Little White Lies (4 page)

He ponders my question briefly and then replies, “No, I guess not.”

I nod my head accepting his answer and continue, “Okay, if we have general agreement on all that, let’s move on to more mundane matters. How much does the job pay?”

“Thirty thousand a year with two weeks vacation. room and board.”

I could tell him that I would be willing to work for nothing just to get involved with something, but at this point it most likely wouldn’t be very good strategy. Probably better if I take a different tack.

“I’m afraid that’s unacceptable… at least for me. I would want fifty thousand a year.”

My reply bounces A.J. right out of his chair.

“Are you crazy? I don’t pay anybody fifty grand.”

“Look at it this way,” I counter looking up at him, “if I am not worth it, you can fire me after thirty days. Hell, you can fire me after thirty minutes. If you cannot afford it, fine. But if it’s simply a matter of not knowing what you are going to have to pay to have the job done right, then why not do it on a trial basis? In the meantime, if you wish, you can keep looking for my replacement.”

The silence is palpable, but I’m a patient man. He’s really grinding this one.

After what seems like a long time, but is probably no more than a few moments, he finally nods his head and says, “All right. If your references check out, you’ve got a job. When can you start?”

“I will need a few days to get my things in order. I can be here next Monday if you wish.”

His reply is immediate, almost as if he were going to say it no matter what.

“What I wish is for you to get your ass in here by Saturday. Take it or leave it.”

I think if I said tomorrow, he would have said, today. this afternoon, he’d say, now. If I had said I’m ready to go now, he would have said, too bad you weren’t here yesterday. Since he doesn’t want to do it at all, at least he’s going to do it on his terms.

“Fine,” I reply, “I’ll be here Saturday.”

No sense staying past the sale… he might change his mind. I get up and extend my hand.

“Thank you for the opportunity. If you don’t mind, I will put off meeting anyone else until Saturday. I would like to get back and wrap up my affairs.”

A.J. again nods his agreement and shakes my hand, this time with a bit more authority and enthusiasm. He even gets up out of his chair. I don’t think he’s as happy as he’s ever been, but he appears to be comfortable with it. Still, I can’t help but wonder why he did it at all considering the circumstances. I really don’t think he likes my whiteness one little bit. Hell, I know he doesn’t. On the other hand, I have to give him his due… regardless of whatever he feels in that regard, he kept an open mind.

“I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers for our agreement… assuming things check out.”

“An agreement won’t be necessary,” I say with a shake of my head. “If we cannot trust each other, a piece of paper isn’t going to make any difference. I give you my word, and I will repeat it on command, I will not sue you and I will not write a book about my experiences here. If you want me to leave, a one hour notice will be fine.”

A.J. actually smiles for the first time since we met.

“Hell, I wasn’t even thinking about something like that. Would you write a book if I asked you to?”

“I suppose it would depend.”

A.J. laughs.

“I’m not going to ask you about that right now, but someday I might. Look. I’m running out of time. Don’t be late… first thing Saturday morning.”

I turn and wave as I reach the door. AJ.’s eyes are boring right through me. I wonder what he’s thinking. and I wonder, too, who it was who said you should beware of what you wish for… you might get it.

CHAPTER 3
 

Wrapping up my affairs has gone much more quickly than expected. Part of the reason for this is that getting things done is almost always easier when you can get someone else to do them for you. John and I had already discussed most of the legal matters, so all I had to do was sign a few papers to take care of that end of things. After all, I’m not exactly leaving the country.

As for the house, I have long been blessed with the MacNamaras. a husband and wife team going by the first names of Jack and Mary. They are both as Irish as Patty’s pig… or is it Paddy’s pig? We sort of adopted each other about twelve years ago after Jack had been laid-off from his job. Mary was the head chef for a corporate cafeteria and she longed for something with less volume and more quality and creativity. Laura and I hired them to help us with our home and it wasn’t long before they became our extended family. The Irish have always been strong on loyalty and Jack and Mary are no different in that regard. I would trust them with my soul.

I told them I was leaving for a time to take a position as a consultant. They would never understand or accept the truth. In fact they would probably be hurt, thinking my problems were somehow due to a failure on their part. Nothing could be further from reality, for had it not been for them I’m sure I would have had a much more difficult time of it. So I left them in charge of everything with enough money to see them through the next year of operations. There will probably be more money in the account a year from now than I have given them to work with.

I asked Jack to drive me to the Jackson’s home so he would know where I am if, for some reason, he ever had to go there. Also, I do not want to have a car with me. It would be an imposition to ask for a place to garage it and certainly unsightly to have it sitting outside all the time. We left Friday afternoon and stayed at a nearby motel last night.

Driving to the house at first light, Jack is duly impressed. We off-load the luggage and after a fatherly pat on the back and a handshake, Jack is on his way. Things look a little different in the half-light of dawn and the total quiet of the countryside is interrupted only by the growing cacophony of the birds as they argue about whatever it is that seems so important to birds at this hour of the day.

There’s a light on near the back of the house. It’s probably in the kitchen, so I head for the back door. I have three large soft covered bags and one carry-bag for suits. I brought five suits with me. It’s doubtful that anyone would ever know how many suits I have since they all look alike… blue pinstripes, gray, or variations of those basic colors.

Long ago I decided the army was right: one dress uniform is perfect for most occasions. All the rest of my clothes are casual. I know… Boring! Actually, all I did was exchange one uniform for another. But I never thought of wearing a suit/uniform for business as anissue one way or the other. My goal was to eliminate an unimportant decision from my life. Do away with another area where something could go wrong. I just wanted to focus my sights on running the business and doing the things that counted while not getting caught up in a lot of non-essential, irrelevant trivia. After all, I’ve never been a fashion plate and my business certainly didn’t require a clotheshorse to run it.

A soft tap on the door and a person I suspect is the cook comes and peers through the glass, holding her hand to her eyebrows as if trying to shield her eyes from the emerging sun’s rays. She studies me carefully, then notices my luggage and decides to let me in.

“Hello, Mr. Richards,” she says with a smile. “I’d shake hands, but they’re all flour. I’m Martha, and, as you might have guessed, I’m the cook.”

This is followed with a hearty laugh and a slow shake of the head.

“A.J. said he hired a white man to be the boss around here, but I thought he was just telling another one of his stories. That A.J., he’d rather lie than tell the truth any day.”

Again a laugh and another head shake. She walks to the stove and then turns around to look me over from a different angle.

“Of course, he might have just hired you for the day to help him pull this thing off. Would you help him do something like that? Fool ol’ Martha?”

Before I can answer, she laughs again and shakes her head still one more time.

“Naw, you look like the real thing. If you were a phony, you would be talking a mile a minute trying to convince me you were for-real, instead of letting me run on and make a fool of myself.” She points to a chair. “Bring your bags in and sit over there. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

I let the door close lightly so the latch does not engage. I don’t know if the lock is set or not and I don’t want to have to call Martha to let me in again. I grab two bags and leave one to hold the door open while I retrieve the rest and place them in a corner out of the way. Straightening from my task, I brush my hands together and return my attention to Martha who is rummaging in the fridge with her back to me.

“Martha, I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t want any breakfast right now,” I tell her. “I would rather just… “

I’m cut off in mid-sentence by a stern look. No laughing or head shaking now. Perhaps I had better reconsider and give in this one time.

“Well, okay. Maybe a cup of coffee and some toast would be good about now.”

The smile is back. I should have been a diplomat working for the U.S. State Department or some such outfit. I could have achieved world peace by now instead of running some estate no one ever heard of.

Martha nods and walks to the refrigerator. Close call. As she goes about her business, I take the opportunity to look around. The kitchen is a fairlylarge room with all the latest equipment. There’s a stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator over against the far wall. Martha’s work area is a large island with a sink and a cutting board. Copper pots and pans hang from a wrought iron rack suspended from the ceiling where two skylights illuminate the kitchen as the emerging morning sun begins to compete with the artificial lights.

The range is a restaurant-style gas stove with six burners of various sizes. The kitchen table sits off to the side. The table is made of oak and could probably accommodate ten or twelve people comfortably. It occupies an area bordered by a bay window at one end. I’m standing on still more oak. The floor is made of tongue and groove oak planks with a clean, but dull finish. It’s a nice way to do it… a bright shine would not fit in this utilitarian atmosphere.

The diamond shaped leaded glass windowpanes recast the sun’s rays into multicolored lights that dance gently through the room. The overall effect is pleasant and I find I am very much at home already.

Martha walks over and places a cup and saucer on the table. In her other hand she holds a silver coffeepot. She fills my cup, places the pot on the table and returns to her duties. Somehow the sterling silver pot fits right in the men’s club decor. There’s a partially open door across from me, near the entrance to the kitchen. I lean over and see that it leads to a large pantry for storing kitchen supplies. A few minutes pass and Martha returns with a plate of eggs, ham and toasted muffins and places it in front of me. Her countenance is stern and challenging. It appears I’m being tested.

“What’s this?” I ask. “All I wanted is coffee and toast.”

“You’re too thin.” Comes the reply from a woman who is about five foot nothing and weighs around two hundred pounds on her lighter days. “It’s early and you have a long day ahead and I don’t want you in here every ten minutes asking for a handout. So eat while I see if I can find you some dessert.”

“Dessert! For breakfast! Look, Martha, I’ll have some of this, but I’m not having any dessert. So forget the dessert. All right?”

Martha smiles and walks over to the cupboard while it slowly dawns on me that I’ve been had. Obviously, she never intended to serve dessert, but she threw it in so she could cave to where she wanted to be anyway. I’m certain it’s the first of many skirmishes to come… and I have a feeling we are going to get along just fine. Martha returns with a cup, fills it from the silver pot and joins me at the table.

“Why don’t you get a plate, Martha, and have some of this?” I gesture towards the ample serving. “I’ll never finish it.”

Martha shakes her head.

“You’ll finish it. Besides, I don’t want to get fat.”

I keep a straight face and nod my head in agreement, afraid to look her in the eye. I don’t want to lose all my hard-won points, earned for eating a delicious meal I don’t need. Besides, ‘fat’ is a relative term. It’s also the kind of word that can get a newrelationship off to a very rocky start, so even though it’s her word, I don’t think I’ll acknowledge it.

As I eat my breakfast, Martha fills me in with news about what’s going on at the mansion, but names and positions mean little without faces to go with them. She hints with brief comments here and there that tell me there is much to be learned from this source. Although I have little to go on, Martha appears to be an astute observer and a better than average judge of humankind. A few minutes later her tutorial is interrupted by the rapid pitter-pat of little bare feet in the hallway.

“Here comes Jeff-Jeff,” she says with a smile.

Martha turns in her seat as a little boy pokes his head in the door, sees his target and rushes headlong into her lap. Martha scoops him up in her arms and gives him a hug.

The boy looks over Martha’s shoulder and spies me. His eyes widen and he smiles a greeting. He’s a beautiful boy and the near-perfect image of his father.

“Say, hello, to Mr. Richards, Jeff-Jeff.” Martha says while softly patting his back. There must be some maternal instinct that kicks in whenever a woman holds someone in her arms. It seems they automatically begin patting the back of the object of their affections. perhaps feeling everyone could use a good burp every now and then. The boy buries his head in Martha’s shoulder and waves shyly without looking.

“This is Jeffrey,” Martha says with a smile, “but I think he’s going to be Jeff-Jeff for a little while longer.”

“Hi, Jeff-Jeff,” I reply, “how are you?”

I guess I don’t really know how to talk to guys this small.

No answer.

“I think it’s time for some breakfast,” Martha says as she heads for the pantry, ignoring my futile attempt to converse with the little guy. She lets the boy slide to the floor as she walks along. “Hop in your chair, Master Jeff-Jeff and we’ll see if we can’t find something you like.”