The Collectibles

by James J. Kaufman

“Casey! I didn’t know you were coming out here.”

  “I didn’t either, but Fred, our bookkeeper, had some questions and I thought it would be better to talk about it personally, and handle it hands-on. Fred’s been doing a good job.”

  Preston reviewed financial reports with Casey and Alex, then the three of them met in a private office to go over the current status with the bank. Preston was impressed and delighted with the progress, and with how satisfied the bank seemed to be, under the circumstances.

  Within half an hour, the conference room was packed, with the door open and other employees standing outside the room. Preston realized this was the first time he had met any of them.

  “Thank you,” he said, addressing the group, “for being here.” Everyone laughed. “Seriously, I really do want to thank each and every one of you for the job you are doing. It’s no secret that this dealership, and some other dealerships of Wilson Holdings, ran into financial difficulties. I take responsibility for that. I realize today that I am meeting most of you for the first time. That should not have been the case, and I take responsibility for that, too.

  “This afternoon, I took a detailed look around this store. Thanks to the leadership of Alex, Casey, and each of you, I can see tremendous change. For one thing, I don’t ever remember seeing the service area floor so clean.” Everyone laughed again. “No, I’m serious. I never have. That says a lot. And in a way, it’s emblematic of what’s going on in this store and all of our stores from this point forward. With your help, we’re going to be squeaky clean in every department, financially and otherwise; in all of our dealings with the bank, with our customers, and with each other. I promise you that. And I thank you for staying with me and for giving me 100 percent. I’m proud of you and I hope that down the road, you will feel proud of me, too. Thank you.”

  Preston sat down, but everyone else stood and filled the room with applause. He looked around at Alex and at Casey; they all grinned.

  After dinner Preston made a series of phone calls, at last locating Marcia.

  “I’m so glad I found you and that you took my call. I have so much to tell you. I won’t take your time tonight, except to say that our business situation – yours and mine – is in better shape now in many ways than we’ve ever been. Our meeting in Charlotte went exceptionally well – thanks to Joe Hart – far better than I expected. I’m not going to jail. Neither are you. No one is. The banks are working with us, Marcia, and we’re going to pay them back, without any exposure on your part.”

  “That’s good news. Very good.”

  “I wanted to tell you that, but that’s not why I called. I called to tell you that I’ve been a horse’s ass where you’re concerned for a long time. I want to apologize. You deserve far better from me. I really would appreciate it if you would give me the opportunity to talk to you. Please. It would mean a lot.”

  “I’m with my girlfriend now, as you somehow have figured out. When did you want to talk?”

  “I’m flying back to New York from San Francisco in the morning,” Preston said. “There really is nothing more important to me right now than to talk with you as soon as I can. You tell me where and when. I’ll be there.”

  “Really?” Marcia said. “I just got here from Mother’s house, and I would like to stay with Ann a few days.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Preston said.

  “Really?” Marcia said again. “How about we talk at the condo in a few days, say next Friday. I have to pick up some things there anyway. How would that be?”

  “That would be just fine. Great. Thank you. I’ll be there, and I’ll look forward to seeing you on Friday. I appreciate it, Marcia. And I love you. I really mean that.”

  “I’ll see you Friday,” Marcia said and hung up.

  “Was that him?” Ann asked.

  “I can’t believe he found me. It’s weird. I don’t know if I’m happy or sad.”

  “Maybe both,” Ann said. “I’m pissed that you have to go through this. Why can’t he leave you alone?”

  “I’d like to think it’s because he loves me.”

  “He loves himself, Marcia. That’s who he loves.”

  “Actually, it’s the other way around. I wish he loved himself more.”

  “What are you going to do? Are you going back?”

  “I need some clothes, and Pres wants to talk, so I agreed to meet him next Friday. I don’t know, Ann. When I was little, my favorite doll broke. I took it to my dad, God love him, and he looked the doll over. He said, ‘Well, honey, we can try to fix it, or we can get you a new one. If we fix it, it won’t be perfect. If we get a new one, it won’t be your favorite.’ That’s the way I feel now. I love Preston, and there’s a good man underneath all this. But I can’t wait forever for him to come out. I’ll lose myself in the process.”

  “Wow.”

  Marcia started to cry. “There’s more. I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh My God! Is Preston . . . ”

  “Yes, of course he’s the father.”

  “Jesus. Let’s pig out on a huge pizza.”

  “And some Sam Adams! . . . No, wait, hold the beer.”

  Chapter 41

  Preston called the airlines to change his flight. Since Marcia wouldn’t be in the city until Friday and he had almost a week, he’d go to Braydon, meet Johnny, and look up Mr. Corrigan. Joe had said he wanted him to connect. At least he’d get started with these people as soon as possible, and after meeting Missy and Tommy, he could see why.

  On the plane, his mind was full. What a difference a few weeks could make. Autoplaza in control and doing well; Casey a different guy; Alex. Getting to know Missy, Tommy. And Marcia. And maybe even himself.

  Driving into Braydon late that afternoon, Preston was surprised at what a delightful town it was, beginning with Braydon’s welcome sign. Preston loved New York City, but he saw for the first time why somebody might like to live in a place like this. Downtown consisted mostly of two-story wooden buildings, many with balconies overlooking the street. Flowerpots accented the balconies and the windows and the quaint stores, each adorned with a colorful display. Plenty of places to park and no parking meters. And it was quiet – no honking horns, no sirens, just people and traffic moving calmly along the clean sidewalks and streets.

  Preston first went to Joe’s law office. He wanted to meet Alice in person, catch her before she left for the day. He was surprised to find that Joe’s office was actually in an old, restored house. He met Alice and found her delightful and charming, the type of woman to whom one feels invited to tell everything. Preston was doing just that.

  They talked about Braydon for a while, sitting on the front porch drinking iced tea. What a contrast from Whitcock Stevenson. If only Brookfield could see him now. Preston told Alice what a wonderful job Joe did in Charlotte, and how he somehow convinced the bank to go along with his plan. Alice listened and smiled. Preston told her about his visit with Missy and meeting Tommy Greco.

  “Missy’s quite a pretty young lady, isn’t she?” Alice said.

  “She certainly is. And smart, too. Insightful.” Alice simply smiled and rocked in her chair.

  “And tell me about Mr. Greco; he’s quite a character. How did that go?”

  “He tried to corrupt me with gambling and cigars.”

  Alice laughed. “Where are you off to now?”

  “I passed the Home Dairy to see Johnny on my way into Braydon.”

  “Yes, on South Main Street.”

  “I need . . . want to meet him, Alice. Can you tell me a little bit about him? How did Joe become friends with Johnny?”

  “I’ll let Johnny speak for himself, but I will tell you that Joe’s wife Ashley, bless her heart, did so much for us. Apart from her work with charities and cancer, the unemployed homeless were among her major concerns, which led her to look into the mental health departments
of our state. She encouraged the development of an outreach program to put mildly mentally challenged patients who qualified to work in the community.

  “What really upset her, and Joe, was that Johnny’s mother and father had apparently dumped him in the state’s mental hospital as an infant. There is no evidence that Johnny is actually retarded, but having grown up in a mental institution that’s all he’s ever known. Joe couldn’t get over what happened to Johnny, and he’s looked after him ever since.”

  Alice and Preston were silent for a while.

  “Do you think he’s there now, and that I could meet him?”

  “Yes, but I suggest we call Mr. Niemeyer, the owner, first, explain the situation to him. Would you like me to do that?”

  “I really would. Thanks.”

  “Hello, Stanley,” he heard Alice say. “How are you all doing? I swear, I can smell you baking up something delicious right now.” Laughter. “I’m calling you to ask if it’s all right with you if a friend of Joe’s from out of town comes down there to see what really good Southern food tastes like.” More laughter. “And good baking, too. Oh, and Stanley, while he’s there, he wants to meet Johnny. You know how Joe goes on and on about Johnny, how much he likes him. This fella’s heard so much about Johnny from Joe, he wants to meet him himself. Would that be okay with you? Right. In the kitchen. Okay, good to talk with you, Stanley. Bye now.”

  “Thanks, Alice,” Preston said. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

  “I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Wilson. And it’s about that time. Before we go, unless you’ve already made arrangements, we should see about getting you a place to stay tonight.”

  Preston had completely forgotten about that. Alice made a call, and suggested that Preston follow her to the Home Dairy, where they could park out back.

  As they walked in, the smell of the pastries filled Preston’s nose. He followed Alice, filled his tray, and enjoyed a sumptuous meal. When Stanley Niemeyer came by their table to say hello, he wore a full, white apron and a baker’s cap at least a foot high. He left freshly made raspberry tarts on their table.

  Following dinner, they took their trays to the serving window, where Preston saw Johnny at work.

  “Hi, Johnny,” Alice called through the window. “We’re coming into the kitchen. I’ve got someone who wants to meet you.”

  “Hi,” Johnny repeated with a broad grin.

  Alice led Preston through the swinging doors to the kitchen and over to Johnny’s workstation. Johnny was busy clearing the china and silverware off the trays, pushing the uneaten food and napkins into the garbage drop. He was covered with sweat, his white apron dark and soiled in front. Johnny turned around and smiled.

  “This is Preston Wilson,” Alice said. “Mr. Wilson lives in New York City, Johnny. He’s a friend of Joe’s. He came here to meet you. Mr. Niemeyer said it’s okay.”

  “Hi, I’m Johnny,” he said, holding out his wet hand for Preston to shake.

  Preston shook Johnny’s hand with a trace of reluctance.

  “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,” Alice said. “Thank you for dinner, Preston, and for our delightful talk this afternoon. Call me if there’s anything you need. I hope you enjoy your visit to Braydon. If you leave before I speak with you, you come back and see us soon.” With that, she said goodbye and left through the back door.

  Preston did not have a clue where to start with Johnny, who had simply gone back to work, clearing the trays and feeding the dishwasher. Preston had never seen a man working as a dishwasher in a commercial kitchen. After a while he sensed a certain rhythm in Johnny’s actions.

  “That’s a pretty neat operation,” he called to Johnny over the noise.

  Johnny said nothing, kept working.

  “It’s good to meet you, Johnny. How’s it going?” he said in a loud voice. Nothing.

  Finally, Preston tapped Johnny on the shoulder. Johnny turned around quickly, the dish sprayer hanging down in his right hand. As Johnny turned, the hot spray hit Preston right in the face, and then proceeded down the entire front of his polo shirt and Italian leather belt and trousers. Within seconds, he was dripping wet.

  “Uh oh. Man got wet. Johnny sorry. What man want?”

  Preston just stood there, dripping. At least the water’s clean and hot, he thought. “Call me Preston,” he said.

  “What’s Preston?” Johnny asked.

  “My name. My name’s Preston, Johnny.”

  “Funny name. Funny name,” Johnny said. “Pressdon?”

  “Close enough.” He paused. “I like that machine,” Preston said, pointing first to the dishwasher and then the rest of the apparatus. “Show me how it works.”

  “Pressdon all wet. All wet. Johnny get towel.” With that, Johnny went to a linen cupboard in a corner and brought Preston a large, white towel, a smaller one, and a white apron. Preston wiped his head and face with the hand towel and blotted his shirt and pants to soak up as much of the water as he could. He looked at the apron for a while and decided what the hell, he had gone this far. Johnny smiled.

  “Johnny got helper,” he said. “Johnny show Pressdon how.”

  Johnny showed him how to reach out and catch the trays, how to clear them, use the sprayer, and load the machine. Preston went through the whole process once, thanked Johnny, then moved away from the table and took his apron off.

  “Don’t feel bad, Pressdon. Get better. Need practice. Okay.” Johnny finished off the last of the trays and then, with great care, washed all of the equipment down and dried it.

  Preston stood by and watched, admiring Johnny’s efficiency. Then Johnny took off his apron, soiled white T-shirt and his white pants, and stuffed them into a commercial washer. From a narrow locker he pulled out clean blue jeans and a shirt. After he dressed, he went up to a small mirror on the back wall, combed his thin hair, and turned to Preston.

  “Johnny turn lights off. Johnny go home now. Pressdon leave now. Pressdon good start. Pressdon learn. Takes practice. No feel bad.”

  With that, Johnny turned all the lights off, took Preston by the arm, and led him out the back door, setting the locks on the door before he closed it.

  “Where do you live, Johnny?” Preston asked. “I can give you a ride home.”

  “Johnny live at home. Johnny can walk.”

  “I’ll be glad to drive you there,” Preston said. “Can you show me where it is?”

  “Johnny not supposed to get in car.”

  “It’s okay, Johnny. I’m a friend of Joe’s.”

  Johnny appeared to think about that. “Okay,” he said and climbed in Preston’s car. When they drove out of the parking lot and onto Main Street, Johnny pointed the way to his home, and in a few minutes, Preston pulled up to a large, beige-colored house with a wraparound porch.

  “Johnny live here,” Johnny said. “Johnny get out now.”

  Preston pulled over to the curb, shut the rental car off, and got out and walked around to the passenger side as Johnny got out.

  “Thanks for showing me how to wash the dishes, Johnny. It was good to meet you.”

  “How’s Buck?” Johnny asked.

  “Buck’s great,” Preston said, happy to finally have a conversation with Johnny. “I saw him with Joe not long ago on Joe’s boat in the Bahamas.”

  “No trouble for Johnny with Buck. Buck likes Johnny. Buck no like the bad man. Buck hurt bad man. Bad man not come back. Bad man afraid. Buck Joe’s friend. Buck Johnny’s friend. Pressdon practice. Pressdon be good dishwasher.”

  “Okay, Johnny. I’ll come see you again.” Preston shook his hand.

  “Know what?” Johnny asked, taking Preston by surprise.

  “What?”

  “In movies when bad man get shot, not really dead.”

  Preston thought about that. “That’s right, Johnny. But what a
bout when the bad man gets stabbed?”

  “Oh, then he’s dead.”

  Preston burst out laughing. Johnny sat quietly.

  “Why Pressdon laugh at Johnny?”

  Still laughing, Preston told Johnny, “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just what you said is funny.”

  Johnny stared at Preston. “Not nice to laugh at people. Johnny knows. Johnny not stupid. Pressdon got funny name. Johnny not laugh. Johnny not stupid, Pressdon, just ‘retarded.’”

  Silence. He’s right, he’s not stupid. I wish I could say the same for me sometimes.

  “I’m sorry, Johnny. I really am. I don’t think you’re stupid, and I didn’t mean for you to think I was laughing at you. I won’t do it again.”

  Johnny stared at Preston for several moments, and then said, “It’s okay. Don’t feel bad. People make mistakes.”

  Preston wondered what on earth he could say. Finally: “Johnny, do you know how to play catch with a baseball?”

  “Johnny good catcher. Good thrower, too.”

  “Could you and I do that some time?”

  “Johnny good. Johnny and Pressdon do that some time.”

  “I’ll be back to see you Johnny, that’s a promise. Thanks for spending this time with me.”

  “Bye. Johnny go now,” he said and walked up the steps, onto the porch, and into the home.

  Preston drove to a nearby motel, where Alice had made arrangements for him to stay, and dialed her.

  “How’d it go with Johnny?” Alice asked. “I’m sure he appreciated making a new friend.”

  “It went pretty well, Alice. But I think I’m the one who got more out of it. I hope I’m not calling you too late.”

  “No, not at all. Is there something you need?”

  “Yes, well, I just wondered, do you happen to know where I might go to get information on educational opportunities for mentally challenged individuals like Johnny?”

  Alice was quiet for a minute. “Actually I do. Joe has an entire Johnny file. Hang on a minute. Actually there are two cabinets relating to Johnny – several files of Ashley’s and others Joe developed. Give me another couple of minutes.”