Little White Lies

by Paul Watkins

  Before long a house comes into view, which I assume is our destination. The structure is large and imposing, even at a distance. It’s made of a gray colored stone, probably built around the same time as the other large homes in the area. Although Mrs.

  Benson has been away for the last two years, everything looks well maintained. She probably had a full-time staff in place during her absence. Not bad if you can afford it. Actually when you own a place like this, you can’t afford to let it go, even for a short period of time, let alone two years.

  I let the horse make her own way, since she’s the only one of us who knows where we are going. As we approach the house Foxy bears left and makes her way towards the stall area where a small man emerges from a building and patiently awaits our arrival. Foxy walks directly to him, stops and nuzzles his jacket pocket, forcing him to step backward slightly. It’s probably the place where he keeps her treats. The groom takes the reins and I slowly drop to the ground.

  “Nice day for a ride,” I offer. “Foxy is a lovely lady… nice manners.”

  The man nods in agreement.

  “She’s a beautiful animal,” he replies. “Mrs. Benson’s favorite.”

  Foxy moves her head up and down as though agreeing with all the favorable commentary. The groom ignores her antics and turns to leave.

  “Mrs. Benson told me to tell you to walk right in and make yourself at home. She will be along in a minute.”

  This last comment is tossed over his shoulder as he leaves for the barn to serve Foxy her dinner and bed her down for the evening.

  He continues without waiting for a reply, Foxy trailing behind him. I walk towards the front door and wave to Bill Jacobs, who is waiting in the limo. I start up the steps and then decide to stay outside and enjoy the air a bit longer. As I turn and descend the steps, Bill emerges from the car and we chat for a time about odds and ends, but nothing in particular.

  Looking about the property, I find things here to be more formal in style than at the Jacksons’ place. There’s a symmetry to the lawn and garden areas that is pleasing to the eye. If pressed for an opinion, I would have to say that it’s not better or worse than the Jacksons’ home… just different. Everything is on such a grand scale it’s a bit overwhelming. Strange reaction since the Jacksons’ grounds aren’t exactly small potatoes.

  I turn to the sound of the front door opening.

  “Didn’t John tell you to come in?” she asks. “I didn’t want you to wait outside in the cold.”

  She’s wearing midnight blue slacks with a white top and a red sweater of some sort thrown over her shoulder, very neat, very nice.

  “He passed your message along,” I reply, pushing myself off the car. “I decided to stay outside a while longer and enjoy the fresh air. You have a lovely place here, Mrs. Benson. It must be something in the summer when all the flowers are in bloom.”

  She looks around as if searching for whatever it is I have seen here.

  “Thank you,” she replies, appearing somewhat distracted. “I guess I’ve forgotten how lovely it is. I didn’t miss it until I returned, if that makes any sense.”

  “I think it does,” I say with a laugh. “I know it’s corny, but there really isn’t any place like home, is there?”

  I motion to Bill to get behind the wheel while I open the back door as she walks slowly down the steps. She enters the car, slides across and pats the seat, motioning to me to sit next to her. We ride slowly down the long drive and I catch the scent of her perfume. I don’t know how much it cost, but it is worth every penny she paid. It’s intoxicating. I almost comment on it before I stop myself. What the hell, this isn’t a date! The next thing I know I find myself thinking about Karen.

  “Are you always this quiet, Mr. Richards,” she asks in a hushed tone as though we were sitting in a church.

  “Please call me Philip, Mrs. …”

  “Jennifer,” she interjects. “The Jacksons have made me well aware of your station in life. You are no ordinary employee, Philip. In fact, Sheri says you continue to be somewhat of a mystery to them. Why is that?”

  “I can’t imagine,” I reply shaking my head. “I’ve worked for the Jacksons for about a year now. There’s no mystery I’m aware of. I think Sheri figures if there’s anything in your past she doesn’t know about, then you’re holding out. Write it off to an over-active imagination on her part.”

  I’m looking at a lovely face tinged with skepticism. Sheri can be a real pain at times. Too quickly, we’re back at our entrance and we wait in silence as the gates begin to swing open in their slow, ponderous fashion.

  “I like the lights on the trees,” Jennifer comments. “They must have looked very nice when snow was on the ground.”

  I smile.

  “Sheri decided she liked them so much she is going to leave them on until it gets warm. The way she gets into the holidays, I’m surprised she let us take the Christmas tree down.”

  Jennifer laughs in return.

  “I know just how she feels. I’m the same way. Christmas can be a really great time of year if you’re having fun. When I was in Europe I never bothered having a tree. I just went to other people’s homes and enjoyed their Christmas decorations. But it’s not the same as being in your own home with all the memories from years before.”

  Her tone of voice indicates her travels may not have been all good times. Bill deposits us by the front steps, but before we can enter the house, Sheri is at the front door greeting us like long lost friends.

  “I was afraid you might have forgotten us after all this time,” I comment.

  “Oh, be quiet,” Sheri admonishes, simultaneously whacking me on the shoulder as I pass. “I want you and A.J. to be on your best behavior tonight, whatever that is. It has been so long since you two have acted civilized I’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

  “Nice going, Phil,” A.J. comments as we walk across the foyer. “I haven’t even opened my mouth and you have already put me in the shit.”

  Sheri shakes her head in resignation and gives a weary look to Jennifer. She receives an understanding smile in return.

  A.J. claps me on the back.

  “So, how goes it with the horsey set? I’ve never known anyone with a complete horse. I’ve known several people who resemble parts of horses, but never the whole animal.”

  “Different ball game, A.J.,” I reply, “totally different. For instance… “

  “Stop right there,” Sheri interrupts. “We’re going into the library for some nice conversation. You can save your man-talk for the locker room.”

  We don’t have much choice in the matter as she propels us across the foyer towards our destination. I peel off from the formation and make my excuses to get a much needed shower. Being part of the horseyset is one thing, smelling the part is quite another.

  ***

  It’s difficult not to make comparisons between Jennifer and Karen. They are both beautiful women. Both well educated with keen insight into all sorts of subjects. Interested and interesting… but with entirely different demeanors. Jennifer is quiet where Karen is boisterous. She tends to sit back and observe more than Karen would in similar circumstances.

  Jennifer is not quite what I expected when I first met her. The early returns have revealed a great deal. I guess I thought she was probably the typical wealthy suburban woman. Content with her lot in life, occasionally attending a charity event, but mainly working on her looks and the evening’s entertainment. Instead, it turns out she owned her own business, an art gallery, until her husband died and then decided to sell it before going to Europe.

  She seems to have no difficulty talking about her marriage. Apparently it was over some years before he died. His illness precluded any thoughts of divorce on Jennifer’s part until he was well. Initially there was no thought he would not survive, but his
condition steadily deteriorated, ultimately culminating in his death. Understandably, she doesn’t add any details to what must still be unsavory memories.

  Her husband had older children from a previous marriage, but they had not had any children together. Jennifer said she had not heard from either his son or his daughter since the funeral and did not expect to. There were no hard feelings, she said. During the short time she was married the children had always been away at school or traveling. As a result they simply had never had any kind of relationship before and there was no reason to have one now.

  Jennifer will most likely become the topic of conversation sometime in the next couple of days and Sheri will make it a point to ask my opinion and most likely my intentions. Of course, I could be wrong, but I doubt it. Jennifer is a spectacular lady. On the otherhand, I find I’m not really attracted to her in any way. She’s nice to look at and listen to, but I’m not interested in any more romances right now. It’s probably the fallout from the Karen thing. It’s just too soon and will be for quite some time I imagine.

  It’s eleven o’clock when Jennifer stands and thanks A.J. and Sheri for the lovely evening. I volunteer to drive her home and we leave after mutual promises to continue to see one another.

  Jennifer isn’t very talkative during the short ride to her home. A.J., she observes with a slight smile, seems to be one of a kind and she likes them both very much, but she leaves it at that. I park the car under the portico protecting the front entrance and turn off the engine. I’m about to open the door when she speaks.

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  I turn in my seat and face her, but before I can answer she asks anyway.

  “Why do you work for the Jacksons?”

  A more interesting question might be: why is she asking? But I no longer have much of anything to hide so I might as well satisfy her curiosity.

  “It’s a pretty long and boring story, so I won’t bother you with it. Let’s just say I was looking for something different to do and I found it. I like the Jacksons and I like my work. It’s different from what I’m used to, but I find it to be interesting and in some ways quite challenging.”

  She sits and studies my face without comment for what seems like a very long time.

  “Would you like to come in for a nightcap? You were very nice to bring Foxy home and squire me around. I feel I should do something to show my appreciation.”

  “It’s not necessary,” I reply. “It’s all part of the service.”

  “You mean you were just doing what you were told… is that it?”

  I pause a moment and think before replying. I do not want to get off on the wrong foot with Jennifer, and I do not want to presume upon her new friendship with the Jacksons and assume it includes me. It would be best to make things clear now before there are any further misunderstandings.

  “I do not want you to have the wrong idea, Jennifer,” I begin. I volunteered to bring your horse back because I work for the Jackson family and because I sincerely wanted to help in any way I could. Sheri was really delighted you stopped by and I could tell she had her heart set on having dinner with you tonight. Sheri is both my employer and my friend.

  “You, on the other hand, are a lovely lady and, by all appearances, a very nice person as well. It is easy to be nice in return and I wanted to help you… job or no job. That’s the extent of my personal motivation. I volunteered for my own reasons. No one told me to do anything.”

  She looks at me as though she’s attending some sort of lecture, but makes no move to reply, so I push on. I didn’t plan to say this, but for some reason it seems like the right thing to do.

  “I probably should not even mention this, but I will, just to touch all the bases. I know everyone assumes single men and single women, like us are in a constant quest for companions or mates. I assume you are not one of those women… and I am not one of those men. Also, as far as you and I are concerned, I realize a friendship or any kind of relationship between us is out of the question for several reasons, not the least of which is that I just work here and you are a social acquaintance of my employers.”

  Jennifer continues to study me as though I were a painting or some sort of exhibit. I know that part of this is her natural demeanor, but it still can be damned disconcerting.

  “I guess I’m making a fool of myself,” I continue. “Maybe I’m just rehearsing my lines for Sheri. She’s going to corner me one of these days and the subject will eventually come up. She’s concerned I’m working too hard… she thinks I have to get out more.”

  “Do you?” she asks, finally breaking her silence.

  “Work too hard?” I shake my head. “No, not at all. Again, it’s just her over-active imagination. Once you get to know her a little better, you will find she never gives up on anything once she gets it in her noggin.”

  Jennifer again gives me a long look of appraisal.

  “Well, we can talk out here or we can talk inside where it’s comfortable,” she says with a smile.

  Jennifer doesn’t smile often, but when she does her expression changes so much she seems to change everything around her. The effect is almost startling. It’s as though her face is hooked up to some sort of internal rheostat and her smile simply turns up the wattage and illuminates everything around her. I’m so mesmerized by this particular smile that I fail to answer quickly and she interprets my silence as a ‘no’.

  “I’m willing to stay out here if you wish. Going inside was just a suggestion,” she adds.

  Without further comment, I open my door and walk around the car, but I’m not quick enough. Little Miss Independence has opened her door and is halfway up the steps before I catch up to her. The door opens as we approach. Apparently we have been closely observed all this time.

  I almost laugh when I spy the butler. He looks like a refugee from a 1930’s film. His outfit is at least that old. He’s tall, thin, and partially bald with white wisps of hair combed straight across the top of his head.

  He says, “Good Evening” to Jennifer and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t have an English accent.

  Jennifer introduces me to Albert, who declines to shake hands, but bows at the waist instead. I have a feeling it would be a mistake to call him ‘Al’. My hostess keeps a straight face and tells Albert we would like to have wine served in the living room.

  The foyer is a large area with a stone floor covered by an oriental carpet. Something tells me the supporting floor is made of concrete and probably very thick concrete at that. A huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling above. Matching staircases rise from either side of the foyer, curving along the wall to a landing halfway to the second floor where large leaded-glasswindows continue upwards for fifteen or twenty feet to the ceiling. The living room is off to the right.

  Albert precedes us into the large room and he brings it to life, moving sedately from one lamp to the next, illuminating small scenes with each click of the switch.

  “That’s fine, Albert,” Jennifer tells him. “You may retire… we will serve ourselves. Thank you for waiting up for me.”

  Albert bows his head slightly and replies ever so quietly. “As you wish, Miss Jennifer.”

  He looks at me for the briefest moment, bows slightly again and leaves the room.

  Jennifer watches him go and then directs her gaze to me, apparently waiting for some kind of reaction.

  “Don’t say it,” she says walking to a side cabinet and opening the door where a well stocked bar waits in readiness. “Albert is a very old, loyal and trusted member of our staff. He worked for my family before my father died. My mother asked me if I would like to have him work here and I jumped at the chance. I grew up with Albert around… I have always felt better with him in the house. He’s probably some sort of security blanket left over from my childhood. If it’s up to me, he will have a job
with our family for as long as he lives.”

  She selects two glasses and places them on the bar top. A small wine fridge is hidden away on the other side of the cabinet. Jennifer selects a bottle and studies the label, but I think there’s something else on her mind as she turns and looks over her shoulder.

  “He is amusing though, isn’t he?”

  Her laughter again changes her face and the rest of the room. It’s like some kind of magic. She seems almost melancholy, but you only notice it when she smiles or laughs and creates such a remarkable change. She opens the bottle with one of those fancy bottle openers that magically removes the cork. She slowly rubs the rim of the bottle with her forefinger and pours a small amount of wine in each glass.

  “I assume you will like this,” she says, handing a glass to me. “I noticed you preferred white wine this evening and it’s best not to mix your drinks.”

  She gestures towards the sofa, a silent offer to be seated, then retraces Albert’s steps around the room, turning off several of the lights and closing their scenes once again.

  “Since we’re not going to do any photography or brain surgery here this evening, I think we can do with a little less light and a bit more atmosphere.

  Don’t worry,” she says smiling, “I’m not going to seduce you or anything like that.”

  Whew! There’s a load off my mind. She returns to the sofa and sits a discreet distance away.

  “You were honest with me earlier,” she continues, “so I will be honest with you now.”

  She pauses, sips her wine and then places her glass on the table.

  “First, I like you for several reasons, not the least of which is that you appear to be a straight talker. I like honesty. I have been back home only a short time, but I find I am lonely here. This house is huge and I likepeople about. My initial reaction to the Jacksons is positive… I like them and hope to see more of them.