by Russ Durbin
The bouncing ball was back; I let it bounce.
As I clicked my phone shut, I thought about Ireland, the home of my ancestors…and the home of my beloved Maggie. Was she still in Cork? Was she married? Did she have a family? Would she even see me if I showed up on her doorstep? It had been so long.
For a moment, it seemed as if our parting was only yesterday. It was raining when I boarded the train that took me away from her. My last glimpse of Maggie was through the dirt-streaked windows. She was standing on the platform sobbing as her friend, Mary Kate, consoled her. That was 20 years ago.
We had not seen each other since, nor had I ever spoken to or of her. She was the secret I had carried in my heart. I had left her to return home to my wife, Kerri, and our two children, Jonathan and Elizabeth whom I loved. Jon was now a successful investment banker on Wall Street and Elizabeth was a talented commercial artist with a major ad agency in New York.
And Kerri? Well, my life had turned out differently than I had thought it would.
Chapter 2
REMEMBERING
“Dad! You’re home! Mom! Dad’s here.” Both kids screamed as they ran to hug me when I walked in and dropped my suitcase. I hadn’t seen them for almost three months and I was as starved for them as they were for me.
Kerri came around the corner of the kitchen, the phone stuck to her ear and the cord stretched almost to the breaking point. She smiled, waved and continued her conversation.
“Yes, Len, I know…” she was saying. “Yes, I got the presentation done and I am Fed-Xing to you as we speak.” She obviously was talking to her boss, Leonard Sweet. Len was a corporate VP at her pharmaceutical company. “Yes, I’ll be at the meeting on Monday without fail. Don’t worry; everything will go smoothly. I have everything under control. Right. Good-bye.”
Kerri hung up and gave me a hug and a kiss. “Glad you’re home, darling. Believe me; it’s been tough while you were gone. It’s been gobs of homework with the kids as well getting them to and from their sports and clubs. And my boss has been bugging me almost every day on the marketing plans for the new merged company. It’s been c-r-a-z-y!” she finished.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have been busy in Ireland, too. And I’ve been missing you and the kids.”
Kerri stood back, giving me a long considering look. I wondered if she could see that I had come home with only part of my heart. The rest I had left in Cork.
“Well,” she began, “I am just glad you’re home. Believe me, managing things here while you are away is a big job. And meeting deadlines for the company on top of that was no picnic. It takes a lot of organization, a plan and a tight schedule.”
“I know, but I’m home now and looking forward to the next few months of staying put and spending a lot of catch-up time with you in particular,” I said as I put my arm around her and gave her my best look of lust.
“Dad, wanna see the videos of my baseball games that Mom recorded?” Jonathan was pulling on one sleeve while Elizabeth was hanging on the other. “I have done some new pictures that the teacher put up on the bulletin board at school. She said they are my best work. And…I started some new ones. Do you want me to bring them down?”
Before I could answer, Kerri interrupted, “Your father will have time for all of that later. Right now, back to your rooms troops and finish your homework. You’re behind schedule. We eat at 6:30 sharp!” And with that, she sent them scrambling up the stairs with much grumbling and stomping of feet. Kerri was nothing if not organized.
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll just put some pizza in the oven and make a salad. Could you cut up some fruit for dinner?” said Kerri.
“That’s fine. I just….”
“After we eat, I need to get back to work on Monday’s presentation.”
“I thought you told Len that it was done.”
“I did, and it is. I just want to tweak it a little. This is a big one for me. I get to present it to the company executives on Monday. Len is as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. And there could be a promotion for me at the end of all this, if the merger goes through.”
“Oh, I see. Aren’t you a bit anxious?
“Of course. But I have it under control. That’s my thing, you know, control. Len is too much of a nervous Nelly,” said Kerri. “Frankly, I could do his job better that he; I’m more organized, calmer,” she paused, “and I have more creative ideas.”
I laughed. “That I can believe! Well, I guess we both have important presentations coming up next week, so let’s enjoy what is left of the weekend. I’ll run upstairs and unpack. Then, I’ll come down and fix the fruit for dinner.”
Home, I thought. Nothing has changed. Maggie was right. I had to come home to my family. This was where I belonged.
* * *
The bouncing ball on the computer screen continued to bounce as I sat lost in my thoughts.
Chapter 3
CHANGES
I had been wrong. Everything had changed, but I was too dense to see it right away. Or maybe I didn’t want to admit that things were different. The relationship between Kerri and me had subtly changed. At first, I was feeling guilty and thought the changes were my fault. After all, I had been away for more than two months with only an occasional phone call home. And for the first time in my life, I was keeping a secret from her. Throughout our marriage, we had talked out the things that troubled us…or so I had thought.
As it turned out, Kerri’s big presentation to the company execs was a hit and she was excited. She had been named as a member of the corporate merger team to see the project through to completion and to oversee the marketing. That meant numerous trips for her to New York, Boston and to Los Angeles over the next few months.
For me, things went equally well. The Board of Directors at my company gave the go-ahead for the plan to build the new ECC manufacturing plant in Ireland. Along with it, the board approved my communications plan. Everything was moving fast now. In early 1976, I would go back to Ireland with the corporate team to execute it. Hopefully, all would go smoothly and we would get the approvals we needed to build the critically needed facility.
Most of my spare time at home over the next few weeks was spent with the kids’ school and sports activities and keeping things under control – more or less – at home. I loved every minute of the time I spent with Jon and Beth. Despite all their homework as they approached the end of the school year, and all the sports activities, the kids and I managed to take in a couple of the Phillies’ games. The Phillies won, and we had fun eating hot dogs at the Vet and watching future Hall of Famers Steve Carlton pitch and Mike Schmidt hit home runs.
I didn’t see much of Kerri. It seemed as if she was constantly traveling or going to dinner meetings or staying late at the office to finish projects. Now, at least, I could better understand her earlier irritation with me and my travel schedule while she stayed at home with the children. When she was home, Kerri’s talk was filled with references to Len, her boss, and Marc and Todd, both vice presidents of her company, working on separate parts of the merger. I walked into the bedroom one evening. Kerri had been home less than 90 minutes and she was changing to a cocktail dress and adding pearl earrings and a necklace. She turned to me and said, “Could you zip me up? I’m running late.”
“What’s up? I thought you were planning to be home tonight.”
“Oh, Len and I have to meet Mr. Winthrope and Mr. Levin. There is a cocktail party at Le Bec Fin. It appears that the merger will be completed on time and I was invited to be part of the victory celebration.”
“I see. Well, I guess I’ll order a pizza and watch the movie I rented. What time should I expect you?”
“Be sure the kids get to bed before too late, Pat,” said Kerri. “And don’t wait up. You know how these things go. It’ll probably be late. I’ll try not to wake you when I come in.”
“Right. That’s thoughtful of you.” My sarcasm went unnoticed.
Slipping her pashmina around her bare shoulders, Kerri left me standing at the front door as the limo arrived to pick her up. I couldn’t see who, if anyone, was in the car besides the driver who held the car door for her.
I was up until after 2 a.m. watching the old Hitchcock movie “Psycho” on “Nick at Nite” and Kerri had not returned. She was in bed at 7 the next morning when I awoke. I was downstairs having coffee when she finally came down.
“Kinda late, weren’t you?”
She yawned. “Yes. The party went on forever, it seemed. I must say, Mr. Winthorpe was terribly boring. He kept patting me on the knee and saying what a good job I had done. It’s nice to hear the praise, but to be stuck with him for much of the night was a real drag. And if he had patted my knee one more time, I would have slugged him.” Looking around, she asked, “Where are the kids?”
“Jonathan was staying with his buddy, Jeff, and Elizabeth had a pajama birthday party at Suzie’s.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot.”
“You’ve been forgetting a lot lately.”
“Yes, I’ve had a lot on my mind.’
“Well, I hope you will put on your rather crowded calendar that you will need to be home with the children next week. I have to go back to Ireland with the team to introduce our plans. I’ll be gone at least a week, possibly a bit longer, depending on how things go.”
“Oh, wow. That is a problem. Len and I are supposed to go to Boston Thursday for picture taking and the press conference on the merger. Maybe I can get Margie to come and stay with the children.” Margie was the maid who came to clean our house every other week. “I’ll give her a call right now.”
* * *
Forcing my memories to recede, I clicked the computer and the blank eye returned.
Somewhere in the midst of my personal musings, a solution to my problem with Murdock, The Marshal, had percolated and I began writing. In my mind, I could see Murdock picking up the star that Billy had dropped in the dust and becoming the town marshal again. Eventually, it would all lead to a big shootout and the good guy would win. I liked happy endings to my stories. Tom, my editor, didn’t really care whether the ending was happy or sad; he just wanted the damned thing finished. He would get his wish.
Chapter 4
EIRE REVISITED
Flying Aer Lingus to Dublin to meet with my Irish publisher brought back all the memories I had tried to suppress for the last 20 years. Reclining my first class seat, I tried to sleep. But no sleep would come. I kept reliving my past.
* * *
Early in 1976, the corporate team descended on Ireland to kick off announcement of our plans to build a manufacturing plant in County Cork. We met first with the IDA. Advisers there were not keen about my plans to announce our project to officials, media and local residents before we had applied for the needed permits. The IDA had advised us to keep everything under wraps until we had our government, environmental, and tourist board permits.
“If you announce your plans early, you’ll bring every nut case and every tree-hugger out of the woodwork,” said Gerry Maloney, one of the IDA reps assigned to our company. “They’ll file so many complaints, they will delay your company for years. That has happened to a couple of other companies.” He shook his head when we insisted in sticking to our approved communications plan.
The reasoning behind my plan was simple. We needed to earn the trust of the local residents, many of whom would be candidates for employment at the new facility, in order to succeed. With the sensitivity of the Irish to “blow ins,” foreign companies wanting to build in Ireland, wouldn’t it be better to be up front with the people, I argued, and let them ask their questions and voice their concerns before we actually did anything? Transparency was the key, I thought. That way, we might minimize or neutralize opposition to our plans.
Business details occupied almost 100 per cent of my time. But underlying everything were the constant thoughts and questions about Maggie. Surely, once the information was made public she would see the stories and maybe even photos of the team, me included. Should I call her? Should I try to see her? Would she be happy? Would she be upset?
Our parting last June was painful for both of us. If I were to see her, would we just relive the pain when we had to part again? What was the right thing to do?
Meanwhile, our meetings in Dublin with the national media, and again in Cork with officials and local residents went far better than I could have hoped for. Our plans were warmly received and, while some were skeptical, local residents were generally supportive. IDA representatives just shook their collective heads and congratulated us.
Unresolved was the Maggie issue. In the end, I did not call or attempt to see her. I convinced myself that we would both be better off to leave things as they were.
Chapter 5
DUBLIN—A HAPPENING PLACE
As my plane rolled to the terminal, I took my coat from the trim young stewardess and picked up my briefcase. As I rode the taxi to my hotel, I gawked like any tourist at the city of Dublin. It was decorated with greens in preparation for Christmas.
What a change! Two decades ago, the city was interesting but a bit depressing. Now, large cranes dominated the skyline as construction was going on over virtually the entire city. Young professionals from throughout Europe were beginning to flock to the city. And tourists from Eastern European countries were starting to make Eire a favorite spot for their holidays. No longer was Dublin the sleepy capital of a poor country.
I could sense the bustling energy and excitement of the city. As the taxi pulled into the narrow street leading to the new hotel, the Westbury, on Grafton Street, I again marveled at the change. Grafton was now developing as one exclusive walking and shopping mall. And there was talk that cars would be prohibited on that street in the near future. While not all the stores were open, it was clear that Grafton was shaping up to be the “the happening spot” for Dublin.
After checking in, I rang the offices of Sheehy, Reilly, and O’Connell. When I had identified myself, the receptionist said, “Oh, yes, Mr. O’Connor, we’ve been expecting your call. Ms. Reilly and Mr. Sheehy are in the conference room. One moment, please.”
“Patrick, my boy, welcome. Did you have a good flight and was your hotel satisfactory?” The man’s voice was cultured, smooth, definitely Irish but with an overlay that hinted at possibly an Eton education.
“The answer to both questions is yes.”
“Good, why don’t you get some rest, and we’ll meet you for dinner in the hotel dining room about half-seven.”
Malcolm Sheehy in person looked like his voice sounded. Polished from his nails to his Gucci shoes, he brought his wavy silver hair and his carefully tailored Burberry suit into the dining room promptly at seven-thirty. With him was a well-put-together redhead that I assumed, correctly it turned out, to be Ms. Kathryn Reilly. Sheehy’s handshake was a bit limp, but hers was quite the opposite.
“We’re excited to meet you, Mr. O’Connor,” Ms. Reilly began. “And I am very enthusiastic about this project.”
“Please call me Pat. Mister is too much of a reminder of my age.”
She laughed, “Pat it is.”
“Shall we order drinks before we settle down to dinner and some business after? Sheehey inquired.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
“And for you, Kathryn?”
“My usual, Malcolm.”
As we took our drinks into the lounge and sat down to wait for our table, I glanced around. No agent in sight.
“Before we talk business, I have a question. Shouldn’t my agent, Jamie Lipchitz, be here? She was supposed to take an earlier plane; she usually handles all business arrangements and contracts.”
“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” said Ms. Reilly. “She phoned and said she was hung up in New York with another client. Some fuss about a breach of contract, or something like that. She said to tell you to go ahead without her. She apparently has great trust in your judgment.”
> I smiled and sat back, waiting.
It was clear to me that Ms. Reilly was taking the lead in this negotiation. Sheehy was present to carry the company colors.
Dinner was leisurely with talk mostly of Ireland and my earlier experiences on behalf of the company for which I had worked. Sheehy was a native of Belfast, with the slightly anglicized accent of Northern Ireland overlayed with the refinements of his education, which in fact had been Eton. Ms. Reilly had the earthier Munster accents of County Cork. She was a graduate of Trinity College in Dublin.
After dinner, we retired to the lounge to order more drinks and get down to business.
“Pat, my boy, how about a nice Armagnac before we begin?” said Malcolm as we settled into comfortable chairs in one corner. While I never drink alcohol when I am writing, I will on occasion, have a drink socially. This wasn’t strictly speaking a social occasion, but I accepted out of politeness. After sniffing the long aged brandy and warming it in my hands, I had to admit with the first sip that this was something special.
Malcolm, watching me with experienced eyes, smiled, “I thought you’d like it. I keep a small supply here for occasions such as this.” He pulled out a gold case from an inside pocket and offered me a cigar.
“Thanks, Malcolm, but I don’t smoke. And at the risk of seeming ungrateful after the really excellent brandy, I would appreciate your not lighting up. The smoke really gets to me.”
“Of course, dear boy,” Malcolm said with just a faint trace of regret. The case snapped and disappeared into his coat.
I opened the ball game. “Just what prompted you to want to publish An Irish Interlude? It didn’t sell well in the U.S. when it was released. And I am known as a writer of westerns, not love stories.”
Kathryn Reilly smoothly cut off whatever Sheehey started to say. “I think it’s a great love story. And we Irish love a good tale of love won and love lost. We delight in tragedies, great and small.”
