by Paul Watkins
“No, I don’t know what you mean.” Sheri pauses and then comes to life. “You mean other love interests? Are you serious? Other than a couple of postcards, I haven’t heard from her in weeks. When did she tell you all this?”
So many questions, so few answers,
“I just received her letter today,” I reply candidly without putting too much glum on it. “We have missed each other with phone calls… maybe she would have told me if we could have talked… I don’t know. There isn’t much to go on, but her interest has definitely fallen off and it seems she has someone to spend time with… some guy named Trevor. Sounds like she likes him and they’re getting along well.”
“You must be devastated,” she says with feeling.
“Well it hurts, of course, but I guess I expected it. I’m happy for her.” She’s watching me intently. “I mean it, I really am happy for her, I wish her well.”
“Is that why you have been working like a madman?” she asks. “You have worked hard since the day you arrived, but recently you have been like a man possessed. It never occurred to me it could be something like this.”
“Well, it’s easier if I stay busy, but that’s not the reason I have been working hard. There’s simply a lot to do. It’s one of the reasons I was reluctant to get back into business. It has always been a problem for me, I work hard or not at all. I have never been able to strike a middle ground. I like the action and thechallenge of solving problems. Trouble is, before I know it I’m a year older and I have more problems at year-end than I had at the beginning. It’s a vicious circle… and I love it.”
I sit quietly for a moment, contemplating my sorry state, and then hold up the wine bottle for her to see.
“More wine?” I ask.
She nods. I pour and we sit quietly and study our glasses.
“May I ask you a personal question about Karen?”
I do not answer immediately. I’m not sure I want to probe my feelings or even talk about this right now. My instincts are to just let it go, but experience tells me Sheri won’t let that happen. I nod reluctantly. I’m probably going to regret this.
“Are you in love with Karen?”
Yup, as Gary Cooper would say, I regret it already. But now there’s no turning back and Sheri wouldn’t let me if I tried. Perhaps I should talk about it a little. Heck, it might even help. Sometimes it works to say things out loud. Keeping complex issues trapped in your mind can suffocate the solution. It would probably be a good idea to have some sort of personal sunshine law requiring us to get these things out on the table… get them resolved, one way or the other. On the other hand, it might help matters if the listener were a little less eager than the grand inquisitor sitting before me. Sheri has all the sensitivity of a game show host when it comes to love and the common man.
“I think the most accurate answer to your question,” I begin, “would be that I care for her a great deal. I don’t think I love her in the sense that I am absolutely certain I would like to spend the rest of my life with her. In many ways we are still getting to know one another. In other ways we seemed to fit very well. I have always enjoyed her company… a lot… we had good times together.”
I pause and review while Sheri waits patiently.
“I think she wanted more than I was prepared to give right now. And I was never able to… “
I have trouble finishing this thought, perhaps because I know where it’s taking me.
“You were never able to what?”
“I have never been able to accept the fact that she really cared for me. I mean, it’s pretty hard to believe, isn’t it? A beautiful young woman falls for a man like me? I’m sorry, but it’s a bit too much to accept.”
Sheri looks at me and shakes her head.
“You’re hopeless. I have no problem seeing why Karen would care for you and neither would anyone else. It’s your hang-up and yours alone.”
So there.
“I was just trying to be honest with you. Don’t beat me up.”
Sheri waves her hand dismissively while turning her head to the side… she obviously doesn’t have time for my brand of nonsense.
“That’s the way I see it, that’s all,” I continue. “And by the way, it seems all it took for her to come to her senses was a couple of months in Europe with the right people. I think it would have happened anyway, sooner or later. It’s better now, before someone gothurt. The someone I’m talking about, by the way, is me.”
“And are you hurt?”
“Sure, but not as much as I would have been had we stayed together longer. Believe me, Sheri, this is for the best.”
Sheri wants to work this subject to death, but I just don’t have the heart or the stamina for it right now. She makes some good points, but it is what it is. Nothing we say here tonight will change anything, and I’m not going to try. What Sheri refuses to accept is that I went into this thing with misgivings and I never completely lost sight of them. Couple that with the fact that I’m not much of a fighter when it comes to competitive love triangles and it’s easy to close the subject for good in my mind. I may do it with regret, but without doubt as to the course of action I should follow. I know it’s the right thing to do and now is the time to do it and get on with my life.
CHAPTER 20
A.J. is back, his tour schedule finished once again, at least for the moment. This time he will be home for over a month. We have his various affairs under control for the time being and this return, thankfully, has not brought on the turmoil his presence would normally occasion. His home has become his retreat and he seems to welcome the change from the chaos of his life on the road. It seems he can relax a little more now and recharge his batteries before sallying forth once again to meet the demands of his public.
Like most successful celebrities, he finds himself caught up in an emotional cross-current brought on by the almost total loss of privacy that accompanies any public outing. One nice thing about small upstate towns in New York though, the people in this part of the country pretty much leave A.J. alone. Once in a while children will ask for an autograph or ask a question, but even they seem to have grown used to seeing him around.
City dwellers, on the other hand, don’t appear to care what A.J. is doing or where he’s doing it. It seems they feel they have the right to talk to him at any time, ask questions, or do whatever crosses their minds at the moment. He’s a public figure, therefore he’s public property. It goes with the territory. Up here we have to import our crazies. There aren’t many grown locally.
A.J. and Sheri left for the village about an hour ago. I have been using the quiet time to check on a numberof things around the house that somehow never quite make it to the top of anyone’s list of action items. We have finally finished refurbishing the garage living quarters and it is now a nice apartment suite for the men who stay there during the week. We have accepted the fact that they cannot be depended upon to keep it picked up, so it is now included on the maintenance schedule for the cleaning staff. I have just inspected it for the last time and as a result will approve the last of the renovation bills for payment.
Walking around the front of the house, head down, checking my list, I am surprised to see a magnificent chestnut horse tied to a small tree about twenty yards from the front door. The lady, whom I presume to be the owner, is standing at the top of the steps attired in a formal riding outfit. Standing with her back to me, she appears to be waiting for someone to come to the door. I arrive at the base of the steps just as the door opens and I signal the security man to leave it to me. He nods in silent acknowledgment of my unspoken request and retreats to the interior of the house without further comment.
Her blond hair is medium length and in keeping with the occasion it’s tied in a ponytail. She follows the departing doorman’s gaze and turns to face me as I start up the steps. Her highly polished
riding boots and riding outfit are perfect for the occasion. She has a ready smile and appears to be very much at ease in her surroundings.
“I stopped by to see Mr. or Mrs. Jackson,” she announces before I can introduce myself.
Her voice is low and soft, but clear as a bell.
“I know I should have called first,” she continues, “but I was in the neighborhood so I thought I would take a chance and just drop by.”
“I’m Philip Richards,” I reply. “I work for the Jacksons. May I ask what this is in regard to?”
“I’m Jennifer Benson. I live about two miles down the road.”
She points across the fields in the general direction of her home.
“I have been out of the country for a while, so I was not here when the Jacksons moved in. This is my first opportunity to say hello and welcome them to the neighborhood.” She smiles and adds with a small toss of her head, “Such as it is.”
Jennifer Benson is a beautiful woman. It’s hard to tell her age, but I would guess she’s in her mid to late thirties… maybe forty, but I doubt it. She has a quiet, confident demeanor and appears to be in no hurry to get through the day. If I had to describe her impression with one word, it would be ‘grace’. She exudes grace and she is graceful in her carriage and her actions. I wonder how one acquires such physical bearing and presence. And at what point in life do these things become the very essence of your personality? I’ve seen others try, but it was never real… you always knew you were watching an act, a role played for the benefit of no one in particular. Not here, this lady is a natural.
“I’m sure the Jacksons would love to meet you, Mrs. Benson, but unfortunately they are not here at themoment. However, if you would care to wait for a bit, they should return any time now. They went to the village about an hour ago on an errand. Won’t you please come in?”
She appears reluctant to enter the Jacksons’ home in their absence and holds her ground momentarily.
“You would not be imposing in any way,” I add. “It will take only a moment to find them and get an estimate on their return. Why don’t you let me call them and find out when they expect to be back?”
I step forward and hold the door open for her to enter. She hesitates a few more seconds and then proceeds slowly into the foyer. She appears to have no more than a casual interest in her surroundings. I suspect she has been here before. Tilting my head in the direction of the library, I lead the way across the foyer. I wouldn’t normally entertain a female guest in the library, but she might be more comfortable in this room since she’s wearing riding clothes.
“Would you care for something to drink,” I offer.
“Thank you, water would be fine.”
She appears to be secure and at ease with silence and certainly not driven to small talk. I open a bottle of Perrier and pour it in a glass with some ice. She walks to the bar and accepts the drink, thanking me again in her low-key manner. I watch as she selects a napkin from the small stack at the end of the bar and places her glass on it. She seems completely absorbed with her task.
“Would you excuse me for a moment,” I ask. “I’ll go and check on the Jacksons’ whereabouts.”
Mrs. Benson nods and sips her drink. She savors the liquid as one would a fine wine.
I walk to the office where the security screens are monitored around the clock.
“What’s the story,” I ask as I enter the room.
Hudson, the shift leader, responds without looking up from a thick binder he’s holding. “We don’t have a current picture, but she is certainly the lady described as Mrs. Jennifer Benson. She lives down the road at a place known for some reason as the Benson estate.”
Hudson would crack a joke at a wake. His humor is so constant no one even smiles at his latest aside.
“Her husband died a little over two years ago… apparently he was quite a bit older than she was when they married, but now she’s gradually catching up. She left a short time after he passed away and began traveling… mostly in Europe. We do not have anything on her returning, but I assume it was fairly recent.
“She came across the back of the property. To answer the question you haven’t asked, but are eager to know the answer to… we picked her up as she came out of the woods about two hundred and fifty yards out. We had her I.D. before she advanced fifty yards. We let her come in unchallenged since it appeared she was just making a neighborly visit. She was covered visually the entire time. Oh yeah, you’d never guess… the lady is loaded… major bucks.”
“Nice going,” I say with a smile. “I appreciate the brief. Call the car and see where the Jacksons are now.”
We establish contact in a few moments and find they are already on their way back. Jim proceeds to brief them on the phone and I return to the library.
Jennifer Benson is busy scanning book titles as I enter the room. A striking woman who has been beautiful all her life, she probably doesn’t have a clue as to the effect her looks have on the male population. She turns to me at the sound of my approach and smiles her greeting. Wow, is all I can think.
Her face is lovely in repose, but her smile transforms her entire countenance. She is like a lovely painting, only in three dimensions. I suppose the only way one comes to terms with such beauty is to be unaware of it. Certainly she must know she is attractive, but she shows no signs of it. She appears to be someone who has found a way to live within herself and her surroundings and has been doing it for quite some time.
“Good news,” I announce. “The Jacksons are on their way back and should be here any moment.”
“Would you mind telling me their first names,” she asks.
Right now I wouldn’t mind telling her state secrets if I knew them.
“Not at all… A.J. and Sheri. Everyone uses his initials, so feel free to do likewise. He would expect it. Are you aware he is an entertainer?”
“No, I’m not… what does he do?”
“I don’t suppose you’re familiar with rap singing?”
A quizzical look answers my question.
“I know what rap singing is, I guess. I mean, I have never really heard it, but I know about it. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I have heard it, but I have never listened to it.”
This is followed with the slightest of smiles signifying a mild form of puzzled consternation I suppose.
I nod my agreement.
“I know what you mean… I’m in the same boat. In my case it’s a generational thing. I know a little bit more about it than I did before I came to work here, but that’s not saying much. A.J. almost seems to have two lives when it comes to his work. He works alone with the door shut, so there’s very little awareness of his efforts here in the house. Rehearsal time is always with a group and they go to a studio in the city for that, so we really don’t see any of the stage life at all. Also, A.J. doesn’t want any of his professional acquaintances hanging around here… this is his private place, his home. He can come home anytime secure in the knowledge that he is completely free from his profession. He needs a place where he can unwind and this is it.”
Right on cue the front door opens and the Jacksons enter the library moments later. I make the introductions and excuse myself to allow the newneighbors time to get to know one another.
***
Immersed in forecasts and building plans, I’ve lost all track of time when Sheri pages me a few hours later. I’m ready for a break and decide to walk back to the library. I’m somewhat surprised to find everyone pretty much right where I left them, including Jennifer Benson.
“Jennifer is going to have dinner with us, Phil,” Sheri says with a smile. “Will you join us too?”
“Yes, I would like that very much,” I answer, trying not to sound too eager.
Actually I’m not really excited about Mrs. Benson in any wa
y. It’s nothing more or less than an interest in a neighbor… a lovely neighbor to be sure, but no real personal interest beyond curiosity.
“Good, it’s getting late and Jennifer has to get her horse back to her home before it gets dark.”
“If you wish, Mrs. Benson can take the limo home and I will ride the horse back to her place,” I suggest. “It would save time and I’ll ride along in the limo when she’s ready to return.”
All eyes turn to Jennifer, awaiting her response.
“That would be nice. Thank you. Her name is, Foxy, and she’s very gentle. I assume you ride or you wouldn’t have offered.”
“Have ridden, would probably be more accurate. It has been a while, but I shouldn’t have any trouble, especially if she’s as gentle as you say. Why don’t I leave now so I can take my time?”
I call the limo for Mrs. Benson and leave to change into something more appropriate for the task at hand. I don’t have any riding clothes, but a sweat suit would be better than what I have on. Sheri thinks sweat clothes should be my all-purpose business attire, since I seem to wear them more than any other selections from my ‘vast’ wardrobe. I suppose it’s true to a degree, but I told her there’s no place to carry a wallet when I’m out to dinner. She hasn’t brought it up since… probably afraid I’m serious.
Foxy is exactly as Jennifer Benson described her. She’s a very gentle horse and eager to return home for dinner. I let her move at her own pace as we head across the fields in a more direct route to her stable. This is great… the solitude and the smell of the clean, crisp air are very pleasing… it’s something I haven’t done in a long time.
Moving at this pace allows one to take in more of the beauty and charm of the countryside. There is something to see in every direction, especially in the details that make up the big picture… the little things that are usually lost in the speed at which we travel from one place to another these days. But this is nice. It’s like stepping back in time, in a way, and taking one of the better parts of that way of life and hanging on to it for just a moment longer. I’m not ready to switch to horses, but it’s a nice change just the same. A sore butt tomorrow will probably make me long for a nice comfortable car seat forever more.
