “I take it, then,” G.W. says, easing into his subject, “that you’re not a man who believes in retribution.”

  “Do you suggest that I should have taken my revenge on Corinne? Given her a black eye, perhaps?” Nathan appears to be amused. “But I suspect that you asked that question as an entrée to a larger issue that you wish to discuss with me.”

  “How perceptive of you,” G.W. says dryly.

  The two men stare at each other in complete silence for so long that Jago, sensing an impending confrontation, becomes uncomfortable and excuses himself. “I think that I will check out the movie in first class,” he jokes as he backs away, but neither man smiles.

  “I’m not a man who likes to beat around the bush,” G.W. says, finally. “And I expect that you’d appreciate it if I were direct. So let me get right to the point.”

  “You want to know,” Nathan interrupts, “why I am not cooperating with the police investigation into who burned down my ashram, yes? You see, sometimes it isn’t necessary to get to the point at all, directly or otherwise.”

  “How the…” G.W. stops, flustered, his mind racing for an explanation. Did I say anything about this to any of Nathan’s followers? he wonders. No, I couldn’t have, I didn’t even realize that there was a problem until I spoke with Phillips, and I left right after that without talking to anyone. Could Phillips have said something? But how would that information have gotten to the plane? Did someone overhear our conversation? Maybe someone heard Jill tell me that she didn’t think there would be an investigation and relayed that information to Nathan and he figured out the rest. Is that possible? Wh
at other explanation is there?

  “It’s really quite simple,” Nathan explains soothingly, as if G.W. has asked aloud. “I see that you’re upset – which is normal, of course, considering the danger your daughter was subjected to just a few hours ago. And it’s not unusual for anxiety to turn into anger. An inappropriate response, to be sure, but a common one just the same. Many people are more comfortable with anger than with fear. This is especially true for men who, in our culture, are expected to take decisive action, rather than to experience emotion inwardly. And in men who strive to be successful in business, directable anger is often considered to be an asset. Once I recognized that you were angry, it wasn’t difficult to understand why. And at whom.”

  “Jesus Christ,” G.W. says, appreciatively. “You’re good. I thought I could read people, but you’ve got me beat. Your followers probably think that you can read their minds. You’ve probably always been perceptive, and I bet all that experience as a psychiatrist in New York and LA must’ve really sharpened your skills.”

  “I suppose,” Nathan says, “that you expect me to be surprised that you know about my background?”

  “Well, I was hoping to catch you off guard,” G.W. admits. “But I can see that doesn’t happen very often. But hell, sure, I checked you out. I couldn’t find much of anything when I Googled you, so I called my researchers from the helicopter on my way to your… your ashram, did you call it? And they filled me in on the flight back. It’s amazing how much information you can find out about anybody these days. Even stuff that’s not on Google. It’s all on a computer, somewhere. My people are still working on it, and by the time they finish I’ll know about every time you took a shit from the time you were born until after breakfast this morning.”

  Nathan grins his lopsided, sly grin. “But I did not move my bowels yet this morning,” he points out.

  “I was speaking metaphorically,” G.W. says, returning the grin. The smug bastard, he thinks. He’s so goddamn sure of himself. I would have loved to have been there when Corinne walloped him.