Little White Lies (17 page)

Why is it a nightcap always seems like such a good idea at the time? With a cold shower, breakfast and a steady warming to the day’s duties I am gradually becoming what I consider to be a normal version of myself. Mind and body are again blending into a single entity. I have managed to stay away from everyone else in the household and, as far as I know, no one is aware of my somewhat unfriendly demeanor this day.

A.J. calls out as I walk past the library door. Doubling back I poke my head in to see what’s up. I do not immediately see Karen Adams standing with Sheri. They’re off to the side near the bar… A.J. is at his desk. A small movement brings their presence to my attention as I enter the room and now I see that everyone is smiling about something. I guess I’m the only one who doesn’t get it… whatever it is. Right now my personal problems have granted me immunity to any outside influences, good or bad.

I greet the ladies in a somewhat guarded manner. There’s no question that something, with tremendous appeal to at least three people I know, is afoot.

“Hello, Mrs. Jackson… Miss Adams.” I nod toward A.J. “Mr. Jackson.”

A.J. directs his reply to the ladies.

“You know, we played golf yesterday… I carried him for eighteen holes by the way, but that’s another story and I won’t go into that now… but he called me Mr. Jackson for the entire round. I can’t take it anymore. He’s making me feel like an old man… older than him even. It’s like hanging out with the Secretary of State, or the Pope, or some international bigness like that. It’s wearing me out.” He gives his head a weary shake. “I felt good until he came in and now I feel old and tired… maybe I’m getting sick… coming down with the mange or something.”

Sheri admonishes A.J. immediately, “Be quiet, A.J., I don’t want you embarrassing Phil.”

Then she turns to me, smiles sweetly and says, “You know, Phil, much as I hate to admit it, A.J.’s right… we are going to have to do something about you being so formal all the time, but we’ll talk about it later. Right now we would like you to join us for lunch. Karen is going to stay and we thought it would be nice if you made it a foursome.”

“I would be happy to, if you wish, Mrs. Jackson.”

Sheri closes her eyes and pauses a moment before she replies.

“Yes, Phil, that is what I would wish. Can you stay and keep us company, or are you busy?”

I really can’t take the time now and I tell her that. I have to see Ned Walker and then get together with Steve Marshall. He’s in town for a while between training schools. Sheri smiles, accepts my excuses and I take my leave. Turning towards the door, I can’t help but look at Karen. Stealing a glance, our eyes meet for an instant. I offer a smile and nod. Her only reaction is a blank stare. She doesn’t seem hostile, exactly … more like she’s preoccupied with some private thought. She looks great, as usual, cute, neat and perky. Too bad she’s off-limits.

The session with Steve is much better this time. He’s been training in martial arts for about six months and it looks like he’s starting to get the feel of it. He’s a good athlete so he should not have any trouble becoming fairly competent in a year or so. The secret to karate, like many other sports or disciplines, is constant repetition until you get it right and the various moves become automatic. After that it’s endless full-contact sparring. Steve’s moves are fairly good, but they are a long way from being automatic. There usually isn’t much time to ponder when someone is trying to take your head off.

I offer obvious openings as we spar to check if he can see them and begin to take advantage of the opportunity when it’s presented. It will take time, but the basic instincts are there. Unfortunately we lost track of the clock and as a result I’m running a little late. I tried to stay in the cold shower a few extra moments to cool down faster, but I can still feel the dampness in my clothes and hair. A.J., Sheri and Karen are already seated when I get to the dining room.

“I’m sorry, Phil,” Sheri asks, “I should have asked you earlier… is soup and sandwich okay? We thought we would be informal.”

Sheri’s questions come without preamble, but, as always, she goes out of her way to make me feel at home. Her efforts are appreciated and I try to let her know how I feel in that regard as often as I can.

“No apologies necessary, Mrs. Jackson, it sounds like the perfect lunch.” I take my seat next to Karen. “Are you folks telling all your secrets to this lady? I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Karen sends her elbow into my ribs. “They didn’t ask for your advice, Mr. Richards, and they don’t need it. Just mind your own business.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. It is my business,” I remind her. “I’m here to manage and protect this family’s interests from all things evil… including you.”

“What a terrible thing to say,” she exclaims, turning in her seat to face me. “I’m not evil.”

“That remains to be seen. We treat the press the same way they treat others… guilty until proven innocent. We print the charge on the front page and the retraction on the back page. If necessary, I’ll apologize later on this evening when I’m alone.”

Sheri comes to my rescue. I’m beginning to think I need a little help. I really didn’t mean to get into anything with Karen of all people, but I suppose my natural antipathy for the press just can’t be suppressed at times.

“I hope you’re wrong, Phil. We’ve told Karen our complete history… and I mean complete. Like I said before… warts and all.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I hope not. It could wind up being the first article in the ‘Ladies Home Journal’ that’s X rated.”

Sheri’s napkin flies across the table and hits me square in the face. “That’s an even more terrible thing to say.”

“I was referring to Mr. Jackson’s history, not yours, milady.”

I’m not sure I should reload Sheri with her napkin, but I do it anyway and politely return it to her.

A.J.’s head rises slowly. So far he hasn’t paid any particular attention to the small talk.

“What the hell,” he grouses, “I’m just sitting here slurping my soup and minding my own business, while people defile my good name. Hell of a way to act, if you ask me… especially former employees.”

“The man has a point,” I add hastily. “I retract everything I just said. Forget it. Why don’t I get up and come in the room again?”

Hell, without any effort at all, I’ve managed to step on the toes of everyone who is present. Fortunately the room isn’t full. I’d have my work cut out for me, but I’d probably manage.

Karen laughs. “You all seem to get along so well together. What’s your secret, A.J.? What would you call your management style?”

“Reign of terror,” I interject before A.J. can answer.

I’m on a roll so I might as well stay with it.

A.J.’s feigned outrage is immediate and extravagant.

“Bullshit! I’m a marshmallow. Everybody takes advantage of me. It’s just that I fire people who displease me in anyway. The law won’t let me beat them, so I have to fire them. It’s only fair.”

I look at Karen. “See what I mean?”

Karen dabs at her lips with her napkin and I am momentarily distracted.

“Yes, I see,” she responds, unaware of my attention to her ministrations. “Reign of terror may be putting it mildly. How do you put up with it? The horrible abuse, I mean?”

I take my time and consider the question.

“I think it has something to do with the money. He said if I lasted through the probationary period, about five years, that I would definitely have a shot at making more than if I had spent a similar length of time working at a parking lot or a fast food emporium. Of course my compensation does not include my room and board. He takes that out of my wages. He charges the same as if I were staying at a hotel… say the Ritz. I’ve been here less than a year so I only owe him about forty or fifty thousand dollars… not counting today’s meal. He’s taking indentured servitude to a whole new level. My suspicion is that he is using me to get even with all the slave owners.”

“I’d fire his ass,” A.J. explains, “but I can’t afford it. He owes me too much money. The slave thing has merit, but I understand they’re considering making it illegal for blacks to own whites and it would just breakmy heart to have to let him go… rather sell my favorite car.”

“Karen,” Sheri pleads, “don’t ever believe anything A.J. tells you. And, as you can see, Phil isn’t exactly trustworthy either. I’m sorry, I honestly thought I would be inviting you to a nice lunch with uplifting conversation. These two wretches are such a disappointment. I give up.”

“It’s okay, Sheri,” Karen replies with a female to female ‘I understand’ kind of look, “what they lack in class, they make up in entertainment value.”

It’s time to defend my employer. After all, we must not forget our guest is a writer and she’s here gathering material for her article. This is the kind of thing that could get out of hand when it appears in cold, heartless black and white.

“Before this goes too far,” I begin, “I should not allow Miss Adams to leave here with the wrong impression of Mr. Jackson as a businessman. While his entertainment career speaks for itself, the records I have seen indicate the restaurants have lost only one mid-level manager and no senior managers since the beginning. In fact, the turnover rate is extremely low for the entire operation. I think that statistic alone says something about his management style, since the restaurants are a very profitable enterprise. His formula is simple: serve good food, at reasonable prices, in clean surroundings. He pays management performance or incentive pay to make sure things happen right. His success is no accident, he’s a very good businessman.”

A.J. holds his napkin to his face.

“Aw shucks, who says black people don’t blush? Please stop it, Phil, you’re embarrassing me. I’ll give you another twenty or thirty minutes to praise me and then I’m going to have to put an end to it. After all, I’m a very modest man.”

He leans back in his chair… all smiles now, purring like a cat.

“While all the wonderful things you might say about me are true, I would have to do something to keep you quiet or leave the room in a state of total embarrassment. I’m sure you understand. But here I am running on and on… why don’t you say some more nice things about me… you were saying that I’m a very good businessman, I believe. Please pardon the interruption. Go on… and take all the time you need… and no more interruptions, please.”

This last remark is directed to Sheri and Karen who are staring at A.J. with undisguised disdain.

Sheri drapes her napkin over her head and slowly draws it down over her face.

“Spare me, I can’t take anymore of this.” Then she whips the napkin off so fast it makes a popping sound. “A.J., if Phil hadn’t come to your rescue, you would have closed all the restaurants by now. Phil’s the one who got everything organized and he has been training the staff practically since the day he arrived. If there’s credit due to anyone, Phil would get my vote.”

“I can’t believe you said that,” A.J. exclaims, shoving his chair back from the table. “Phil has done nothing more than put a shine on the product I built! Veryminor stuff. I am the true architect of our success. Even Phil admits that much.” With this he turns to me. “Go ahead, Phil, admit it.”

“No argument,” I offer willingly. “I claim no credit for the level of success we have attained. I merely initiated some minor administrative controls. The direction of the business was established long before I came on the scene. Mr. Jackson’s absolutely right. The truly great men won the West. Lesser men followed and became mayors of the towns. Leaders, perhaps, but made of different stuff.” I turn back to A.J. “How’d I do, boss?”

A.J. holds his finger to his lips and shakes his head. “Hush up now, Phil. That was very good… especially the part about lesser men. There will be a little something extra in your pay envelope this week.”

“You mean money?” I ask with an incredulous look.

A.J. makes a face. “No, not money. I just said a little something extra. I wouldn’t embarrass you with money, maybe some advice or a sage comment or two… a little homily, perhaps… something like that. Not money though… money’s too pedestrian. Not my style.”

“No kidding,” I mutter, winking at Karen.

She smiles in return, her eyes sparkling with merriment. Gradually the room grows quiet. Much like an engine running out of fuel, we have nothing to say for a time. Sheri plays with her napkin, A.J. pushes his spoon around on his plate, and Karen just looks at the center of the table. Everyone in their own private world, lost in their thoughts. At times like this a few seconds of quiet can seem like an eternity to people not entirely comfortable with silence. Karen is the first to speak.

“Why does everyone think of you as a mystery man?”

It’s obvious the question is asked of me, but what isn’t obvious is why. On the other hand, I have to assume Karen has not come to this conclusion entirely on her own. A.J. may have questions, but I do not believe he is preoccupied with them. Sheri, on the other hand, tends to be obsessed when she thinks something of interest might have eluded her. My money’s on Sheri and I wouldn’t get long odds.

“I’m not a mystery man and I don’t know anyone who thinks I am,” I reply.

I look directly at Karen. If I look at Sheri, I know one of us will smile knowingly and I’ll be in for it. Trouble is, we’ll be smiling for different reasons. She’ll smile because she thinks she’s right. I’ll smile because the whole thing is absurd.

“It probably has more to do with ‘compared to what?” I continue. “I’m a bit more quiet and reserved … prefer to stay in the background. I work for Mr. Jackson, whose fame, fortune and natural instincts place him front and center. Mr. Jackson likes to talk and I tend to observe. To some he is more obvious and I suppose by comparison, I become a mystery. Or, at least, difficult to figure out since I sort of fade into the background.”

“In the first place I would say your description of yourself is extreme,” Karen replies in a somber tone.

“You are not exactly invisible. In the second place, you seem to go to great pains to divert attention to anyone other than yourself. You never claim credit for anything. Everything good that happens is due to your employers or your excellent staff, or anyone other than yourself. To do that, a person has to be very modest, very humble, or very confident … or maybe a mixture of all three. I think …”