Phoenix Fire (9 page)

Still, there was an alien moodiness within him. It must have been something Jason had said, something that did not punch into his consciousness until their phone call ended. It was Jason's comment about getting 'closer.' That comment had brought back some memories which saddened Carlton. He was reminded of the fun times, the 'close' times, they would have up at the Bartlett Dam area; playing their cowboy kid games; just hiding and discovering all the different kinds of rocks and snakes; talking under the stars at night in their tents, all snug and comfy in their sleeping bags.

So? So, maybe he should knock off all the crap he was giving Jason. Maybe he should make an attempt at getting closer. Maybe.

Oh, come on Carlton, get off this maudlin stuff, he thought, it's too much fun the way it is. Don't change now. That syrupy crapola you're thinking is for little Dick and Jane and the happy moms and pops. You have spent your life up to now developing your sharp tongue and immoral attitude. You can't change. Who would know you? Besides, you like playing the bad guy role. You've been playing it since mom and dad left without saying goodbye. You got the attention, too, for a while. Then you just stayed where you were with it. You didn't want to go back to where you were. No, you did it the only way that was open to you. Jason had set his course as the good grandson. There could not be two kids going in the same direction, That would be too 'Beaver' and 'Wally' Cleaver. Right? Right.

The main thing: it was too much fun, the 'bad guy' way. Carlton needed to stay in the role he was playing. It fitted him. And, Jenny, well, he couldn't forget Jenny. Yeah, the pretty lady. He had to compete for Jenny. Jason needed the competition.

Still, with all the thoughts, there was a gray cloud hovering over Carlton Prince's day. He tried calling Sheila but there was no answer. He started to dial his grandmother's number, thought better of it, and put the phone back in its cradle. He sat for a long time staring out his large office window at the drab industrial buildings all around him.

“Christ!” he said aloud, “I've got to get out of here.”

Chapter Fourteen

The beautiful old house seemed musty and somehow foreign to Jason this evening. An intensely quiet aura hung in the air like a palpable funereal presence. A discernible medicinal aroma emanated seemingly from the walls, much like the smell in a hospital corridor. Even Wardley appeared subdued and solemn, warmly civil yet somehow robotic and detached. A distant and surreal quality lay siege to the once happy fortress of his youth, and he felt an odd out of body sensation as he followed Wardley to the day room.

In the day room, where light suffused in great folds from the large plate glass windows, a benign Myrena Wimsley sat in an old leather chair that was around as long as Jason could remember. The late western sun brought back a semblance of reality and substance to Jason. He rushed to Myrena's side, knelt, gently brushed her smiling lips with his own, and stared lovingly into her tired eyes.

For a fleeting moment he was transported back to another time in this happy room, when he had stood before his proud Grandma Myrena in his white and gold band conductor's suit, the tall braided, cylindrical hat slightly tilted on his head. He had just returned from a glorious afternoon at school where he led his elementary school band in a short recital of sorts, his Grandma Myrena beaming in the front row of the small auditorium. After the musical fare she had taken him to a photographer's studio for a portrait shoot, then on for ice cream and apple pie. She was so proud of him, and he knew no moments so thrilling and so fulfilling as those on that long ago afternoon.

Now he looked along the wall shelving and saw that same 11'' X 15'' portrait of years past, there among other pictures and memorabilia. The young boy with a smiling face in the gilded frame, he remembered, was slightly embarrassed and a bit uncomfortable by the strap on that tall conductor's hat. A wistful wave came over him.

Then, his Grandma Myrena's voice brought him back to the present. “That was such a happy occasion, Jay-boy.” She could read his thoughts. ”I remember that time like it was yesterday. You loved music so much, and I suspected then that you might actually have some sort of musical career. Your love of building project models competed with your love of music and ultimately won out. You seem sell suited to that choice, contented and happy with it as well. Am I right?” She gave his hand a tender squeeze and gently pulled him toward the facing chair.

“Yes, you're right, Grandma, but I have them both, really. The music is a constant in my life.” He smiled as he thought of something. “There are times when I'm listening to Respighi, Vivaldi, or Mozart and I have this itch to conduct. There are times when my hands and arms are going through the motions in silly pantomime, until my private blush stops me.”

“Sweet, dear Jason, these old bones can still find ways back to childhood. I'm convinced we never completely say goodbye to childhood. There's a kid in all of us. Truth be known, it would be good to let that kid out at times, to accept those little people inside of us. It might be unwise and unfair not to recognize all parts of our being, even those little dark areas. Accept all of yourself, Jay-boy. You need not fear your dark areas. They are far outweighed by your goodness. It always shines through.” Myrena became momentarily distracted. “There are others, however, who might not benefit themselves or others by accepting all of their parts.” She regained herself. “Listen to me. It's much too late for me to be playing amateur philosopher.”

“You're a wise lady, Grandma. Your good advice has never led me astray.”

Wardley brought cocktails and lingered for a while to chat about the mundane and the weather. He discreetly left when he sensed he should.

The sun painted the western sky with a pink profusion. A gnarled old tree some hundred yards away placed its dark silhouette against the western backdrop and produced a scene reminiscent of the plains of Africa and Safari. A scene from a forgotten movie with Gregory Peck and Ava Gardner moved vaguely across Jason's mind.

They lounged in easy silence, lost briefly in the lovely montage outside the day room windows. Jason remembered his ride with Jenny to the site of 'Apple Brown Betty,' her observations on the distant mountains, her passionate need to be a part of it. He thought that he understood what she was saying, looking now at the pristine tableau off the far horizon. It was a moment of incredible beauty and mystic longing, a primal thing. Jason was in this room thousands of times and he felt now that it was the very first time. He glanced at Grandma Myrena and felt an overwhelming surge of filial love. He raised himself from his chair, knelt again on the soft carpet by her side, and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“Thank you, Grandma Myrena. Thank you for all of this.” Tears were about to come, and he fought the rising agony of his soul. She was dying. He could see it in her glazed and weakened eyes, along the web lines of her weathered face, and there was nothing that he could do about it.

Myrena touched his hand and turned from the western sky to face him with a loving smile. She thought that she saw watery eyes, a sad smile, but he moved too quickly for her to be sure. He sat again on the facing chair.

“You thank me for something that was so easy for me to give. You have always been an easy grandson to love. You were, you are, as that sunset is to me: a joy forever.” She sensed a failing will, a loss of composure, and fought it away. “But you surely know all that, Jay-boy.” She gave him her strong matriarchal smile. “You must be wondering why I have summoned you.”

She sipped lightly from her highball glass and continued.

“I wrestled long and hard with myself about how to tell you certain things: did you really need to know? What kind of reaction would you have in my telling you? So, obviously, I've decided to tell you. Why I'm telling you is a bit slippery for me. I tell myself that it's because you need to know and should know. I'm leaving the 'why' at that, although I'm sure there's more to it.”

Jason sat, eyes riveted to Myrena, fearing what was about to come.

She continued. “There is no easy way to tell you except in my direct fashion. So, here goes.”

Jason averted his eyes, feeling another surge of sorrow. She was about to tell him of her impending death. Suddenly he felt the urgent need to stop her, to tell her that she need not tell him anything. He would take her for a walk in the garden while the light was still good. He just could not bear to hear about her cancer, her dying. But he was being selfish, only thinking of himself. She obviously needed to tell him, to have it done with, so he must listen. He must listen and try to be strong for her. Then he thought of Jenny. Why was he thinking about Jenny? Because he loved her? Because he needed her? Yes, he loved her and needed her. And, even as Grandma Myrena began again to speak, he thought of Jenny at lunch with Carlton.

“Sheila Broward came to visit me, Jason, and she had some disturbing things to tell me.”

Jason swallowed hard and felt a strange sense of relief. Grandma Myrena was talking about Sheila, Carlton's lady friend, not about her cancer and her dying.

“It seems that Carlton has gotten himself into some trouble. According to Sheila, he has become quite addicted to gambling. I should say, addicted to losing at gambling. He has lost very big, Sheila says. He's lost enough that he has even gotten money from her and lost it. We are talking considerable money. Sheila says their relationship is over … not because of the money but because she loves him and cannot reach him. Perhaps I should not tell you this but I've decided I shall: he has also borrowed from me on several occasions, on the pretense that the money was to be used for investment purposes.”

Jason started to speak but Myrena gently held up her hand to stop him.

“Oh, Jay-boy, I'm not worried about the money, although they are significant amounts. Thank God, John and fate have provided nicely for me. What does terrify me is the apparent pit that he has dug for himself. I have read frightful stories about people who are addicted to gambling, how they lose their families, their jobs, how nothing really matters to them except being able to gamble. I have often thought that it was preposterous to think that someone could get so lost within himself, so lost that he would destroy not only his life but other lives as well. It's very scary, and Carlton is showing all of the signs that we are told to look for. He is, or he seems to be, scatterbrained and very selfish. He is badly mistreating Sheila, possibly physically abusing her, and he is likely not sleeping well, if at all. He is also rude and insufferable a good part of the time.” She paused to sip her drink.

“He's been insufferable most of his life, Grandma. It's his trademark.” Jason remembered his afternoon phone conversation with Carlton.

“Yes, well, I know that you two have never gotten along as well as I would have liked. There was one period of time in your youth when you both seemed so close, during our camp out days up north near the dam. Ah, but I digress.

“You two boys are two different people. That's obvious and superfluous, I'm sure. Your Grandfather John and I tried over the years to make allowances for Carlton, tried to be optimistic that the years would soften him. But it has not been so. We loved you both equally, although I'm sure Carlton would say that you got preferential treatment. It was just a matter of his negative adjustment after the death of your mother and father. You adjusted and went on with your life. Carlton seemed to find it easier to stay in his world of rejection. It is so difficult to understand, particularly when one is loved so much. I'm afraid, in fact, that our love for him might have led us to condone his actions too much for too long a time.

“What really concerns me is that Carlton has a very responsible top level position in the business community and it worries me no end that he will put his job in jeopardy. He may even try to … Oh, dear God! He may try to embezzle from Heritage. He may have sunken that low, Jason.

“So, the question is, what do we do to save him? We can't just leave him out there to destroy his life. At least, we have to know that we have tried to help him. I've told you all of this because you must not give him money, and it is a family matter, after all. He is your brother. We must try to help him.”

Jason was shaken. “My first impulse is to help Sheila. She is a sweet lady and she really cares for the jerk. He's not about to pay back her money, or yours.”

“That's been taken care of, Jason. Sheila did not want it to happen but there was a way to get her money returned. What really concerns Sheila, bless her, is what concerns you and me. Where will all of this take Carlton? Isn't unregulated gambling a crime in Arizona? Even, private gambling games in the home?”

“Yes, it is. How did you get Sheila’s money back to her without her knowing about it?” His immediate reaction to his own question was that he should not have asked it.

Myrena smiled and waved her hand. “That's not important, Jay-boy. A simple matter really with her bank … What do we do about your brother? That's the question.”

Jason pursed his lips, sighed, got up from his chair and walked slowly to the window. The sunset's dazzling show was now tinged with a band of darkness on the horizon. An unbidden memory from childhood came to him, another time, of another Carlton, of another Jason.

He finally spoke. “Perhaps we should do nothing, Grandma Myrena. Carlton is a grown man.” Jason turned back from the window and faced her again. “I've seen all my life how you, how Grandpa John, worked so hard to understand Carlton, to placate him, to give him time and again new chances when he had done something wrong. I was young myself, Grandma, and I loved him, too, but I knew what was going on. It bothered me. I worked hard at being close to Carlton, and it was a tough job. Then, as now, I did not feel like he deserved the attention he was getting. He only abused it. Oh, I'm not talking from a position of jealousy or envy. My inner security and knowledge of your love was never in question. It just hurt me to see how he treated you and Grandpa John. He was a selfish jerk then. He's a selfish jerk now. He has to take responsibility for his actions.” Jason paused, looked adoringly at Myrena, and went back to his chair.

“Look, Grandma,” he continued, softly, “I've tried in my own way to get closer to Carlton. Just today, I called him, with that urge to get closer. He just made a game of it, mocking and sneering. I can try to talk to him again, let him know that we know of his gambling, try to get him to see the dangers ahead, but I honestly don't think it will do a particle of good. He's not an easy man to reach, and, actually, I don't believe he even listens to me. For you, I will try again, if that is your wish.”

Myrena stared out the window for some time. The early evening light was now casting shadows upon her face. She looked stoic and statuesque, her chiseled features a mirror of haunting memories. Finally, she slowly turned again to face him.

“Yes, please try, Jay-boy. You must at least keep trying. I, too, will talk to him. We both shall try very hard to reach him. Perhaps there might be a miracle out there for us …

“Now, I would like to discuss something else with you. It is never a happy subject to bring up and discuss and yet I must. I'm meeting tomorrow with Paul Winfield. He is coming out to update and revise my trust and will documents. It is important for me to let you know what I'm doing.”

Jason thought of interrupting but did not. Instead, he lowered his eyes to stare blankly at the floor.

“I've thought on this quite a long time, Jay-boy, and the decisions I've reached are not open to change. Discussion, yes. Change, no. You are to receive the bulk of my assets with two exceptions. One, Carlton is to get this house and its furnishings. Second, he is to get the contents of the strongbox which is located in the right upper shelf corner of the master bedroom closet. The contents are nothing really significant and have no esoteric meaning. There are a number of old bonds of some value and a bundle of written notes relating to Carlton, notes of frustration and anxiety I'm afraid about my observations and concerns for his emotions. Oh, there are even notes of hope and of my unfaltering love for him.