Midas Touch

by Frankie J. Jones

  After reading the article announcing to all of Dallas that she was a lesbian, Sandra tried to evaluate how this would affect business.

  “I’m really sorry all this is happening,” Allison said. “I know you were ready to get away, but frankly, I’m afraid if you disappear now, it’ll look like you’re hiding.”

  “I won’t be hiding,” Sandra assured her.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Sandra sat quietly for a minute. “Get a copy of the layouts Charles wanted to use and then contact Molly Devonshire. Ask her if she’s interested in printing our side of the story.”

  Allison grinned. “Sandra, you’re evil. You know Molly Devonshire will take one look at those layouts and renew her crusade on pornography in advertising.”

  “Let’s hope by the time she gets through singing our praises for refusing to contribute to ‘ the degradation of women by mass market money-mongers’ no one will remember I’m a lesbian.”

  “So it’s true?” Allison asked.

  Sandra stared at her. “You didn’t know?”

  “We’ve never discussed it.”

  “Does it bother you?” Sandra’s fingers tapped a nervous dance on her thigh, while Allison looked out the window. It never occurred to her Allison might not know. However, when she thought about it, why would anyone know?

  Carol never attended office events, and Sandra rarely mentioned her. Sandra’s business life and her personal life were separate worlds, and she preferred to keep them that way.

  “To be honest, I’d have to say at some level I suspected,”

  Allison admitted. “Since all of this happened with Charles, I’ve wondered why we never talked about your life. We’ve spent hours talking about my problems with Mom and Brian, but I know next to nothing about your life outside the office,” she said and shrugged. “I finally had to admit to myself why I never asked about your life. I think I knew and wasn’t comfortable with it.”

  She turned to look at Sandra. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me.”

  Sandra nodded and looked away. She was not sure how she felt about being dragged out of the closet. “We’d better get going.

  Margaret will call out the National Guard if we’re later than she thinks we should be.”

  Allison’s chuckle revealed her relief in escaping the current conversation. “I’ve had a couple of close encounters with Margaret already. I’m not ready for another one.”

  Allison left after a none-too-subtle hint from Margaret that Sandra needed to rest.

  “I’ll take care of the things we discussed,” Allison promised as she waved good-bye. “I’ll make arrangements to get your car home.”

  After Allison left, Sandra started toward her office.

  “And where do you think you’re headed?” Margaret demanded.

  “I thought I’d spend some time working on the speech I’m giving …” Sandra let the sentence drop as Margaret crossed her arms over her massive chest.

  “It’s rest you’ll be needin’. Dr. Ida said you were to take it easy.”

  Sandra considered protesting, but decided it was useless.

  Arguing with Margaret was as fruitless as arguing with a wall.

  She went to her bedroom.

  After changing into her pajamas, Sandra crawled into bed.

  She laughed softly when she found a small bell by the bedside with a note from Margaret instructing her to ring it if she needed anything.

  Sandra waited until she was sure Margaret was busy and out of earshot before calling her lawyer, Elizabeth Brubeck. She needed to take care of one more item. After a few quick assurances that she was feeling fine, Sandra dictated the changes she wanted made to her will.

  “Sandra, as your attorney I feel obligated to make sure you really want to do this. It’s understandable you would want to leave Margaret something. However, half of your estate seems excessive. That’s an awful lot of money,” Elizabeth stressed.

  “Liz, I have no family. It’s what I want, right now.”

  “You know best. You can always change it. By the way,”

  she added, “Rita and I were sorry to hear about you and Carol splitting.”

  “Thanks. It was best for both of us.”

  “Don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything we can do. I’ll drop by tomorrow to get your signature on these changes.”

  After hanging up the telephone, Sandra remembered she had promised to send Carol’s passport and birth certificate to Lynda Hopkins. Moving quietly, Sandra slipped into the master bedroom and removed the lock box from the safe. Feeling like a disobedient child, she took the box and scurried back to bed. She stuffed the items in an envelope and placed the envelope in the dresser by the door. Hiding the lock box under the bed, she rang the bell Margaret had left.

  “Why aren’t you sleepin’?” Margaret demanded as she came into the room.

  “I remembered something and couldn’t sleep until it was taken care of.”

  Margaret eyed her suspiciously. Sandra felt a twinge of

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  guilt, but reminded herself she was not actually telling a lie. She couldn’t sleep.

  “I promised I’d mail a package to Carol’s lawyer. I forgot to do it. I believe it’s there in the dresser. Could you call a courier and have it delivered today?”

  Margaret went to the dresser and found the envelope. “Don’t be tryin’ this again. I won’t be believin’ it,” she warned sternly, shaking the envelope at Sandra. “Now, to sleep with you.”

  Suitably chastised, Sandra nodded.

  As Sandra suspected, Molly Devonshire wanted the interview. She was practically foaming at the mouth when she left Sandra’s penthouse with a copy of the offensive layouts and Sandra’s assurance that Tate Enterprises would never resort to using such sexually explicit advertising.

  The paper ran a photo of the layout with a long article on the hidden dangers of this caliber of advertising. Molly wrapped the story up by praising the vast amount of charity work Sandra did for women and children and the contributions made by Tate Enterprises to charities too numerous to mention.

  Allison called Sandra an hour after the paper hit the street.

  Roy Landreth from Mega Star Foods had decided to leave his stores in Tate Enterprises’ chain of malls.

  Sandra sat on the balcony. Three days out of the hospital and she was already bored beyond belief. Other than her short walks in the morning and late afternoon, she spent most of her time reading or sleeping.

  The chest pains and heartburn were gradually dissipating and she was restless. The thought of doing this for three months was almost more than she could stand. She glanced at her watch.

  Allison had promised to stop by later in the afternoon and give her a brief run-down on what was happening at the office.

  Sandra returned to the bedroom. She reached across the bed for the book she was trying to read. As she did so, her toe stubbed something beneath the bed. She knelt down and saw the lock

  box she had failed to return to the safe after removing Carol’s passport and birth certificate.

  She pulled the box out and opened it. At the bottom, beneath a small bundle of cash that served as a security blanket for her, and some of Sandra’s papers, lay a large manila envelope. It contained practically everything from her father’s meager estate.

  He had sold the old travel trailer, after she left for college, and moved into a low-rent apartment complex. He took care of the grounds and did minor repair jobs in exchange for his rent.

  To supplement his income, he hired out for odd jobs around the neighborhood. Sandra tried to give him money, but he always refused it. Her father had always insisted on being paid in cash, which meant he usually worked in low paying jobs. Sandra credited her father’s idiosyncrasy to the fact he was a compulsively private person.

  Less than two years after she moved back to Dallas, her father was killed when he fell from a roof he was patching. Numb with grief, Sandra made the simple arrangements he
would have wanted. Since her father was an only child, and his parents had died before Sandra was born, there was no family to notify.

  Sandra donated his meager wardrobe and furniture to Goodwill and paid to have his ancient truck towed away.

  At the time of his death, she had been emotionally unable to deal with his private personal effects. She had placed everything in the envelope and stored it in the lock box.

  She dumped the contents of the envelope onto the bed and carefully separated them. She found his cracked and peeling wallet, a scarred Barlow pocketknife, and a small envelope containing four photos. She swallowed the burning lump in her throat and removed the photos.

  The first one was of her when she was a child. The stamp on the back gave the year and the address of a photo shop in San Antonio. She squinted at the photo. Judging by the date, she had been about four-years-old. She was standing on a porch clutching a scruffy-looking bear. The bear was wearing a plaid vest. An odd-shaped hat sat at a jaunty angle over one ear.

  For years, her father kept the photo hidden in a cigar box under his bed. She was about ten when she discovered it while cleaning and had instinctively known not to ask him about it.

  There was a shadow of the photographer in the lower left corner. Over time, Sandra started associating the shadow with her mother. During the lonely years of childhood, she developed an intense love/hate relationship with the mysterious shadow.

  When she left for college, she stole the snapshot to take with her.

  She felt so guilty she returned it on her first trip home.

  Looking at the photo, Sandra again wondered about the mysterious photographer. Was it a shadow of her mother? She turned her attention to the bear she held in the photo. Mr. Peepers, she thought suddenly. The name came from her subconscious, along with an unsettling sense of loss. She could not remember when or where the bear had disappeared from her life.

  Uneasy with the emotions running through her, she turned her attention to the remaining photographs, which were of her and her father at various times in her life. Sandra studied the awkward-looking child for several minutes before stuffing the photos back in the envelope.

  She picked up his battered wallet. The brown imitation leather was cracked and peeling with age. She started to put it back into the envelope. The wallet was the only truly personal thing he had owned. She ran her finger along a cracked seam and slowly opened the wallet. The lump in her throat grew. She coughed trying to ease the discomfort.

  The wallet contained eight dollars. The window where a driver’s license would normally fit was empty She searched through the inner pockets looking for his license. There was not one, but in the last pocket, she found a pale blue envelope.

  The envelope had been folded several times and was stained and worn with age. She opened it carefully to avoid ripping the fragile paper. The letter addressed to her father had a San Antonio return address, but no name. Curious as to why he would have carried the letter for so many years, she opened it. The letter contained no date.

  Dear Vernon,

  I wanted to plead with you one more time to let me see Sandra. I love her dearly and miss my darling girl. Please, don’t let your hatred for me keep our daughter from her mother. Vernon, she is only four.

  She doesn’t understand what’s happening. I promise you, she will never know why I left.

  I don’t have a telephone, but you can contact me at this address or call me at work. My number is below. I’m begging you. Please, don’t keep her from me.

  Jessica.

  Sandra’s hands trembled as she read the letter through again.

  Her mother had wanted to see her and her father refused. Why?

  Why had he never told her where her mother was? He let her believe her mother did not want to see her. Had her mom changed her mind after writing the letter?

  Sandra was still asking herself questions when she heard Margaret and Allison’s voices in the hallway. She shoved the items back into the box and pushed it under the bed. She was sitting on the balcony when Allison joined her.

  “How are you feeling?” Allison’s anxious eyes studied her.

  “Fine.” She tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t think of anything but the lock box. “How’s work?” she asked, without any real interest.

  Allison began a run-down on what was happening, but Sandra soon tuned her out and again tried to understand why her father had lied to her.

  “And the wolf ate them all up!” Allison said loudly.

  Sandra blinked. “What wolf?” she stammered.

  “You’re a million miles away. You should have told me you were too tired for this. You’re supposed to be resting.” She stood, but Sandra was already lost in her thoughts.

  “Sandra.” Allison was kneeling before her. “Should I call Ida?

  You look awfully pale.”

  “No. I’m fine.” She bit her lower lip.

  “You don’t look fine. You’re pale and trembling. Let me help

  you back inside.”

  Sandra allowed Allison to lead her from the balcony. She needed to talk to someone. Laura, she thought immediately, and experienced a stab of guilt.

  Laura would be upset with her for not calling and letting her know she had been sick. Sandra had thought about calling her, but since she had not actually suffered a heart attack, it seemed somewhat silly. Laura was always so busy.

  “Allison, can you drive me somewhere? Margaret won’t let me leave alone without a major row.”

  “Sure, but do you think you should?”

  Sandra felt her frustration growing. “I’m not sick. I was tired, and now I’m rested. No, I’m bored out of my mind. I need to get out of this room. I want to go spend a few days with a friend. She lives about an hour from here.” Sandra packed a small bag before grimacing. “Now, all I have to do is get past the warden.”

  Allison laughed. “I don’t envy you. She really is very protective of you.”

  Sandra felt like a child again as she entered the kitchen where Margaret was cleaning the refrigerator.

  “I’m going to go spend a couple of days with a friend. Allison is going to drive me.” Sandra rushed on as Margaret turned to stare at her. “I’ll leave her number on the table for you.”

  “You’re supposed to be restin’,” Margaret reminded.

  “I can rest at Laura’s just as well as I can here. She lives in the country, so I can sit on the porch all day and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.”

  “Did you ask Dr. Ida?” Margaret demanded.

  Sandra sighed. This was going to be worse than she anticipated.

  Allison stepped forward and took Sandra’s suitcase. “I’m sorry to rush you, but I promised Mom I’d be home early, so we really do need to be going.” She turned to Margaret. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she’s settled in before I leave her.” Without waiting for Margaret to respond, she pushed Sandra out the door and into the elevator. As the elevator door closed, hiding Margaret’s

  disapproving glare, Sandra pulled a spare car key from the wallet in her purse. “Do you know she actually hid my keys?” she said, taking her suitcase from Allison.

  “She’s worried about you,” Allison said, releasing the bag and resting her hands on the rails around the elevator walls.

  “I know, but it gets a little overwhelming sometimes.”

  “Did you want me to drive your car?” Allison eyed Sandra’s keys.”No. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to lie well enough to get past Margaret,” Sandra admitted. Seeing Allison’s frown, Sandra moaned. “Don’t you start, too. I’m a medical prisoner.

  I have to get away. I love Margaret dearly, but she’s driving me nuts. I swear I feel fine. I’m eating and I sleep at least eight hours a night. I’ve not experienced any pain since I left the hospital, so please don’t start in on me.”

  “Are you really going to stay with a friend?”

  “Yes. She works out of her home most of the time so she’ll be there in ca
se I need anything.”

  Allison shook her head and laughed. “Think of the story this would make. Sandra Tate, sneaking out of the house like a wayward teenager.”

  Sandra smiled before she replied. “Don’t forget who signs your check.”

  Allison gave a mock salute. “Just make sure you let me know when it’s safe for me to come back. I don’t want Margaret on my butt.”

  Sandra returned the salute.

  Sandra called Laura from the car. “I’m calling to invite myself over.”

  “Good. I need someone to test my new casserole.”

  “As long as it isn’t tuna.” Sandra detested tuna casserole.

  “Would I feed you tuna casserole?”

  “I’ll be there in less than an hour.”

  Sandra felt the tension draining away as she drove out of the city. She was actually smiling by the time she pulled into Laura’s

  driveway.

  The small, blue cottage sat in a grove of oak trees. After she parked her car, Sandra stood by it and closed her eyes, listening to the wind in the trees. It was such a peaceful sound. She continued to listen until she heard the closing of the front door. She opened her eyes and found Laura watching her from the front steps.

  “I sometimes think this place is the closest thing I’ve ever known to a real home,” Sandra said, walking to Laura.

  “It’s always opened to you, day or night,” Laura said. She wrapped her arms around Sandra and held her close.

  Sandra clung to her for an extra long moment before they went inside. She sniffed appreciatively at the wonderful aroma.

  “Umm, that smells good. What is it?”

  “I don’t have a name for it yet, but it’s a combination of chicken and vegetables and a new blend of herbs. You can be my guinea pig. Sit down. It’s almost ready.”