Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight (7 page)

“So you think you’re Monica on the outside
and Matthew on the inside. Is that it?” he proposed, smiling at his
precisely correct supposition.

“No. I’m all me, with a dash of Samuel mixed
in, of course,” I answered, hoping the compliment would camouflage
my chagrin.

He liked that. There was a pause while the
weight of the subject matter pulled both our thoughts to a lower
altitude. I never let myself think about life without him. It was
too painful. For someone I barely knew the first half of my life,
he had taken over as King of the second half.

Grandpa wasn’t finished with the topic and
pushed on.

“I’m very proud of you Ellery. I know your
mother babies you, but that’s for her benefit, not yours.”

No kidding.

He continued, “I have no doubt that you can
take care of yourself. You take excellent care of me right now. But
when I’m gone, the things that used to be mine will be yours, and
that includes my house, my savings, my collection and my Buckeye
season tickets.”

He named off his assets in ascending
personal value, with the college football tickets at the apex, I
noticed.

I had never given much thought to his
financial worth. Doing so was too closely linked with contemplating
his absence. I’d rather have him than his money.

He continued, “Now, the house you can sell,
the money you can spend any way you see fit, but I want your word
that you’ll never part with the collection or the Buckeye
tickets.”

I was looking at the tail lights of the
traffic ahead of us when he said this. I thought he was joking
about me selling the house and spending all the money and so I
laughed, but when he didn’t join me I looked over at him and saw
that he was being completely serious.

“I want that collection to be our family
legacy. It has pieces that my father found, pieces that I found,
and I want you to add to it, and someday give it to your child so
that he or she, or they can add to it. You must never sell it, or
any pieces of it. Do you promise me?”

This was the most gravely serious
conversation we’d ever had. The intensity and finality of his words
frightened me a little. I had to gulp down a frog in my throat
before I could get out a very shaky sounding, “I promise.”

“It’s the same way with the Buck’s tickets.
It’s a tradition and I want you to keep it going for as long as you
can. Will you promise me that, too?”

“Do I have to go to all the games, or can I
bestow the tickets upon worthy recipients?”

“Well, I guess. Just don’t give up control
of the tickets. Use the money from your inheritance to pay for
them, no matter what they cost. And then use them…wisely,” which I
knew meant ‘go to the games yourself.’

“I suppose I’ll need to find myself a
Buckeye for a husband then,” I joked.

“That’s my girl!”

His clear blue eyes were bright with
pleasure as he reached out to smooth my hair.

“Of course, it’s going to be real trick to
find a husband for you,” he said with a strange undercurrent.

I looked over at him in surprise. He never
teased me about things like that. What did he mean?

The hurt and confusion must have been plain
on my face. He smiled reassuringly at me and patted my arm.

“That didn’t come out right. What I meant to
say was that it will be a trick finding someone good enough for
you. You’re quite special, you know.”

Yeah, as in ‘special needs.’

“It gives me so much pleasure to see you
growing up into such a fine young woman. You’re not just a pretty
face. You’re something more. And of course, I know I’m partial, but
even so, you give me lots and lots of reasons to be proud.”

I was watching his face while he was
talking, deciding between what was fluff and what was sincere. He
was being mostly sincere; I had to admit.

“I know you’re very fond of Hoyt, but,
Ellery, if and when you do get married…”

Key word ‘if.’

“If I’m fortunate enough to still be alive,
would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you down the
aisle?”

I was relieved and humored a little by the
absurdity of his question. I chuckled and said, “Oh Grandpa! That
was never a question. The real question is what man could I ever
prevail upon to marry me?” I asked, laughing at my joke.

Then I continued, a bit more sincerely.

“Well, whoever he is, if he even exists,
that is, he’s also going to have to ask you for your blessing. So
you need to stick around for at least that long, which may
ultimately be the key to your longevity, I expect. Immortality,
possibly.”

Or not.

Suddenly I was back at The Bank of
Louisville. My host was speaking to me and I snapped into
reality.

“It’s kind of funny, but you make me think
of your grandfather,” said Dwight, as I pulled my gaze away from
the panoramic home game photo on the wall and returned to present
time and place.

I didn’t answer, but it wasn’t a question,
so I didn’t need to. Instead I smiled politely as he studied me for
a moment in quiet speculation.

“You don’t look like him, but you sound like
him. I think it’s the way you say things,” he elaborated.

I had a habit of speech chameleonism (my
term). This was a reflexive, generally subtle adaption of accent
and turns of phrase to mimic the person I was speaking to. Grandpa
had the same habit, which was far more pronounced than my own since
he didn’t know a stranger and talked constantly with everyone. This
trait of his was no doubt the source of my own, though whether it
was a product of nature or nurture I couldn’t be sure.

He blinked out of his abstraction and smiled
at me.

“You look very much like your mother,
though. I met with her regarding the sale of Dr. Mayne’s
house.”

He didn’t know it, but he’d just touched a
nerve. The sale of the house had happened quickly and without my
knowledge. My mom had met with the executor, Mr. Matthews here, and
together they had decided to sell the most personally important
part of my inheritance without even consulting me. I had been too
depressed and out of it at the time to kick up the kind of fuss
this action deserved. Now with a little water under the bridge,
some of the ire I felt over that situation had surfaced. This must
have registered in my expression.

“Your mother’s a beautiful lady,” he added,
sensing my negativity.

“Oh, I know. Thank you for the compliment.
What I don’t understand is why the house had to be sold so quickly.
And why nobody bothered to even ask me about it. If it had been up
to me, Grandpa’s house would not have been sold.”

He looked uncomfortable. After clearing his
throat he tried to explain his trespass.

“I’m so sorry. I can imagine that there must
have been a good deal of sentimentality attached to your
grandfather’s home for you. But, your mother assured me that it was
what you wanted. In fact, I requested a meeting with you about it,
but she said it would upset you, so…”

That sounded about right. She was correct
about me being upset, she also happened to be the cause.

“Well, I would have put it off until you
were eighteen, allowing you to have the legal right to decide, but
we received an extraordinary offer for the property and the estate.
The figure was more than twice the market value that our appraiser
had set. The real estate market had just tanked, and I felt like
we’d never get another offer like this again. So I approved the
transaction, thinking it was best for you, financially.”

“I see. Well, it’s spilt milk now, anyway,”
and I sighed, looking down at the hat in my hands.

It was obvious he had been acting in my best
interests, or at least he thought he had been.

“I could inquire about buying it back for
you, if you’d like,” he said with a grin. “But first we need to
cover the balance sheet of your grandfather’s estate. You probably
didn’t feel any different, but when you turned eighteen this
summer, you became a millionaire.”

I laughed because I knew he was joking. It
seemed like a cruel thing to joke about, though, given his job
title. Turns out he wasn’t being the least bit facetious.

“Your grandfather lived fairly modestly, so
this may come as a surprise to you, but the reality is that he had
accumulated significant cash reserves, a very valuable and
diversified stock portfolio, and controlling interest in several
business ventures. Combined with the estimated market value of his
mineral collection, the total value of his estate, which fluctuates
with the changes in the stock market, is a figure closer to ten
digits than eight.”

Math wasn’t my specialty. I had to think
about that statement for a minute, looking at my fingers to arrive
at the correct numeric term. The shock on my face was probably
nothing new to a person in his position. I imagined that certain
aspects of his job paralleled the functions of the Publisher’s
Clearing House Prize Patrol—except no balloons or over-sized
cardboard check.

“Your inheritance will fall to you in
phases. Your education and living expenses will be paid for,
obviously. You’ll also receive a monthly allowance in discretionary
funds until your twenty-first birthday, at which time you will
legally inherit the balance of Dr. Mayne’s estate.”

He took a breath while he reviewed the
information inside a file he had opened up.

“So I’ll be issuing you a debit card for
those funds today. Now, there is one notable exception. Regarding
the disposition of the rare minerals collection; according to his
specific directions, it will remain in trust, stored here in the
vault, to be transferred to your possession, age not-withstanding,
only when you present a valid marriage license and a signed sworn
affidavit that you will retain the surname ‘Mayne’.”

He scanned my face, trying to read my
reaction to my world being turned on its end. Then he continued,
“It’s an odd stipulation, but I have to uphold his wishes. I think
he meant for his collection to be a very nice wedding gift for you,
and an incentive to keep the ‘Mayne’ family name alive. If you
should happen to die single, the collection will be gifted to The
Ohio State University.”

I had overheard people at the funeral
talking about the legendary Mayne Mineral Collection, speculating
its financial value. It was one of the most complete compilations
of gemstone specimens in the world. But what made it truly unique
was the fact that the pieces were exclusively collected at their
natural deposits by members of the same rock-hounding family: Dr.
Samuel Mayne and his father, Dr. Lars Mayne. The collection
contained no acquisitions, only personally unearthed specimens.
That distinction made it truly remarkable and priceless. I’d seen
it for myself just one time, years ago when Grandpa had first moved
to Louisville. It was the first and only time I’d ever visited the
inside of a vault. The stones were all in their rough, uncut form,
unceremoniously jumbled together in an old shoebox. To untrained
eyes, they would simply appear to be a box of rocks. In their cut
and polished versions, however, they would rival the crowned jewels
of England, or so it was speculated. The true quality and value of
a gem can only be assessed after its cutting.

So if they were depending on my romantic
conquests to see the light of display some day, well, that might be
an indefinitely long wait, similar to their formative days in the
earth’s crust. Hopefully their storage accommodations in the vault
were comfortable. It seemed most likely that sometime in the
relatively short future happy days would befall the Earth Sciences
department at OSU…and its budget.

After my paradigm shifting conference with
Dwight Matthews Esquire, things really weren’t as different in my
life as I would have thought. But then I realized that what Grandpa
always said was true: Money doesn’t make you happy…people do.

No one knew the difference in my prospects
but me, and Dwight, of course. And nothing was really all that
different. Discretionary funds were for people who shopped. I was
still depressed and lonely. I still missed my Grandpa. In fact, I
would trade every last penny and gem to see his smiling face just
one more time, to tell him I loved him and say a proper
goodbye.

He always did love surprises. Too bad he
couldn’t be here to see my face for the biggest surprise in the
history of blindsides.

Chapter 8
–
Reticent

The summer was winding to a close. It seemed
like an eternity. I reflected back on my summer break and realized
with embarrassment that I hadn’t done anything useful or profitable
the entire time. Well, on occasion I had done the laundry and the
dishes. I guess that’s useful. But this had been the year I was
going to get a summer job. Now the only experience I could detail
on my resume was that I had conducted research on the nature and
effects of psychotic and anti-social behavior.

School would be back in session in less than
a week. I was absolutely dreading it. Though I enjoyed learning and
the classroom environment, I loathed the times in between. The
halls and the lunchroom were crowded and noisy, but still lonely,
somehow. It seemed that everyone had friends and plans…I never had
either.

Of course, it was my own fault. The year
before my mom had brought home “How to Win Friends and Influence
People” from the library self-help section, and required that I
read it, which I dutifully did. And I did garner some useful
relationship skills there. The hardest part for me was lack of
confidence in a group dynamic. In a one-on-one situation I could
function tolerably. But if ‘people’ were listening, the reticent
side of me would invariably take over. The adrenalin would trigger
my flawed fight or flight instinct, and coward that I am, that
dysfunctional cataplexy (quiet statue) response was involuntary. My
insecurities just couldn’t handle the audience. Also, I found that,
in general, the people who made good friends weren’t sitting alone
waiting for me to make contact. They were already surrounded by
interesting, informed, intelligent companions, and had no need for
anything less, which my addition would certainly be.