by Leslie Pike
There’s something different about his manner today. Is he picking up on what I’m about to tell him? Maybe there’s some sort of psychic ability people get when they’re about to become parents. I hear the change in his voice and see it in his demeanor. There’s a certain excitement I haven’t heard before. He’s telling me about his best friend Mark from high school, and his brother John. We’re going to see him today. From what I gather Jack and he have always been close.
“I’m really glad you’re going to meet John. I told you he lives with his mother, right?”
“She’s got to be up there in age. How old is he?”
“Thirty-eight. ‘Carol is closing in on eighty. You’ll like her, she’s very sweet.”
“Tell me what to expect as far as John’s disability goes.”
Jack’s face clouds into an expression I can’t quite identify. There’s a certain sorrow there.
“He’s in a wheelchair now. He wasn’t always, but both his hips have degenerated. But he’s really intelligent Nicki. He’s not mentally disabled at all. You may mistake his inability to speak clearly and control his limbs with his mental clarity. He’ll understand everything you say, so don’t talk to him like he’s a child. He’s a man. A smart one.”
We turn off the thoroughfare and come to a guard shack and a gate leading in to a neighborhood of Mediterranean homes. The guard recognizes Jack. I don’t know if it’s because he’s a movie lover or just because Jack is a frequent visitor.
“Morning, Mr. Alden.” He leans over to catch a glimpse of me. “Mrs. Alden.”
“Morning, Henry.” Jack gives a wave, the gate opens and we pass through. He turns left at the first street. It’s lined with trees and winds along the crystal-blue lake.
“Carol has taken care of John her whole life?” I ask.
“Yep. Complete devotion. And she’s been widowed for twenty years at least.”
I take in the manicured lawns and the wide lots. “Well, she must be pretty well off. This a beautiful neighborhood.”
We pull into a circular driveway in front of a tastefully landscaped tiled roof home. It’s a one story, but it’s large and commanding. Gorgeous flowers border the flagstone pathway that runs from the street to the front door. Jack turns off the car. He locks eyes with me, and pauses before he continues.
“I help them with the costs. It’s staggering what it takes to care for a cerebral palsy child. And when that child grows to adulthood, the costs multiply. They didn’t have the means, and I did. I hope you’re on board for this because I’ve been doing it for decades and I don’t plan on stopping. I’ve established a Trust for John, so his care and his mother’s are guaranteed for life.”
I’m a little taken aback. Not by his big heart. Not by the amount of money. It’s the fact that I wasn’t even aware of this family till two weeks ago, and I had no idea they were such an important part of his life.
“Of course I’m on board. I think it’s a wonderful thing you’ve done. And how you spend your money is your business. I have no objections. I just wish you had told me sooner; it seems odd that I never knew about this before today.”
Before we can continue our conversation the front door swings open, and an attractive silver-haired woman steps out. She’s striking. And classically dressed, wearing simple lines as only a stylish woman can.
“We’ll talk this out tonight,” Jack says with a half-smile.
He’s out of the car, walking toward the woman. Oh yeah, you can bet we’ll talk, my dear. What else are you keeping from me? I grab my purse and join my husband.
Carol’s affection reaches across the yard. Her whole face lights up when she sees him. She holds her arms open in a warm welcome. “Jack!” she says. He crosses to her and wraps his arms around her slim frame. They kiss each other’s cheek and hold on for a few extra moments, her head nestled against his shoulder. The wordless show of affection is touching. It’s obvious they mean a lot to each other.
I’m aware of the sound of the motorized wheelchair moving toward us down the ramp running from the house to the driveway. I take in the sight of the man controlling the speed and direction of the chair. A beautiful long-haired dog walks alongside. ‘John has a wide grin on his face as he looks at Jack, his good friend. He attempts to speak. I think he’s saying the same word over and over. It’s difficult for me to understand, but I’m pretty sure Jack knows exactly what’s being said. He goes to John and squats down so he can look and speak directly to him. He takes his hand and his expression is transformed.
“Hey, John, how you doin? I’ve missed you man. Too many film locations. But now I’m off for a few months, so we’ll be seeing more of each other. Did you get my emails and packages?”
I hear John’s guttural response. His hand reaches for his furry companion. Jack pets the dog, and gives her a kiss on the head. “Hello, Dolly, I’m not forgetting you, you old showgirl.” Dolly recognizes her friend, and pushes her expressive face against his pocket. Jack takes out a dog bone which the dog knows is hers. Where did he get that?
“I’ve got someone I want you to meet.” Jack turns and waves me over. “This is my bride. I know you’re going to be friends. She’s sassy, John. She gave me all kinds of crap this morning. I may have to spank her tonight.” John finds this funny and laughs.
I place my hand on his shoulder and he turns his eyes toward mine studying my face. “Hi John. I’m Nicki. It’s a pleasure to meet one of Jack’s favorite friends. Maybe you can help me keep him in line.”
I’m petting Dolly as he begins to speak, but it’s difficult to understand what he’s saying. I look to Jack for help.
“He says he wants a kiss.”
I lean in and pucker my lips. John’s eyes widen and he starts frantically talking, then he and Jack start laughing. Carol puts up her hands in protest and shakes her head. “Quit that, Jack! He didn’t say that, Nicki; he was just repeating your name.”
I give my husband a pointed look then extend my hand to Carol. “I’m sorry. I should have known my husband would be messing with me. Hi Carol, I’m so happy to meet you.”
Her mouth curves into a smile. “Same here. Gosh, Jack, she’s a beauty.”
He screws up his face in a mad expression. “True enough, but you don’t think she’s as pretty as I am, do you?”
Carol pats his arm as if she’s quieting a bratty child who’s about to have a meltdown. “Of course not. You know you’ll always be the most beautiful to us.”
Watching John’s reaction, it’s obvious he finds his friend as charming and funny as the rest of us do. When we walk inside the house, I see how beautifully Carol has decorated. Her style extends from her wardrobe to her home. Looking around, I see how similar Jack’s tastes are. I wonder how much of the furniture and accessories were gifts? Good for him if they were. I want to hear the whole story when we’re alone.
“Nicki. What can I get you to drink? I’m having coffee,” Carol asks.
“That’s perfect. Make it two.”
“How about you, Jack?”
But he’s already headed out of the room, with John and Dolly by his side.
“Don’t bother us, woman! We’re going to create this month’s masterpiece.” And they disappear down the hallway.
“What’s that about?” I look to Carol for some clarity.
“They’re going to paint. It’s been oils lately, but sometimes it’s watercolors or figure drawing. It’s a monthly activity when Jack’s in town. It takes them about three visits to complete one painting. They’re both very good, thanks to the many lessons. In a while we’ll go back and you can see the set up for yourself. Has he told you anything about it?”
“No. But I think it’s fantastic. How does John hold the brush?”
“He doesn’t. It’s attached to a metal band going around his head. It’s much easier for him to control his neck than his limbs. You’ll see. Let me get that coffee.” And she’s gone.
I spend the next ten minutes taking in the r
oom. There’s photographs lining the shelves of a handsome Ethan Allen bookcase, and that’s where I head. I study the different stages of John’s life, the child, the teen and the young man. He’s upright in most pictures. The wheelchair doesn’t appear until 2007. There’s a Happy New Year 2007 photograph with him in the chair. Carol’s in most of the pictures and I see her transformation too. She must have been in her forties when she had him, and she was a knockout. Her husband stands beside her in a few frames, but they’re not touching in any of them. He looks distant and uninterested. There’s almost an angry look on his face. I see no smile from him in any picture. He’s disconnected from the others in some way. Carol, on the other hand, looks like the adoring mother in every shot. Hmm.
And there’s my man in at least half the pictures. What a handsome young guy he was. His 80’s wardrobe is hysterical. I’m going to tease him unmercifully later about his Members Only jacket, and all the popped collars. The early photographs show another young guy. That must be John’s older brother Mark. But he doesn’t show up in anything beyond those early years.
“That’s my gallery of memories.” Carol’s returned with our coffee and a plate of cookies. She sets mine down on a glass coaster and takes a seat on the couch. She pats the place next to her. “Come sit by me. I want to get to know the woman Jack loves.”
“These are great pictures. I’ve never seen one of Jack so young.”
“I’ll make some copies and send them to you. He was always part of our family. He and Mark were best friends. I think he spent more time at our house than his own.”
“Where does Mark live? Is he a Southern California guy?”
A flash of pain shows on her face as soon as the words leave my lips.
“Mark died in a car accident in 1991.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” I touch her hand and she covers mine with hers.
“I’ve come to terms with it as much as a mother can. Thank God for John and Jack. They’ve been my lifelines.”
Inside my head I’m processing this in a whole new way. Before when I heard of a mother losing a child I was naturally sympathetic and horrified. But the idea has taken on a new meaning. I’ve only known I was pregnant for a few hours and already the thought of losing it is unimaginable. I didn’t realize how strong that invisible connection is. How do mothers and fathers continue after these tragedies? The grief must be almost impossible to bear.
“It looks like you’ve raised a happy son in John. Jacks told me how intelligent he is, and I can see what a good environment he’s in.”
Her eyes lock on mine. “Nicki, everything you see here is a result of Jack’s influence. I’m not sure what he told you, but John and I owe everything to him. All this. I want you to know how it happened.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything. I accept whatever Jack thought was right,” I say.
“I appreciate that, but I want you to know. My husband passed away two years after Mark did. We were left with absolutely no money and no prospects of making it. I didn’t have an education, and I needed to take care of John.” A fine line appears between her brows.
“I would have dug ditches to keep him with me. Without Jack I don’t know what would have come of us. His film career took off in his twenties. Every payday for him was another brick in our fortress. Johns had physical therapists, speech therapists and the finest medical care money buys. This house and everything in it is his gift. But his time and attention are his greatest gifts of all. Did he tell you these things?”
She says this with hope in her voice. I know she has nothing to fear as far as money goes. She’s got to be the Executor of John’s Trust. I think she just wants me to know how deep her gratitude goes, and I think she’s bringing me into their lives.
“He told me how much you mean to him. What he’s done only makes me love him more,” I say.
Her face relaxes. She just wanted to make sure I understand the history and their place in his heart. But she doesn’t realize how meaningful this story is to me. It proves Jack has the ability to put a child ahead of himself, and it’s been steady for years.
“It’s his company that means the most to us. We always wondered who’d win his heart. I was beginning to doubt it would happen at all. Then he found you. When he told us about his beautiful Nicki we could hear the happiness in his voice. I’m so happy for him because it’s not a good thing to go through life alone. I know.” She forces a smile.
I’m not sure how to respond. Her marriage must have been bad one, as evidenced by the photos. Or maybe she’s referencing her husband’s death. Jack will fill me in.
“Thank you, Carol. We found each other, actually. It’s easy to recognize your soulmate. And now I’ve found out his family extends to you and John. I’m really happy to know I’ll be part of it.”
She just smiles. I think I settled her fears.
“Shall we go see Picasso and Monet then? They’ve started by now.”
When we walk into the large high ceilinged room I’m stunned by the paintings hanging on the walls. It’s a color bomb of art. I see many I’d hang in my own home. It looks like a professional artist’s workspace, with jars of fine brushes and oils and watercolors of every shade. There’s half done charcoal figure studies and art books piled on the shelves. Classical music plays on an exquisite sounding Bose system. Really, I’ve never seen anything like it.
“Welcome to John’s painting cave.” I hear a mother’s pride and see it on her face, as it should be. The work is beautiful.
“Hello, ladies.” Jack swivels his chair to face us.
He’s got the same metal contraption on his head that John does. An attached brush sticks out from his forehead. He’s painting by the exact method his friend is, no use of hands. Two canvases sit side by side on individual easels which sit on a long white table. There’s cutouts for the men’s bodies, so they can bring their chairs close to the canvas. In the center of the table is a lone arrangement of perfectly-formed peonies in a dark carved wooden vase. It sits on a dusty green piece of velvet. A light is positioned to illuminate the tableau. Carol wasn’t far off the mark. Jacks the Picasso and John the Monet in their individual styles. They’re painting the same subject, but each painting is unique in its execution. It’s the start of an interpretive Modern piece and an Impressionists.
“I had no idea you could paint, Jack!” I say, completely stunned.
He smiles and lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve still got a few secrets, baby.”
Chapter Two
BLISS
My ex-mother-in-law, Mary, used to say the male form was underappreciated. She was always trying to get her artist husband to use more men as his figure models. But Carl’s one flaw was that he was the jealous type. He had no intention of having naked virile men hanging around the house. Other than himself, that is. Not around his Mary, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Right now I’m agreeing with her assessment of man. There’s still ten minutes before the alarm sounds, and it’s not quite time to rise, but I’m awake enough to appreciate the view. Steven’s kicked off the covers and he’s sleeping on his stomach, naked ass to the ceiling. The morning light has settled on it, just like a spotlight illuminates the most interesting thing on a stage. What an outstanding way to start my day.
Except for the outline of his trunks, his skin is golden from our days spent around Jack and Nicki’s pool, or Finn and Esme’s beach house in Dana Point. Paul and BB rounded out our happy group. No one’s been filming for the last two months, so we took advantage of that rare occurrence. It’s been our summer of love. We’re a loafing, lazy, grateful bunch, aware without question or doubt how life can change in a moment. The last couple of years have taught us all that hard lesson. But for this little pocket of time, all’s right with our worlds.
My lids close as the night’s sleep holds tight, unwilling to let go. How did I end up here? What god looked at my early years and banished the pain, making room for the fairytale? How
far I’ve come from where I started. My mind drifts back to the beginning.
My childhood can be summed up in three words. I was unloved. My mother preferred to show affection to her drug dealer, or the latest man who’d buy her a high. When it got too hard for her to feign interest in me she just walked away. We never saw each other again. Four years old is too young to rationalize that bad parents do bad things. All I knew was I didn’t know where my momma went. My father wasn’t in my life in any consistent way either. The only memory I have of him is a shadowy image of us holding hands, walking down a street. He and my mother weren’t married, and I obviously not wanted. It’s a miracle I wasn’t aborted. I’ve never figured that one out.
No one stepped in to claim me, so that was the start of my life in foster care. Fourteen years would pass before I was out. It’s a scar on a child’s soul when your very existence is thought of as an annoyance. Self-worth becomes a hollow concept, an empty promise. I suppose that’s why I’m good at being self-reliant and good at picking myself up.
All this wedding planning has brought up the old hurts and the ghosts of my lost people. Not to be able to have either parent at my upcoming nuptials is a surprising wound, and I don’t know why. I wouldn’t want them there. I didn’t realize I cared at all. Stop it, Bliss. Leave it in the past where it belongs.
