Little White Lies (12 page)

***

It’s almost three in the afternoon when Sheri pages and asks me to join her in the library. Karen Adams is still here, but apparently about to take her leave. The children’s nanny, Mary Stanley, is sitting on the sofa with Shana on her lap. Jeff-Jeff is off to the side, playing on the floor. He spots me and scrambles to his feet, running with his arms outstretched, demanding to be picked up. I catch him on a dead run and hold him high in the air for a moment. He always likes to free-fall into my arms and the bear hug that follows. And now Shana’s on her way looking for the same treatment. Holding Jeff-Jeff in my right arm, I crouch down and catch her with my free left arm. The kids are shrieking with delight as we fall into a rather ungainly pile.

Sheri ignores the bedlam and says, “Phil, we have covered our complete life stories. I know as much about Karen as she does about us, so if she prints anything we don’t like, we can write a story about her.”

“I’m afraid she’s right,” Karen joins in. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”

They both laugh as the kids bowl me over and pile on my chest.

“Stop it, Phil,” Sheri admonishes without convincing anyone. “Can’t you wait and play later? We want to schedule our next meeting.”

I place the kids on their feet and slowly make my way to an upright position.

“With your permission, I would like to return for a photo session,” Karen says somewhat uncertainly.

Karen looks at Sheri, waiting for an answer. Sheri, in turn, is looking at me. I shrug my shoulders.

“Better check with Mr. Jackson,” I advise.

Sheri may run the place, but there’s no sense begging for trouble.

Sheri nods in agreement. “Phil’s right. It’s okay with me, but I would have to check with A.J. first. I’m sure he wouldn’t object, but he should know what’s going on. He’ll be back in a few days. Is there anything major scheduled, Phil?”

“Just the party on the fifteenth.” I look down at the kids who are both bouncing on their toes with outstretched arms, fingers wiggling, looking for action. I shake my head slightly, signaling a time-out. They’re quiet, but the hand and arm action continues unabated.

“Oh, that’s right,” Sheri says tapping her forehead. “I’m glad you mentioned it. Time flies… how about sometime after the fifteenth? I nod in agreement. Sheri turns to Karen. “Can you call me next Wednesday? That will give me time to check with A.J. We can set up a time then, and if you can’t reach me for some reason, talk to Phil.”

“That’s great. I really appreciate this, Sheri. Before I go, would it be all right for Phil to show me around the grounds?”

“Of course… if it’s all right with him, it’s all right with me.”

Sheri has a strange look on her face, and try as I might it is not one I can decipher.

“Sure, I have a moment. What would you like to see?”

“Anything. Everything.” Karen waves to Sheri as we head for the door.

The kids start to follow us out, but Mary catches them by their collars. “Come here, you two,” she says with a smile. “Between Phil and A.J., it’s a wonder we can ever get them to do anything. I swear… they would follow those two into a fire.”

Sheri walks over and scoops Shana into her arms and gives her a hug.

“I think it’s great.” She bounces Shana and smiles as Shana’s little belly peeks out from under her top. “Wave bye-bye to Phil and Karen, Honey.”

Shana’s first wave catches Sheri square in the nose with her tiny fist. I try not to laugh, but without much success. We wave back at the children and walk outside as Sheri rubs her nose with the palm of her hand.

“There really isn’t much to see this time of year. The gardens have been turned under and we’re starting to get ready for winter.” I point in the direction of the garage. “Mr. Jackson has plans for a new greenhouse next spring… the old one is a bit rundown. However we do have about fifteen or twenty acres of lawn with some lovely views of the area.” I stop and point in the general direction of the property lines. “The rest of the land is in its original state… mostly woods. I wouldn’t recommend walking there now because of the soft ground, but we can walk on the grass… that should be fairly dry.”

Walking along Karen looks at me and says, “Sheri thinks you walk on water so a little damp ground shouldn’t concern you.”

I turn to look at her and I am met with another cover girl smile. But I am fast on my feet and I recover quickly… I think.

“Ah, she’s very nice to me,” I stammer, “a wonderful person, very easy to work for. Karen doesn’t reply, but continues walking with a half-smile on her lovely mug.

“I guess I’ve already said all this before… haven’t I?”

“Yes, you have. I don’t recall ever seeing or hearing about an employee/ employer relationship that was such a mutual admiration society. How about A.J., does he think the world of you, too?”

I laugh. “If he does, he’s keeping it under wraps. No, I think I’m just another employee to Mr. Jackson. But that’s okay.”

“Why? Why is it okay?”

“Because that’s what I am. He employs a lot of people… I’m just one of many.”

“But Sheri says you run everything… you have so much responsibility.”

“Not really. We have an excellent staff here, so any success in that area is due mostly to their efforts. Let’s face it, managing an estate, even one as large as this, is not exactly high technology… it’s just fairly straightforward work. You make a plan and you execute the plan… that’s all.”

Karen shakes her head slowly in reply, but she does not comment further. That’s okay, I can live with silence. This has been one of those perfect weather days… not a cloud in the sky and only a gentle breeze with a slight edge to it, warning of the change to come. We walk slowly. I let her questions guide the conversation.

A.J. has a lot of plans for next year that will keep most of our grounds staff busy through the winter. I’m not sure if he really wants to do these things or simply wants to keep our staff fully employed. It seems every time I talk to him about laying-off seasonal employees, he comes up with another project. I suspect one would not have to scratch A.J. very hard before you ran into a very large heart.

Eventually we come full circle and return to the house. Karen extends her hand and says, “Thank you for the tour. I look forward to seeing you next week.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply, “but I doubt that I will see you then. You will most likely be meeting alone with the Jacksons. However, if there is anything you need in the meantime, please do not hesitate to call. It was very nice meeting you.”

I watch as she turns and heads towards her car. Another time, in another place and I think I would respond differently. But she’s a little younger than I, and I’m a little older than she… and besides, I only work here and I must not forget that part. I suspect Karencould make a man forget a lot of things.

***

A.J. returned late last night. The energy in the house is starting to pick up and all he has been doing so far is sleeping. I’ve been waiting in the library for about ten minutes but I can tell the great Himself is about to arrive just from the growing noise level.

“Hey, Martha,” he yells from somewhere in the foyer, “I’d like a ham sandwich on rye… bring it to thelibrary… and a coke, too. Please!” The drink is ordered as he walks through the door. “You want anything?”

I shake my head, no.

“I’m starved. Damn restaurant food… god, I hate the road! No wonder the homeless people are all so skinny. They have to eat in those goddamned restaurants all the time… mine are different, of course.”

I give him my most understanding look, which probably does not come off exactly as intended.

“Okay, okay… bad joke, I know. Shit, everybody’s always on my narrow ass. Just like last night. After the show one of my wife’s relatives shows up… an aunt, I believe. I don’t know… she has a lot of family… it seems I’m always meeting someone new. Anyway, the poor old woman is in a wheelchair and another old lady wheels her in and introduces her. Says ‘this is Sheri’s Aunt Edna’. I say, ‘what’s up, Momma? How you doin’?’ She smiles, shakes my hand… real cute ol’ thing. ‘You from around here?’ I ask her. I’m trying to make small talk. She tells me she’s from some town I’ve never heard of and she reads the look on my face and says, ‘Never heard of us? We have the largest indoor lake in the world.’

“An indoor lake is a new one on me, so I say, ‘Indoor lake, huh… what you folks do when the roof leaks? Or don’t you care, being an indoor lake and all?’ She screws her face up, gets all flustered and says, ‘I didn’t mean indoor lake… I meant inland lake!’ I say, ‘Aren’t all lakes inland?’ She says she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. Then she turns to the old lady wheeling her and says she’d like to get up out of that chair and kick my ass. And then they leave!

“I’m telling you, I can’t believe it. There I am, minding my own business and the next thing I know, I’m in trouble with one of Sheri’s relatives. And don’t think I won’t hear about it.” A.J. pauses to catch his breath. “Tell you what though, I like to see that old bag try something. The trick to dealing with those old people is to go for the cane or the walker… whatever they’re using to hold themselves up. You kick that brace out from under them and they’re easy. I’ve never lost a fight to one of those old farts once I learned how to make the first move. Then they’re not so tough. Just that little bit of knowledge has made my life a lot easier. Kick my ass, huh? Anyway, what’s up?”

This is another fine example of a typical A.J. monologue… a man having an argument with himself. I’ve found the best thing for me to do during one of these bullshit storms is to just sit back and wait it out. There’s certainly no way to stop it, so I might just as well let him finish and then get on to the business at hand. And that’s just exactly what he does.

“Sheri tells me you invited some female reporter in to do a story on us. Is that true?”

“If that’s what Mrs. Jackson said, then it’s true.”

“That’s not what I asked you. You never answer the questions I ask. You are the toughest bastard to pin down I’ve ever seen. Where the hell did you go to school… K.G.B.? You talk like some damned secret agent.” He pauses, apparently allowing time for arebuttal, but I decide to stonewall. He holds up his hands, shrugs his shoulders in resignation and says, “Okay, just tell me this: do I want to meet with this broad or not?”

“Miss Adams seems to be a very nice lady,” I reply calmly. “Admittedly, a bit unusual in her profession, but appearances can be deceiving. I checked her out and she appears to be on the up and up. The file is there on your desk.” I point to the pile of papers to his right containing the file, mail and other assorted matters requiring his attention. “She will probably do a nice article on you and your family. If you would like some publicity in one of the better ladies’ magazines, she will most likely give it to you. The real question is: do you want an article about you and your family? She may want to discuss things you would rather keep private. It’s your call. But don’t ask me why a ladies’ magazine would want an article on you, on that subject I don’t have a clue.”

A.J. smiles and ignores my aside. “No shit… you checked her out? There’s a first. No one ever bothered to do that before. You know, I’ve been down this road a few times before where I got stuck in the ass… big-time! I never saw so much horseshit in my life. You wonder why they bother interviewing you when all they do is go back to their office or cave or whatever, and make up any damn thing that comes into their heads. The hell of it is, in this business… you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

He looks at the pile of papers and shakes his head. “Okay, I’ll look at this later, let’s talk about the other stuff… then I have a very important matter to discuss with you.”

It takes us about thirty minutes to bring each other up to date. We keep in pretty close touch on the telephone, so there’s very little we haven’t at least touched upon during one of the calls. I’ve noticed a steady increase in the number of projects coming my way that are restaurant related. A.J. hasn’t actually changed his mind, but he doesn’t appear to be concerned with the level of my involvement any longer. Still a little hard to tell, but I’m not letting it affect me one way or the other. I’m sure that if I cross some imaginary line I’ll hear from the master.

“That’s about it. What’s your very important topic? Did you get caught in the ladies’ room again?” I ask. The last is a not-so-subtle reference to one of A.J.’s latest escapades.

His eyes narrow to mere slits as he gazes at me in silence. I think this is his ‘one more word and I’m liable to get real pissed’ look. I’m not sure, but I think that’s what it is. As far as I know it has never worked with anyone, including his children, who just laugh when he does it.

“You know,” he replies, “what happened to me that day could have happened to anybody. If I hadn’t had to go so bad I would have left, but I had already started. Hell, I think I started before I had even gotten to the damn bathroom. But really, I didn’t know it was a ladies’ room until those broads came in chattering away and I’m sitting there in the middle of my business… I’ll tell you this, it was a conversationstopper. I think after the initial barrage, it might have been the size twelve shoes that blew my cover. Suddenly it got real quiet. They didn’t stick around very long. I think my first effort made some real wavy lines on the Richter Scale out in California.”

He leans back and studies the ceiling. “You know, I don’t think I’m going to tell you anything of a personal nature in the future, if you’re going to remember every damn thing I say. Anyway, to answer your question: no, I have not been caught in the ladies’ room again, nor have I entered a ladies’ room for any reason. I’ve tried the ladies’ room and I find it no better than the men’s room, so I have decided to use the men’s room in the future. I don’t know why they don’t just say men’s room in plain English, or show a man with his cork hanging out, or something equally understandable… instead of all these cutesy, artsy-fartsy symbols no one can understand… especially if they’re in a hurry… know what I mean? But that’s not what I want to talk about.”