Authors: Paul Watkins
“Philip, what makes you think I would like to have lunch with you just to discuss the Jackson family?”
“Oh, maybe the fact you are a writer who is researching an article about the Jacksons and I’m a person who works for them. Other than that happy coincidence, I suppose there’s no reason for me to think you were seeking material for your article. I don’t know what’s the matter with me… this damn suspicious nature of mine.”
“Philip,” she replies patiently, “I invited you to lunch so we can spend some time together.”
That’s a good one and I laugh with genuine appreciation for the thought.
“Forgive me, Karen. It’s just that I have so many attractive young ladies after me, wanting to spend quality time with yours truly… I’m sure you can imagine how difficult it must be… “
“Look, Philip,” she replies with seemingly equal parts of anger and exasperation, “I really mean it. I am calling you because I know you would never call me. I would like to see you and I finally realized that if we were ever going to get together, it would have to be up to me.” Her laughter tinkles through the line. “Just call me one of those women of the nineties.”
I close my eyes and try to clear my head. Am I being a jerk? Even if she isn’t on the level, what difference would it make? Certainly I can handle myself. There isn’t anything negative I would reveal about the Jacksons anyway… hell, I don’t even know anything negative. So there’s no harm in going along with her game, if that’s what it is. I can certainly afford a meal… but not today, too much going on.
“Okay, my apologies… I’d like to get together. In fact, I’d love to, but not for lunch… at least not today. I’m swamped.”
“That’s fine. How about dinner?”
She certainly gets high marks for persistence. Are all these women of the nineties like this? I must have stepped off the planet for a while. In my day the men did all the work while the women sat back with amused looks on their lovely faces. At least that’s what the women did who had lovely faces. Maybe I just hit on something. In the meantime, I’d better answer the question.
“Dinner’s all right. Are you coming out here?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m in the city right now, but I plan to leave early so I can get a room for tonight.
I’m meeting with Sheri tomorrow morning to go over a rough draft of our article.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t I check with her? I’m sure she would love to have you stay here. If there’s a problem you can always get a room later.”
“Great! When should I arrive?”
“Whenever,” I reply, looking at my watch and trying to remember enough of my schedule to figure how the timing might work out. “Whatever’s best for you. You can make yourself at home if you’re a little early… you must have things to do. I’m sure there won’t be a problem with the room. If I’m still tied up when you arrive, I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m free.”
“Suits me. See you later.”
Karen rings off and I stand leaning against the desk trying to figure out what the hell is going on. The receiver begins to beep and I hang up. No sense tryingto figure out a woman… time will tell.
***
Things are going full speed when a security page informs me Karen has arrived. It’s only three-thirty. I instruct the caller to give her a place to work and tell her I will join her as soon as I can. ‘As soon as I can’ turns out to be five-thirty. Karen’s working at A.J.’s desk in the library and I knock quietly as I enter. Her dark rimmed glasses give her the appearance of a librarian… a very attractive and very sexy librarian, quite unlike any I ever saw in any library I ever visited, which makes me wonder why I think she looks like a librarian. I may not be able to handle this after all. If sex is a weapon, she’s a one-woman strike force. Oh well, I suppose there are worse ways to go down in abject defeat. Why is it some defeats are more appealing than others?
She looks up from her work and smiles, “Hi, good to see you.”
“Nice to see you. Are you ready to take a break? A.J. and Sheri are in the living room and they would like us to join them for a drink. Afterwards we can talk about where you would like to have dinner. I made a reservation at a place not far from here, but we can always change it.”
“That would be nice. But, Philip?” She pauses before continuing. A look of concern crosses her face. “I hope you are planning dinner for just the two of us.”
“Of course. The Jacksons are busy this evening anyway. Some friends from the city are coming to visit them.”
“Great!” Her face brightens and she looks visibly relieved.
Now it’s my turn for concern.
“I thought you enjoyed their company.”
“I do, I do,” she replies with a stamp of her little foot for emphasis. “I just wanted this evening to be an opportunity for us to get to know each other better. It would be easier if we had this time for ourselves… that’s all.”
I wait to be certain she is finished.
“Fine, I just wanted to be sure I’m not missing anything.”
We amble into the living room and quickly take up our drinking positions. We are all having white wine and everyone is content to sip. Sheri is in top form. She’s always up, but tonight she’s way up. She must have received some extremely good news at some point, although I don’t have a clue as to what it could be.
A.J. is his normal cool, laid back, unconcerned self. The small talk buzzes on for a time with the ladies controlling the conversation. It suddenly dawns on me that this will be the first time I’ve been out socially since I came to work here. Funny thing is, I don’t care if I go out or not. I’m either content or in a rut… or both. Our reservations are for seven-thirty and although the restaurant isn’t far, we should make preparations to leave before too long. I give Karen the high sign and she confirms her understanding with a slight nod. We make our excuses to the Jacksons and agree to meet in the foyer in twenty minutes.
A quick shower and change of clothes and I arrive back in the foyer a bit ahead of time. Karen doesn’t seem to be around anywhere, but I hear voices in the library. Just as I peek in the door A.J. spots me and immediately waves me in. Karen’s not here either.
“Where you going tonight, Phil?” A.J. asks.
“The Embers… it’s over on… “
“I know where it is.”
“I have the number here.”
I pull out my small personal directory and A.J. picks up a pen and prepares to make a note.
“What are you doing, A.J.?” Sheri asks. She’s standing over by the bar. She must have been hiding, because I didn’t see her when I came in, and I looked directly at the bar.
“I’m just getting the number for the Embers restaurant. Phil and Karen are going there this evening.”
Intent on taking his notes, A.J. doesn’t look up during his reply.
“A.J.,” Sheri says softly, but with perceptible agitation in her voice, “if you call Phil for any reason other than to notify him we are in an all-out war, I will personally see to it that you will be the first casualty.”
I’m not sure I follow all that, but I look on as A.J. completes the note and then looks up at Sheri with a look on his face that obviously questions her sanity.
“What the hell are you talking about? He works here… I have a right to know where he is.” Having settled his problem once and for all, he turns to me and says, “What time do you expect to get back, Phil?”
Before I can answer, Sheri shouts, “A.J.!”
A.J. actually jumps in his chair, the pencil drops from his hand and skids to the center of the desk. We both watch the pencil complete its journey. He glances at me with confusion in his eyes before looking back at his tormentor.
“Now what?” he asks with some belligerence in a futile attempt to retake the initiative.
“I’ll give you, ‘now what! Shut up! That’s, now what! Mind your own business!”
Now both A.J. and I are looking at Sheri as though she has taken leave of her senses. A.J. gets up from the desk, takes my arm and turns me towards the door.
“Stay in touch, man… stay in touch.”
I nod in understanding and walk towards the door just as Karen makes her entrance.
“What was that all about?” she asks casually as we take our leave. “I could hear the commotion all the way upstairs.”
“I don’t know,” I reply with a shake of my head. “Sheri seems upset about something.”
Walking out the door I turn back to see Sheri smiling at Karen. She points to A.J. and slowly draws her index finger across her throat, apparently a sign known only to the sisterhood.
A.J.’s a car nut. Everyone has a weakness and A.J.’s is of the four-wheel variety. He loves cars and, of course, he has the means to indulge himself in this expensive little diversion. In addition to the limo, he has a top of the line Lexus sedan; an Acura sports car, I can never think of the name, but I think it has an X in it; an old Rolls Royce he had restored; and a Land Rover. I decide on the Lexus for the evening.
Heading down the drive, Karen confirms my choice, “I like your car.”
“It’s not my car, it’s Mr. Jackson’s,” I reply. “I don’t have a car anymore.” Not entirely true, I still have the Porsche in storage.
“Why not?”
“Well, when I came here I decided to leave my car behind. A.J. has so many cars we actually have trouble keeping the batteries charged. There aren’t enough people to drive them. So, since I drive their cars most of the time, I decided to sell mine.”
Karen seems to mull over this state of affairs for a few moments before speaking again.
“Sheri says you never go out. Is that true, and if so, why not?”
I look over and smile at my inquisitor. “I guess I haven’t been out much… “
“Sheri says you haven’t been out at all.”
“Okay. Perhaps I haven’t been out at all. I honestly haven’t thought about it. I’ve been busy getting things organized at the estate and I guess I haven’t taken much time for myself. And now that I’m getting more involved with the restaurants, I seem to have even less time.”
“But what do you do for entertainment? Is that all you do… work?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Hey, I don’t want you to think this is some kind of horrible ordeal. It’s not. I am really enjoying myself. What I do is very satisfying… at least to me.”
I have the feeling I’m not pulling this off. She seems doubtful. Enter a funny thought, which, of course, must be expressed. “Say, is this some sort of mercy date? Does it look that bad?”
Again Karen’s delightful laughter tinkles through the car. If it were on a CD it would be a hit tune.
“Philip, I think you need therapy, but having any kind of mercy on you is the last thing I have in mind.”
What the hell ever that’s supposed to mean. But I guess she answered my question. At least, I think she did. Further conversation along these lines is cut off by our arrival at the restaurant. The Embers is a small place with a nice atmosphere. The lighting is dim, with candles at each table. Soft music comes from a piano tucked into a back corner by the bar. The bar area itself has just enough room for one or two groups waiting to be seated. We’re on time for our reservations and the maitre d’ kindly shows us directly to our table.
Karen and I decide to stay with wine, so we select a bottle of chardonnay. She places her purse on the chair next to her and I watch as she busily arranges her napkin and the items of silver that are not in perfect alignment.
“I’m sorry I failed to mention it earlier,” I offer quietly, “but I think you look terrific.”
“Why thank you,” she replies with a smile, “perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”
I decide to ignore the comment. “Tell me about yourself,” I ask. “How long have you been a writer?”
For the next half-hour Karen tells me a very interesting story about her parents, school, marriage, and her husband’s accidental death, approximately five years ago. Her parents had split up when she was ten years old. She went to live with her mother and soon acquired a half-brother when her mother remarried. He was four years older and she absolutely worshipped him. Growing up in a small town in New Jersey, not far from New York City, she had the best of both worlds: a quiet suburban world in New Jersey and the fun and culture of the big city.
She attended Brown University on a partial scholarship. Ever since she could remember, she said, she had wanted to be a writer. She had always wanted to write a book someday, of course, but in the meantime found she was pretty good with personal stories. She had a way with an interesting yarn about peoples’ lives… sort of classy gossip. It was very commercial and she soon had a small, but prestigious group of publications that were interested in her work. And then there was this thing about food and rent and so on. She had met her husband in college and they married soon after graduation. They had been married almost four years when he was killed in a tragic auto accident. She does not offer any additional details and I don’t press for any.
“I’m sorry,” I say by way of apology, “I didn’t mean to bring up any painful memories.”
“It’s okay. The memories aren’t painful anymore. At first you hurt all the time. Then you start to have periods when you don’t think about it at all. There’s just a void. After a while those periods grow longer and then, when you think about it, you think only of the good times. That’s where I am now… I have only fond memories.”
Listening to Karen, it’s difficult not to think of my own situation.
“I guess I’m not there yet. It still hurts a lot.”
I don’t have any expectations for this evening, but I don’t want to dwell on private matters.
“Okay, enough of that. What about your brother, whatever happened to him? Tell me more about what a brat you must have been when you were a little girl. Those memories should be pretty fresh… it was only a few years ago.”
Karen smiles and sips her wine.
“Thank you again, you devil, but you are not going to get through this night without telling me about yourself. Whatever happened to men who like to talk about themselves? How come I get to have dinner with a man who gets lockjaw every time he’s asked a personal question?”
“Count your blessings,” I reply, “you don’t know how lucky you are.”