One Toe Across the Line (1)
As I watched the gray Austin-Martin tear out of the drive,
I knew that it had been Jonathan Brumlevy who had ended the
argument with a slamming of the door. Lately it seemed as
if that was all they were good for -fighting, arguing and
separating. But what little I had come to know of it, there
was enough blame to go around for the two of them.
Let it be noted that Gwendlyn Brumlevy had celebrated her
forty-ninth birthday only days earlier. Office gossip
had it that she had come from wealthy parents out east somewhere.
And, between the office rumors and innuendoes I had gathered
that Mrs. B. had brought all her family's high-class
trappings with her into the marriage. Jonathan, as was
well known, had worked for his fortune. Another rags to
riches story. He had been born of poor midwestern farm stock
but midwestern farm stock usually equated to hard work
and if you were one of the lucky ones, land ownership. Jonathan
had sold his parents farm land when the big city developers
made an offer too good to refuse. Give the man his due, Jonathan
had labored night and day for nearly forty years to turn
good money into big money. But for all the venture and labor
it took to produce, it was only what Gwendlyn had always
taken for granted. If my observations of her were correct,
Jonathan's wealth had never quite satisfied her.
She appeared to be a classic case of old money ever snubbing
new.
With Jonathan's rude departure, I sat quietly at the
desk while Mrs. B. stormed back into the library to fetch
some of her precious hidden treasure which she kept stored
in a hollowed out book. Lately, the occasions seemed to
be more frequent. Still, whatever mommies little helpers
were, they did achived the goal of putting her in a better
frame of mind.
Oh! Nick. You startled me. I had forgotten you were here.
The sudden flushing of her cheeks was barely observable
to me.
Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you, maam. Was just
finishing up. Give me a couple of minutes and Ill take this
back to the office. We both knew it was merely a verbal courteously.
In reality, the viability of such an option did not exist.
Nick, she hesitated, turning toward me as if having
noticed my existence for the first. time in her life How
long have you been working for Jonathan?
Oh, I suppose almost five years now, ma'am. I was
sure this high maintanence woman didnt have a clue about
her husbands business let alone anything about those who
worked for him.
Has it been that long? Sitting down across from my desk
in one of the large red leather chairs which her husband
seemed so fond of, Mrs. B. slumped before me in a luxurious
slouch. I suppose you have figured it out by now that Mr.
Brumlevy won't be needing that ride to the airport.
Ah yes. I came to that conclusion when I saw the Austin headed
out the drive.
Jonathan Brumlevy owned about everything there was worth
owning in the county, including the airport which sat adjacent
to his fifty-five thousand acre ranch. Rarely taking commercial
flights, I knew the little Learjet would be fueled and waiting
for him when he arrived. Jonathan was never one to be mistaken
for suffering fools or to be found waiting patiently. The
merger that we had worked day and night on for the better
part of six months was now in the slow process of unraveling.
Worse than any thing I had seen yet, it had put an unbearable
strain on him. In part, I knew this to be the cause of their
marital disharmony. Just about everything and everyone
who dared cross him or his path for the last month had quickly
suffered his wrath for it.
The deal consisted of opening a packaging plant to supply
many of the Caribbean Islands with individual portions
of perishable foods. Jonathan had stumbled upon the fact
that nearly all of the perishable produce which came to
the islands was already divided and packaged, hence the
exorbitant pricing. Shipping in bulk produce and employing
a few of the locals was initially thought to be first and
foremost, a money maker for the Brumlevy's and second
politically a cake walk because it would bring jobs to the
islands.
Based on main land experience, Jonathan quickly moved
on purchasing some land thinking that greasing a few influential
pockets would get the necessary permits. Just such a party
was soon acquired, Jack Cantos. But Cantos, satisfied
with Jonathan's all too generous up front payment,
had suddenly become disinterested. It was the first of
many lessons which mainlanders have to learn. Islanders
seem to work only as money requires. Give an islander a decent
pay check and you can forget about having him show up for
work until the money runs outs.
Cantos lived on one of the islands south of San Salvador.
If for no other reason than distance, I knew Mr. B. would
not make it back till early the following week.
Tell me something, Nick."
"Hmm?" I answered her pretending not to take
notice of her.
"Why do you continue to work for Jonathan? Mrs. Brumlevy
wasnt my idea of the type of woman one could freely confess
his mind to. Though they fought like cats and dogs, it was
a no brainer to assume that anything one said would soon
find its way back to the other. Mrs. B.'s sudden interest
in me and my concerns threw up little red flags all over the
room.
Mrs. Brumlevy was a well preserved woman for her supposed
forty nine years. I had never been one to pass up the opportunity
to sneak a peek her way when no one was looking. This morning
she was wearing her shoulder length white-blond hair pulled
back away from the left side of her face as if she were entered
in a Veronica Lake look alike contest. I had seen her wear
it this only on rare occasions. It had always beguild me
then and today was no different. I'll hand her this
much, for a woman twelve years my elder, I felt more attraction
to her than any of the younger women back at the office. It
was something in the way she carried herself -confident
and yet demur in a way few women ever achieved.
Briefly I allowed my eyes to look into hers before quickly
returning them to the papers before me. I had not anticipated
the void. Mrs. B. seemed to be strangely vulnerable.
It had been six months since Jonathan Brumlevy had pulled
me out from his coral of laborers back at the main office.
Working to hide some of the more colorful money which he
had been stockpiling for the new business venture, he thought
it best to keep both me and my figures separated from prying
office eyes.
The Brumlevy home was a large house. Jonathan himself had,
in a moment of pride and yet strange regret, informed me
that it had been built with the Mrs. in mind. At the time I
had thought it strange of him to move my work out to the house.
I wasn't one to complain, however. To have the opportunity
to cross Mrs. Bs path occasionally was more than enough
to off set the old man's micro management.
These occurances usually availed themselves to me while
I was chasing along after her bull of a husband, barking
numbers and strategies all for me to remember and record.
But more often then than not, it was when I was in the kitchen
looking for either something to eat or to drink. Though
she didn't have a routeen, still it was often enough
that from a kitchen window I could still an unobserved view
of her sitting out by the pool. Despite her age, I was always
taken back by her remarkably youthful physique. Unfortunately,
I had found that Mrs. B. was one of those insufferable women
who expected men to naturally turn and look her way. In the
past, I had always tried never to give that type of woman
the time of day. But there was something about this woman
that left me defenseless to her tactics, especially while
sitting in her near sheer bathing suit.
Gwendlyn Brumlevy always dressed rich. California, Boston
and most of Europe were her shopping malls. That alone was
enough to set her apart from every other woman in the five
surrounding counties. Everyone, that is, except for the
family and friends who flew in to visit her from time to time
from God knows where. As my mother use to say, Birds of a
feather.
I dont know. Why does anyone work? It puts food on the table?
Come now, Mr. Allen. I wasn't born yesterday. You
could be earning three times the salary my husband pays
you if you moved to either of the coasts. It suddenly occurred
to me that maybe, just maybe, Jonathan Brumlevy's
wife knew more about her husbands business than I had given
her credit for.
Well, perhaps that might be true. But I dont do bad by some
accounts.
Youll never get rich by him.
Who said I wanted to get rich? Not everyone sets that as
a goal in life after all.
Her laugh sent a chill down my spine. Arent you rich! I
suppose I deserved that. Tell me something, Nick, just
how far does that loyalty of yours go with Mr. Brumlevy?
The puzzled look on my face told her that I didnt much approve
of where her line of questioning seemed to be heading us.
Ill grant you this, your husband can be a hard man to work
for at times, but hes a decent enough sort of Joe. For me,
his yes has always meant yes and his no has always meant no.
I know where I stand with him and that, ma'am, is more
than I can say for the greater majority of people whom I've
worked for. If push came to shove, there would be few reasons
to keep me from stepping up to the plate to go to bat for him.
Thats not what I meant! was her curt reply. Her eyes dove
across the desk and papers that lay strewn between us landing
squarely in front of me.
Maam, youre putting me in an awkward position. Im under
strict orders
Oh hush, darling. I know all about his money. He may skirt
the letter of the law, but he wont ever break it. Hes worked
too hard for all that money to throw it all away on some scandal.
Dont play with cryn money, hes fond of saying. Tell
me something, Nick, how would you like to make a little extra
cash for a weekends worth of work?
I watched as the stately Gwendlyn Brumlevy sat back in the
chair pleased at having regained her advantage over me.
Whether by nature or nanny, she had a regal posture about
her that made all her movements perform in a dreamy blur.
Shrugging my shoulders, I tugged my eyes away from her.
Maam, I work for your husband. If theres anything you
want me to help you with around the house, you only have to
ask.
No! This has nothing to do with Mr. Brumlevy, his money
or his business. This has to with me, my money and my business.
Are you interested?
Careful not to meet her eyes, I looked back toward the woman
seated across from me. A shallow set of lines creased her
neck, yet her skin looked amazingly soft and fresh, quite
unlike the aging, dry skin of my own mothers neck only five
years her elder. It seemed that very inch of her was the epitome
of health and wealth. With one elbow sinking into an arm
of red leather, Mrs. B. cupped her forehead. Suddenly she
leaned forward as if preparing to rise. Delicately tanned
Scandinavian skin was observed melting down into two cups
of white British cream lace.
Im afraid I dont quite understand just what you are asking
for, Mrs. Brumlevy.
Gwendlyn. Please. Call me Gwendlyn. Mrs. Brumlevy was
Jonathans mother.
Leaning forward even further, Gwendlyn Brumlevy slowly
stood up and began straightening out the imperceptible
wrinkles of her impeccable skirt. The motion was slow but
deliberate, brushing all the right parts with brightly
jeweled hands. Had it been done at the office, I would have
thought her completely incognizant of those around her,
each in their own way watching with interest and envy. But
caught alone, I sensed she was purposefully testing of
my fortitude.
Im getting old, Mr. Allen. Only recently has it been so
crudely pointed out to me. So, Ive come to the conclusion
that Im not going to patiently wait for life to come to me.
Five thousand dollars for a weekends worth of work, Mr.
Allen. All you have to do is make me forget that Im the wife
of Jonathan Brumlevy for forty-eight hours. Take me back
to the time when the nights were long and the grass was green.
Make me feel alive again and not just someones tethered
pet. But I have two conditions. One, that Ill be able to
slip quietly back into my dull boring life before Jonathan
returns without anyone ever suspecting a thing. Do you
understand? Two star Sapphire blue eyes forced the point.
And secondly, nothing painful. I dont like pain. Those
are my only two stipulations. Well, what do you say to my
offer, Mr. Allen?
The ribbon silk blouse shimmered as her figure shook in
momentary doubt. Thinking a thing and actually confessing
it out loud had suddenly become two very different things
for her. Beneath the rich looking blouse, the large lacy
brassiere could be seen heaving slightly in a hesitation
of high anxiety. I cast an inquisitive look back up at the
woman who seemed to look past me and out into a world long
ago forgotten.
Mrs. Brumlevy, Im sure that he didnt mean ant of those
things he said. This merger has sort of soured on him and
I think hes just struggling to make it work.
What Mr. Brumlevy and I were arguing about in the kitchen
has nothing to do with this island business. It has everything
to do with living with a man who loves his work more than his
wife. Believe me, dear, hes long since stopped looking
at me as a woman. Never mind. It was wrong of me to impose myself
on you. If youll forgive me, Mr. Allen, Ill retire to my
room.
Turning on brass tipped heels, captivated eyes followed
the voluptuous figure as it strove for the door.
All expenses included? I heard myself blurt out. The
black violet skirt swayed slowly to a halt as she hesitated
in the doorway. Without turning back to face me, Mrs. B.
answered in a voice suddenly sweet and child like.
Cost is no object, Mr. Allen. A curious silence loomed
up between us.
Youll never mention this to anyone? I asked while watching
the fingers of her right hand gently kneaded the padding
of a satin shoulder.
Darling, Im the one who should be afraid, not you.
You have only your reputation at risk. I, on the other hand,
have my livelihood at risk, I chided her.
Am I not worth such a risk? A resurgence of arrogance returned
to her voice. Something would have to be done about that
I thought.
For an older woman? Perhaps." I tried to make my voice
as cold as her own. "Do you have any cash in the house?
Theres twenty thousand in the vault. Will that be enough,
Mr. Allen?
The deals off if we have to touch any of that money. At
that she turned back to me, seeing me for someone other than
whom she had supposed.
I have some money upstairs. Not much. Two maybe three thousand
I suppose.
That should be enough for now. Tell me something Gwendlyn.
I tainted every syllable of her name with acid. I had to know
if she was for real. Do you have a middle name?
Gwendlyn is my middle name. My Christian name is Doreen.
I was named after a great aunt on my mothers side.
Her voice was smooth and calm. My mind was suddenly at war
with itself. Could she be trusted?
From now on then, you will go by the name Doreen. Gwendlyn
will remain the dull boring house wife whos scared of life.
Time suddenly seemed to halt between us as a shallow smile
creased the corners of her mouth.
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