by Jim Sano
David watched till she disappeared down the hill, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. He let out a deep sigh and looked around him. The men from the funeral home were patiently standing off in the shade of an oak tree, waiting for David to leave so they could finish their work. Other than them, the place was empty. He shook his head—this was all his mother’s life had amounted to. Mourning her sister and working herself to death to take care of her children on her own, with only one soul showing up to pay respects. Not even her other two children.
His mother had no idea how good life could be. The bitterness and sadness that had overshadowed her life robbed her of any chance of living it well.
He took Jillian’s hand and started back towards his Porsche 911 GT2 convertible. As they walked, his thoughts drifted back to a summer night as a boy when he was playing street hockey with the neighborhood kids and an orange convertible sports car with a unique engine sound drove slowly down the street. Charlie Cassavette, wearing sunglasses, long sideburns, combed backed hair, and an opened polyester shirt with a gold chain glimpsing through, was driving the most distinctive car David had ever seen in a town where people could barely afford a third-hand, oversized car from the early sixties, often with one different colored passenger door and a hood that wouldn’t entirely shut. Charlie was driving a 1973 Porsche 914 that rode low to the ground and had only two seats. The passenger side was occupied by an attractive girl David didn’t recognize. Every kid had stopped playing to watch him driving through, their open-jawed mouths matching David’s own expression, except David’s was not jealous or envious, but rather determined that he would not only own a car like that someday but the moment as well. Charlie had called out to David, “Someday, Little DJ. Someday,” and sped off into the early summer evening.
As he held the door for Jillian and glanced at her, her long legs, her flawless ivory skin, and soft blond flowing hair, he smiled.
David had exceeded even Charlie’s imagination of success.
Chapter 2
Jillian nodded off for long stretches of the six-hour drive back to Boston, and David thought about his work schedule for the week to help push the resurfaced memories and emotions back into the dark grave where he had buried them. His mother, father, and oldest brother were now all gone. His brother, Bobby, had severed ties years ago, and his calls to his sister, Abbie, were more out of feeling responsible than seeking a close relationship. He had separated from his wife and their two children six years ago, and as his time commitment and frequent travel for his job grew, David had become more of an awkward stranger than a real father to his kids. Amy, now sixteen, was beginning to see her parents as more of a roadblock to life than wise and loving mentors on her way to maturity. James was just turning seven and asking more questions about the father he couldn’t remember ever living with and knew he was missing.
David didn’t see any of them now as being a natural part of his daily rhythm. The constant routine of work, exercise, and entertainment left little “free” time to sit and ponder the meaning or purpose of life, which he realized after the current day’s reflections, may have been subconsciously by design.
Monday morning, David’s alarm went off at five o’clock as it did every morning. The song playing was “Wake Up Little Susie,” which only made him smile and mumble, “How about a little ‘Rocky’ or something to get me going?” He reached over the side of the bed and patted his yellow Labrador Retriever. He had found him on his doorstep six years ago with no owner tags nor signs of where he came from other than the name Topper on his tag that he changed to Trooper. He dressed and ran a five-mile loop along the Charles River, through the Commons, and up and down the neighboring streets before arriving back at the front door of his Beacon Street Brownstone apartment with a runner’s high and salty sweat dripping down his forehead. The run helped him quiet down the emotions still playing through his mind. After a soothing, hot shower, he got dressed in one of his custom-made suits and headed off for his usual breakfast stop, the Eastside, on his way to work.
The walk from the Eastside to his Prudential Center office was only five minutes, and David would’ve taken the stairs up if his office were not on the forty-eighth floor of the tower. His secretary was a round Haitian woman named Izzie, short for Isadora. Her skin was dark, and she was attractive for a matronly built woman of forty years. After losing her husband, she had left Haiti to give her three children a chance at a better education and life, and she didn’t hesitate to sacrifice her own wishes to make that happen. Izzie had been with David for ten years now and insisted on calling him “Mr. Kelly.” She was always at work before David and today was no exception.
“Good morning, Mr. Kelly,” greeted Izzie as her hand touched the crucifix that rested on her light blue blouse.
David looked her in the eyes. “And good morning to you, Izzie,” he said as she handed him his mail neatly sorted in the order of importance from her perspective.
Behind him, he could hear familiar footsteps, the first of many people trying to grab a few minutes of his limited time. “DJ, got a minute?”
He glanced up at Izzie’s smile and subtle nod. “Sure, Walshy. Come on in.”
Kevin Walsh was one of his area managers who aggressively drove his sales numbers but enjoyed having a good time as well. Many of the sales reps and managers had come from local colleges such as Boston College, Northeastern, or Holy Cross. Several were ex-football players, but all had something in common: they came from very modest backgrounds, were willing to work hard and learn, and they were extremely loyal to both IMS and DJ Kelly. Everybody of importance seemed to have a nickname; Walshy, Sully, Quigs, DJ, Billy, OD, Paddy, Brendy, and Mickey. David knew he had walked in on the Irish Mafia of high-tech as soon as he had started at Information Management Systems.
David was hired by Kevin and started reporting to him early in his career at IMS. Kevin taught him the ins-and-outs of the company politics and how to win a deal by any means possible. David was never thoroughly comfortable with the process, but he was young and attracted by the opportunity to grow quickly at a company on the fast track. He spent as much time with all the top performers as he could to learn their tricks and best practices. He studied the technology, the competitors, and especially his customers. David was so talented at identifying opportunities and developing trusted relationships with the right people at the prospective customer that he “blew out” his revenue quota quarter after quarter after quarter. He was promoted to Senior Sales Rep, to District Sales Manager, and to Area Manager faster than anyone in company history and he was now the Divisional Vice President of Sales for Eastern US and Canada. Kevin was now working for David, which he had no issues at all with because he respected David’s intelligence, incredible work ethic, and ability to win business.
Kevin stepped into David’s spacious corner office furnished with a beautiful, cherry wood desk, a meeting table, and an area with a sofa and leather chairs. There were views of Beacon Hill, Boston Common and the Garden from other sides of the building, but David liked seeing Fenway, where the Red Sox played baseball from early April to September. Kevin sat down on one of the comfortable chairs and looked up at a photograph of the clubhouse porch at The Country Club in Brookline. Kevin pointed to the framed photo. “That was a great day, wasn’t it, DJ?” The photo was a shot of eight of the top sales executives at IMS. Kevin Walsh, Billy O’Connell, Michael Shea, Patrick Harrigan, Sean Quigley, Kenny O’Donnell, Brendan O’Neill, and David were all standing on the porch of the elite clubhouse built in 1882. It had been a fun day of golf followed by an evening of drinks and dinner on the losers and gloating by the winners of that year’s annual tournament.
David replied without hesitation, “It was a great day for the winners. I’m glad you enjoyed it too, but you’ll have your chance again next week, Walshy.”
In his thick Boston accent, Kevin said, “We will, and we’re not lettin’ Mickey cheat for you again this year. Ya know, I can recall feelin’ on
top of the world that day. We’d made more money than our wildest dreams could’ve imagined. We’d bought homes and cars we always wanted without flinchin’ at the cost. We’d seen the world on first-class trips, attracted the most incredibly beautiful women lookin’ for the best time money can buy, and we’re looked up to like something better.”
David’s eyes squinted with curiosity. “What are you getting at, Kev?”
Kevin stared down through the glass coffee tabletop at the Oriental rug below. “Ya know, you and I were on a plane flyin’ to a customer call in Atlanta just two weeks after that day of golf, watchin’ those planes slam into one of the Twin Towers. We were just sittin’ there and watchin’ it happen in slow motion like it was a damn movie, and I’m thinkin’ ‘holy crap, we’re goin’ down too.’ Nothin’ I owned — money, cars, boats, my home on the water in Dennis – or could own, was worth anythin’ at that moment. No power or position I had here mattered because I felt powerless. You remember when we landed, and I was in shock?”
David interjected, “Everyone was in shock, Kev. I don’t think anyone wasn’t on 9-11 or for days afterward.”
“Really? You seemed to be pretty even-keeled afterward. Not that you didn’t care, but you seemed calm and thinkin’ about how everyone on our team could keep movin’ forward. I keep goin’ back and forth in my mind thinkin’ about what’s the point of my life.”
David leaned over to put his hand on Kevin’s left shoulder, and said in a slightly softer voice, “Do you need some time off to sort things out? Is there something I can do to help?”
Kevin kept looking down. “I really don’t know, but I don’t want to drag you down. I’ll be fine. I probably just need to keep busier and think less.”
As Kevin stood up to leave, David reached out and patted him on the back. “Take care of yourself, Kev. Let me know if you want to go out after work for a drink or something.”
The rest of David’s day was full of meetings and calls with his sales teams and customers. Izzie kept his calendar moving and prioritized who could sneak in to see him. He wouldn’t run into Jillian today since she worked out of the Newton office, which was ten miles out of town. They had planned for dinner on Tuesday night in town, and she was getting exposed to restaurants and special dining rooms she didn’t know even existed before seeing David. He never put on airs but knew how to move with ease around the inside track of the upper echelon where many of his customers’ decisions were made. He left work around seven-thirty, making sure he said “good night” to the younger employees who were still working hard, and headed first to the gym for a workout and then home to make a late dinner and sit on the rooftop to relax and review proposals for the next day.
While David was an expert at compartmentalizing his feelings, his brief conversation with Kevin Walsh kept creeping into his thoughts. He vividly remembered experiencing that same sense of fear and the inability to control the situation as he helplessly watched those two planes, which had also flown out of the same Logan Airport as he and Kevin, explode into flames as they crashed into the towers. It opened up the vulnerability he felt when his oldest brother died, and his family was turned upside down forever. To help put these feelings back in storage, he dressed and went out for a quick run through the Common while listening to an Aerosmith lineup of songs on his iPod before walking back home and back in control of his emotions.
Chapter 3
The next day was a typically busy day, and he found getting back into the routine helped to silence the uncomfortable feelings that continued to haunt him.
Midafternoon, Jillian texted him. Are we still on for dinner?
David texted back: Dinner is just the start of the evening I have planned.
Jillian texted him a smile.
Trooper growled at the door, and David opened it for Jillian, who was carrying an overnight bag, a change of clothes, and a red dress that was a little more date-worthy. David told Trooper that Jillian was a friend as he held both of her hands and stepped back to admire her. “You look absolutely beautiful. Might you be interested in a night on the town with a desperate man?”
“I only date the most handsome, intelligent, successful, generous, and non-desperate men I happen to bump into.”
David introduced Jillian to Trooper, and she squatted down to pat Trooper’s head, rubbing his fur and peering into his brown eyes. “I didn’t know you had a handsome roommate,” said Jillian playfully, as she continued petting him.
“Sorry about the barking. He’s very protective, but now I think I have a little competition for your attention.”
Jillian stood back. “I think you’ve already lost that competition.”
They drove only a mile and a half down Beacon Street to a restaurant called FuGaKyu, an older style Japanese restaurant where they removed their shoes. David bowed in greeting to the sushi chef and politely asked, “What fish is freshest? We would like to dine omakase tonight.”
Jillian politely lowered herself to sit on the chairs with no legs and sat with her legs slightly sideways. “David, what is dining omakase?”
“The chef I spoke with is called the itamae or a highly skilled sushi chef. Greeting the itamae is a sign of respect and requesting omakase dining is a compliment to the chef since it gives him permission to serve us anything he chooses, but it assures us only the best and freshest sushi.” He warned her not to insult the chef by ordering wine that would mask the taste of the sushi.
After dinner, as they walked towards the car, Jillian playfully nudged her shoulder against David’s. “Next time let’s splurge a wee bit and go to a place where they cook your food too. I have never, ever eaten raw fish before, but I will have to say I was pleasantly surprised.”
“I’m glad you like surprises,” he said as he opened the car door for her.
After a few turns toward downtown Boston, he pulled up in front of a building with an illuminated sign that read Dante’s. There was a line outside, which surprised Jillian on a Tuesday night. A valet approached the car and opened the door for her before taking the keys from David.
Jillian took David’s arm as they cruised past the line and into the nightclub entrance. A woman at the desk greeted them. “Good evening, Mr. Kelly. It’s good to see you tonight.” David returned the greeting, and Jillian turned her head toward him with an inquisitive stare. He pointed ahead toward the spacious dance floor jammed with hundreds of attractive people dancing to an infectious beat of an Italian nightclub sound. Jillian loved to dance, and her shoulders were already moving as she took in the layout of the place, the meeting areas and bars with engaging staff keeping people served and happy in between dances. Jillian pulled David onto the floor and was obviously impressed that he didn’t hesitate and knew how to move on the floor as did she.
When they finally took a short break, Jillian said, “So?”
“So, what?”
“Sew buttons. You know darn well what I mean. How did you just walk in the front door without hesitation, and everybody knew who you were, Mr. Kelly—that’s what?”
David just laughed. “It’s either my natural charm or that they work for me and my partners in this small venture.”
Jillian’s eyes popped. “You own a nightclub! And this isn’t just any dance hall by the looks of it.” She noticed the neon sign over where they were standing read Purgatory and then peered up and down at the levels above and below them.
David said, “Yes, they are called—”
“—Heaven and Hell?” guessed Jillian.
David shook his head as the music played louder. “Close. Paradise and Inferno. Do you have a preference?”
“I think I’ll stay here in the middle and enjoy. Can you tell me if it’s okay to drink wine here or will we insult the chef?” David ordered Jillian a tall glass of expensive wine he thought she would appreciate and a glass of bourbon on-the-rocks for himself.
David knew staying too late at the club was not good for being up for early morning meetings or for romance,
so after an hour, he was ready to leave. “Let me know when it’s getting late for you on a school night.” She put on a disappointed look and said goodbye to people she had met on the dance floor.
As David drove back home, Jillian said, “David, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but do you think we could call it a night? I think I’m beginning to like you quite a bit, but I would like to think our evening was enough to be a great date. Am I making any sense?”
David mentally adjusted his expectations of a summer evening rooftop experience in the Jacuzzi under the stars. “Sure, it makes sense. We both have work early in the morning, and we did have a really nice evening, didn’t we? Do you want to pick up your things or would you like me to take you home and get them later?”
“Maybe home would be best if you are okay with that.”
“Home it is, fair maiden.”
Without traffic, Jillian lived only about twenty minutes away, across the Charles River in an apartment in Watertown.
She shifted in her seat. “How have you been doing since coming back from Maine?”
David offered no more personal insights. “Thanks for asking, but I’m doing fine.”
They pulled up in front of the two-family house on a quiet street perpendicular to the Charles River. He opened the door for her and reached out his hand to help her get out of the low sports car seat. When she stood up, she looked up into his eyes in a way he had only seen once before in his life. It was a gaze that went deep into his eyes. He put his arms around her and gave her a very long and enjoyable kiss. It was such a pleasant evening out that they strolled, arm in arm, onto a small bridge over the river. The moon was overhead, and they could see its shimmering reflection jumping back and forth on the moving water as they embraced and kissed again.
