by Paul Watkins
I offer obvious openings as we spar to check if he can see them and begin to take advantage of the opportunity when it’s presented. It will take time, but the basic instincts are there. Unfortunately we lost track of the clock and as a result I’m running a little late. I tried to stay in the cold shower a few extra moments to cool down faster, but I can still feel the dampness in my clothes and hair. A.J., Sheri and Karen are already seated when I get to the dining room.
“I’m sorry, Phil,” Sheri asks, “I should have asked you earlier… is soup and sandwich okay? We thought we would be informal.”
Sheri’s questions come without preamble, but, as always, she goes out of her way to make me feel at home. Her efforts are appreciated and I try to let her know how I feel in that regard as often as I can.
“No apologies necessary, Mrs. Jackson, it sounds like the perfect lunch.” I take my seat next to Karen. “Are you folks telling all your secrets to this lady? I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Karen sends her elbow into my ribs. “They didn’t ask for your advice, Mr. Richards, and they don’t need it. Just mind your own business.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. It is my business,” I remind her. “I’m here to manage and protect this family’s interests from all things evil… including you.”
“What a terrible thing to say,” she exclaims, turning in her seat to face me. “I’m not evil.”
“That remains to be seen. We treat the press the same way they treat others… guilty until proven innocent. We print the charge on the front page and the retraction on the back page. If necessary, I’ll apologize later on this evening when I’m alone.”
Sheri comes to my rescue. I’m beginning to think I need a little help. I really didn’t mean to get into anything with Karen of all people, but I suppose my natural antipathy for the press just can’t be suppressed at times.
“I hope you’re wrong, Phil. We’ve told Karen our complete history… and I mean complete. Like I said before… warts and all.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I hope not. It could wind up being the first article in the ‘Ladies Home Journal’ that’s X rated.”
Sheri’s napkin flies across the table and hits me square in the face. “That’s an even more terrible thing to say.”
“I was referring to Mr. Jackson’s history, not yours, milady.”
I’m not sure I should reload Sheri with her napkin, but I do it anyway and politely return it to her.
A.J.’s head rises slowly. So far he hasn’t paid any particular attention to the small talk.
“What the hell,” he grouses, “I’m just sitting here slurping my soup and minding my own business, while people defile my good name. Hell of a way to act, if you ask me… especially former employees.”
“The man has a point,” I add hastily. “I retract everything I just said. Forget it. Why don’t I get up and come in the room again?”
Hell, without any effort at all, I’ve managed to step on the toes of everyone who is present. Fortunately the room isn’t full. I’d have my work cut out for me, but I’d probably manage.
Karen laughs. “You all seem to get along so well together. What’s your secret, A.J.? What would you call your management style?”
“Reign of terror,” I interject before A.J. can answer.
I’m on a roll so I might as well stay with it.
A.J.’s feigned outrage is immediate and extravagant.
“Bullshit! I’m a marshmallow. Everybody takes advantage of me. It’s just that I fire people who displease me in anyway. The law won’t let me beat them, so I have to fire them. It’s only fair.”
I look at Karen. “See what I mean?”
Karen dabs at her lips with her napkin and I am momentarily distracted.
“Yes, I see,” she responds, unaware of my attention to her ministrations. “Reign of terror may be putting it mildly. How do you put up with it? The horrible abuse, I mean?”
I take my time and consider the question.
“I think it has something to do with the money. He said if I lasted through the probationary period, about five years, that I would definitely have a shot at making more than if I had spent a similar length of time working at a parking lot or a fast food emporium. Of course my compensation does not include my room and board. He takes that out of my wages. He charges the same as if I were staying at a hotel… say the Ritz. I’ve been here less than a year so I only owe him about forty or fifty thousand dollars… not counting today’s meal. He’s taking indentured servitude to a whole new level. My suspicion is that he is using me to get even with all the slave owners.”
“I’d fire his ass,” A.J. explains, “but I can’t afford it. He owes me too much money. The slave thing has merit, but I understand they’re considering making it illegal for blacks to own whites and it would just breakmy heart to have to let him go… rather sell my favorite car.”
“Karen,” Sheri pleads, “don’t ever believe anything A.J. tells you. And, as you can see, Phil isn’t exactly trustworthy either. I’m sorry, I honestly thought I would be inviting you to a nice lunch with uplifting conversation. These two wretches are such a disappointment. I give up.”
“It’s okay, Sheri,” Karen replies with a female to female ‘I understand’ kind of look, “what they lack in class, they make up in entertainment value.”
It’s time to defend my employer. After all, we must not forget our guest is a writer and she’s here gathering material for her article. This is the kind of thing that could get out of hand when it appears in cold, heartless black and white.
“Before this goes too far,” I begin, “I should not allow Miss Adams to leave here with the wrong impression of Mr. Jackson as a businessman. While his entertainment career speaks for itself, the records I have seen indicate the restaurants have lost only one mid-level manager and no senior managers since the beginning. In fact, the turnover rate is extremely low for the entire operation. I think that statistic alone says something about his management style, since the restaurants are a very profitable enterprise. His formula is simple: serve good food, at reasonable prices, in clean surroundings. He pays management performance or incentive pay to make sure things happen right. His success is no accident, he’s a very good businessman.”
A.J. holds his napkin to his face.
“Aw shucks, who says black people don’t blush? Please stop it, Phil, you’re embarrassing me. I’ll give you another twenty or thirty minutes to praise me and then I’m going to have to put an end to it. After all, I’m a very modest man.”
He leans back in his chair… all smiles now, purring like a cat.
“While all the wonderful things you might say about me are true, I would have to do something to keep you quiet or leave the room in a state of total embarrassment. I’m sure you understand. But here I am running on and on… why don’t you say some more nice things about me… you were saying that I’m a very good businessman, I believe. Please pardon the interruption. Go on… and take all the time you need… and no more interruptions, please.”
This last remark is directed to Sheri and Karen who are staring at A.J. with undisguised disdain.
Sheri drapes her napkin over her head and slowly draws it down over her face.
“Spare me, I can’t take anymore of this.” Then she whips the napkin off so fast it makes a popping sound. “A.J., if Phil hadn’t come to your rescue, you would have closed all the restaurants by now. Phil’s the one who got everything organized and he has been training the staff practically since the day he arrived. If there’s credit due to anyone, Phil would get my vote.”
“I can’t believe you said that,” A.J. exclaims, shoving his chair back from the table. “Phil has done nothing more than put a shine on the product I built! Veryminor stuff. I am the true architect of our success. Even Phil admits that much.�
� With this he turns to me. “Go ahead, Phil, admit it.”
“No argument,” I offer willingly. “I claim no credit for the level of success we have attained. I merely initiated some minor administrative controls. The direction of the business was established long before I came on the scene. Mr. Jackson’s absolutely right. The truly great men won the West. Lesser men followed and became mayors of the towns. Leaders, perhaps, but made of different stuff.” I turn back to A.J. “How’d I do, boss?”
A.J. holds his finger to his lips and shakes his head. “Hush up now, Phil. That was very good… especially the part about lesser men. There will be a little something extra in your pay envelope this week.”
“You mean money?” I ask with an incredulous look.
A.J. makes a face. “No, not money. I just said a little something extra. I wouldn’t embarrass you with money, maybe some advice or a sage comment or two… a little homily, perhaps… something like that. Not money though… money’s too pedestrian. Not my style.”
“No kidding,” I mutter, winking at Karen.
She smiles in return, her eyes sparkling with merriment. Gradually the room grows quiet. Much like an engine running out of fuel, we have nothing to say for a time. Sheri plays with her napkin, A.J. pushes his spoon around on his plate, and Karen just looks at the center of the table. Everyone in their own private world, lost in their thoughts. At times like this a few seconds of quiet can seem like an eternity to people not entirely comfortable with silence. Karen is the first to speak.
“Why does everyone think of you as a mystery man?”
It’s obvious the question is asked of me, but what isn’t obvious is why. On the other hand, I have to assume Karen has not come to this conclusion entirely on her own. A.J. may have questions, but I do not believe he is preoccupied with them. Sheri, on the other hand, tends to be obsessed when she thinks something of interest might have eluded her. My money’s on Sheri and I wouldn’t get long odds.
“I’m not a mystery man and I don’t know anyone who thinks I am,” I reply.
I look directly at Karen. If I look at Sheri, I know one of us will smile knowingly and I’ll be in for it. Trouble is, we’ll be smiling for different reasons. She’ll smile because she thinks she’s right. I’ll smile because the whole thing is absurd.
“It probably has more to do with ‘compared to what?” I continue. “I’m a bit more quiet and reserved … prefer to stay in the background. I work for Mr. Jackson, whose fame, fortune and natural instincts place him front and center. Mr. Jackson likes to talk and I tend to observe. To some he is more obvious and I suppose by comparison, I become a mystery. Or, at least, difficult to figure out since I sort of fade into the background.”
“In the first place I would say your description of yourself is extreme,” Karen replies in a somber tone.
“You are not exactly invisible. In the second place, you seem to go to great pains to divert attention to anyone other than yourself. You never claim credit for anything. Everything good that happens is due to your employers or your excellent staff, or anyone other than yourself. To do that, a person has to be very modest, very humble, or very confident … or maybe a mixture of all three. I think …”
“I think you’re imagining things,” I interrupt. “Remember, your job is to focus on the Jackson family, not the people who work here. You go too far in this direction and you will forget the whole point of all this, exactly who the article is supposed to be about. I don’t sell magazines… Mr. Jackson does.”
Karen throws her hands in the air and appeals to the Jacksons with a look of despair. “See what I mean? He’s doing it again!”
I follow her gaze and see Sheri smiling somewhat uncertainly, while A.J. sits slouched in his chair with a knowing smirk on his face. Evidently this topic has been discussed in my absence and I’m living up or down to my image. All of which sort of burns my butt since they have no reason to talk about me in the first place. To hell with it, if they want to spend their time on some imaginary mystery, let them. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to get sucked into it.
“I would like you to express a personal thought on something… anything,” Karen persists. “Let’s try politics. A.J. says you’re a Conservative. Is that true?”
I can’t help but laugh… here we go again, safe topic: politics. What the hell is it about politics with this bunch? If I reply, I step onto a very slippery slope. If I stay quiet, I play into their mystery man scenario. I decide to proceed with caution.
“Mr. Jackson and I have talked about politics, but I would not describe myself as a Conservative. I guess I think of myself as a pragmatist. I try to find answers that work. Personally I could never be a politician because there are too many compromises. I think that’s probably true of most businessmen. People in business are used to trying to solve problems in a way that really fixes whatever it is that’s broken… they have no choice, it’s a matter of survival. Politicians, on the other hand, are used to addressing problems in a way that appears to offend the least number of people. Whether or not the problem gets fixed is beside the point. The important thing is that the issue has been addressed and it ‘looks’ like it’s fixed.
“If I were to say I’m a Conservative, then you could logically assume that I share their position on a particular issue. But there are several issues where I do not agree with their position, so I could not accurately call myself a Conservative. I agree with the Liberal view on many issues, but I certainly would not describe myself as a Liberal. But I think a lot about politics because it affects all of us, every day of our lives.”
Karen fixes her attention on the center of the table and continues to play with her napkin during my monologue. When I finish she looks up and says, “What about A.J.’s treatment of his employees. His policies sound quite liberal to me. Do you have a problem with that?”
“I don’t think of business practices as liberal or conservative. I think of business in terms of good and bad, what works and what doesn’t work. To answer your question, I agree with Mr. Jackson’s policies or I would not continue to work here. As I said earlier, I think he is a good businessman and the proof is in his success and many other contributing factors. Politics has nothing to do with it. As for politics in general, I’ve said all I’m going to say. Political discussions go nowhere… even for politicians.”
But there’s no way to stop a political discussion once it’s started and A.J. and Karen get into the pros and cons of management and labor, big business and little business; and, of course, show business. I listen with some interest, but I vowed to stay out of it and I manage to keep my vow. As they talk my mind wanders to other things. I look at A.J. and see his energy and interest in most everything around him… a kid in life’s candy store. He has come a very long way in a short time and he has much to be proud of. My beginnings, on the other hand, were a bit different.
We probably had a little more money than A.J.’s family, and I grew up in different surroundings. If nothing else, a small town in upstate New York is a hell of a lot different in every way from the streets of New York City. My education might have been better in some ways than his. I went on to college and he became street smart. But he’s gone well beyond street smart in the last few years. Among other things, he reads constantly. Judging from the books I’ve seen, however, his reading is not very disciplined. Once in a while he will pursue a subject, but usually he’s all over the place… wherever his current interests lead him, whatever catches his fancy at the moment.
A.J. got his money the old fashioned way… he earned it. He has worked hard and smart. He’s financially well off and if he continues in the same manner for a few more years, he will be an extremely wealthy man. If he needed a backer I would put my money on him in an instant.
I got my money a different way… I took it. It’s funny when you think about it… A.J., the kid from the wrong side of New
York City, in trouble with the law for much of his short life, makes good in an honest way. I come from a small town, attend the best schools, and I turn to crime… sort of.
It was the only good thing to come out of the war as far as I was concerned. Viet Nam was a cesspool of war and intrigue. I was young and full of ideals. However, I had no misconceptions about war. By the time I had finished training I knew there was no glamour to be found in combat… it wasn’t going to be like the movies. I had learned that I could overcome fear. In training I jumped from planes and managed to eat snakes to survive. But then I learned that a guy could fire a projectile from twenty miles away and blow my ass to kingdom come. Or worse, blow only my ass to kingdom come and leave the rest of me sitting on some street corner with a tin cup in my hand, waiting for death to come along and set me free.
While going through the various military training schools I found new ways to describe total exhaustion.
When I arrived in Viet Nam I thought I was ready. The army told me I was ready. In fact I wasn’t close to ready because there was no way to prepare for the reality of war. And there really isn’t any complete way to prepare for actual combat. Sure, you can learn to shoot, maneuver, set up a defensive perimeter and a hundred other technical military things. But there isn’t any way to prepare for the noise, the confusion, the exhaustion and all the things that contribute to the total destruction of your mind, for it will never again be the same as it was before the first shot was fired. Combat is total immersion into chaos.
At the end of a training day you return to a nice clean barracks, get cleaned up, have a meal and go to bed and rest. Worst case, the training simulates battle conditions for a few days or a couple of weeks, but you always know it will end. And, more importantly, when it will end. Then some high-ranking officer gives you a merit badge and you go off to another assignment.
