Jack answered, “Take me to the diner in Cleburne where I parked my bike.” The driver nodded and continued driving without saying another word.
I turned to Killer Jack and asked him, “So are you going to tell me what you had in that package you wanted me to hold on to, or is this something you don’t want to say in the presence of an FBI agent?” I noticed the driver acted like he wasn’t paying attention, but who knew?
“Don’t worry about him,” said Jack, “the packet is safe in the back of this car. The driver will give it to me when he drops me off.”
“Were they Hell’s Angels jackets if I may ask?”
He nodded. “You’re a smart cookie, Daniel. I like you. We should arrange a stag party at my club in Dallas the night before your wedding.”
“No way,” said Karen. “You’re not going to a strip club.”
“Aren’t you ladies also having a party,” asked Jack, “with one of those Chip-n-Dales dancers?”
“Your friend is sick, Daniel.” But then she whispered something in my ear. I snickered and said to Jack, “You know, Jack, about the wedding? Karen’s brother will be my best man, but I still need another usher. Do you think you’ll fit in a monkey suit?”
“You bet, buddy, anytime.” Jack reached over and shook my hand.
I turned to Karen and asked, “Is that OK with you, sweetheart?”
Karen gave Jack a kiss on his bearded cheek and said, “It would be an honor, and thanks for letting me wear your leathers.”
Chapter Twenty One
It was our wedding day. I didn’t want to discuss too much of it here, but perhaps I should say a few words. Just as planned, we had the ceremony in the living room at the Owens’ Ranch. The pastor from the local church did the ceremony with Karen’s best friends and former roommates as bridesmaids. Kenny and Jack were my co-best men. Of course Karen wore a beautiful white dress with a veil trailing behind her, and no, she didn’t wear cowboy boots as some might have thought – just the blue garter around her leg.
The reception lasted into the night with music and dancing, and included a surprise visit from Jack’s Bandito motorcycle gang. No worries, they were all polite to our folks. The caterers provided both Texas T-bone steaks and Boston lobster for all the guests.
We took off in my Dakota and headed for our honeymoon. We stayed at the Crescent Court, a five-star hotel in the center of Dallas for a week. I didn’t take along my laptop or smart phone, since we wanted a complete news blackout from my work project. As for any worries of reprisals from any of Mr. Hopkins’ sympathizers, Killer Jack had a few of his Banditos patrol around the hotel area to keep things safe.
After a heavenly and expensive week with my new bride, we returned to Hamilton and settled down in our house to manage the book shop as a team. I still had about five more months until my obligation with Bronsworth was complete. I still had to go on visits to Big Bend National Park, El Paso, Galveston and the strange desert town of Marfa, where I interviewed folks who thought aliens were living among us. Bronsworth wanted me to interview the Dallas cowboys Cheerleaders, but Karen wouldn’t allow it. As a compromise, we sent Kenny to do the job, pretending to be me. We have a sneaking suspicion that he has found a girlfriend among those buxom dancers.
As the deadline got closer, Karen began to worry if things were still going to work out as they were now. I told her there shouldn’t be any more attempted kidnappings, break-ins, or death threats – of course we get those in Boston as well, don’t we? But still I got the sneaking suspicion that Karen thought I was going to dump her and return to Boston alone. I assured her that nothing of the kind would ever happen. I loved her and she was my newly wedded wife, and I would never play ‘love-em-and-leave-em’ with her.
“So, what’s your final evaluation of Texas?” Karen asked me, just a few days away from the first anniversary of my arrival. The weather was getting hotter again and so were the book sales. I told her I would show her my final report before I sent it off to my boss. Meanwhile, mom’s lawyer showed up from Boston with a bag full of tricks that we’d been waiting for.
On the 365th day of my stay in Texas, I wrote the following article for my blog:
“Dear Readers,
I have now spent an entire year in the state of Texas, observing the culture and people here. As you may remember, I got into this mess because I had a difference of opinion with some of my readers regarding the policies of the President of the United States; most of the comments giving me colorful metaphors to go fly a kite, came from Texas. As a result I unfoundedly bad-mouthed them, resulting in a shit storm that upped the sales of this magazine big time. However, it is not in my character to be some sort of ‘shock-jock’ celebrity like Howard Stern or Rush Limbaugh. I also want to, at this time, apologize for my inexcusable behavior.
Now, about Texas – certainly, it is very different from my hometown of Boston, in geography, climate, history and culture. However, when it comes to people, I have met a few good apples, as well as some real nasty jerks, but I can also say that about the people in Boston, Berlin, New York and some of the other cities I have visited during my career as a journalist.
I have seen rodeos, shot with guns, broke my nose, killed and eaten rattlesnakes, argued about politics, befriended motorcycle gangs and FBI agents, chased tornadoes and been chased by Texas Rangers. I’ve interviewed some of the strangest people I’ve ever met, such as those who have seen Bigfoot and were abducted by UFOs; and at the same time, I’ve started up and managed a successful book store in the town of Hamilton. But perhaps the most memorable moment of my time in Texas was that I found love. Yes, I got married to a Texan girl whom I love madly and who loves me too. Just as great is that her family loves me and accepts me as well – even if I’m not Texan, not a Republican, not a Baptist, not an NRA member, etc. They love me and accept me just as I am. This is something not everybody has, and definitely something I wish all of my readers will one day acquire, if they don’t have it already.
I have discovered that the people of Texas are just as much red-blooded American as the people in Boston, or Los Angeles, or New York or Chicago or Miami. We are all a proud bunch who have varying opinions and have the right to hold them. My only wish is that we can somehow get along better together and tolerate our differences as we celebrate our uniqueness. Like the Latin words on our money (E Pluribus Unum) we are indeed many making together as one.
The next thing people will ask me is ‘What now?’ My wonderful wife has been asking me this question for the past couple weeks. What now? I’m going to tell you what will happen next.
I have officially completed my one-year stay in Texas, according to the contractual obligation between me and my employer. As of today, I wish to inform my readers that I officially resign my position as journalist and blogger for Leather and Lace Magazine. I have found a new home and a job here in Central Texas and I wish to continue with the book shop that my wife and I have founded. It doesn’t mean that I will never return to Boston ever again. I will come and visit and bring my wife to Boston next Christmas to visit family and friends.
How do I end my last blog entry? Right now I am up early, my wonderful wife is in bed and I struggle to leave her presence to sit at a desk and write this entry. The sun is rising as I write this; I see it through my window right now. A thought comes to mind. I have always been a great fan of Benjamin Franklin. On the last day of the Constitutional Convention in 1787, while the delegates were signing the new document, Franklin pointed toward an image of the sun on the back of the Convention president's chair. Observing that painters had found it difficult to distinguish in their art a rising sun from a setting sun, he went on to say: ‘I have often ... in the course of the session ... looked at that sun behind the President without being able to tell whether it was rising or setting. But now at length I have the happiness to know it is a rising and not a setting sun.’
I hope that makes sense to all of you, because it makes perfect sense to me. You can either
love or hate this article but I just want to say, I love you all and wish you all the very best.
Daniel Preis”
I woke Karen and showed her my article. She loved it so much that she pulled me into bed and made passionate love to me. I wasn’t about to say anything like, “Honey, I got to send it off, can you give me a moment?”
I sent it off two hours later.
It wasn’t long before I got a call from Bronsworth. Karen and I were having coffee in the kitchen when he rang. She looked nervous when I saw the number and told her that it was him.
“What the hell is this all about,” he snapped. “Are you out of your mind, Preis? What is this shit about resigning and that we should learn to live together in love and harmony, and all the other Michael Jackson nonsense?”
“I meant what I said. It’s over, Mr. Bronsworth. I quit. My project is finished as agreed upon.”
“Those hicks in Texas have screwed you up big time. You’ve been f**ken brainwashed like the Borg. You’ve turned into one of them country idiots with their heads up their asses and longhorns sticking out.”
I motioned with my hand next to my smart phone, allowing Mr. Jerk-off ex-boss to keep the bullshit coming and vent it all out. “Next thing you’re going to do is stockpile guns and live in a cave until Ted Cruz is president of an independent Kingdom of F**cking Texas. You joined the Dark Side all right. You’re cow shit for brains, Preis. Don’t you know the value of a dollar, huh? All year long we were riding to the stars in mega sales, then you drop a friggin’ atomic bomb on me, just out of spite, you dick weed. I am f**king pissed at you!”
“Are you done now?”
“I haven’t even begun, you rat bastard. This is war, I tell you. Since you went ballistic on me, I’m going ballistic on you. I’m pulling the plug on your book store and foreclosing on your loans. Let’s see who gets last laugh now, asshole!”
“You have no power to make foreclosure on my loans and shut down the book shop. Your power of intervention for breach of contract was valid until my assignment was over, and that is today.”
“So you think you’re smarter than me. I have an army of lawyers that will fire so many holes in your argument that it will look like Swiss cheese in court. Your little sailboat is about to go up against a battleship.”
“I’ve gone through it all, Bronsworth and you can’t do anything about it. And by the way, your battleship is obsolete, because I just torpedoed your ass.” I hung up.
Karen jumped from the table and gave me a hug. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”
I gave her a kiss and said, “It’s time to call for reinforcements.” I dialed the lawyer that mother got for me. When he answered I informed him that Bronsworth was going to fight after all. The attorney laughed and said that we had a water-tight case and that my ex-boss was blowing a fuse. There was no way in the world he could win.
Just to be sure, we also called my mom to let her know what happened.
“Have you seen your blog since you wrote your last entry?” she asked.
“No, because it’s not my blog anymore.”
“You’re getting a flood of positive feedback, that’s for sure.”
I checked on my laptop and saw at least a hundred messages from well-wishers all over the country. It was amazing. It’s not until after you leave, or pass away, that everybody likes you.
The house phone rang and Karen answered it. She gave the phone to me, saying that it was a newspaper man from Boston.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Preis, this is Lew Garner, Boston Globe, how you doing today?”
I recognized the name. Garner was the chief editor there. “Fine, thanks.”
“I heard you quit your position with that Lace magazine and wanted to know if you would like to come out for an interview. We just happen to have a spot open on our staff for special features. What do you think?”
What do I think? Why didn’t this guy call me over a year ago when I was looking for work after my job in Berlin? But then again, I believe in divine providence and saw one of my greatest blessings standing right in front of me, with flowing red hair and wearing nothing but her pajama top, looking at me with those irresistible bright eyes.
“Can I call you back on that, Mr. Garner? I need to talk to my wife about it …Yes, thank you very much for the call.”
“You need to talk to me about what?” Karen asked.
“About a job interview with the Boston Globe for special features.”
She looked at me as if she watched me fall off a horse. “Daniel, that’s a big job for you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but why should I go? We’re a team at the shop.”
“But if we lose the shop, you have this as a backup.”
“Whoa there, my dear. We didn’t lose the case. I doubt if Bronsworth can even make it to court. I’m not going somewhere that will make you unhappy.”
“But are you happy where you are?”
I hugged her tight. “You are my reason for existing, my precious dear wife. And you give me so much unending joy, that I would be a fool to leave this place.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I love you so much.” She looked into my eyes and said, “But I love you too much to keep you here. Do the interview.”
“What?”
“You wanted to take me to Boston anyway. You need to talk to this lawyer about Bronsworth’s threats and I would love to see your parents.”
“Are you sure about this? And who runs the shop?”
“That’s not a problem.” She kissed me once again. “Now call this man and say you’ll come out.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Karen and I were in Boston three days later.
I left my home as a defeated and frustrated man a year ago, but now I’d come back triumphant with the greatest woman in the world at my side. Karen would tour the city with my parents while I went to see Mr. Garner from the world-famous Boston Globe, a dream job for any journalist.
The taxi took us from Logan Airport on a warm June day to the ‘Back Bay’ area, where my parents lived on Commonwealth Avenue; a very affluent section of the city, right on the Charles River. Karen couldn’t believe it when she stepped out of the taxi. She wore a flowery, cotton summer dress, but conservative enough to impress my parents.
“This is where you grew up?” She stared at a row of 19th Century brown brick Victorian houses with inviting front stoops, small tended gardens, and rows of trees and park benches on the opposite side of the street.
“Yep,” I said. It was nice to see the place again I had to admit. My folks came out and gave us a warm embrace.
Karen presented them with a small clock statue of a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Again I found it tacky, like the Old North Church clock, but my folks loved it. It must be a women’s thing, I guess.
The place hadn’t changed since I moved out years ago. It still had that museum look, where every Persian rug and Ming Dynasty piece of porcelain was displayed in lights or on pedestals, like in the home deco magazines. It was pathetic, which is why I moved out and went to Berlin to live in a dirty one-room flat, and loved it.
“You guys sleep in Daniel’s old room,” Mom said to Karen. “We moved two single beds in there just for you.”
“Thanks, June,” said Karen, “This is just fine.”
The room was small and the extra bed made it look all the more cramped, but Karen loved the dark wooden walls and floors with green-shaded lights. Then I recalled that they were the identical lamps that were in my office at the book shop. Clever mom I have, no wonder I liked the office.
“Unpack your things because we’re going out to lunch,” said dad.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Stephanie on Newbury,” answered mom.
“Sounds great,” said Karen. “You know this place, Daniel?”
“It’s a sophisticated restaurant with very large, very good and expensive salads,” I told her.
“Well, with the way you’re heading, son, y
ou’ll have no excuse not to pay for the bill,” said dad. “But since Karen is our guest, we want to flip the bill this time.”
“Thanks, Aaron,” Karen said with a smile.
“And tomorrow,” said dad, “Karen will come with us to a costumed tour on the Freedom Trail.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll see old buildings and streets that go back to the Revolution,” Aaron explained. “The tour guides wear authentic costumes.”
I was glad that Karen would see this without me. It was tourist-trappy and it was one of those ‘been there, done that’ things I did as a kid and didn’t want to do again.
“It all sounds wonderful,” said Karen. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“And for dinner this evening, we have reservations at the Union Oyster house,” said Mom.
My mouth was already watering. Way to go, Pavlov. “Where they have the best clam chowder anywhere,” I said with a smile.
“What time is your interview at the Globe tomorrow?” Dad asked.
“At 10:00.”
“We’ll be thinking of you during that time,” said mom.
Karen made a symbolic punch on my shoulder, as she loved to do. “This cowboy is gonna’ knock their Yankee socks off,” saying it with an exaggerated Texas accent.
The Boston Globe was about ten miles south of downtown on Highway 1, on Morrissey Boulevard. I was brought into Lew Garner’s office as soon as I checked in at the front desk. Just like any modern newspaper office, there were rows of mini cubicles with people working on computers with two, or even three, large flat screens, editing, writing and laying out all sorts of things. It reminded me very much of my time working in Berlin. The chaos was electrifying.
“Come in Mr. Preis. Have a seat,” said Garner after shaking hands. The man was in his mid-fifties; tall, grey hair cut low, almost Marine like, with a square jaw. He looked tough but his voice sounded more like a calm, cool salesman. He had all the qualities that one would need to be an editor of such a prestigious newspaper, with so many Pulitzer Prizes under its belt and all. His office was spacious but full of paperwork on his desk and work table. On the wall were photos of various people I recognized as local politicians and congressmen shaking hands with Garner. A US and City of Boston flag were posted on either sides of his desk.
Heart of Texas Page 16
