by Paul Watkins
“I understand, Ned, but you certainly know more about what has to be done here than I do. Look, there’s no magic to it; you know what work is required and what it takes to do it. We just have to figure out how much it will cost in time and materials. Nothing will be chipped in stone. If we’re off in our estimate, then we’ll make adjustments. But any plan is better than no plan. Later on, if you think of other things, then we’ll add them in at that time.
“A budget is nothing more than a plan reduced to writing with cost estimates for time and materials factored in. No big deal, but I really need some help and I would appreciate working with you on it. Then once we’ve gone through the process, it will get easier as we go along.”
Ned smiles. His teeth are big, white and perfectly even. Any orthodontist would be proud, but my guess is Ned never had the need or the benefit of such pricey services in his youth. His perfect teeth are more likely the result of good genes.
“You know, Philip,” he continues, “I’ve never worked for anybody before who cared what I thought. You’ll have to give me some time to get used to the idea.”
His comment is followed by a deep rumble of a laugh that seems to be coming from somewhere near the center of the earth. Shifting tectonic plates probably make about the same racket.
This appears to be a good time to let Ned know my work and management philosophy. I want everyone here to understand what I’m trying to do and how I want it done. Too often in business the wrong attitude takes hold and it can never be completely removed. If possible, it’s usually better if all the philosophical stuff can be covered in the early going.
“Look Ned,” I begin, “I’m not much on titles, but anyone who manages other people probably should have one. Your title will be Grounds Superintendent. You will be a player-coach and you will be expected to get the most out of your people. I’ll spend some time with you so that we will both have a full understanding of what has to be done. How it’s done will be up to you. I expect every manager to work in his or her ownstyle. However, I want all employees to be treated fairly and with respect. We will pay them a fair wage and expect them to work for it. sort of an honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work. Any problems so far?”
“No, sir,” Ned replies.
“Philip. I would prefer that you call me, Philip.” Ned nods his head in agreement and kicks the dirt in apparent disgust for forgetting my request. “Ned, you will probably hear me say this from time to time to different people. We are all employees here working for Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. You should understand that your job is just as important as my job or anybody else’s. Our jobs are just different with different ranges of responsibility. But if you don’t do your job well, then my job gets tougher. And it’s the same for you if I don’t do my job well. In other words, we have to work together. Every job is important… some may be a little more important than others at any given moment, but they are all important. It has nothing to do with pay, or age, or gender, or whatever. It has everything to do with the task that is your responsibility.
We will have to work together to see to it things run right. Anytime you have a problem, I want you to discuss it with me if you can’t handle it. Otherwise, you are paid to manage. Do your job. And don’t worry about mistakes… we all make them. The important thing is how quickly we recover and get back on track.”
Ned looks me in the eye and nods very deliberately as I conclude my little speech.
“I’ll do my best. I’ll start working on the list of things that have to be done… and I’ll get prices to help with the estimates.”
I clap Ned on the shoulder. It’s sort of like hitting a tree… a big hard tree. Boy-oh-boy, I sure hope we can be friends.
“Sounds good,” I reply. Again I flash my winning ‘let’s be friends forever’ smile and I really mean it. Ned looks like a good guy.
And with perfect timing, I hear someone call my name. I turn to see Sheri standing by the kitchen door, waving to me as she again calls out. “Phil, can I see you for a minute?”
I look at Ned and nod good-bye. He does the same with a small smile and a slight wave with his right hand. Walking the short distance to the door, the thought crosses my mind that it would be hard to imagine this woman as ever being sad. She seems to have a constantly upbeat personality. one of life’s persistent cheerleaders.
“Phil, if you have a minute, I would like to show you around the house. A.J. and I are going for a run in a little while, so we might as well do it now while I have the chance. Is that okay with you?”
“That’s great, Mrs. Jackson,” I reply. “I appreciate it, I really do.”
“If you want to bring some of your luggage, you can drop it off in your room. It’s on the other side of the house, near the back. I thought you would like to be on the first floor. But you can have a room on the third floor if you would rather.”
“First floor’s fine.”
“Good.”
I sling a strap over my shoulder and grab two large bags. Before I can say anything, Sheri takes the remaining bag.
“Mrs. Jackson, please, I can come back for it later.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s not heavy and I’m not made of glass. I’ve carried plenty of luggage in my day. Of course, I have to admit,” she continues with a smile, “I haven’t done too much heavy lifting since I married the king of rap.”
She giggles at the thought.
We walk to the foyer and I step aside to allow her to lead the way. It’s a short walk to my room, which turns out to be a small suite. We stack the luggage in the middle of the floor and stand back to survey the area. The bedroom is of medium size, but with ample space for a twin-sized bed, a dresser and a fairly large closet. There’s a bathroom with a shower and a small study area with a desk and a television. It’s not palatial by any means, but then I wouldn’t expect it to be. By employee quarters’ standards, it is really very nice.
“There’s a small room next door if you need to spread out,” Sheri offers as she looks about. “This isn’t very big.”
“This is fine… it’s more than enough. Perhaps I could use the other room for an office.”
Sheri nods her agreement.
“If you want to redecorate, let me know. We’re doing everything else, we might as well do this, too.”
She looks about while making her observation. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had plans in the works already.
“Why don’t we see if Mr. Jackson wants me to stay on before we spend any money,” I say with a grin. “He may not want to invest too much in me just yet.”
“Oh shush, Phil,” Sheri says with a dismissive shake of her head, “haven’t you figured out who runs this place yet?”
We both laugh as I follow her back to the foyer. From there she leads the way to the room where I first met A.J.
“This is the library,” she says as she executes a ballerina-like spin in the middle of the floor.
The room is very large… well over a thousand square feet. There are many apartments smaller than this and a great number of houses that aren’t much bigger. A.J.’s desk is near a large bay window. The wall on the left is lined with bookshelves. The wall to the right has two windows and then a massive fireplace that is surrounded with dark variegated marble. Two large sofas extend from either side of the fireplace and face one another. Between the sofas sits a wooden coffee table resting on an oriental carpet. To the right of the fireplace, as you enter the room, is a bar. There is a tray ceiling extending at least twelve feet in height, giving the room a feeling of openness. The floor is a parquet design and appears to be made of oak. All in all, in my judgment, a very handsome room indeed.
“It’s very impressive,” I comment, looking around.
“Well, we entertain here when we’re casual … other than that, it’s really A.J.’s favorite room… sort of his own person
al men’s club. He has his sound system and he likes to work here when he’s home… which hasn’t been very often.” Sheri sounds a bit wistful with the last comment, but I decide not to pursue it. “Come, I’ll show you the living room.”
We cross the foyer and enter the living room. This room is a bit more formal and much more feminine. It is also unfinished.
“As you can see, we still have a little work to do here.” Sheri comments. “I’m looking for just the right painting. When I find it, then I will bring it all together. Right now it’s just about the way it was when we moved in.”
The room matches the library’s position on the other side of the front door, so there is a matching bay window and tray ceiling and so on. The size appears to be about the same as well… perhaps slightly smaller. The decor, however, is much lighter with off-white walls, sconces and wall-to-wall carpeting. While quite different from the library and a bit more formal, it is still very comfortable in its appearance.
The rest of the tour covers the location of the master bedroom suite, the guest rooms, the servants’ quarters on the top floor, and the children’s rooms which are adjacent to Mary Stanley’s bedroom. Mary’s room is the only room that can be entered from the exterior of the house by crossing the roof of a lower room and from there to an outside stairway. Sheri comments on this, saying it’s a comfort to her in the event there is ever a fire, the children could get out easily. Returning to the kitchen, Sheri points to a door on the right of the hallway, just before entering the kitchen.
“That’s the door to the cellar. A.J. has a small wine cellar, but the rest of the place needs cleaning, so I’m not going to go down there. You can see for yourself, if you like.”
“That’s okay, I’ll pass for now. I’ll see to it that it’s cleaned as soon as possible.”
Sheri smiles. “That’s the tour, except for the gym which is just down the hall from your room. A.J. or Ned can show you the grounds whenever you like. Oh!” she taps her temple gently with the tips of her fingers. “The garage has rooms on the second floor, but they need cleaning, too. A.J.’s security guys live out there. It’s a real pig sty.” She wrinkles her nose and looks at me as if expecting a comment, but before I can say anything she offers, “I’m going to have some juice… want some?”
“Perhaps a glass of water,” I reply.
Sheri walks to the cupboard and retrieves two glasses. She hands one to me and points to the sink while she walks to the refrigerator for the juice. Drinks in hand, we sit at the kitchen table.
“You look very fit,” she says in her matter-of-fact way. “Do you exercise often?”
“Yes, I do,” I reply. “Exercise is an important part of my daily regimen. I’ll return the compliment, if that’s what it was… you and Mr. Jackson look as though you stay active.”
“Oh, we do… or at least we try. We’re pretty good about it when A.J.’s in town. We run several times a week and A.J. works out in the gym. He says he’s going to get more equipment in there, but he hasn’t done anything about it yet.” She pauses, takes a sip of her juice and continues; “Do you run? What do you do?”
“Yes, I run.” Now it’s my turn to pause. Ah, what the hell, they’re going to find out sooner or later anyway. “I also practice martial arts,” I add.
Sheri’s eyes grow wide. “You mean like Kung Fu? Do you do that kind of thing?”
I laugh. “I’m not sure I know what Kung Fu means to you,” I confess, “but I suppose so. To most people Kung Fu is martial arts or karate, and I practice a form of karate.”
Sheri claps her hands. “Show me something. I love that stuff!”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jackson, but that’s not the way it works. I don’t break boards with my hands or blocks of ice with my head… nothing like that. I just think karate is a very practical way to stay in condition. But I’m not a showman. There are karate masters who do all sorts of imaginative and unbelievable things as a demonstration of their chi or inner strength. It is very natural to them and they have trained their minds and bodies to perform those functions. Things that would be impossible for someone who does not have that training… and the training takes years. It doesn’t come easily.”
In truth, I am a fifth degree black belt in Isshin Ryu karate, the most deadly form of karate practiced today.
Every move is designed to kill or maim your opponent. I learned karate when I was a teenager and I pursued it when I went to Asia during the Viet Nam conflict. All that is another time and place, but karate has remained a part of my life, spiritually as well as physically.
I have never used karate out of the gym or dojo since leaving the service. However, karate kept me alive more than once while I was in combat. Perhaps to be honest those fights were equal parts karate and street fighting. In reality those occasions were few, of course, but memorable. That’s the extreme physical side of karate and I have seldom had to resort to violence in any situation to achieve a particular goal. Normally karate is a blend of physical and mental conditioning to help achieve balance in one’s existence.
Sheri is looking at me rather intently right now, stirring me out of my reverie. I smile and attempt to change the subject.
“I hope I can join you and Mr. Jackson on your run sometime. What time do you usually go?”
“Late morning is best for us. A.J. isn’t a very early riser. In his business he often stays up late, so he’s on a different schedule than the rest of the world. But you’re welcome to join us anytime.”
“I’m afraid late morning wouldn’t do for me. I have work to do during the day, so I’ll have to get my running in a bit earlier.”
Sheri nods. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. In the meantime, if I don’t get that husband of mine going, it will be afternoon before we get started.”
She finishes her juice, rinses her glass and places it on the counter. Waving good-bye, she leaves the room with a bounce in her step. Now it’s time for me to get back to work. Next on the agenda, meet the security guys.
CHAPTER 5
My secret agent, Martha, told me there are two security men, or, at least, people who perform that function, on the staff: Steve Marshall and the man I met the first day, ‘Bear’ Street. They are personal bodyguards for A.J. and apparent long-time friends. Although Martha did not say much about the men, she volunteered the fact that the one called Bear, bothered her. She thinks he is very rough, and mean to boot. She says everyone gives this guy a wide berth. No sense courting trouble. What little I’ve seen of him, I can understand their reaction.
Leaving the kitchen, I see two men talking near an open door to the garage. Marshall and Street, no doubt. This will be a good opportunity to talk with them for a minute and then take a look at the apartments over the garage. The men have spotted me as I cross the drive and they stop talking as I approach.
It’s time for my formula winning smile and standard greeting: “Hello, I’m Philip Richards… the new manager here… I’m trying to meet all the other members of the staff today.”
With this I extend my hand to the man I believe to be Steve Marshall. Tall, lean with a gym-built body, he accepts my handshake in a half-hearted manner, mumbles his name and looks away. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but I’ve had better beginnings. I might as well ignore his rather boorish behavior and try my luck with the big boy to my right. Once again I extend my hand, but before I can say anything…
“We know who you are, mister boss-man.”
The man called ‘Bear’ is rather menacing and he clearly has no intention of shaking hands or engaging in any other civilities. I leave my hand hanging in the air for a moment, then drop it and try another tack.
“Well as long as we are all here, we might as well…”
“We might as well get somethin’ straight right now, mister boss-man,” Bear interrupts. “We mig
ht as well get you to understan’ tha’ anythin’ you have to say to us,” he nods towards Marshall, “don’ mean shit. I know what A.J. said about you bein’ in charge of us. Tha’s all booshit, man. We been aroun’ too long to take orders from anybody but the man hisself… and maybe not even then. Now do you understan’… mister boss-man?”
Speech finished, Bear steps forward and stabs his sausage-like index and middle fingers into my chest, shoving me a step backwards in the process.
“I expect an answer when I talk to you, mister boss-man,” he says, menace in his voice, as he steps forward and pokes me in the chest again, this time much harder than the first.
Again I take an involuntary step backward. Fighting for control, I keep my voice calm and steady as I reply, “Please don’t touch me. Not now, not ever again. If you want to talk to me, feel free, but keep your hands to yourself.”
Bear studies me with a look that is both astonished and amused. He looks over at Marshall who has edged a few feet to the side in an apparent attempt to distance himself from this whole affair.
“I don’ think our little boss-man here heard me. Either that, or he’s crazy.”
He turns and looks at me with his hands on his hips. Then he makes sort of a snorting sound as he chuckles and shakes his head.
Marshall looks a little uncomfortable. Shifting his weight to the other foot he says, “Why not lay off, Bear? We’re just going to piss off A.J. Leave him be… he ain’t worth the trouble.”
Now there’s an endorsement for you… ‘ain’t worth the trouble’. The only thing that makes it worse is that it’s coming from a standup guy who shakes my hand with less authority than some guy finishing off a long leak. My grandfather said it well, save me from the people who are trying to save me.
Bear snaps his head towards Marshall. He makes a face and snarls, “Fuck you, man! If I wanchur two cents, I’ll slap it outa ya’. If you don’ like wa’s goin’ down, get the hell outahere!” His attention returns to me. “Meantime, I’m gonna slap some manners into the boss-man here.”
