“Well, I’m ready to order,” Nick’s mom said.
Miguel pulled out his notepad and pen.
“I’ll take the grilled salmon salad with the balsamic vinaigrette dressing on the side, cooked medium rare.”
“I’ll take the bacon burger, cooked medium well with the fries and ketchup. No pickles or tomatoes, please.”
“Okay, I’ll put your order in and be back soon. Enjoy the atmosphere.”
Miguel left and walked over to another table.
“Choices, Nick, choices. We recognize our employees for years of service. They wouldn’t have to let us know. In fact, I feel like I know each and every one of them. I may not know them by name, but I never forget a face. We celebrate every ten years of service with a lavish ceremony and each employee gets a check for a thousand dollars. That’s when I connect the faces to the names, when I’m handing them the check.”
“A thousand bucks is generous mom. I’m sure they appreciate that.”
The band continued with another reggae song and Nick’s thoughts turned to the music as he waited for his burger. Relaxing in his chair, he breathed in the salty air and enjoyed his surroundings. Young teenage girls and boys played volleyball over a net in the near distance. Pelicans and seagulls were hovering overhead, periodically landing to scoop up any food dropped by the beachgoers. Just above him, the restaurant had lined the open air with fishing pole wire, which kept the birds from taking the patrons’ food. Nick appreciated that. The seagulls had a reputation for being aggressive with food by the beach.
Miguel approached with their food and placed their plates down in front of them. The food looked steaming hot and delicious and the aroma of his grilled burger penetrated his senses. He popped the bun off and loaded it up with ketchup and salt. Then he took his first bite.
As he swallowed, a particular seagull caught Nick’s attention. It was skipping under the tables and moving closer to their table. Maybe it was hungry.
“Little opportunist,” His mom said as she threw a couple of croutons to the ground to feed it, but it ignored the croutons.
“Guess it doesn’t like croutons,” she said.
Nick threw the seagull a small piece of his hamburger, which the bird also ignored. The bird seemed content just to stand under their table. “Strange bird,” Nick thought.
Miguel returned to the table. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, we’re good. Some interesting seagulls here,” Nick commented.
“For sure,” Miguel said, “some say they’re like the people. They don’t want the handouts, just the attention. Maybe they want attention for their causes.”
“And what are seagulls’ causes?” Nick’s mom asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“They want to help others by showing them beauty, freedom and peace. They don’t fight or judge one another. They live simple lives and take from the environment only what’s needed. They’re just humble creatures with dreams.”
“Well said, Miguel,” Nick said with a wink.
“Interesting,” his mom added in what Nick perceived to be an insincere remark.
***
When Nick arrived home, he went to his room and reflected on his mom’s views on the choices that people make. He wondered why some made such poor choices, while others made excellent choices in their lives. He also questioned why some were driven to help others while others were driven to help themselves. Social classes and demographics popped into his head. God’s plans and gifts and expectations popped up next.
“What does God expect of the poor, who are often born in such abusive and rough homes? He can’t expect them to give much to the church, or work hard, or go to college, or help others when they have so few blessings…can he? And what about the wealthy who make poor decisions or who judge others harshly? How harshly does he judge them? What if they attempt to make amends? When is it too late?”
He flipped open his laptop computer and went to the webpage of his church, wondering whether his pastor had discussed these issues in any of his past sermons, which had been posted on-line. He read a few sermon titles before coming upon one that read, “Social Classes and Expectations.” He clicked on the title and adjusted the volume of his computer so he could hear the pastor’s sermon, which was as follows.
“Today I’m going to discuss social classes and expectations. A large charitable organization just released a study indicating that forty five percent of Floridian households, or 3.2 million people, can’t afford the cost of living. They can’t afford basic housing, healthcare, food, childcare, and transportation. Despite our booming tourist industry, almost half of Floridians are struggling, in both the lower and the middle classes. Yet Florida is also home to ten of the world’s richest billionaires and is ranked 18th in the country in per capita income. These facts suggest a large gap between the rich and the poor, and economists point out that this gap has grown substantially since the 1970s.”
“Some of the wealthy and some in the middle class don’t see it. They don’t want the attention of the poor and don’t want to pay attention to the poor. Perhaps this reasoning is behind the laws in three major Florida cities right now prohibiting people from feeding the homeless in public places. They don’t want to see them. They’d prefer to surround themselves by beauty, not by blight.”
The pastor read the Prodigal Son parable, which was about a young son who ran off from home and blew his inheritance through lavish living and a wild lifestyle. After he ran out of money, he returned home humbled, and his father was elated when he saw him. So pleased that he’d returned, he threw a celebration for him. His older brother, who’d always lived sensibly in ways his father would appreciate, was furious. His father had never thrown such a party for him.
Nick had heard the story before and had always wondered why the father never celebrated the older son. Surely the older son’s efforts and sacrifices should have been recognized. But they weren’t, the pastor noted, because the older son was too self-righteous.
Chapter 9
The Fundraiser
Braedon Ramsey pulled onto a side street near the home of the O’Brien’s and parked his Camry within a line of cars, which butted up along the curb. He was wearing a dark blue suit and tie, along with a pair of brown shoes that he’d shined up for the occasion. With his camera gear in hand, he followed a group of attendees to the entrance of the mansion.
Within minutes, Braedon was on the outside deck of the O’Brien home surrounded by Kinnaird supporters at his fundraiser. He spotted the governor, who seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with a stocky, bald man in a black suit, the mayor. Time to get the party started.
“Greetings, my name’s Braedon Ramsey and I’m with the press. Would you mind if I photographed you two for publicity purposes?”
“Not at all,” the governor responded with a warm smile. His slicked-back wavy red hair and Scottish complexion reflected against the setting sun as he towered over the mayor next to him. Both smiled as they adjusted their suits and ties for Braedon’s camera.
Braedon snapped a few photos before shaking their hands.
“Thank you, Governor Kinnaird and Mayor Blackburn. I appreciate this opportunity.” He said as he turned away. Glancing around the room, Braedon looked for other photo opportunities. And Catherine. Still no sight of the latter.
The attendees at the event had each paid $10,000 for a seat at one of the many tables in the deck areas and living areas of the opulent home. They appeared to be wealthy as they mingled with one another in their Armani suits and designer dresses, which far exceeded the price point of his own slightly tattered suit. Braedon assumed many to be the usual sorts of business people who typically funded the governor’s political party.
The governor’s platform was focused on reducing taxes through fewer governmental regulations and oversight. He’d promised to put more money in the hands of the working folks in the population by reducing the expenditur
es to the entitled and the “handouts” to the impoverished. This stance appealed to Braedon and to Catherine, for different reasons. Braedon was focused on fewer governmental regulations and oversight, while he figured that Catherine was focused on reducing taxes to the wealthy.
The governor wouldn’t get his vote, however. Convicted felons couldn’t vote in Florida without going through an extensive application process. Braedon had no time for that.
He considered the governor’s position as he moved through the home capturing photos of the party guests, whom he assumed were in the highest tax brackets, the uber rich. That’s when he saw Catherine. She was talking to one of the caterers in her kitchen, and she looked radiant in the cream suit and skirt that she wore, which was draped in a stylish black and cream silk scarf. Her matching cream-colored high-heals perfectly accented her outfit, which exuded wealth. As he watched her, he waited for an opportunity to re-introduce himself.
Her son appeared out of the hallway and walked right up to him. Or one could say that he charged him; he appeared to be on a mission.
“Hi, I’m Nick O’Brien. We met before at the luncheon.”
“Well, hi Nick. Yes, I recall meeting you with your mom. This is quite an event,” Braedon said as he noticed Nick looking at his ring finger. Had he seen the ring at the luncheon?
“Yes, it is. My mom likes it that way. So, you support the governor?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Well, my mom and I differ on that one. But that’s okay. I support my mom.”
“Yes, I support your mom as well. I’m glad that she’s hosting this event. Quite a turnout. Should be a boon to the party. And you support his opponent?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I consider myself an independent. I have my causes, which don’t always align with those of either party,” Nick responded.
“I see. Well, it was nice talking to you,” Braedon said as he moved himself away.
“Yeah,” the son said halfheartedly as he moved closer to his mom in the kitchen.
Braedon noticed that Nick was now blocking his access to his mom. And that seemed intentional. It was clear that he must have seen the wedding band at the luncheon. He’d need to buy some time before approaching her again, after his son had moved on.
He turned around and circulated around the party, making small talk with many of the guests and taking numerous photos. The photos were primarily of the governor with his wife and a variety of his constituents, along with photos of people he didn’t know and those who appeared to be in the know. Then it was back to Catherine, who was now standing on the veranda.
“What’s with the kid?” Nick was again in front of him.
“Hi, Nick.”
“Hi.”
“You know, I understand why you consider yourself an independent. I should probably tell you why I support the governor and his party. My late wife always supported him and it’s my little way of carrying that torch. I’m not really a political junkie. I don’t really follow either party, but I want to show support for my deceased wife. She passed away a couple of years ago after a long battle with cancer. I loved her dearly.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m sure things haven’t been easy for you. You have my prayers.”
“Thank you.” Braedon said as he watched Nick walk into another room. The obstacle was now gone.
“Hi, Catherine,” he said as he held out his hand to shake Catherine’s.
“Well, hello. Are you enjoying the fundraiser? We’ve far exceeded estimates. At least half of the crowd more than doubled the $10,000 required for a seat at a table.”
“That’s very impressive indeed! I’ve taken some excellent photos. Would you be interested in meeting with me tomorrow over lunch so that I can show them to you, for your approval prior to publication?”
“Sure, that sounds like a fine plan. Where would you like to meet?”
“How about the Bayfront Restaurant at noon?”
“Done. I’ll add it to my calendar. By some good fortune, I have nothing else on my calendar tomorrow. See you then,” she said as she smiled before turning her attention to one of the caterers.
Braedon smiled back. He’d done what he intended to do, so he packed up his camera and exited the party.
Chapter 10
The Beach, the Beer, and the Cowboy Hat
The sun shone brightly through Nick’s bedroom window as he decided that a day at the beach was in order. He slipped on his gear, jumped into his Mustang, and headed over to Tanner’s place to pick him up. On the way, he picked up a twelve-pack of beer, bottled water, and a bag of pork rinds from a convenience store.
Soon the two friends were cruising along the highway heading south towards Siesta Key with songs of escape by Jimmy Buffett blaring from the radio. It was just after 2 p.m. when they arrived and positioned themselves in a central location on the beach near a popular drinking establishment.
The restaurant provided ample opportunities for female interactions. “Bonus,” Nick thought. He’d been dating at State, but with no one in particular. The only girl he was interested in was Piper, but she’d shown no interest in him. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Maybe he should try to put her out of his mind.
Tanner used to be on the hunt with Nick, but he’d recently reignited his high school relationship with Marlis, one of Piper’s friends. Marlis was a sweet and petite Asian girl whom Tanner adored.
They plopped their chairs down and took their seats, popping their first beer as they enjoyed their little escape from reality.
“Check out the blonde in the hot pink bikini,” Nick said.
“Yeah, she’s gorgeous, like a Swedish supermodel.”
As Nick watched the blonde walk by him and head into the water, he spotted something familiar. The cowboy hat. And under the cowboy hat was the skinny body of his friend Bob. Bob spotted him at about the same time and waved. Nick watched him as he walked over to his chair, which was in front of theirs around four hundred feet away. The chair was propped next to another chair, which was seating a male with olive-colored skin. The male stood up and turned towards Nick and Tanner.
“Hey, it’s Gonzalez! Sweet.” Nick was thrilled to see Juan Gonzalez, also known as “flypaper” for his effect on the ladies. Juan and Bob grabbed their chairs and each side of a large cooler and headed towards them.
“The day’s just about to get ugly,” he said to Tanner.
“Yup.”
“Hey there. What’s the good word? I’ve got a ton of beer in the cooler,” Bob said as he walked up and set the cooler down. He’d already gotten too much sun as his chest, shoulders, and nose appeared to be fried. “Sun’s hot today, but the beer’s cold.”
“Boiling hot,” Tanner said. “We have beers in our cooler too.”
Bob and Juan positioned their chairs next to the cooler and sat down.
“It’s a good beach day,” Nick said. “Plenty of lovely ladies on this beach.”
“Cheers to that amigo. Check her out,” Juan said as he pointed to the same blonde that Nick had been admiring. She was now coming out of the ocean.
A few minutes later the band started playing in the restaurant behind them. Sounds of steel drums and reggae singers dominated the air as Nick swigged down his beer and grabbed another one, along with a handful of pork rinds. While crunching on a pork rind, he surmised that the day was better than he’d expected. Relaxing. Glassy water. And not a cloud in the sky.
But it was hot. The sun was baking their bodies to a crisp, and encouraging them to keep hydrating. With beer. They’d already run out of water.
At some point, Juan struck up a conversation with the Swedish-looking blonde in the hot pink swimsuit. She was now sitting next to him on a towel in the sand. Her name was Emsley and she looked like she enjoyed Juan’s company, staring at him intently from behind her gold-rimmed sunglasses. She was slowly sipping on the beer he’d given her as they ch
atted.
“I’m here with a few friends,” Nick heard her say. “I’ll get them.” She got up and walked over to a small group of girls sitting on beach chairs about a football field away. They stood up and gathered their things and walked over to join them.
“These are my friends: Kelly, Jenna, and Kirsten.”
“Welcome,” Juan said with a slight Hispanic accent as the girls plopped their chairs onto the beach in front of them. He pointed to Nick and said, “That’s Nick and he’s Tanner. They play football at State University. And this is Bob.”
“Hi all,” Kelly said.
Juan flipped open the cooler and said, “Anyone want a beer?”
“Sure,” Kirsten said as Juan distributed beers to each.
Once they were all established in their seats, Bob piped up with a story.
“You guys will remember this one,” he said as he looked at Nick and Tanner. “We were drinking on my back porch when buckets of water started crashing down from the sky. So I said, ‘Let’s hit the bay on skis.’ Cuz that’s what you do in the rain at night when you’ve got a boat and live near the water. So we loaded up the boat with some beers and gear and hit the boat docks.”
He looked at Nick. “Nick offered to be first. He got out there under the shining moon and ripped across the ocean, making waves and spraying mountains. Then came the lightning. That’s when he really did his magic. Swear he walked on water as he dashed back and heaved himself into the boat. He wasn’t afraid. No sir. He battled that lightning like that Norse god Zeus.”
Tanner laughed and piped in, “Nice finish, but Zeus is a Greek god.”
“Yeah, but does it really matter?” Bob replied.
“Good one Bob,” Nick said, “Could’ve killed me. But good story.”
The girls laughed. They were cute, but not as cute as Emsley. Nick watched Bob as he shifted his attention to the petite brunette in the yellow bikini named Jenna. She was the only one shorter than he was and she seemed interested in him too.
As he glanced over at the other two girls, Kirsten, the six-foot tall, full-figured girl with coffee-colored eyes and bushy brown eyebrows, caught his attention. Her long dark eyelashes contrasted her short, spiky bleached blonde hair. Not his type really, but maybe that didn’t matter. He watched her guzzle down the last of her beer with a sense of ferociousness unfamiliar to most girls.
Wayward Paths and Golden Handcuffs Page 6
