Authors: Paul Watkins
“It’s a pretty long and boring story, so I won’t bother you with it. Let’s just say I was looking for something different to do and I found it. I like the Jacksons and I like my work. It’s different from what I’m used to, but I find it to be interesting and in some ways quite challenging.”
She sits and studies my face without comment for what seems like a very long time.
“Would you like to come in for a nightcap? You were very nice to bring Foxy home and squire me around. I feel I should do something to show my appreciation.”
“It’s not necessary,” I reply. “It’s all part of the service.”
“You mean you were just doing what you were told… is that it?”
I pause a moment and think before replying. I do not want to get off on the wrong foot with Jennifer, and I do not want to presume upon her new friendship with the Jacksons and assume it includes me. It would be best to make things clear now before there are any further misunderstandings.
“I do not want you to have the wrong idea, Jennifer,” I begin. I volunteered to bring your horse back because I work for the Jackson family and because I sincerely wanted to help in any way I could. Sheri was really delighted you stopped by and I could tell she had her heart set on having dinner with you tonight. Sheri is both my employer and my friend.
“You, on the other hand, are a lovely lady and, by all appearances, a very nice person as well. It is easy to be nice in return and I wanted to help you… job or no job. That’s the extent of my personal motivation. I volunteered for my own reasons. No one told me to do anything.”
She looks at me as though she’s attending some sort of lecture, but makes no move to reply, so I push on. I didn’t plan to say this, but for some reason it seems like the right thing to do.
“I probably should not even mention this, but I will, just to touch all the bases. I know everyone assumes single men and single women, like us are in a constant quest for companions or mates. I assume you are not one of those women… and I am not one of those men. Also, as far as you and I are concerned, I realize a friendship or any kind of relationship between us is out of the question for several reasons, not the least of which is that I just work here and you are a social acquaintance of my employers.”
Jennifer continues to study me as though I were a painting or some sort of exhibit. I know that part of this is her natural demeanor, but it still can be damned disconcerting.
“I guess I’m making a fool of myself,” I continue. “Maybe I’m just rehearsing my lines for Sheri. She’s going to corner me one of these days and the subject will eventually come up. She’s concerned I’m working too hard… she thinks I have to get out more.”
“Do you?” she asks, finally breaking her silence.
“Work too hard?” I shake my head. “No, not at all. Again, it’s just her over-active imagination. Once you get to know her a little better, you will find she never gives up on anything once she gets it in her noggin.”
Jennifer again gives me a long look of appraisal.
“Well, we can talk out here or we can talk inside where it’s comfortable,” she says with a smile.
Jennifer doesn’t smile often, but when she does her expression changes so much she seems to change everything around her. The effect is almost startling. It’s as though her face is hooked up to some sort of internal rheostat and her smile simply turns up the wattage and illuminates everything around her. I’m so mesmerized by this particular smile that I fail to answer quickly and she interprets my silence as a ‘no’.
“I’m willing to stay out here if you wish. Going inside was just a suggestion,” she adds.
Without further comment, I open my door and walk around the car, but I’m not quick enough. Little Miss Independence has opened her door and is halfway up the steps before I catch up to her. The door opens as we approach. Apparently we have been closely observed all this time.
I almost laugh when I spy the butler. He looks like a refugee from a 1930’s film. His outfit is at least that old. He’s tall, thin, and partially bald with white wisps of hair combed straight across the top of his head.
He says, “Good Evening” to Jennifer and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t have an English accent.
Jennifer introduces me to Albert, who declines to shake hands, but bows at the waist instead. I have a feeling it would be a mistake to call him ‘Al’. My hostess keeps a straight face and tells Albert we would like to have wine served in the living room.
The foyer is a large area with a stone floor covered by an oriental carpet. Something tells me the supporting floor is made of concrete and probably very thick concrete at that. A huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling above. Matching staircases rise from either side of the foyer, curving along the wall to a landing halfway to the second floor where large leaded-glasswindows continue upwards for fifteen or twenty feet to the ceiling. The living room is off to the right.
Albert precedes us into the large room and he brings it to life, moving sedately from one lamp to the next, illuminating small scenes with each click of the switch.
“That’s fine, Albert,” Jennifer tells him. “You may retire… we will serve ourselves. Thank you for waiting up for me.”
Albert bows his head slightly and replies ever so quietly. “As you wish, Miss Jennifer.”
He looks at me for the briefest moment, bows slightly again and leaves the room.
Jennifer watches him go and then directs her gaze to me, apparently waiting for some kind of reaction.
“Don’t say it,” she says walking to a side cabinet and opening the door where a well stocked bar waits in readiness. “Albert is a very old, loyal and trusted member of our staff. He worked for my family before my father died. My mother asked me if I would like to have him work here and I jumped at the chance. I grew up with Albert around… I have always felt better with him in the house. He’s probably some sort of security blanket left over from my childhood. If it’s up to me, he will have a job with our family for as long as he lives.”
She selects two glasses and places them on the bar top. A small wine fridge is hidden away on the other side of the cabinet. Jennifer selects a bottle and studies the label, but I think there’s something else on her mind as she turns and looks over her shoulder.
“He is amusing though, isn’t he?”
Her laughter again changes her face and the rest of the room. It’s like some kind of magic. She seems almost melancholy, but you only notice it when she smiles or laughs and creates such a remarkable change. She opens the bottle with one of those fancy bottle openers that magically removes the cork. She slowly rubs the rim of the bottle with her forefinger and pours a small amount of wine in each glass.
“I assume you will like this,” she says, handing a glass to me. “I noticed you preferred white wine this evening and it’s best not to mix your drinks.”
She gestures towards the sofa, a silent offer to be seated, then retraces Albert’s steps around the room, turning off several of the lights and closing their scenes once again.
“Since we’re not going to do any photography or brain surgery here this evening, I think we can do with a little less light and a bit more atmosphere.
Don’t worry,” she says smiling, “I’m not going to seduce you or anything like that.”
Whew! There’s a load off my mind. She returns to the sofa and sits a discreet distance away.
“You were honest with me earlier,” she continues, “so I will be honest with you now.”
She pauses, sips her wine and then places her glass on the table.
“First, I like you for several reasons, not the least of which is that you appear to be a straight talker. I like honesty. I have been back home only a short time, but I find I am lonely here. This house is huge and I likepeople about. My initial reaction to the Jacksons is positive… I like them and hope to see more of them.
“As far as ‘stations in life’ are concerned, that’s all nonsense. I like the fact that you work. So many of the people I know do not work or have never worked. At least they have never worked at anything worthwhile. My father always worked… he loved his work. I don’t think in terms of social structure. I’m not suggesting anything, but whatever happens between people, happens. That’s all there is to it.”
“I knew I would feel a little foolish after I made that comment out there,” I reply. “The only thing different is that I feel foolish now rather than later. Talking about relationships at this stage is an absurdity… I’ve known you for all of a half a day.”
“How about this,” she offers. “Suppose we just start over. I told you I get lonely and I like company. Would you be a friend? Could we just talk from time to time?”
“To friends,” I say, raising my glass. “One cannot have too many best friends.”
“Now you’re making fun of me,” she says with a mock pout.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I counter. “I was just trying to make light of a situation that’s gaining too much weight. Like you said before, whatever happens… happens.”
I take another sip of my wine and prepare to stand.
“What’s going to happen now is, I’m going to depart. I have to get an early start tomorrow. There’s a lot of paper work, and road work, and work-work … you know how it goes.”
“What’s road work?” she asks. “You mean running? Are you a runner?”
“I run, but I wouldn’t consider myself a runner. I try to exercise every day in one way or another. I have to do it early though… I have too much to do during the day, so if I don’t get my run in early, it might not get done.”
“I run, too,” she replies with excitement in her voice. “Maybe we could run together sometime. I could meet you halfway or something. I would love to have company.”
“Okay with me. I leave the house at six and run for about half an hour… sometimes a little longer.”
She leans back on the sofa and groans, holding the back of her hand to her forehead, an act that would do Camille proud.
“It doesn’t have to be tomorrow,” I add. “We can do it anytime.”
“Okay,” she replies in a weary tone, “but first you’re going to sit down and finish your drink and tell me what has been going on here for the last two years.”
I’m not sure how this fits in with my early start, but I don’t need a lot of encouragement to spend more time with her. I can only account for the last year or so, but I tell her what I know and in an hour I’m ready to leave once again. She walks me to the front door where she shakes my hand and says goodnight.
Jennifer is different from Karen in every way. Anyone would agree with me in that regard, I’m sure.
Then why does she remind me of Karen? Practically everything she says… everything she does makes me think of Karen, but why? Perhaps it’s simply that any woman would make me think of Karen right now. After all, it’s not as though I have to make a decision, a choice between the two of them. I haven’t heard anything more from Karen for quite a while now and I don’t expect to at this point. It probably has more to do with the fact that Jennifer is such an appealing woman and I think I should be more attracted to her than I am.
Whatever the reason, Jennifer has the right idea. We can be good friends without the inevitable romance and all that other stuff. Right now all I want to do is work and stay away from relationships, intrigue, misunderstandings, he said, she said, you said… ‘nuff said.
A great philosopher I met in a poolroom one day during my long-ago youth once said, ‘all women are crazy, which explains why we’re nuts about ‘em’. Funny… the things that stay with you.
The weeks are going by so quickly it seems the only way to catch up is to look at the calendar and review what has happened and wonder where all the time went. Our days are filled with meetings of every sort covering the range of A.J.’s rapidly expanding business empire.
There’s a ten or twelve hour period in some days that seems like one continuous telephone call. The restaurants are mostly building plans, searching for sites and the occasional manager or personnel-type problem, while the show business side of things involves corporate sponsorship liaisons and periodic concert arrangements. It all makes for a busy schedule.
Jennifer has become a regular around here and she and Sheri spend a lot of time together. Sheri constantly seeks Jennifer’s advice where art and decorating are involved. Jennifer’s background is perfect for this task and it turns out her taste is almost identical to Sheri’s in many areas.
On occasion Jennifer and I manage to bump into one another on our morning runs. There isn’t much talking at that hour, but it’s nice to have company once in a while. There have been several dinners back and forth in addition to numerous spur of the moment ‘let’s get together and have a drink and catch a bite’ happenings. I’m always included in these gatherings, which makes for a nice interlude since I really don’thave anything else I would rather do with my free time. Jennifer and I have not been a couple during these events and I have found no reason to read anything into the frequency of the contact. On those occasions when Jennifer calls, the subject usually has something to do with her house or property… once in a while she might call just to talk, but not often.
I’m not sure who gets more out of these conversations and social gatherings. I don’t feel lonely because I don’t have time for that kind of feeling to set in. Or maybe I don’t get lonely because Jennifer is always around at just the right time. She brings a balance to my existence that is welcome and if I am honest with myself, I certainly value her presence and her friendship. Heck, any man who wouldn’t want Jennifer around should spend some serious time in the examining room where they look for a physical reason to explain a mental deficiency.
Karen wrote last week and I received her letter today. She apologized for not writing more. She said she has been very busy trying to finish off her article. Apparently it is turning into more of a project than anyone had anticipated. Her employers are now insisting she extend her time there once more… at least another four or five weeks. She says she’s anxious to come home, but there’s little she can do about it. There are too many people to please and no matter how many times she rewrites certain sections, someone doesn’t like it or wants to change it still again.