by Mia Moore
Chapter 8: Time Flies
Jess
Well, all that happened six months ago. I’ve been to Denver every month since returning from Hedonism. It’s now August.
I haven’t told Steve-O yet that I’m wealthy. Money changes everything, and I’m scared what that knowledge is going to do to our relationship. I’m going to have to come clean with him about it, real soon though. He’s been hinting too much about ‘something more permanent’ for the last two weeks during our nightly Skype chats.
The only lie I’ve ever told the man was about how I’m able to fly out every month. I gave him a story that my mother was a flight attendant and died in a plane crash. While my father got all the money from insurance, one thing I got was free plane tickets for life. He bought it, and it made him stop nagging about how a diner waitress could afford the trips.
Yeah, I’m still working at the diner. It keeps me grounded being with hard working people every day. I listen to stories of struggle—I’m not positive, but I think it’s getting harder for people to make ends meet. I jot down on a pad who could use a Fairy Godmother, and once a week, Mr. Donahue calls one of them and takes care of their challenge.
They ought to make a TV show out of this kind of thing.
On the third trip to Denver, I met his kids. I’m fucking crazy about them. His son Danny is a hell of a kid. A bit of a party animal, but he wants to be a grade school teacher. “Not enough guys do it, Jess,” he said, “and it’s a great place to meet smart girls.” A real chip off the old block.
But its Dorothy I’m nuts about, and the feeling’s mutual. She was pretty standoff-ish the first two times I came out. She kept her eye on me whenever we were together, asking me all sorts of leading questions. A couple of times I felt like I was a suspect in Law and Order or something.
Finally I had it when I was out there for the third time. I flew in a day early and went straight to Steve’s home. I knew Dorothy’s schedule of classes at UCol by this point and knew she was probably sleeping in because she didn’t have any classes that day. And Steve-O was at work.
It was just about noon when I rang the doorbell to their home. It’s no palace, but a nice bungalow that Steve brags about being paid off.
Dorothy opened the door, and when she saw it was me, she cocked her head to the side. She must have been studying, because she was wearing her glasses. I halfway expected to see her in pj’s, but she was dressed. Tan slacks, a pale blue tank top that matched her eyeglass frames (and eyes too, I realized). Her blond hair was brushed back into a ponytail. She’d been up for a while.
“Dad said you were arriving tomorrow, Jess.” She opened the door all the way to let me come inside instead of just standing there.
“I know, Dorothy. I’m here to see you.”
“Oh.” She spread out her arm and said “You coming in?”
“What I’d like to do is take you to lunch. Just us girls.”
We both were watching each other like two MMA fighters. Well, maybe not. I wasn’t getting a vibe from her that she wanted to take me down. Maybe two cats on the street that bumped into each other at a dumpster. Sort of like ‘where is this going to go’ kind of thing.
She thought about it for a few seconds and said, “Sounds good. Let me grab my jacket.”
Ten minutes later we were in a swank restaurant. Linen tablecloths, silver flatware, and really great service. I found the place online and it was better than their website said it was.
We ordered, and while we were munching on breadsticks and antipasto, Dorothy looked at me sort of sideways. “So, what do girls talk about at lunch, Jess?”
I giggled. “Beats the shit out of me, I’m the one bringing it usually. I’ve never done this before.”
She giggled back.
“Look, Dorothy, I guess I better just jump in with both feet, okay?” Now I felt nervous. Bullshit, I was scared. “Your father and I have a really good thing going, and I just want to know how you stand with it all.”
“Oh. It’s that conversation.”
“What?”
She snorted. “I guess he’s asked you to marry him and you’re seeking my permission or something… no, I guess ‘blessing’ is more appropriate. My girlfriends at school with parents who’ve split up have talked about the Step Mother Lunch.”
I held out my hand. “Whoa! Your father hasn’t said one word about proposing.”
“Do you want him to?”
“No! I mean not yet! We’ve only know each other for a few months for God’s sake!” Truth be told, we talked about how we would need to know each other for a year before discussing ‘taking things to the next level’. I didn’t want to tell that to Dorothy though. Some things just weren’t her business.
“Well, if he asked, would you?”
“Get right to the point, hunh?” I drummed my fingers on the table for a second. “Should I?”
“You’re asking my advice?”
“Sure, why not? You know him pretty well on a day to day basis. What would you think?”
She grabbed a breadstick and snapped it in half. “I think if you didn’t say yes while jumping up and down for joy you’d be an asshole.” She offered me a piece in silence.
I took it, and we each nibbled simultaneously. “Why?” I asked after a while.
“Because he’s a really good man. He’s a great Dad, he was a wonderful husband, he’s good looking as hell and he’s in love with you.” She didn’t stop there. “My brother Danny thinks you’re the absolute shit, and I agree, okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m only a waitress…”
“Screw that shit, Jess. I don’t think you’re a gold digger. After all, it’s you who’s flying out here, and I know you lied to Dad about those tickets.”
“What?”
“Ever hear of a Google search?” She waved her hands. “I spent a couple hours online trying to see about free tickets for children of airline employees that died in crashes, and there ain’t no such thing.” She pointed her breadstick at me. “You’re paying for those tickets, but you don’t want Dad to know because he’d blow a gasket.” She sat back. “No matter what kind of deal you’re getting for them, you’re spending a bundle coming out here.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I think you’re trying to do the right thing by him. Because if you weren’t coming out here, he’d be flying out to you every month.”
“I don’t have two kids in college. Does your father know about your...” I wanted to say snooping, but instead finished with “research?”
“No.”
“So our little secret?”
“How about ‘confidence’? I like that word better.” She leaned in. “What other secrets do you have?”
I shook my head. “None. It’s the only lie I’ll ever tell your father.” I crossed my heart for emphasis. I leaned across the table to her. “Let me tell you a confidence, Dorothy. I don’t have to worry about money. I came into a bundle, and I’m able to pay for my flights noooo problemo, okay?”
She sat back in her seat, considering me. “And it’s a big bundle.”
I nodded.
“A scary big, lie about it amount of money, is that right?”
I nodded again.
“You hit Powerball last year, didn’t you?”
I felt the blood drain from my face and at the same time my stomach knotted. “How…”
She grinned. “I’m in a pool at school, a buck a week. Just for the hell of it, when I realized that you were paying for your own airfare, I thought maybe you hit the lottery or something. Lo and behold, a little more checking on the web found a hyoooge winner from Black Rapids!” She leaned in and cocked an eyebrow—just like her father. “A winner who remained anonymous.”
“And you kept this to yourself. Why?”
“Because if I was right, you totally rock. And you’d fess up when you were ready to.”
“I think I just did.” I clasped my hands on the table in front of me. “Dorothy, there’s
only three people in the world that knows this, and two of them are at this table.”
She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m studying to be a therapist, and confidentiality’s a big deal.” She grinned. “All thouuuugh…. I’m expecting big stuff at Christmas!” and laughed.
Kid you’re getting a fucking car. Import, export, I didn’t give a shit. The girl’s getting a car.
“You’re pretty cool, Dorothy.”
“Thanks. So are you.” Her eyes started to film. “I…” she grabbed her napkin and covered her mouth. “I… I…”
Sometimes I’m so smart I scare myself, and this was one of those moments. I kept my mouth shut and let her work her way through it.
She collected herself and toyed with her water glass. “Sorry about that. I’m feeling kind of torn right now. I want to tell you stuff, but I don’t want you to feel obligated.” She looked up at me. “I don’t want this to put you under pressure.”
I bit my lip. I had no clue how to respond. So I told her so.
“Great. Ball is back in my court.” She took a deep breath. “You remind me of my mother. She wasn’t a lot older than you when she first got sick. You’re sort of her doppelganger.”
I felt my brows furrow. Was I just insulted? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that—you look and sound a lot like her. Like in the movies when two strangers meet who look alike. You’re not a twin, but wow, Jess, you really resemble my mom.” She held a hand out, palm up. “Not that you’re my mom… but you could be her sister.” She gulped now. “Or you could be the older sister I never had…” her voice trailed away. I stayed quiet, and she set her jaw and looked up at me with intensity. “If my dad ever re-marries… I hope it’s to someone like you.” She waved a hand sharply. “Aww shit, I’ll stop dancing around. I hope he re-marries you.”
She’s getting free gas for a year with that car.
Now it was my turn to take a deep breath. “How about this—how about even if it doesn’t work out between you father and me, you and I stay in touch?” Shit. Now my eyes were filming, and we hadn’t even been brought our orders. “I never had a kid sister.”
“Okay. Promise?”
“Yeah. Pinky hook promise.” I held out my hand, we hooked and snapped pinkies and what was done was done.
The rest of the lunch we talked about guys, clothes, and school. Steve-O had really been really encouraging me to go to college. I tried to duck and dive, but he was pretty insistent on it—even just some intro courses. He felt that my smarts would get honed or something. So I enrolled in school back home, and was going to start a business degree. I was nervous as anything, and Dorothy’s experiences gave me a good perspective. She said that hundreds of thousands of people get degrees every year, why couldn’t I be one of them?
I dropped her back off at her home. I’d call Steve-O that evening, and tell him I came in early and to meet me at my hotel. I hadn’t yet started sleeping at his house yet, but I think that’s going to change pretty soon.
Chapter 9: Banksters
I had just entered my room when my iPhone rang with Mr. Donahue’s ringtone. I answered it right away. We had started working on my pet project for the orphanage in Negril together and I was waiting to hear from him.
“Hi Mr. Donahue!” I said.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Adams. Do you have a few moments? We need to talk.” He sounded extra somber. Uh oh.
“Sure. As long as it takes. What’s up?”
“I’m phoning you to inform you that I will no longer be of service to you as account manager at Federated Bank.”
“What! Why? Did I do something?”
He gave a short laugh. “The why part is going to take some explaining, but yes, you did do something.”
“What’d I do?” A shock of apprehension went through me and my heart skipped a beat. I realized that this man had done more to help me in the last year than my own father had the last five years I lived at home.
“Well, our project on the orphanage has mushroomed, and I’m leaving Federated Bank in order to properly manage it.”
“What? What do you mean mushroom?”
“Well, as you know, I advised you to not diminish your personal resources in order to make up that shortfall. The Academy in Negril needed an infusion of $15,000.00 a month, which would be offset by a trust account with a balance of three million dollars. That balance would cover the fifteen thousand on interest with no problem if it was managed properly.”
“Yeah, I know. And you only let me put up a hundred K in that trust fund. You said you knew several of your clients who had asked you to look out for worthy causes. Did you run into problems?”
“Well, yes and no.”
“If this is a good news bad news thing, tell me the no part first.”
“The no part is that I had no problem raising the funds. In fact, when word got out that I was doing this, I’ve been inundated with donations.”
“Lotsa’ guilty rich folk, hunh?” I sniggered. Count me as one. I was so pissed off when he told me that he would only take the project on if I kept my own donation to such a small level. He told me that my emotions were too involved.
“More than you can imagine, Ms. Adams.” He paused for a second. “Much more. Currently the balance of the trust fund is almost sixty million dollars, and it will likely increase by the end of the year.”
“Sixty million! Holy shit!”
“Indeed. Which brings me to why I can no longer manage your affairs at the bank. I’m leaving banking in order to manage this fund properly.”
I was pretty surprised. “Why? I mean, that’s great and all, but you’ve been doing wealth management for a long time, Mr. D.. Why the change of mind?”
He sighed. “My grandson, actually. He’s nineteen and at college studying International Development. His full name is Brant Donahue III. He’s my namesake and the apple of my eye.”
“Okay…”
“Him and I have dinner together once a month. I drive up to his college and we go for a good meal. We were together last week, and had a terrible row over dinner. In fact, he walked out on me. He was terribly angry with me, and… well…”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear this. What happened?”
“It’s a course he’s currently taking exploring the history of investment banking and its impact on third world nations. I had been telling him about the project you initiated and Brant grew furious. He said that it took a waitress from a diner to instill a conscience in me.”
Well, that sort of made me feel good. One of the unwashed having an influence.
“I had been rather plaintive about the growth in the trust fund and how it was taking up so much of my time from my other duties at the bank. Brant asked why didn’t I quit and take over the fund full time. I attempted to explain that I lacked the experience and training for such an endeavor.” He sighed. “He told me I was full of…” He paused. Jeez! This man can’t even bring himself to use the word shit?
“Then what happened?”
“Well, I was somewhat affronted, to say the least. And to have this said to me by my only grandchild—my namesake… I argued with him… or I tried to. He told me his studies had demonstrated to him conclusively that a great deal of the poverty experienced in the third world— or ‘developing nations’ as he calls them— are a direct result of actions and policies of the financial community.”
Sounded like a smart kid. Runs in the family. “So, then what happened?”
He inhaled and exhaled sharply. “When I tried to inform him that for me to do so would result in a significant decline in my own income he laughed at me. Laughed! And then… he performed a coup de grace. He told me he’d be prouder to have an impoverished grandfather than the ‘Bank-ster’ one he currently had. He said we care more about quarterly profits than the people whose lives we destroy in downsizing and outsourcing.”
“Pretty harsh, Mr. D.”
He barely heard me. “Whe
n I objected to the term ‘Bankster’, he laughed again, saying that the term actually is an insult to the Mafia. He said that investment bankers are a bunch of sharks with no code of honor other than worshipping the sign of the dollar. At least mobsters have a Family and a half assed code of honor.”
“Ouch.”
“Indeed. He got up to leave and told me that I should take a look at myself, and let him know what I find.” He sighed again. “Had anyone else but Brant said that to me—my wife, even my son, I would have dismissed them. Never underestimate the raw power of a grandchild Ms. Adams.”
“So what happened?”
“It was painful. I rented a cabin in the country for the next three days. No phone, no computer, just me and a spiral notebook and some pencils. It was a profound experience.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I won’t bore you with the details. Let me say however, that my entire life has been one of stability. I’ve prided myself on my steadfastness. I’m 64 years old, and I guess I’m overdue for my midlife crises.” He laughed. “I want Brant to be proud of his Grandpa. Isn’t than absurd?”
“No, actually. I think that’s pretty cool, Mr. D.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
He snickered. “My colleagues here at Federated disagree.”
