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Authors: Paul Watkins

Little White Lies (33 page)

BOOK: Little White Lies
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“Good news,” I announce. “The Jacksons are on their way back and should be here any moment.”

“Would you mind telling me their first names,” she asks.

Right now I wouldn’t mind telling her state secrets if I knew them.

“Not at all… A.J. and Sheri. Everyone uses his initials, so feel free to do likewise. He would expect it. Are you aware he is an entertainer?”

“No, I’m not… what does he do?”

“I don’t suppose you’re familiar with rap singing?”

A quizzical look answers my question.

“I know what rap singing is, I guess. I mean, I have never really heard it, but I know about it. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I have heard it, but I have never listened to it.”

This is followed with the slightest of smiles signifying a mild form of puzzled consternation I suppose.

I nod my agreement.

“I know what you mean… I’m in the same boat. In my case it’s a generational thing. I know a little bit more about it than I did before I came to work here, but that’s not saying much. A.J. almost seems to have two lives when it comes to his work. He works alone with the door shut, so there’s very little awareness of his efforts here in the house. Rehearsal time is always with a group and they go to a studio in the city for that, so we really don’t see any of the stage life at all. Also, A.J. doesn’t want any of his professional acquaintances hanging around here… this is his private place, his home. He can come home anytime secure in the knowledge that he is completely free from his profession. He needs a place where he can unwind and this is it.”

Right on cue the front door opens and the Jacksons enter the library moments later. I make the introductions and excuse myself to allow the newneighbors time to get to know one another.

***

Immersed in forecasts and building plans, I’ve lost all track of time when Sheri pages me a few hours later. I’m ready for a break and decide to walk back to the library. I’m somewhat surprised to find everyone pretty much right where I left them, including Jennifer Benson.

“Jennifer is going to have dinner with us, Phil,” Sheri says with a smile. “Will you join us too?”

“Yes, I would like that very much,” I answer, trying not to sound too eager.

Actually I’m not really excited about Mrs. Benson in any way. It’s nothing more or less than an interest in a neighbor… a lovely neighbor to be sure, but no real personal interest beyond curiosity.

“Good, it’s getting late and Jennifer has to get her horse back to her home before it gets dark.”

“If you wish, Mrs. Benson can take the limo home and I will ride the horse back to her place,” I suggest. “It would save time and I’ll ride along in the limo when she’s ready to return.”

All eyes turn to Jennifer, awaiting her response.

“That would be nice. Thank you. Her name is, Foxy, and she’s very gentle. I assume you ride or you wouldn’t have offered.”

“Have ridden, would probably be more accurate. It has been a while, but I shouldn’t have any trouble, especially if she’s as gentle as you say. Why don’t I leave now so I can take my time?”

I call the limo for Mrs. Benson and leave to change into something more appropriate for the task at hand. I don’t have any riding clothes, but a sweat suit would be better than what I have on. Sheri thinks sweat clothes should be my all-purpose business attire, since I seem to wear them more than any other selections from my ‘vast’ wardrobe. I suppose it’s true to a degree, but I told her there’s no place to carry a wallet when I’m out to dinner. She hasn’t brought it up since… probably afraid I’m serious.

Foxy is exactly as Jennifer Benson described her. She’s a very gentle horse and eager to return home for dinner. I let her move at her own pace as we head across the fields in a more direct route to her stable. This is great… the solitude and the smell of the clean, crisp air are very pleasing… it’s something I haven’t done in a long time.

Moving at this pace allows one to take in more of the beauty and charm of the countryside. There is something to see in every direction, especially in the details that make up the big picture… the little things that are usually lost in the speed at which we travel from one place to another these days. But this is nice. It’s like stepping back in time, in a way, and taking one of the better parts of that way of life and hanging on to it for just a moment longer. I’m not ready to switch to horses, but it’s a nice change just the same. A sore butt tomorrow will probably make me long for a nice comfortable car seat forever more.

Before long a house comes into view, which I assume is our destination. The structure is large and imposing, even at a distance. It’s made of a gray colored stone, probably built around the same time as the other large homes in the area. Although Mrs.

Benson has been away for the last two years, everything looks well maintained. She probably had a full-time staff in place during her absence. Not bad if you can afford it. Actually when you own a place like this, you can’t afford to let it go, even for a short period of time, let alone two years.

I let the horse make her own way, since she’s the only one of us who knows where we are going. As we approach the house Foxy bears left and makes her way towards the stall area where a small man emerges from a building and patiently awaits our arrival. Foxy walks directly to him, stops and nuzzles his jacket pocket, forcing him to step backward slightly. It’s probably the place where he keeps her treats. The groom takes the reins and I slowly drop to the ground.

“Nice day for a ride,” I offer. “Foxy is a lovely lady… nice manners.”

The man nods in agreement.

“She’s a beautiful animal,” he replies. “Mrs. Benson’s favorite.”

Foxy moves her head up and down as though agreeing with all the favorable commentary. The groom ignores her antics and turns to leave.

“Mrs. Benson told me to tell you to walk right in and make yourself at home. She will be along in a minute.”

This last comment is tossed over his shoulder as he leaves for the barn to serve Foxy her dinner and bed her down for the evening.

He continues without waiting for a reply, Foxy trailing behind him. I walk towards the front door and wave to Bill Jacobs, who is waiting in the limo. I start up the steps and then decide to stay outside and enjoy the air a bit longer. As I turn and descend the steps, Bill emerges from the car and we chat for a time about odds and ends, but nothing in particular.

Looking about the property, I find things here to be more formal in style than at the Jacksons’ place. There’s a symmetry to the lawn and garden areas that is pleasing to the eye. If pressed for an opinion, I would have to say that it’s not better or worse than the Jacksons’ home… just different. Everything is on such a grand scale it’s a bit overwhelming. Strange reaction since the Jacksons’ grounds aren’t exactly small potatoes.

I turn to the sound of the front door opening.

“Didn’t John tell you to come in?” she asks. “I didn’t want you to wait outside in the cold.”

She’s wearing midnight blue slacks with a white top and a red sweater of some sort thrown over her shoulder, very neat, very nice.

“He passed your message along,” I reply, pushing myself off the car. “I decided to stay outside a while longer and enjoy the fresh air. You have a lovely place here, Mrs. Benson. It must be something in the summer when all the flowers are in bloom.”

She looks around as if searching for whatever it is I have seen here.

“Thank you,” she replies, appearing somewhat distracted. “I guess I’ve forgotten how lovely it is. I didn’t miss it until I returned, if that makes any sense.”

“I think it does,” I say with a laugh. “I know it’s corny, but there really isn’t any place like home, is there?”

I motion to Bill to get behind the wheel while I open the back door as she walks slowly down the steps. She enters the car, slides across and pats the seat, motioning to me to sit next to her. We ride slowly down the long drive and I catch the scent of her perfume. I don’t know how much it cost, but it is worth every penny she paid. It’s intoxicating. I almost comment on it before I stop myself. What the hell, this isn’t a date! The next thing I know I find myself thinking about Karen.

“Are you always this quiet, Mr. Richards,” she asks in a hushed tone as though we were sitting in a church.

“Please call me Philip, Mrs. …”

“Jennifer,” she interjects. “The Jacksons have made me well aware of your station in life. You are no ordinary employee, Philip. In fact, Sheri says you continue to be somewhat of a mystery to them. Why is that?”

“I can’t imagine,” I reply shaking my head. “I’ve worked for the Jacksons for about a year now. There’s no mystery I’m aware of. I think Sheri figures if there’s anything in your past she doesn’t know about, then you’re holding out. Write it off to an over-active imagination on her part.”

I’m looking at a lovely face tinged with skepticism. Sheri can be a real pain at times. Too quickly, we’re back at our entrance and we wait in silence as the gates begin to swing open in their slow, ponderous fashion.

“I like the lights on the trees,” Jennifer comments. “They must have looked very nice when snow was on the ground.”

I smile.

“Sheri decided she liked them so much she is going to leave them on until it gets warm. The way she gets into the holidays, I’m surprised she let us take the Christmas tree down.”

Jennifer laughs in return.

“I know just how she feels. I’m the same way. Christmas can be a really great time of year if you’re having fun. When I was in Europe I never bothered having a tree. I just went to other people’s homes and enjoyed their Christmas decorations. But it’s not the same as being in your own home with all the memories from years before.”

Her tone of voice indicates her travels may not have been all good times. Bill deposits us by the front steps, but before we can enter the house, Sheri is at the front door greeting us like long lost friends.

“I was afraid you might have forgotten us after all this time,” I comment.

“Oh, be quiet,” Sheri admonishes, simultaneously whacking me on the shoulder as I pass. “I want you and A.J. to be on your best behavior tonight, whatever that is. It has been so long since you two have acted civilized I’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

“Nice going, Phil,” A.J. comments as we walk across the foyer. “I haven’t even opened my mouth and you have already put me in the shit.”

Sheri shakes her head in resignation and gives a weary look to Jennifer. She receives an understanding smile in return.

A.J. claps me on the back.

“So, how goes it with the horsey set? I’ve never known anyone with a complete horse. I’ve known several people who resemble parts of horses, but never the whole animal.”

“Different ball game, A.J.,” I reply, “totally different. For instance… “

“Stop right there,” Sheri interrupts. “We’re going into the library for some nice conversation. You can save your man-talk for the locker room.”

We don’t have much choice in the matter as she propels us across the foyer towards our destination. I peel off from the formation and make my excuses to get a much needed shower. Being part of the horseyset is one thing, smelling the part is quite another.

***

It’s difficult not to make comparisons between Jennifer and Karen. They are both beautiful women. Both well educated with keen insight into all sorts of subjects. Interested and interesting… but with entirely different demeanors. Jennifer is quiet where Karen is boisterous. She tends to sit back and observe more than Karen would in similar circumstances.

Jennifer is not quite what I expected when I first met her. The early returns have revealed a great deal. I guess I thought she was probably the typical wealthy suburban woman. Content with her lot in life, occasionally attending a charity event, but mainly working on her looks and the evening’s entertainment. Instead, it turns out she owned her own business, an art gallery, until her husband died and then decided to sell it before going to Europe.

She seems to have no difficulty talking about her marriage. Apparently it was over some years before he died. His illness precluded any thoughts of divorce on Jennifer’s part until he was well. Initially there was no thought he would not survive, but his condition steadily deteriorated, ultimately culminating in his death. Understandably, she doesn’t add any details to what must still be unsavory memories.

Her husband had older children from a previous marriage, but they had not had any children together. Jennifer said she had not heard from either his son or his daughter since the funeral and did not expect to. There were no hard feelings, she said. During the short time she was married the children had always been away at school or traveling. As a result they simply had never had any kind of relationship before and there was no reason to have one now.

Jennifer will most likely become the topic of conversation sometime in the next couple of days and Sheri will make it a point to ask my opinion and most likely my intentions. Of course, I could be wrong, but I doubt it. Jennifer is a spectacular lady. On the otherhand, I find I’m not really attracted to her in any way. She’s nice to look at and listen to, but I’m not interested in any more romances right now. It’s probably the fallout from the Karen thing. It’s just too soon and will be for quite some time I imagine.

It’s eleven o’clock when Jennifer stands and thanks A.J. and Sheri for the lovely evening. I volunteer to drive her home and we leave after mutual promises to continue to see one another.

Jennifer isn’t very talkative during the short ride to her home. A.J., she observes with a slight smile, seems to be one of a kind and she likes them both very much, but she leaves it at that. I park the car under the portico protecting the front entrance and turn off the engine. I’m about to open the door when she speaks.

“May I ask you a personal question?”

I turn in my seat and face her, but before I can answer she asks anyway.

“Why do you work for the Jacksons?”

A more interesting question might be: why is she asking? But I no longer have much of anything to hide so I might as well satisfy her curiosity.

BOOK: Little White Lies
2.56Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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