Little White Lies (26 page)

“I hooked up with an agency to look for a manager,” A.J. continues without interruption. “They ran an advertisement and I received a resume that I thought was absolutely perfect. For some reason, don’t ask me why, I assumed the agency would send me only black candidates. I mean, what the hell… I’m black… everyone who works here is black. They know all that… they would send me a black manager… right?”

I can’t help but notice that some of the guests are stirring uneasily in their chairs. They’re obviously embarrassed. They know A.J. can get a bit rough at times. As for me, I like it when A.J. gets like this… he crawls way out on a limb and then turns around, faces the tree and starts sawing.

“Well at the appointed hour, in walks Phil and he’s just as white as he can be.” He points his finger at me. “Even whiter than he is now… I didn’t know whether to crap or wind my watch. One thing leads to another and I tell him he isn’t right for the job. I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s obvious things didn’t work out the way I expected them to. In fact, I want to say publicly that I couldn’t be happier Phil didn’t allow me to make a mistake. What you all do not know, however, is that Philip has decided to convert.”

A.J. is showing nothing but teeth now and he has everyone’s undivided attention. What the hell is he talking about, convert to what?

With the flawless timing of the show business professional he is, A.J. continues.

“That’s right, I think it’s time we got it out in the open. Phil has seen the light and has decided to be black. If you look closely you can see where he has already started to change.

“As many of you know, the most important thing necessary in the process of becoming black, is diet. Starting tomorrow, Phil will be eating nothing but black-eyed peas, ham hocks and stuff like that. And I don’t want to hear any shit about watermelon. I can tell you right now, watermelon has nothing to do with color. All it does is help black kids run fast. First, when they steal them… they’re pretty heavy, you know, after that, when they eat them. They have to go so bad they’re always running to the john… that stuff goes right through you. And last, but not least, I’ve signed him up for tap dancing lessons. You’re starting first thing in the morning, Phil. If you’re going to be black, you have to have a sense of rhythm.”

“You had better get the film rights fast, A.J.,” I reply with a laugh. “You will do a lot better selling videos ofmy dancing grace than you will with those restaurants of yours. Everyone likes a good laugh.”

“Well, A.J., as far as I’m concerned,” Sheri comments with conviction, “you can add this story to your list of most embarrassing moments. You’re always trying to embarrass Phil and you always wind up stepping in it yourself. The best part is you don’t need help from anyone… you do it all by your lonesome.”

“Why are you always saying I’m embarrassing Phil?” A.J. asks in an aggrieved tone. “Phil’s not embarrassed. He just loves being the center of attention.”

“That’s not true, A.J.,” I interject. “You should listen to your wife. She has a more sensitive nature than you and she knows all about these things. After all, how would you like to be white? You don’t know how painful it can be, living in a black world as I do. I don’t understand the language, I don’t understand the culture and I sure as hell don’t understand the way the men dress… the man in this house being a particular case in point.”

A.J. leans back and looks down at his elegant navy blue pinstriped suit. His white silk shirt is the backdrop for a tie that could only be worn by the great himself. The same is true for his jewelry. It’s all very tasteful, but as always, there’s a lot of it and it wouldn’t look the same on another man. He inevitably strikes the right balance. He’s a showman and he both knows it and looks it. But right now he decides to look puzzled.

Sheri walks to the back of A.J.’s chair and wraps her arms around his neck.

“You can tell when A.J.’s getting dressed… that’s when all the lights go dim around here. He has given a whole new meaning to the term, ‘blackout’, if you know what I mean. If our neighbors knew the reason for all the power failures recently, they would probably run us out of town.”

The banter continues without letup. A.J. lashes out… and then becomes the universal target… back and forth. You better have your thick skin on, because a thin one won’t get you through this night. The only one to get off lightly is Karen. It seems the worst thing anyone could come up with is that she’s too damn glamorous for the likes of me.

Love or lust? Damned if I know.

Yeah, right.

***

The guests have left and A.J. and Sheri just said goodnight. Karen is leaning against the bar, sipping her water and now it’s time to face the music. My emotions have been up and down all evening. It’s nice to have Karen here again and it’s bothersome as well. I look at her and feel all the natural urges and longing that I’ve felt for the last several weeks… then I remember the reality of our lives and it begins to get complicated again. I know I have to get past this business of gratifying my short-term desires and look at the miserable facts involved. We are simply too different and age may be the least of those differences.

“I’m staying over you know,” she says looking over the rim of her glass.

“I assumed as much,” I reply directly.

“Don’t sound so overjoyed,” comes the sarcastic return over the net.

“Come on, Karen,” I plead. “I just figured it was part of the plan. I couldn’t imagine Sheri inviting you to come out here for just a few hours and then have you drive back home alone in the middle of the night.”

“Did you miss me?” she asks, ignoring my rebuttal. Before I can answer… “I missed you terribly. I want to erase the tape of my life back to the point where you said you would like us to have a relationship, but that you wanted it to happen naturally, without any pressure. But first I want to know if you missed me? Why don’t you answer?”

“How am I supposed to answer when you keep talking? Of course I missed you. I missed you a lot. In fact, I missed you a lot more than I would have thought was possible. How’s that? Is my answer satisfactory? Do I get a better grade for completeness?”

“That’s a very good answer,” she replies patting my hand, “your grade will be on your pillow in the morning.”

“Maybe that’s part of our problem. Perhaps we’re moving too fast.”

Why do I say things like this? If she agrees with me, I’ll be miserable.

“Well we can’t unring a bell,” she replies seriously. “We have been sleeping together and we can’t stop now without ending our relationship. And I, for one, am not ready or willing to do that. I made a dumb mistake the last time we were together… I put pressure where there shouldn’t have been anything going on but a good time. I won’t do that again… we’re just going to go forward from here.”

Whew! A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a kiss may be even better. Especially when the kiss is only for openers. I may be confused again in the morning, but right now I know exactly what I want to do in this life.

CHAPTER 18
 

The morning run was a good one for a change and I feel better than I have in a long time. Running has never been easy or natural for me. I remember, not long after we started the company, hiring a young salesman right out of college. He was a world-class distance runner… 1500 meters. He wasn’t good enough, he said, to win the Olympics, but you couldn’t tell it by me. Watching him run was an experience. His was a fluid, natural motion, with no hitches or hard spots. It seemed as though he hardly touched the ground. To this day, he remains the standard by which I judge all runners. The rest of us do a very poor imitation. For instance, the only time I get the proverbial ‘runner’s high’ is when it’s over. But I’m not going to obsess over it. Life is good and I’m not going to sweat the small stuff. It may be the cool morning air or just the holiday season, whatever the reason, I’m feeling good and that’s enough for me.

A glass of juice would be nice right about now which means the kitchen is my next stop. A.J. is folding the morning paper as I enter. He looks at me as he holds the paper in the air momentarily and then lets it drop to the table with a look of disgust on his face. I hope this has more to do with his reading matter than with my entrance.

“Did you see the paper yet?”

I shake my head, “No, I haven’t.”

“Some jerk set a bomb off in a store in England… a terrorist group or whatever. A mother and her little girl were killed… several others injured. That’s really sick. A mother and her little girl… what can they be thinking of?”

He’s right, it is sick, but it’s not something I want to dwell on right now. I proceed to the refrigerator and rummage around the shelves looking for the orange juice. Martha comes over, shoulders me aside and deftly removes the bottle from the back of the top shelf. She hands the container to me and, without comment, walks back to the sink and resumes her work. I look at her retreating figure for a moment trying to think of some witticism that would put her in her place, think better of it and direct my attention back to A.J. No sense making enemies so early in the day. Besides, any points scored would be a Pyrrhic victory and I would pay for my paltry gain in more ways than I could count. Also, I have a new rule about making witticisms when the other party is armed with a kitchen knife.

A.J. is rubbing his eyes vigorously with the heels of his hands, elbows firmly planted on the table straddling his plate. He looks like he’s still trying to wake up.

“I suppose the media is as much a part of the problem as any other group,” I observe.

I really don’t want to get into this right now. I’m in a good mood and I would like to stay that way. The media is right down there with lawyers and politicians when it comes to my list of favorites in this world. It isvery difficult for me to remain rational when I think of those particular leaders in the human rat race.

He turns to me, eyes blinking rapidly as if emerging into the bright light for the first time today.

“What do you mean… don’t you think these things should be reported?” He gingerly picks away a wayward lash with his finger-tips and drops it on his napkin.

I grab a glass from the cupboard and walk slowly to the table. A soft kick with my sneaker-clad foot puts the chair in a position where I can sit down without any further effort on my part and I gratefully lower my frame into a more restful position.

“It’s not that,” I counter, stretching my legs. “A lot of this stuff has to do with perception. I think one of the reasons these people do these things is in the misguided belief that it increases public awareness and therefore sympathy for their cause. I don’t think we should attempt to judge the right or wrong of the issue. Instead, we should make every attempt to label these people as cowards… not terrorists… simply for taking that approach to a problem. ‘Terrorist’ is too macho a word for people who attack defenseless civilian targets… regardless of the reason.

“Civilians have little control over the issues in any case. If you have a beef with the government, then attack the government if you think mayhem is the answer. The soldiers and police are agents of the government. They’re in the business. That’s how they make their living. If you are such a great warrior, then attack someone capable of defending themselves.

Don’t attack women and children. Wounding and killing defenseless people doesn’t require any great courage. These so-called terrorists are cowards, nothing more. They attack only the targets that can’t fight back. They strike and then sit back and watch TV and read news accounts about another ‘terrorist’ attack. They bask in the glow of the power they wield with the press.”

“There you go again,” A.J. says with a smile, “making sense.”

“I’m serious,” I continue. “Take the bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut, for instance. It was a terrible thing, a tragedy. With their bureaucratic bungling and meddling, the politicians put our Marines in harm’s way. The Marines were in a bad spot and not allowed to take reasonable measures to defend themselves… all for political reasons.

“Politicians, far from the danger, made rules they themselves didn’t have to live by. Nevertheless, the terrorists took a shot at a military target. Under normal circumstances the Marines should have been able to defend themselves. The terrorist bomber was on a suicide mission to hit a military target. He didn’t pick on unarmed civilians. Of course, none of this makes it any easier for the families and friends of the men who died there, but like it or not, we should have been prepared.

“Our politicians were responsible for the success of the terrorist mission… they made it easier, if not possible for it to happen, they played a key role in killing those men… the terrorist was merely theexecutioner. Do you remember any politicians holding press conferences to claim their complicity in the disaster? They’ll fight for the microphone when there’s any credit to claim, but somehow they always find a hole to hide in when things go wrong.

“These clowns who bomb airplanes and department stores are not in the same class with a real warrior who believes in his cause. They are no-good cowards and that’s the way the media should describe them. The word ‘terrorist’ does not apply in their case.”

“So, whatever goes down against the police or the military is okay with you,” A.J. says smiling, knowing he’s putting words in my mouth.

I look at A.J. and take a deep breath.

“No, that’s not what I said. If you recall, I started all this by saying that I was taking no position regarding the right or wrong of any issue. I said if you have a beef with the government, take on someone in the business… that’s all. If you feel you have to take up arms against the government, then go after the government… not defenseless civilians. People who kill women and children, for any reason, should not be portrayed as the fathers of a just cause.

“But I’ll tell you what really burns my ass while we’re talking about terrorism, terrorists, bombers and such. It seems that whenever we catch one of these creeps, they’re the first to claim their constitutional rights. They will do anything within their power to avoid the death penalty if convicted. Turn on their fellow conspirators, confess to other crimes… you name it… just don’t kill me! They have no trouble asking for mercy, but they had little to give when they were planting the bomb. All of which proves what I’ve been saying… they’re nothing but lowborn pieces of human garbage. Cowards through and through.”