When the Sun Goes Down (22 page)

Read When the Sun Goes Down Online

Authors: Gwynne Forster

Her eyes sparkled. “You mean they’re playing in Baltimore? Great! Let’s see
The Lion King.
”
“They’re playing in New York, and I’ll get tickets for Saturday and hotel rooms for Friday and Saturday. How’s that? I expect Saturday will be my last free day for a while. Repairs on the house will be finished this week, and come Monday, I’ll be back on the job of finding that will.”
Shirley showed no hesitation. “I’d love to go, but if I go off with you for the weekend, my brother will ask you about your intentions.”
His grin would probably annoy her, but he didn’t try to control it, and it bloomed into a laugh. “I’ll damned well tell him, too,” he managed to say amid the laughter. “Uh ... you mean Gunther, right?”
It was her turn to laugh. “Who do you think? After your set-to with Edgar Thanksgiving Day, I doubt he’ll mention my name to you again.” They checked into the Park Lane Hotel at noon that Friday.
It perplexed Gunther that his calls to Frieda went unanswered. He wanted to warn her so that she’d prepare herself to make a good impression on the chief doctor for that cruise line. He went down to the kitchen and asked Mirna for Frieda’s cell phone number.
She wrote it on a piece of paper torn from the edge of a brown paper bag and eyed him in her best motherly fashion. “Mr. G, you told me you didn’t have no interest in Frieda.” She looked toward the ceiling and rolled her eyes. “I tell you ... Lord, men don’t know when they well off.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Mirna, for the last time, I have no interest in Frieda as a woman, and I’m sure that I never will. But if I did, why would you be so set against it? I’m curious. What’s wrong with her?”
“She a good person, Mr. G, till you slip up and do something to her that she don’t like. Then she the most vindictive person the Lord ever made. Everybody makes mistakes, but if you make one with Frieda, don’t expect forgiveness no time soon.”
“I thought you said she was a churchgoing Christian. That doesn’t sound like it.”
“Truth is truth, sir. I guess she must have to pray a lot.” She handed him the phone number. “If you need a friend, though, you can count on Frieda.”
“I gathered as much. Thanks for the phone number.”
He went back to his room thinking of his conversation with Mirna and the one he’d had with Frieda about her life. If she was vindictive, she had probably earned the right; no one deserved the life she’d had, and he imagined that few people would have come through it as she had. In spite of it all, she had maintained her self-respect and integrity. He dialed her cell phone number.
“Hello. This is Frieda.”
“Ms. Davis, this is Gunther Farrell. How are you?”
“I’m good, Mr. Farrell. How you doing?”
“My health seems to have been completely restored. I’m calling because Shirley set up an appointment for you with the head of the medical service of the Paradise Cruise Line, the line that she works for, and he wants to interview you. His office is in Orlando, but he’ll pay for your transportation there and back and a night’s stay at a hotel. His name is Larsen, Dr. Hugh Larsen. Expect a call from him soon.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Are you still there?”
“Uh ... you just knocked the breath out of me.”
“I wrote a recommendation for you, and I suppose he checked with your supervisors at the hospital, so let’s hope for the best.”
“Hope? You kidding? I’m gon’ be on my knees praying.” After a minute’s silence, she said, “But, Mr. Farrell, you know I’m not an RN.”
“Of course I know it. Larsen knows it, too. Just put your best foot forward. And let me know what happens.”
“I will, sir. I sure will, and I thank you and Miss Shirley from the bottom of my heart.”
Less than an hour after he hung up, he received a call from Frieda. “Mr. Farrell, I’m going to Orlando. He called me. He don’t usually work on Saturdays, but since I have that day off, he’s gon’ be at the office—I mean the clinic—just to see me. Mr. Farrell, I think I’m out of my head ... or something. I’m gon’ take Friday afternoon off and fly to Orlando. I can’t believe this. Well, I just thought I’d let you know.”
“I’ll be rooting for you,” he said, and he meant it.
He’d met all kinds of people, beginning with the days when, as a nine-year-old, he delivered newspapers to “upstanding” citizens who were slothful about paying him, and he didn’t take to people readily. But he had a feeling of compatibility with Frieda that seemed unusual. He shrugged. Why not? She’d been his nurse, and a caring nurse such as Frieda was like a mother. Was it any wonder that he felt so comfortable with her?
He had a feeling of unease about Edgar, but his mind told him that he would see Edgar when Edgar needed him and not before. He got a copy of the
Baltimore Afro-American
and searched the entertainment section until he saw a notice that Edgar was appearing at the Charcoal Club. Satisfied that his brother could at least eat, he put his mind on his own affairs.
His latest electronic game was selling well, but he needed an advertising gimmick that was at least as strong as the ones used to push
Bravado,
his best-selling game, over the top. Medford maintained that they couldn’t have equal success with each game, but he planned to shoot for the moon every time. On his way home from work that afternoon, he came within a foot of hitting a man on stilts. He drove another few feet, parked, and walked back to the man.
“Are you all right, buddy? That was a harebrained thing you did. Next time, wait for the light.”
“You’re right, and I’m glad you weren’t text messaging or I’d probably have been killed.”
“That’s not good enough. What could you have been thinking about?”
“Man, I’m a widower with two children and no job for the past three months. I’m down to my last dollar, and that’s all I ever think about.”
Gunther thought for a minute. “What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a typesetter, but I’ve been picking up odd jobs entertaining kids on these stilts. The problem is that nobody’s giving kid parties. Kids love guys on stilts.”
Ideas seemed to crisscross in Gunther’s mind, and he eliminated them as fast as they came to him. “I’ve got it!” he said aloud. “Ever done any camera work, videos, anything like that?”
The man’s eagerness was painful to watch. “I’ve acted. I mean, I was in the theater group the whole four years I was in college.”
He gave the man his card. “I’m headed to my office. If you can take off those stilts, you can come along with me.”
The man sat on the hood of Gunther’s silver Mercedes and took off the stilts. Together, they stored them in the backseat with their ends sticking out of the window.
“Let’s hope I don’t pass a cop who hasn’t issued his quota of tickets today,” Gunther said. Medford would probably tell him that he was crazy, but having a man on stilts promote that electronic game was not a bad idea. It would be different, and it would get children’s attention.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked Medford after introducing him to Cory Benjamin and explaining his idea.
Medford rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fabulous, Gunther. What I can’t figure is how you came up with anything this far-out. The ad will be a huge hit.” He looked at Cory. “Let’s see what kind of outfit will work best with this game.”
Cory looked at Gunther. “Are you going to pay me for this?”
“Sure. A hundred a day for the work and the going rates for as long as we run the ad. I usually pay twice monthly, but you’ll get your money at the end of the day, since you said you were broke.”
Cory dropped himself into the nearest chair. “Do you mind if I call my aunt? She keeps the kids for me. Even if this job doesn’t last but two days, at least we’ll be able to eat for a while.”
Very little time elapsed before Gunther realized that he’d struck a gold mine in Cory. Working together, offering and rejecting suggestions, Cory and Medford produced a video commercial that Gunther thought equally as interesting as the game he’d created.
“I got an idea, Gunther,” Medford said after they sent the video to the distributor’s marketing firm. “We’ve got a good foothold in the industry now, and we could use another hand. Cory is a genius at ideas, he’s a good actor, and he knows a few things about the computer. What do you think?”
“I’ve been thinking the same, and since the two of you got along so well, we ought to keep him if he’s willing,” Gunther said. “I like his personality. Ask him to come into my office.”
“Cory, Medford and I like your work and your attitude. This is a small operation, and we have to get along smoothly. If you’d like to work here full-time, I can offer you fifty thousand a year to start. As we grow, your income will increase. You’ll get a bonus at the end of the year, the amount depending on how we’ve done. What about it?”
“Gunther, you don’t know how good it is to feel like a man again. I’ll treat your business like it was my own. When do I start?”
Fate had smiled on both Cory and Gunther. He’d never thought he’d be thankful for having almost killed a man. “The day you came here,” Gunther said. “I’ll draw up a contract to include health insurance for you and your family and paid leave. Welcome aboard.”
He answered the phone. “What? You’re kidding.” He looked at Cory. “Our marketing people want to enter that video in the annual commercials competition. They’re certain that it’ll win. Well, I’ll be damned.” He looked at the glow on Cory’s face and noted the strength and solid masculinity that the man now exuded. What a difference it made to a man if he had a sense of self-worth.
What he wouldn’t give to see such a transformation in his brother, to see in Edgar the demeanor of a mature, accomplished, and successful man. He fought back the tears. It would never happen, because Edgar could not envisage that in himself. What a wasted life, and what a pity. He filled in a contract form and gave it to his secretary to type up. If he were in Cory’s place, he’d want proof that he had a job.
“After you type it, give it to Cory to read and sign,” he told his secretary. He went back to his office feeling good, as if spring had bloomed out all around him.
 
However, Edgar seemed anchored in his same old rut. “You know what you can do, don’t you?” Edgar said to the one man who had been eager to hire him days earlier.
“Now, look, Farrell, you can’t leave me with no music tonight. Without a guitarist, I don’t have a band, and the Charcoal Club has a reputation as a first-class house.”
“I don’t play with no crappy drummer. Three nights of that two-bit amateur, and I’ve had it.” He turned his back and answered his cell phone. “Farrell speaking. Yeah. What’s up, Gunther? Did Carson come up with anything yet?”
“He can’t get back on the job until Wednesday. I was wondering if you were still at the Charcoal Club.”
“Man, this place sucks. I’m getting ready to head out right now.”
“Really? Where are you going? At least that’s a job. Where else are you going to find work? Not many people can afford to go to clubs these days, so if a club has enough patrons to hire musicians, I’d stay there if I were you. Unless you plan to panhandle on the street. ”
“Yeah. Well, look, man, I gotta go.”
Where, indeed! Maybe it wasn’t too late.
He went over to the manager. “Like I said when I came here, man. You’ve been good to me, and one good deed deserves another. Tell that drummer to shape up, will you? All he has to do is maintain the rhythm, and he can do that if he keeps his mind on his work.”
“Good. Good. I’ll tell him right now,” the manager said, looked toward the heavens, whispered something, and went to find the drummer.
 
That Saturday afternoon, Gunther sat on his balcony listening to a CD of Cream’s farewell concert in Albert Hall, London. He’d come of age with Clapton, Baker, and Bruce, and he could still listen to Eric Clapton’s guitar for hours and want more. Mirna came out on the balcony and handed him a mug of hot, spiced, hard cider just as Clapton’s solo on “Spoonful” began. But he knew she wanted to talk, and he could listen to that music whenever he liked, so he shut it off.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cider. “This is just the thing for a nippy day like today. Sit down.”

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