Indian Summer

by lanie love

  She’s gorgeous and she’s saving me money. I’m as hard as a rock right now.

  “Dennis, have you thought about using east coast ports to solve this problem?” I ask him, knowing full well he hasn’t.

  “That wouldn’t be realistic considering there is really no one on that coast to monitor them. We have no ties to the east coast. To entertain such a suggestion is absurd and a waste of your valuable time.” He makes a production of checking his wristwatch to highlight just how short the length of time is I’ve given this meeting. It’s a nice attempt to skirt around the issue, but I don’t fall in line with it.

  “Jane.” I prompt her to speak what anyone with half a brain should already know.

  “Well.” She begins, and judging by her tone, I think he just ticked her off with his dismissal of her idea. “We may not have people there now, but we can most certainly hire people to handle the shipments. Much like other companies do when they have orders to ship worldwide.”

  “How so?” I’m just twisting the knife into Dennis at this point.

  “It would just be a matter of loading the containers here and getting them to the east coast to be shipped out. We’re doing it already with our freight-liners. We can just have them deliver to the new docks. Also, there are several companies on the east coast that would load the crates, thus eliminating the need for freight-liners to travel the distance. If a company as reputable as Estabrook were to reach out to them, I’m sure they would be accommodating.” She stops when her point is made. Everyone at the table is impressed with her, but instead of feeling proud, she feels guilty for Dennis and ticked off at me for making her go against her supervisor. I pay her no mind. If she wants to be taken seriously, she has to learn to speak up for herself. For now, I’ll do it for her.

  “Jane, get in touch with the Port Authority of Maine. I want new figures and spreadsheets as to how much this is going to cost. You will be the one presenting at tomorrow’s meeting.” I tell her. I know she is not at all happy about it, but she doesn’t refuse me. “Dennis, my office.”

  I find out from this jackass that he doesn’t even consult with the members of his committee. He could have avoided this calamity if he had just asked for their suggestions, or simply let Jane look at the damn spreadsheets.

  “She’s a woman.” He said when asked why he overlooked her. “She has no business giving me advice on anything. I can’t even understand why you’d listen to her. She should be bringing me my coffee, not giving ridiculous suggestions on how to run shipments.”

  Silently, I take the pack of Marlboro’s out of my shirt pocket, tap one out of the pack, and light it. The end burns bright red when I take a long hard drag. This cigarette is the only thing keeping me from roughing him up. I crush it in the ashtray right before I can his ass and have him thrown out on his ear before lunch.

  “Mr. Mason, Jane’s here to see you.” Betty buzzes me.

  “Send her in.”

  “Mr. Mason, I don’t know how you usually run your meetings, but that was simply inexcusable.” She comes in like the wind, fuming. “To put me on the spot and to have me out do my own supervisor to his face is just wrong. How am I ever going to work with him peacefully again? He is going to be out to get me for sure.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that because I fired him.”

  “What?”

  “Jane, the man just doubled my shipping expenses. Instead of asking his committee members for alternative solutions, he gave a presentation justifying his incompetence. What choice did I have but to fire him? And another thing, if I wanted to answer to you about how I run my company, I would have you on my board, Miss Winters.”

  “Right, of course. I apologize, Mr. Mason.” She says, duly put back in her place. It’s a pity though. I was enjoying the flash of temper, although not directed at me.

  “I was impressed by you in that meeting today. You really held your own.”

  “I know you’re not an easy man to impress, so I take that with high regards.”

  “How about lunch?”

  “No, Mr. Mason.

  “Are you a lesbian?”.

  “What? That’s highly inappropriate.”

  “Oh, come off it. We’re off the clock right now. And it’s not like lesbianism is unheard of. You’re from San Francisco, right? It would explain a lot of the theories I have about you.”

  “Yes, I’m from San Francisco, but that doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian. I may have experimented with things, who hasn’t? And not that there is anything wrong with being a lesbian, anyway. Man, you are really tripping.”

  “Why don’t you want to date me?”

  “So, because I refuse to date you, you assume I must be a lesbian. That is some ego you got there. And since we are ‘off the clock’ I will tell you to take your theories about me and sit on ‘em.”

  “And that’s still not an answer.”

  “I never said I didn’t want to date you. I simply said I don’t date.”

  “I stand corrected. Why don’t you date, then?”

  “My reasons are my own. Enjoy the rest of your day.” She leaves my office and leaves me hanging once again.

  ****

  “Donna, why did you not answer the phone when I just tried to call you?” I walk out to her desk, wasting the time I don’t have or want to have, talking to her.

  “Oops, I must have put it on silence again.” Her hand, with its perfectly manicured red nails, picks up the receiver and looks at it like it just flew in from Mars and she’s unsure what to make of it.

  Silence. She put it on silence, she says.

  “Can you please be sure to keep it off of silent.” I say, being sure to over-enunciate the word.

  I happen to catch Jane chatting Kyle’s ear off at the elevator. She is oblivious to me as they get in. She’s too busy laughing at whatever the hell he’s whispering in her ear.

  “Where is Kyle going?” I ask Donna.

  “He and Jane are going to lunch.”

  “And they do that often?”

  “Every day. Oh, that reminds me, that soup kitchen guy called and invited you to his dinner function again tonight. I declined for you, but I thought you should know.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because last time I said you’d go to something, you fired me, sir.”

  “And yet, here you are.” I take a moment to breathe, watching her move aimlessly in her chair avoiding me. I’m sure she thinks I’m about to fire her again. “Call him back and tell him I will be attending the dinner with a guest.”

  “Okay, yes, sir, Mr. Mason, sir. Okay, let’s see, where did I put his number?” She fumbles around with the clutter on her desk

  “Just have Betty do it when she gets back from lunch.” I go easy on her. I have far bigger things on my mind.

  Well, now, Miss Winters, it seems I will have my date after all.

  “You look lovely this afternoon, Jane.” She sits close to me while we make the drive to San Diego. I’m left god-smacked by her in an above the knee pale rose dress. It astonishes me that she can look so amazingly foxy after work hours and like a drabby mole during the workday. “Thank you. You look very nice yourself.”

  “Really? Are you sure my ego isn’t showing?” I smooth out the breast of my suit.

  She shakes her head with a laugh, looking up at Martin, who is driving us tonight.

  “Where’s Kyle?”

  “I gave him the night off to spend with his girlfriend.” I emphasize the word girlfriend, hoping she’d catch it. “Besides, don’t you see enough of him at work?”

  “It’s just lunch.”

  “Yet, you refused to have ‘just lunch’ with me.”

  “Because with you, it will be more than just lunch.”

  “Now who has the ego?”

  With that, her lips pucker over to the side while her fingers work to straighten the hemline she’s suddenly become enthused with.

  “So, is there anything specific I need to know
about this dinner?” Her hands come together and lace in her lap.

  “No.” I say, angry that she’s changed the subject.

  “That doesn’t make me feel at ease with meeting these people.”

  “The Los Angeles and San Diego Missions pair up and host a dinner once a season to showcase their programs. The dinners consist of everything they serve to people in need. The organizer is named Rafe Myers. Don’t worry about impressing him, he will be the one trying to schmooze us in order to keep his funding.”

  “I can’t believe we’re going to San Diego.” She squeals. “I’ve always wanted to drive down and see it.”

  “Have I finally managed to impress you, Miss Winters?”

  “You’ve done nothing but impress me since we met.”

  And my ego has just inflated. She’d better be careful before my head explodes.

  ****

  “Mr. Mason, how nice of you to join us this evening.” Rafe greets me.

  “Thank you, Rafe. It’s a pleasure to be here. I’d like to introduce you to Miss Mary Jane Winters. She was just appointed to head our Triple H program.” “Nice to meet you, Mr. Myers. Is it hot enough for you?”

  “It is.” He laughs. “If it keeps going on this way, we can do all of our holiday baking outside. And please, call me Rafe.”

  I step back and watch her work. And here I thought I was good, by the time dinner begins, she has everyone eating out of the palm of her dainty little hand. She seems impressed with the overall setup. I can already see ideas twirling around in her head about better ways to assist the program. Her dedication is inspiring, but I still wonder at the cause.

  Rafe comes by our table to alert me to a situation.

  “What’s the matter?” Jane takes note of the look on my face.

  “Martin was in an accident. He had the hospital call me here.”

  “Is he alright?”

  “He’ll be fine, but unfortunately we’re stranded here for tonight.”

  “Can’t we get another car?”

  “The dealerships are closed.” I refuse to call Junior to pick us up. The last thing I want is to hear his mouth for the two-hour drive back home.

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  “We’ll get a room and figure it out in the morning.”

  ****

  “This has to be a joke.” She says, when we enter our hotel room and look at the one queen sized bed.

  We’ve booked the only room available in the last hotel in San Diego. Apparently, this is a big night for the university. Everyone is here from out of town to watch the Aztec football team that’s finally made it to the state playoffs. I make a mental note to get Jimmy down here. Estabrook could make a killing with a hotel close to the college.

  “Don’t worry. You can have the bed.” I’m not really happy about all this myself. In the history of trying to impress a girl, this has got to go down as the worst. I couldn’t even find a hotel up to our Estabrook standards.

  “Don’t be silly. The bed is big enough for the both of us. Man, my feet are killing me and I really gotta pee.” She takes off her heels and runs to the bathroom.

  “Too much sharing, Jane.”

  “Sorry.” She calls back from the bathroom. We lay on the bed both still dressed, but she’s under the covers and I’m on top. “Are you cold?”.

  “No, I’m fine, but you may as well know, I suffer from insomnia. I’ll try not to keep you awake with my tossing and turning.

  “I know.” She speaks so quietly, I’m not sure if I heard her. I sit up to look at her. “Michael.” She says my first name and I like the way it sounds coming from her. “Your mother told me about what happened to you as a child. That you were kidnapped from school by Bernadette Clayson. Please, don’t be mad that she told me. She was just trying to help by showing me she understood what I was going through.”

  “What are you going through? What happened to you? Please, tell me. It’s only fair now that you know about my past. I’ve looked. I’ve checked your medical records. There is no mention of anything.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised. You’re probably looking under the wrong name. My birth name is Rose. My parents are Richard and… Bernadette Clayson.

  Oh, shit no. No. No. No. That’s impossible. Images of that I had long tried to bury come crashing into my head and all I see is Bernadette snatching my happy childhood away from me and sending me into the hell that I’m just now figuring out how to escape.

  “Michael, are you alright?” She gets out of the bed coming closer to me. I hadn’t even realized, I’d gotten up until I felt the wall at my back.

  “Stay the hell away from me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Indian Summer of 1968

  Michael

  “Did she send you here? Are you trying to hurt my family?”

  “No, I’m not here to hurt anybody. I swear.”

  “Does my mother even know who you really are?”

  “She does. Just listen to me. Hear me out.”

  “Talk.” I’m leaning with my hands on my knees trying to stop my head from spinning.

  “Richard Clayson is my biological father. Bernadette adopted me when I was five.”

  “My Parents had known Richard and Bernadette Clayson for years before she kidnapped me. As far as I know, they don’t have a daughter. I’m sure I would have remembered seeing or hearing about you. Where the hell were you?”

  “I was there.” Her voice is muffled behind her hands at her mouth to keep her from crying.

  “What the hell do you mean you were there? Where?”

  “They kept me locked away. Mostly in a closet in the… torture room.”

  “Mary Jane, Rose, or whatever the hell your name is, what are you telling me?” She has to be lying. She couldn’t have been there. She could not have been.

  “She kept me locked away, and she… Bernadette… she would take me out of the closet and she would bring men in and they would do awful, awful, awful things and my dad let them, he let them do it, he wouldn’t help me, when I was bad, she would put me in a cage and she wouldn’t feed me for days, I tried to be good, I tried… I tried…” She lets it all out in one breath. She is crying so hard now that it’s giving her hiccups. She looks so small, so lost.

  “Okay, it’s okay.” I whisper to her to calm down. Ignoring my own spinning head, I reach for her, but she jumps back, shrinking away from me. “Okay, I’m sorry. I promise I won’t touch you, okay? I promise, Jane. It’s okay.” I speak gently, but my words have no effect on her as she stands hysterically crying. I have no idea what to do. I look around the room frantically for the placement of the phone, but who would I call at this hour besides the hospital and I don’t think that’s the best recourse right now.

  “Just give me a minute.” She says seeing me about to panic. I nod, slowly moving to the edge of the bed to sit down. I never take my eyes off her.

  “You were close to my parents?” She asks. She’s calmed down, sitting next to me drinking the glass of water I offered her.

  “I was to Bernadette. She would look after me sometimes. My mother didn’t tell you?”

  “She told me that they use to be friends of your family. She was heartbroken at the thought of me suffering so close to her for so long and she not knowing. But, obviously there’s more to tell, though.” She says looking at my pained expression.

  “Bernadette, she would…” I stop, unable to say the words out loud. I suffered so much abuse at her hands. It was so long ago, but I still can’t form the words.

  “How old were you?”

  “It started when I was eight. Maybe even before that, but my first memory is eight.”

  “She forced you in the torture room too?” She has a look of dread on her face.

  “The torture room?”

  “The basement.”

  “No. I was in another room. There were toys, I think. I remember a train.”

  “That sounds like my brother’s room. Michael?” She c
alls my name, but I’m lost in a memory. I haven’t thought of that house for years and I don’t want to think about it now. “For how long?”

  “It stopped when I was 17.” I say, purposely leaving out the part where I finally told my parents, and the fallout behind it. I don’t think she can handle hearing all of that shit yet. “God, Jane, I didn’t know you were there. If I’d known, I swear I would’ve helped you. Just the thought of you being there while she was doing that to me makes me sick.”

  “I know that you would’ve helped me. Bernadette is the one who is sick. It would make her so happy to hear us blaming ourselves like this.”

  “What about your mother? Why didn’t she help you?”

  “She died less than a year before my dad married Bernadette. One day, he bought Bernadette home and she said she was going to be my new mommy. They were married quickly and soon after that, she adopted me. It was fine for the first year or so. She was fine, until I started to act out. I missed my real mom. I wouldn’t listen to her and she didn’t like that.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She would punish me. It started out small, but I was a very strong-willed child. She wanted to make me cry, but I wouldn’t. It just escalated into me being put in the closet and her allowing men to torture me.”

  “What about your dad? Why the hell did he let those men hurt you?”

  “My dad just went along with whatever she wanted. He was afraid of being alone again, I think.”

  “How did you get out? I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that if it’s too much.”

  “My brother.”

  “The one with the train? Where was he?”

  “He was in school. Bernadette hated him from the start. He was very close to our real mother and he wouldn’t accept Bernadette. He wasn’t allowed to live with us anymore. He lived in reform schools until he was old enough to move to San Francisco to study law. He would phone me and they would let me talk to him, but of course never alone. I had to pretend like everything was okay. They said if I ever told him, they would hurt him too, and I was sure that they would.” She begins to cry again. “He would ask them if I could come and visit him on breaks. He had an apartment off campus with a room already set up for me, but they always made excuses as to why I couldn’t visit him. Then one day, there he was. He scooped me up and took me away.” She smiles at the memory. “We didn’t go to San Francisco right away. It would have been kidnapping—” She stops when I laugh at the irony of Bernadette accusing her brother of kidnapping.