Red Clover (7 page)

“Turning negatives into positives.”

“Exactly. As for the dreams, there are many schools of thought on why we have them and what they mean. One theory is that the people, places, and things in your dreams are actually symbolic of something else, often an unresolved issue in your life.”

“Like having meaningful relationships.”

“Like that. And getting back to Robin, keep in mind the only reason you had a relationship with her was because you were both captive in the same space. In other words, you didn’t choose to be in a relationship with her. Think about it—you found someone who accepted you for who you are without even trying. Now think about what could happen if you sought out a relationship on your own, with someone who possesses the qualities you value in a person, someone with similar interests, similar lifestyle.”

“That’s an interesting thought.”

“I’ve helped you then?”

“Yes, you have.” He paused for a moment. “Would you mind if we kept this conversation just between us? Please send your bill to me, not my parents.”

“You’re an adult now, Lee. Of course I will. Good luck, and do keep in touch.”

He was glad he had made the call.

5 | Breaking Away

The closer Lee came to finishing grad school, knowing he had to face what to do next, the more anxious he became. He considered applying to the school’s PhD program, but the obstacles were numerous. For starters, he couldn’t come up with a clear statement of purpose. After stewing over it for several weeks, he finally admitted to himself the only reason he wanted to enter the program was that he didn’t know what else to do.

Lee found himself obsessing over the successes of his brothers, something he had been told a thousand times not to do. Bennett, thirty-five, married and the father of three, was a named partner in a law firm that specialized in corporate and labor law but also provided legal advice to the underprivileged, many of them illegal immigrants. And if that wasn’t enough, he worked with their mother on two or three major charitable events throughout the year.

Thirty-seven-year-old Nelson had married the daughter of a New York socialite, and they had twin boys. Nelson was sought after by all the major investment banking firms for his ability to structure mergers and acquisitions in short timeframes.

The national unemployment rate was the lowest it had been in seven years, and jobs were plentiful. Lee began considering the different opportunities for someone with a master’s degree in horticulture. At the Cornell library, he scoured the want ads from big-city newspapers to see what they had to offer.

The Philadelphia zoo had an opening for a zoo horticulturist; a government office in San Francisco needed a director of grounds; and a nursery in San Diego was advertising for a greenhouse manager. But nothing appealed to him. Working in a zoo, while certainly a respectable position, would have garnered too much criticism from his family, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be around so many animals and the general public on a daily basis. The director of grounds position in San Francisco was at a girls’ prep school—he couldn’t imagine being one of a few males among hundreds of teenage girls. Managing a greenhouse seemed awfully boring.

Until he could find something more permanent, Lee checked in with Dr. Rad to see if he needed any help. The good news was Dr. Rad had received a grant that would carry him for another year. The bad news was he already had sufficient student help.

After his graduation, Lee told his parents he needed a break after all the schooling and asked permission to stay at their home in Lake Geneva for a few months while he sorted things out. His mother thought it would be precisely what he needed and immediately started arranging to transfer one of their cooks, Shaneta, to the lake house. His father thought he was stalling, and Lee really couldn’t argue with that assessment.

Lee loaded up his ten-year-old Datsun 240Z with his clothes and a few personal items and headed for the lake house. He had received the car for his sixteenth birthday and refused to trade it in for anything newer even though his mother had offered to buy him a brand-new Porsche when he had graduated from college. The Datsun was Lee’s most valuable possession. No one else had ever driven it. It was his and only his.

As he pulled up to the lake house, Lee was immediately reminded of the pretentiousness of the two-story plantation style home. He parked in front of the three-car attached garage and walked to the front door between the twenty-foot-high pillars that supported a decorative portico. While he had his own key, he rang the doorbell to let any of the servants who might be inside know he had arrived. The Evanston servants lived in the Winekoop home in third-floor living quarters, but the lake-house servants had to commute from wherever they lived.

Receiving no answer to the doorbell, Lee let himself inside. The substantial foyer spanned both stories, boasting a large crystal chandelier in its center that hung from a twelve-foot heavy-gauge anchor link chain.

Like the other two Winekoop residences, this one displayed excessively formal decor—ornate furniture, dramatic artwork, elegant draperies on all the windows—too much aesthetics and not enough function in Lee’s opinion. On the first floor were a formal dining room, a large living room with a stone fireplace that took up one entire wall, an African Mahogany Crotch paneled study, two bathrooms, an oversized eat-in kitchen, and a sunroom. Upstairs were five bedrooms and three more bathrooms.

The one room Lee actually liked was the sunroom overlooking the expansive patio that gradually stepped down a couple hundred feet to the lake. He had to admit their landscaper had done an exemplary job of mixing the right combination of greenery, flowers, and seating. He loved the way the radiant orange zinnias and yellow Calibrachoa led down to the boardwalk, giving it a natural look and feel quite different from the interior of the house.

Of the five bedrooms on the second floor, Lee chose the one with a terrace overlooking the lake. The room was large by most people’s standards, twenty-five-by-forty feet, with its own bathroom. The Winekoops didn’t do anything on a small scale.

Before even unpacking, Lee curled up on one of the chaises on the terrace and mindlessly watched the rays of the full moon dance on the surface of the lake. Eventually, his mind wandered to memories of times when he was a scared child and the only people around were the hired help. Now he didn’t even have that.

After an hour of feeling sorry for himself, Lee unpacked the few things he had brought with him, got undressed, and climbed into the elaborately carved four-poster bed, feeling a lot like a child pretending to be a gown-up. After a half-hour of mentally beating himself up for not being as mature as his brothers had been at his age, he fell asleep.

The next day, Lee ventured down to the kitchen to see what he could find to eat. The cook, Shaneta, wouldn’t be arriving for a few days, so he was on his own. Never having had to prepare his own meals before, he didn’t know what to expect to find.

The refrigerator contained a few things that had obviously been placed there by the staff for their own use. The freezer didn’t prove to be any more promising. Sonya, the maid, arrived at the house as he was searching the cupboards and recommended a diner in town where he could get a good hearty breakfast, so he headed there.

The breakfast smells at Miss Sally’s were intoxicating, and for a brief moment, Lee felt guilty savoring them. He remembered how when he was young, he would sneak into the kitchen to enjoy the aromas of whatever was being prepared by the cooks but then would inevitably get reprimanded by his mother, who didn’t like him to be in the kitchen with “the help.” As he studied the other patrons at the diner, a few looked back at him. He tried to imagine what they thought of him. Did they wonder why he was all alone, why he wasn’t working or in school? Did anyone care?

After breakfast, not able to bring himself to go back to the big empty structure he now called home, Lee walked up and down Center Street. The business district seemed to appeal to women, with all the boutique-like shops and cute little restaurants.
Hannah and Her Sisters
was listed on the marquee of the local movie theater. Not much of a man’s town, he thought.

He drove around the lake and down WI-67 into neighboring towns, stopping at a roadside stand in Sharon to pick up some fruit to tide him over until the cook arrived. He asked the gangly pimple-faced boy behind the stand what people there did for fun.

“Nothin’,” he replied with a deadpan expression. “Unless you’re rich, it’s very boring ‘round here.”

Lee laughed. “So what do the rich people do for fun?”

“They sail around the lake in their fancy boats, go to country clubs, play golf, get laid. How the hell do I know?”

Well, that was helpful.

Four miles out of Rockton, after driving on a long stretch of road with nothing but open fields on either side, he spotted a roadside bar called the Deer Bottom Inn and Brewery and pulled into the small parking lot.

It was obvious as soon as he walked in how the establishment had gotten its name: mounted high on the wall in the smoke-filled room hung the posterior of a white-tailed deer. A dozen or so seats at the bar and as many small four-seater tables filled the dimly lit room. He sat down at one end of the bar. A slow country-western song resonated from a beat-up jukebox in the corner.

The bar was more crowded than he would have expected so early in the day. The two men on his left were discussing the Bears’ last season. Lee knew they had been ranked number one in something or other but didn’t know what. Their discussion soon switched to McClaskey’s decision to sever all ties with the Honey Bear cheerleaders, which seemed to garner more of their attention than the team’s performance. A couple on his right appeared to be arguing over her spending habits, something about no one needing thirty-five pairs of shoes.

Fearful someone would try to strike up a conversation with him, and he would have nothing to say, Lee considered leaving without ordering anything, but before he could decide, a bartender came over and asked him what he wanted to order. She was a tall buxom blonde, somewhere in her twenties, wearing neon-green tights and an oversized shirt with the top three buttons open, the type of girl men his age fantasized about.

Popping her gum, she asked, “What’s your pleasure?”

His pleasure would have been a nice vintage port or a snifter of French cognac, but in a place called Deer Bottom Inn, he thought better of it.

“A beer, please.”

She raised one eyebrow and threw her glance toward the chalkboard behind the bar that listed the varieties of beer they carried. “The first three are ones we brew ourselves.”

“How about a Budweiser?” It was the only brand he had ever tried.

She poured a glass of beer from the tap and slid it down the bar a good ten feet. It stopped precisely in front of him. He thanked her with a nod and smile and then turned his attention to the menu she had placed in front of him. It was limited: wings, burgers, pizza, pulled-pork sandwiches, and French fries.

“The pizza is the best around. We make it fresh in the back,” she said. It was hard not to notice the young woman’s curves—the deep opening of her shirt left little to one’s imagination. When he realized he was staring at her chest, he quickly looked away.

“No, thanks. Not really that hungry.” Now not knowing where to look, Lee focused on the deer’s rear end above the bar, while the pretty bartender dried a highball glass a few feet down the bar.

“Pretty clever, huh?” she said.

“Pardon me?”

“The deer ass.”

“I guess. What’s behind it?”

Her face broke into a wide grin. “You are.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

She walked closer to him and glanced up at the mounted carcass. “Do you know how many people have come in here and asked that question? Think about it.”

It took him several seconds. “Oh...I get it.” He read the name badge pinned to her blouse. “What’s CJ stand for?”

“CJ,” she said through a smile. She had a nice smile.

Without any encouragement, CJ stopped by to chat with him in between customers. He learned that she lived with her two young sons in a rented house on a large piece of property in Durand just south of the Illinois-Wisconsin border. In the evening, while CJ tended bar, her sister watched her kids. CJ didn’t mention where their father was, if there was one in the picture.

He tried to imagine himself with a girl like her, but it was hard to form an image in his head when he had so little to go by. He wondered how guys even knew if a girl would want to go on a date with them.
Where do you learn this stuff?
He figured it would have been a whole lot easier to have started learning about girls when he was twelve and was
expected
to be naive and awkward.

He finished his beer, put a ten-dollar bill on the bar, and got up to leave.

CJ glanced at the ten spot. “Change?”

“No, but thanks.”

 “For what?”

“For talking to me.”

While it may have been just an out-of-the-way small-town bar that catered to middle-class blue-collar locals, Lee left feeling a little better than he had when he’d first walked in.

6 | Uncle Nelson Is Dead

Having just left the pleasing modesty of Deer Bottom Inn, Lee didn’t feel much like going back to the opulent lake house, but he had nowhere else to go. He pulled into the driveway, parked his car, and walked through the front door, sinking back into the hollow mood he’d been in when he’d left earlier that day.

Sitting in one of the imposing high-backed chairs in the front room, he studied the room’s impersonal character—the baby grand piano in the corner, the bronze statues, the imported throw rug in the middle of the room with its indiscernible figures woven into it. He perused the three Baroque-style paintings signifying triumph, power, and control that his father no doubt had selected and which had probably cost more than most people made in a year. It was as if someone had been told to design a room that would make most people feel uncomfortable. Mission accomplished.