Little White Lies

by Paul Watkins

  “I certainly hope we’re not on the way to becoming a favorite haunt of the military establishment… we have always had a nice crowd here.”

  I can’t imagine what this fellow’s complaint might be. The Marines are still quietly talking and bothering absolutely no one. I can only imagine he’s one of the anti-military types who want the soldiers kept on the reservations until they’re needed. They like the payrolls, of course. Give your life if you must, but don’t date my daughter.

  “I would hate to have to stop coming here,” he continues, “but that’s exactly what I’ll do if we continue to attract these people. Damn shame if you ask me.”

  What to do? This ultra-liberal jerk needs a dose of something. I could grab him by the scruff of the neck and take him over and introduce him to the Marines, just to watch him squirm. Or I could kick his ass and be done with it. He cuts into my train of thought in a nick of time.

  “I’m terribly sorry for my rudeness,” he continues.

  Before my imagination can conjure up a possible reason for his apology, he explains.

  “I’ve been running on here without introducing myself.” He extends his hand, “I’m, Thomas Bennett.”

  I grasp the hand of Thomas Bennett and smile warmly.

  “Happy to meet you, Mr. Bennett,” I reply. “My name is Colonel Richards.”

  A little lie, not a big one… but appropriate, I think.

  I feel Mr. Bennett’s hand flinch. He sits transfixed, our eyes locked in an unblinking moment of truth, before jerking his hand from my grasp. His left arm quickly rises as he scans his watch without seeing or understanding the time displayed there.

  “My goodness, look at the hour! I don’t know where all the time has gone… I really have to be off.”

  Without another word, Thomas Bennett grabs his book and without finishing his drink he slides off his stool and fairly flies from the bar, nearly running Karen down in the process. That would have been the final straw.

  But Karen’s entrance manages to erase all this from my mind. She looks as cute and scrappy as ever and it seems like months since I’ve seen her. The reality is less than a week. Our eyes meet and she’s on her way across the room. I reach for her coat, but she deftly evades my outstretched hand and dumps it on Thomas Bennett’s now vacant barstool, simultaneously wrapping her arms around my neck in one swift motion. She knows I dislike public displays of affection and that’s all the incentive she needs to kiss me passionately on the lips. Talk about mixed emotions!

  “If you don’t kiss me properly, I’ll make a scene,” she announces brightly, loud enough for all to hear. “I mean it, do it pronto quick!”

  Trapped, I comply. I know everyone in the restaurant has stopped whatever it was they were doing to watch this elderly man debauch this innocent young girl. Well, maybe not so elderly in my case, or so innocent in hers. The staff has probably left the kitchen to come out and look at this grisly scene. It’s like that old TV advertisement: when so-and-so talks, everybody listens. That’s the way I feel… anyone who can see us is watching all this grabbing and groping with their complete and undivided attention.

  “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asks.

  “Why do you persist in embarrassing me?” I whisper with as much emphasis as possible under the circumstances. “The only reason you do this stuff is to watch me wiggle. I don’t think you have any idea of the emotional turmoil you put me through when we’re in public.”

  “So you do have emotions,” she exclaims in a voice approaching theatrical quality and volume. “I thought you might have some, but I wasn’t sure. I think I’ll kiss you again and watch you more closely this time. I didn’t really pay attention to that part when we did it before.”

  She steps forward and I back away, holding up my hands in a defensive posture.

  “Stop it or I may have to spank you,” I warn in my strained whisper. The words hit the air and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

  “Now you definitely have my attention,” she says laughing. “You’re kinky, too. I never would have guessed. Let me see… I’ll bet the trunk of your car is filled with whips and chains and all kinds of leather goods. Dare I say… HANDCUFFS!”

  All this is very entertaining to the other patrons sitting at nearby tables. Some people are openly pointing and laughing. It looks like I’m going to get my fifteen minutes of fame in thirty-second increments. It’s obvious a change of subject might be in order. Either that or go out and get a new personality, because the one I have won’t get me through many more of these encounters.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  It’s a reasonable request, but when I hear it spoken it sounds like I’m begging.

  “Wine would be fine,” she answers going along with the context switch. “Then I would like to eat… I’m starved!”

  Karen has been distracted all through dinner. She has eaten very little. Nothing we have talked about has been particularly important. Some of it small talk, some normal interest in what passes for our daily existence. I’ve never been any good at talking about either one, but it’s definitely easier to do when you really care about the other person. I do care about Karen. I just don’t know how much, or even if I should. Still too much baggage I guess.

  She sits looking at her coffee and playing with her napkin. It is now obvious that all the horseplay that accompanied her arrival was nervous energy. Linked, perhaps, to whatever it is that seems to have captured her thoughts. She has something on her mind and it’s only a matter of time before it surfaces.

  “Going to tell me what’s up?” I ask, attempting to prompt the inevitable.

  “I guess I had better get it over with,” she says without enthusiasm. She fiddles and fidgets a bit longer before continuing. “I just received an offer on a project I’ve been working on for over a year. But, now that I have it, I’m not so sure I want it.”

  Since I have no idea what she’s talking about, I wait quietly for more information.

  “I’ve never mentioned it before,” she continues, “because I didn’t really think it would ever come through. Anyway, it did and now I have to deal with it.” She pauses to sip her coffee and, I suppose, collect her thoughts. “I have received a commission to do a rather extensive article on one of Europe’s oldest and most respected families. It involves a lot of money and it could be a big break for me.”

  “It sounds like congratulations are in order,” I comment, raising my glass.

  I am sincerely happy for her. It’s hard to tell at this point why this should be causing her so much grief.

  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” she continues, acknowledging my toast with a slight nod that’s more reflexive than anything else. “I have to go to Europe for six to eight weeks, possibly longer, but right now I don’t think so. Before, the prospect of being away for so long wouldn’t have bothered me. In fact the opportunity to spend some time in Europe was part of my interest in doing the project in the first place.” She pauses and looks at me intently. “But now there’s you and I don’t want to be away for such a long time. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You should take the commission,” I say without hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll miss you of course, but this is your work. If the situation were the other way around, and I had to leave, you would understand.”

  From the look on her face, I’m not so sure she would, but that’s not the issue right now.

  “I mean, neither one of us would like it, but we would go forward. That’s what you should do now.” I push my wine glass aside and take her hand. “When do you plan to leave?”

  “That’s the other problem… I would have to go this weekend. I’ve waited for almost a year, and now I haveto leave in two days. I’m just not ready to deal with this so soon.”

  What’s not right with th
is picture? This announcement has changed the mood of the evening, but I have a feeling there’s more to it. Here we have a young lady with a fabulous opportunity before her and supposedly she’s not excited about it. Somehow I have the impression she is more than excited, but reluctant to show it for some reason. She wants to go, but she wants me to think she would rather stay. But I’m not sure I’m right and I really don’t know Karen well enough to make a good guess. It’s just this feeling I have that something’s amiss and I can’t put my finger on it. At the same time, I feel badly that I’m thinking this way at all.

  Karen wants me to commit to visiting her in Europe at least twice during her stay. I try to explain that this would be all but impossible with the amount of work we have coming up within the next few months. I suggest we both buckle down and work during this period so we will have time for each other when she returns.

  Another suggestion I have is that we limit ourselves to one telephone contact per week and promise to have all other communication in writing. She is very unhappy with this, but I insist we set a budget and live with it. Otherwise she will spend her entire commission on transatlantic calls. Despite all the advertising claims to the contrary, international telecommunications is an expensive proposition. On the other hand, if I’m completely honest about it, I dread the thought of being chained to the telephone in case she calls. And, of course, the inevitable explanations required whenever the routine isn’t strictly adhered to. Then there’s the predictable diminishing activity and then, eventually, no calls at all.

  It’s too soon in our relationship and I guess I just don’t trust the situation. I want more time and this should be treated as nature taking its course. We’re friends and this little unplanned event shouldn’t change anything. That is, it shouldn’t change anything if we’re for real. If we’re not, then time spent apart will work its inexorable magic and the problem will besolved in another way.

  ***

  I want an early start in the morning, so I elect to return to the estate after dinner, arriving shortly after midnight. The lights are still on in the library and as I approach I hear A.J. and Sheri talking. Peeking in the door, A.J. is the first to spot me.

  “Come and join us… have a glass of wine,” he calls out as though I’m somewhere in the next county.

  I walk to the bar and pour a glass of water… I’ve had enough wine for the evening. Sheri has a big smile on her face, so something good must be coming.

  “I heard all about Florida,” she says shaking her fist in mock anger. “I’m not going to let you two out of the house anymore. Now I’m going to worry all the time… I know I will. A.J. is okay when he’s alone. It’s when you’re along that everyone seems to develop a badattitude. In fact he told me if all of you had been black, there probably wouldn’t have been any trouble at all.”

  I look over at A.J. who is concentrating on ceiling design at the moment. The boy has a gift, there’s no question about it. I continue to look at him, trying to wait him out, but the ceiling has his full attention. I finally give up and return to Sheri. I don’t want this thing to take on a life of its own and I certainly don’t want Sheri to worry needlessly. A.J. must have been playing one of his favorite loony-tunes as he described our escapades and now Sheri is going along with it. No matter. It doesn’t make any difference one way or the other, but I would like the subject dropped. The more time we spend on it, the greater the danger will become in Sheri’s mind. It’s not worth the risk.

  “It was no big deal, Sheri, but the next time I suppose we’ll bring more security. I’m getting too old for that sort of thing anyway. What are you two up to,” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

  “A.J. was just telling me about the trip. He said the meeting went very well. He also told me you were terrific at running things.” She leans forward to bring me into the conspiracy. “I’m telling you all this because I know he never would and I think you should know how much he thinks of you. Of course, the fact that you saved his life might have something to do with his attitude.” She turns and looks at A.J. “Somehow I don’t think a simple ‘thank you’ is enough. I mean, what do you do when someone saves your life?”

  “I wish we could just drop all this, Sheri,” I interject. “I did not think it would be necessary to have security in Florida. Look, to be honest, I thought it would be a waste of time and money. Also, it was an opportunity to give some of the guys a little time off. I still think we did the right thing. When we went to the beach, we got careless… that’s all. If we had returned to Doral and taken our walk there, everything would have been fine.

  “It was Murphy’s Law. We opened the door and Mr. Murphy made a rather dramatic entrance.”

  I stop and sip my water. As I return my glass to the coffee table another thought occurs to me.

  “I think there’s something else we shouldn’t lose sight of. We’re friends now and we tend to forget a very basic fact: I am still an employee here and security is part of my job. If I couldn’t handle it, believe me, I wouldn’t try.”

  I can see this comment has troubled them somewhat.

  “That sounds callous and I don’t mean it that way,” I add. “I just want you to know I haven’t forgotten I have a job to do. That’s very important to me.”

  Sheri gets up, walks around the coffee table and sits next to me. Without preamble she leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Your perception of your responsibilities has never been our concern, Phil. We just want you to know we’re grateful for everything.”

  “I’m grateful, too,” A.J. adds with a sour look on his face, “but I’m not going to kiss you.”

  “Then I guess that makes me the most grateful of all,” I reply. “Anytime you want to kiss me, A.J., please make Sheri your designated kisser.”

  “That’s okay with me,” Sheri says, moving closer and holding my arm tightly in both her hands, “just say when, A.J.”

  A.J.’s laugh is genuine. He knows his wife is hislover… and I am his friend.

  ***

  The weekend came and went and Karen took off to Europe. The first two weeks sort of dragged along. True to her word, she has called only once and written twice. I called her last night, but I was unable to reach her. Her letters sound like a travelogue. She is moving around a lot, going to various parts of Europe to gather background material on her subjects. She made a point of telling me her escort is a man about her age. A man who meets all the important criteria: handsome, intelligent, witty and wealthy. In the course of their work they see quite a bit of one another. I have never been paranoid about these things. If Karen decides to go in a different direction, it would be okay with me. People stay together willingly or not at all.

  My days are going by quickly. The business is doing well and there are a thousand details involved with the selection of new restaurant sites and the attendant management problems. A.J. has a lot of contract work and the lawyers are keeping all of us busier than we would like to be with that sort of thing. These are all good problems related to a growing business and the activity that goes along with it. Far better than the other kind of problem, I suppose.

  As the weeks move on, Karen’s writing dwindles to a letter every week or ten days. Mine is about the same… a letter a week. We haven’t talked in almost a month. We try, but we seem to be unable to find one another, so we play telephone tag for a few days and then give up for a while. I wonder if there’s a message here somewhere… perhaps a romance on the wane?

  Today’s mail has answered the question that has been working around the edges of my mind. Karen’s letter tells me she intends to stay in Europe for another month or so. She’s having a ‘marvelous’ time and partly because of it has fallen a bit behind in her schedule. Also, she has decided to change the direction of her article a little because of some of the things she has learned as a result of her research. She is happier tha
n she has been in a long time and she’s sorry she didn’t tell me sooner; perhaps the two of us, ‘Trevor’ and I, will meet some day, then I’d know what she means about his wonderful personality, wit, etc., etc. ‘Trevor’ has been a tremendous help, I don’t know what I would have done without him, he has such good ideas and is such a joy to travel with, terrific sense of humor, so ‘continental’… and that’s the name of that tune.

  I dash off a note acknowledging receipt of herletter and wish her well. Not much else I can do.

  ***

  I sit in my office and brood for a while before I realize it’s getting late and I should have something toeat or forget about it for the evening. I walk into the kitchen and find Sheri rummaging through the refrigerator. A.J. won’t be home until later, so it’s just the two of us at this hour. The kids have already eaten. We quickly decide there are enough leftovers to make a meal for two. A good bottle of wine will more than likely make it a great meal.

  “You look tired, Phil,” she begins in a questionable attempt to raise my spirits. “I had the impression you were looking for a more sedate form of employment. It seems to me you’re working pretty hard for an old man.”

  She emphasized the words “old man’, but I do not rise to the bait other than to give her a wry look.

  “I probably look older than I am, but I doubt that I look as old as I feel.” I lean back in my chair. “I’m starting to run down, but things are coming along okay… business is good.”

  “Good!” she says smacking her hands together. “That means I can start spending again.”

  “No comment.”

  “What’s the word on Karen? And don’t give me that ‘no comment’ stuff.”

  I pause before answering. I’m not really in the mood to get into this right now, but on the other hand, I don’t want to mislead Sheri. It will only come back to haunt me and right now I think I need friends, not more enemies.

  “Karen’s busy,” I reply. “She wrote today and told me she intends to stay another month or so… and that she has found other interests… if you know what I mean.”