Dropping Stones / Kingmaker SET

by Paul Cwalina

  “Well, you’re a little late if you want to vote for me for anything.”

  There was a momentary silence as she tried to think of something to say.

  “Diane told me that Edmond asked you to run one of his hotels.”

  “Yeah...a resort in St. Croix,” I said, still having not looked at her once during our conversation.

  “Living on a resort in the Virgin Islands? A girl can get used to that,” she said cheerfully.

  While still staring at my coffee, I responded, “Yeah, well, no art museums on the island of St. Croix.” Then I lifted my head and looked up at her, surprised to see the hurt in her eyes. I didn’t know why, but she looked like a seven year-old who just found out there is no Santa Claus. It seemed like she got hit with something she wasn’t expecting. Her eyes began to tear.

  “I have to use the ladies room,” she said and got up from the table and walked briskly across the room.

  I just turned and stared out the window and thought about my crumbling life. There was a television on the wall and I noticed that one of the local stations was interrupting programming to talk about my resignation. Sarah must be smiling ear-to-ear over this. Probably spending the day in bed with Ryan celebrating their victory.

  My phone began ringing incessantly. As soon as I’d ignore one call, another came through. I finally just turned off the ringer and set it back down on the table. Chelsea came back to the table. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. It was obvious she’d been crying.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m okay. I must just be emotional today. You know us creative types.” She had a tissue in her hand and wiped her nose. “What do you want to do today?”

  Is she out of her mind? I want to bomb city hall. I want to jump off a bridge. I want to burn Sarah’s apartment building down. I certainly don’t want to go for ice cream or to a pep rally with anybody.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to be around me today.”

  She sighed. “I wish I could get you to understand that this is exactly the day I want to be with you,” she said while looking down at the table, making me wonder if she was really saying it to me or just out loud for herself.

  She hadn’t touched her coffee for a few minutes. She seemed defeated for some reason, but she persisted. “Come on, let’s just go back to my place if you want. You can just veg out if that’s what you feel like doing. That’s alright with me.”

  I could feel the eyes of the room on me, especially now that the local news was broadcasting my resignation and reaction to it non-stop. It was beginning to get suffocating and uncomfortable.

  “I just want to get out of here. I don’t know what I want to do. I’ll give you a call,” I said, moving out of my chair. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Chelsea didn’t move. Her mood was deflated. She sighed, “Forget it. I’ll just go to work.”

  “Now what’s your problem? I don’t need your drama today,” I barked.

  “No problem. I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at me. “I just wanted to be here for you, today. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

  That cut through my anger. I felt terrible. She truly was just trying to help. I exhaled. “No. I’m sorry. You’re right.” I put out my hand to help her from her seat. “Are you sure you want me on your couch?”

  “That’s exactly where I want you.”

  “You’re so weird. Come on.”

  I walked her to her car and then followed her to her place. When we arrived and I got of my car, I still felt like all eyes were on me, like everyone was looking at me from their windows. She waited for me at the gate. I opened it for her and followed her along the front walk. I looked to the left and saw city hall in the distance and stopped. I turned toward it and placed my hands in my pockets. I stared into the distance and wondered what was going on inside that tiny speck of a building on the hill across the valley. I couldn’t look long, though. My head was such a mess. I was still processing the events of the last twenty-four hours.

  We climbed the stairs to the porch and the stairs to her apartment in silence. We entered her apartment when she finally spoke. “You didn’t touch your coffee at Angelo’s. Do you want me to make some?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, relax on the couch. I’ll get it ready.”

  I made my way over to the couch and slumped into it. “Put a couple shots of hemlock in mine.”

  “Now stop that.”

  I didn’t respond. I had my hands folded into each other between my knees and just stared at them.

  Chelsea desperately tried to get me to talk by asking me innocent, small-talk questions while she was making the coffee, but I ignored every one of them. When she finished the preparations for the coffee, she came over to the couch and kneeled on the floor in front of me. She draped her arms on my legs and gently rubbed my thighs. Then she rested her cheek on my left thigh. I turned my head away and drifted off into thought. I disappeared from her for a few minutes.

  She brought me back when she asked, “Do you want me to make something to eat?”

  “I can’t even think about food, right now, Sarah. I have no appetite.”

  I did not just do that. This is not going to be pretty.

  “Chelsea, I’m so sorry,” I said.

  Chelsea buried her face into my thigh for a few seconds. I was prepared to hear her cry or throw me out of her apartment. Instead, she made her way onto the couch. She straddled me, cupped my face in her hands and looked into my eyes. “What do you say we go into my bedroom and I will make you forever forget that name?”

  I hesitated, knowing what her offer meant to her, but with my state of mind so fragile from the day’s events and the lack of sleep, I was too weak. We kissed hard and I carried her to the bedroom.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I spent the next week recovering and trying to get my head on straight and wrapped around everything that happened. I didn’t leave the house. I used whatever frozen food I had and ordered pizzas to be delivered. I didn’t want to be in public. I didn’t want the questions or to be the object of whispers in the stores.

  When it came to thinking about my future, it felt like I really had no choice. After everything that Edmond had done for me and how I squandered all his work and belief in me, I couldn’t turn him down. Besides, the sooner I got out of town and away from Sarah and everything else, the better, I believed. Maybe the sun, beach and tourist atmosphere was what I needed to clear my head.

  It was the following Monday that Edmond gave me a ride to the airport. We didn’t talk much, but it wasn’t awkward, either. We had been friends for almost a decade and I’m sure he understood what I was going through. I spent most of my time staring out the window, silently saying goodbye to every landmark along he way.

  This is so embarrassing. I had to be given a job out of charity. I was the mayor of this city. I had people fighting to get face time with me. I had people depending on me. People looked up to me. How did I get to this point?

  Oddly, I took the job without Edmond and I ever discussing salary. That far gone was my mind that I had never even given it a thought. We were about five minutes from the airport and I felt I had to get practical. “Edmond, I hate to bring this up, but we never talked about my salary.”

  “Oh, you don’t worry about dat. Whatever you want, dat’s your salary. Whatever you decide.”

  “What?”

  “I know you will do the right ting and be reasonable, but you decide what your salary should be.” Then he looked at me and pointed his finger at me “However, ...”

  I knew it...here comes the catch...

  He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “You don’t get a paycheck until you talk to him. Understand?”

  He handed me the card. It was from Trinity Christian Church in St. Croix. It was for the church’s pastor. The last name started with the letter ‘Z’ and had roughly 107 letters in it. I tried to p
ronounce it, before Edmond helped, “Just call him Pastor Zee. He like dat.”

  “Why do I have to talk to him? What’s he have to do with my salary?”

  “My friend, I told you your soul is sick. You cannot be an effective manager for me like dat. More importantly, you can never be a happy person like dat. You talk to him.”

  I sighed in frustration, “Alright, if you say so.” Then I realized the new dynamic at play here and said, “You’re the boss.”

  “He is my pastor. He is very good. He is going to help you. You wait and see.”

  Well, this should be a barrel of laughs

  The plane ride was long and boring, with the view being nothing but ocean water most of the way. The plane was filled almost exclusively with happy couples heading to St. Croix for a vacation or honeymoon, a businessman or two and a family with a couple of kids. It was torture to be alone with my thoughts all that time and listening to the excited conversations of couples making plans. In my mind, I kept replaying my last night in my office. How could I have changed things? What could I have said to change Yvonne’s mind? Then I thought of Sarah and how she and Ryan must be doing victory laps around town. Imagine what they must be telling people --- how they brought me down and what a loser I was. Instead of dissipating, my anger at Sarah intensified.

  Mercifully, the flight finally ended and we landed at Rohlsen airport. I sat and let all the happy tourists off before grabbing my bag and heading up the aisle.

  I stepped out of the plane and into the oven that is St. Croix in the afternoon. I was startled that any kind of life form could survive in this heat that nearly ripped the air out of my lungs. I had never experienced instant sweating until that day I walked from the plane to the terminal. I was grateful for the icy blast of air conditioning when I opened the door and walked in.

  As I walked toward baggage claim, I noticed an attractive middle-aged black woman holding a sign with my name on it. She wore a purple pant suit with a pale pink blouse and on her perfectly manicured nails was pink polish that nearly perfectly matched her blouse. Her black hair was cut short, barely covering the back of her neck.

  I walked toward her and introduced myself. With what seemed to be a forced smile, she extended her hand and said, “Hello. I’m Lydia.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” I said, trying very hard to make a good impression. “Are you with the resort?”

  “Yes, I am the assistant general manager,” she said.

  “Oh, very good. I guess we will be working together a great deal.”

  “Yes, I suppose we will,” she said flatly. It seemed I didn’t need the air conditioning as long as I stayed near Lydia. She was cold enough. I was getting the sense that Lydia was being paid to be nice to me.

  We made our way to baggage claim. We stood there mostly in silence as everyone else from my flight just awkwardly smiled and acknowledged each other or chatted non-stop about the flight or the island or their itineraries. Lydia just stared straight ahead with the sign dangling from her hand.

  I tried again to gain her favor. “So, how long have you been with the resort?”

  Without emotion she replied, “It will be twenty years next month.”

  “Wow, that’s a long time,” I said in earnest.

  “It certainly is,” she replied in a manner that caused the temperature to drop another ten degrees.

  Please let my luggage be next to come out of the chute.

  Mercifully, I saw my two blue pieces bounce onto the carousel and I made a beeline to get them....anything to get away from the ice princess. I rolled them toward her and she turned to lead me to her car which was parked not far from the door. When we got to her silver Lexus sedan, she popped the trunk and I lifted my two suitcases and duffel bag and carefully placed them inside.

  We got into the car and I got my second shot of culture shock when she pulled out into traffic and started driving on the left side of the road. I slammed on my phantom air brakes and started bracing myself on the dashboard.

  “We drive on the left on St. Croix,” Lydia calmly said. “You can relax.”

  I composed myself and said, “Well, there’s something I will have to get used to here.”

  “Yes. We all have to get used to some things.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I let it go. “How long have you been the assistant general manager?” I asked, still desperate to get some kind of warmth from this woman, whom I had apparently wronged before I even arrived on the island.

  “Seven years now.”

  Nothing.

  “What did you do before then?” I persisted, determined to chip away at the ice.

  “Well, I started as a waitress in the restaurant at the resort. Then I worked in housekeeping, then the front desk for a number of years and became the supervisor and then, finally, I was promoted to assistant general manager.” she said, with the most emotion she had shown so far.

  That’s when it hit me. She had been with the resort for twenty years working her way up from waitress to assistant general manager and when the position of general manger opens up, some white guy from the States with no hotel or restaurant experience gets the position that she had clearly earned.

  Oh, this is going to be pleasant

  I tried to change the subject. “I worked closely with Edmond back home. He’s a great guy, isn’t he?”

  “I used to think so,” she said.

  Probably not the smartest question to ask. I started to develop a lingual land mine map in my head to have ready when I had to deal with Lydia.

  Last try. “Edmond said I have to meet with this Pastor Zee. Do you know him?”

  Finally, her face lit up and I saw her smile. “Oh, yes, he is a wonderful man. My husband and I were among the first members of his church here,” she said warmly. “You will like him.”

  I told her about Edmond’s demand that I meet with him and how my paycheck was tied to the requirement to meet with him. She offered twice to set up the meeting for me, but I told her I wanted to settle in for a while before getting involved with that. She warned me not to wait too long.

  She still fought hard against warming up to me, but we managed some small talk the rest of the way. She kept herself at a distance, though. I was still just the interloper that stole her job.

  As we passed the resort, she pointed out the amenities --- a large pool with swim-up bar and hot tubs at each end, spa, fitness room, two restaurants, tennis courts, a basketball court and a few hut-shaped bars. There seemed to be a lot of activity as guests could be seen everywhere except the tennis and basketball courts. I understood why. Who could possibly want to play tennis or basketball in this furnace?

  She continued past the resort about two hundred yards and pulled into the driveway of very nice, well-kept bungalo-style home.

  “This is the general manager’s house,” she said. “This is yours. The general manager lives here free.”

  I had no idea. I was taken by surprise. “Really? Nice.”

  “Yes. I know,” she said flatly. “Let’s take a look inside.”

  She unlocked the door and we walked into a large, bright living room with bamboo floors and a large rectangular window looking out onto the front yard and street. The house was already furnished with a bright blue throw rug, white couch and love seat, and a blue recliner. We continued on through to the kitchen and small dining area. The floor was white tile with blue diamond design that matched the countertops. A sliding door at the end of the dining nook led to a nice deck. The house was set on a bluff, so the deck overlooked the beach below.