Phoenix Fire (2 page)

Chapter Two

Jenny Mason thought of the rainy day man like she never thought of a man. She was amused with herself, feeling a bit school girlish and silly. His image hovered in her mind as it had hours earlier on the hard wet pavement, his dark hair wet and glistening, dripping from the misting rain; his eyes wrinkling at the corners, the orbs a sapphire twinkle of soft penetrable warmth; his thick sensuous lips were set in a concerned, contemplative pout.

She was unable to shake his image, and she did not wish to shake it. She was warmed and sustained by his seeming ethereal presence.

She found herself silently shaking her head in bemusement, a wistful smile upon her lips, during her exercises, during the laundry routine, during her microwave meals.

She thought of him constantly amid the practical chores which kept her busy and amid the gauzy recall of her strange ‘white light’ experience. While she knew that her life resumed along its predictable paths, she nonetheless felt some inner sense of displacement. She was changed in some magical way by the lightning strike, by the resulting soulful aberration, and, yes, by the darkly beautiful stranger.

Jenny sensed an altering essence about her. She felt more alive than before the jogging strike. She felt more stoic about the pattern and shape of her world. She was not afraid anymore; at least, the weight of fear was lightened. It did not pursue her movements as it had for so many years. Yes, it was strange but it was also a natural sublimation. She accepted it and she was somehow revitalized by it.

She was convinced that the beckoning ‘white light’ was more than just a physical response to the lightning strike. It was much more than that, and, while she could not, while she felt she need not, attempt an explanation of this rather significant transformation, it was as real for her as the air she breathed and the tangible habits of her life. It was as though she had lived her entire twenty-seven years with this awesome acknowledgment. She would live each day in celebration of life and all its elements. She was no longer unsettled by the prospects of tomorrow or the years ahead. She knew with some odd lucidity that tomorrows were but brief zephyrs of relevance against the infinite landscape of eternity.

She was given the gift of light, a rare and enormous glimpse into forever and she was not afraid. It was a knowledge perhaps few could ever know, and she felt the ephemeral wisps of sorrow from the knowing. With this gift borne of light she never again need fear the future or linger too long in confusion and doubt. The gift would always lead her ultimately out of traps laid by the mind.

The incredible oddity that came with the gift was how manifest was this new found knowledge. It was as though the gift had always been there, somewhere deep in her subliminal recesses. It was awesome but it was natural. She caught herself at times with a wide grin on her face, but it was good and she knew that life could never be quite the same.

On Sunday, Jenny’s parents called.

The loving parents built much of their lives around Jenny. They served as a seeming metronomic pulse in sync with Jenny’s every movement, yet, carefully, unobtrusively. They called because they sensed something amiss in their daughter’s life, a psychic fear for her welfare.

“Dad’s on the other line, honey.” Margaret Mason spoke so softly she was barely audible. “We’ve been getting some of those paranormal signals.” She paused to lightly giggle. “At least, I have. Just thought we better check up on you.”

Jenny’s father broke in, his voice a gentle roar. “It’s called ‘lonesome detachment,’ Margaret, not ‘paranormal signals.’ How are you, Jenny-girl? We haven’t talked to you for almost two weeks.”

“I’m fine, daddy.” Jenny felt a rush of tender memories, moments of love that had always been there for her in abundance. She debated whether or not to tell her parents about the lightning accident and decided against it. “In fact, I can honestly tell you both that I’ve never felt better in my entire life.”

“You have another fella, Jenny Anne?” her mother asked gaily, but remembering Jenny’s lone bad relationship that ended a year ago.

“No, mom, I don’t have another fella. I’m just in love with life, ‘eating jellybeans and chasing butterflies.’” She laughed as she remembered her father’s famous lines, a stock answer he always used throughout her life to respond to the question, ‘how are you?’

The father was pleased with her response. “That Ad Agency make you a vice president yet?” he asked.

“Not yet, daddy, but it will be there someday if I want it. How’s the weather in Lawrence?” She could picture her beloved Lawrence, Kansas, the old two-story house in which she was born, the high school, her Cheerleading chums, the boys she dated, the fun times.

“It’s bottling weather, sweetheart, just a few thin clouds in a big blue sky. The temperature is about seventy-four degrees and the air smells like a fat old greenhouse. You had a little rain out there in the desert, according to the weather reports?”

“On Thursday and Friday there were storms, but it’s beautiful today, in the mid-eighties, early nineties, and the orange blossoms are narcotic. Yeah, you two, I’m just fine and the weather’s fine. Is that the only reason you called, to check up on me?”

“Well, I did think about hitting you up for a loan, but your mother wouldn’t permit me.”

“Oh, daddy, you big teaser!”

“Your father should be on a golf course today but he claims the courses are getting too crowded. He stayed home to pester me all day: ‘Get me this, get me that.’ You know he’s spoiled rotten.” Jenny’s mother loved every minute of the spoiling.

“You just might be putting your dinner at the ‘Steak House’ in jeopardy, Maggie-girl. Best watch what you say … Anyway, sweetheart, we were just calling to see how you’re doing and to find out if you’re still planning to come home in July?”

Jenny assured her parents that she was still coming home for part of her vacation in early July. They talked of sundry things until Jenny’s ‘call waiting’ tone interrupted their call. They agreed that it was a good time to hang up.

When Jenny switched to the other call and she heard his voice, there came an adrenaline rush and a tingling sensation.

“Is this Jennifer Anne Mason?” the strong male voice asked.

She could hardly contain her excitement. “Yes, this is Jenny.”

“Jenny, this is Jason Prince. There’s no reason for you to know me, but I was jogging just behind you in the park early Friday when the lightning struck. Hope you don’t mind my calling.”

“Oh, no, not at all!” She hoped she was not sounding too excited. “You’re the nice man who very likely saved my life. Thank you so much for calling, and, for saving me. In truth, I hoped you would call.” She closed her eyes, saw his image there in her mind’s eye.

“I didn’t do a whole lot. It just wasn’t your time, I guess. How are you feeling? Any lingering aches and pains?” His voice had a velvety quality.

“You’re too modest, Mr. Prince. You …”

“Please, call me Jay or Jason. Mister is not allowed.”

“Okay, Jason, thank you. I’m feeling fine. It’s really weird in a way. I’ve never felt better in my life. Maybe a little lightning hit purges the body of bad elements. It’s crazy but I do feel wonderful.”

“I’m delighted. You sound in good spirits.” Jason hesitated briefly before continuing. “This might be very inappropriate of me, bad timing and all, but I was wondering if we might do lunch or dinner sometime? That is, if you’re not encumbered or otherwise disinclined.”

“I’m not encumbered, Jason,” conscious that she might be sounding too eager, “and I’m not disinclined. I would love to have lunch or dinner with you.”

“Well, since I’ve encountered such an encouraging response, let’s make it dinner. Would Tuesday night be good for you?”

“Tuesday night is good.”

“Shall I pick you up at 7:00 PM?”

“That should be fine. Do you have my address?”

When the phone conversation ended, Jenny felt an overwhelming elation, an excitement and anticipation she had not felt since her first high school date in Lawrence, Kansas.

As she busied herself that evening with ad layouts strewn about her living room floor, that rainy day image of Jason was there in the art work and copy pages. Jason Prince was no longer a stranger in her life.

Still later, as she soaked in her bath, she thought of a lightning strike, of her ‘white light’ experience, and of the man who straddled her unconscious body there in the park on the hard wet ground. She thought of her mother and her father, of an old boyfriend she could not clearly bring into focus, of the inner knowledge and immense joy that had arrived in her life.

She cautioned herself time and again that evening against the rushing optimism and the growing hope of a new relationship. She could honestly say to herself that she never had such an illuminating and transforming occurrence as the ‘white light.’ The handsome Jason Prince was a very substantive part of that total experience.

She went to bed that Sunday evening too keyed up to sleep, her mind hopping here and there in happy disarray, coming back always to Tuesday next, back to that handsome image, hovering just above her face.

She finally slept, the image caressing her last fading thoughts.

Chapter Three

Without religious fervor or zeal, Jason Prince believed in fate and serendipity. He felt simply there were fateful events in every life.

At age thirty-three he was the recipient of some good genetic tailoring: a strong Roman angularity to his attractive face and full black hair, minus the imperious and defiant set; a well-built body without flab; intelligent, solid business acumen, with a penchant for fairness and mild aggressiveness. Jason suffered no swollen and insufferable ego problems in his stable environment. He was lucky, and, not so lucky. He carried with him a pleasant humility, no doubt the result of his grandmother, whose doting was subtle but pure. There was also no doubt that the death of his parents when Jason was eleven years old factored into whatever essence was uniquely his.

Although he was shielded by his grandmother, Jason remembered the details of his father’s and mother’s deaths. His parents died in an ill-fated traffic accident. A tractor-trailer semi, its driver asleep at the wheel, crossed a center line on Carefree Highway near Cave Creek, Arizona, and plowed head-on into his parents’ car. The truck was going seventy-five miles per hour at the time of the crash, so death for his parents was reported as instantaneous. His father and mother, weary and anxious to be home, were returning from a dinner party in Oak Creek Canyon.

Grandma Myrena Wimsley was home with Jason and his older brother, Carlton, when the call came from the authorities. There were tears and there was anguish, but Grandma Wimsley was not one to dwell too long in emotional crises. Her strong will prevailed as she sheltered the boys as much as possible from the devastating news.

Carlton Prince was the difficult son to soothe. He somehow internalized his parents’ deaths as his own personal tragedy, intermingling his tears of loss with aberrant fits of selfish tirade. Grandma Wimsley found it necessary at times to forcibly control Carlton’s behavior.

For Jason, the death of his parents brought a period of dull apathy. He seemed for some time lost in a foggy nether world, unable to accept the tragic event yet powerless to deny it. He moved in awkward limbo and was ultimately sustained by his grandmother’s stoic acceptance and patient nudging which brought him to a final certainty and reluctant peace. Grandmother Wimsley became for Jason an anchor and a symbol of stability and safe harbor. In a very real sense Jason adopted his grandmother’s calm and unflinching personality, an alluring stoicism with a slight edge of inner doubt. His tinge of humility and resolve was not an unpleasant anomaly.

It was Carlton who could not resolve his seemingly vindictive grief. He vented anger and hostility. His mood shifts were uncomfortable and unreasonable. Grandmother Wimsley came to an uneasy and wary acceptance of Carlton’s moods, hoping that eventually he would grow out of the negative self-absorption. It was Carlton who inevitably and unknowingly brought a tight bond of love between Grandmother Wimsley and Jason. There was also a decidedly open favoritism shown to Jason by his grandmother. Grandfather Wimsley stayed lovingly neutral in the background, busy in his work, leaving the rigors of child nurturing to his capable wife.

So fate and serendipity were accepted and important acknowledgments for Jason Prince, and his unusual encounter with Jenny Mason aroused a dormant emotion. He found her image kept superimposing itself in his thoughts. He knew that this woman was somehow meant to be a part of his life. His acceptance of fate negated the fleeting feeling of impetuousness.

Jason Prince thought about the one prolonged relationship in his life. It ended some ten months ago when the corrosive rust of convenience and dubious security had finally cracked away. Oh, there was passion and caring during the ten years of their ‘couple’ time together, even moments of love. Certainly, in the beginning there were some wonderfully warm moments. Their passage, however, into a subtle maturity never came. Their growing propensity for professional achievement extinguished whatever flame of feeling existed. That past relationship certainly had not begun with the earth shaking drama, literally, that brought him face to face, body to body, with Jennifer Anne Mason.

Yes, he would accept fate and serendipity. He would trust the stirrings within him. He never quite felt this way about anyone.

As Tuesday dawned Jason felt an almost teenage nervousness, an awkward anticipation. He went about his daily business with an odd sense of urgency. He seriously considered canceling his last important meeting of the day, an appointment with a very high profile developer regarding a multimillion dollar commercial venture on a sizable piece of real estate he owned. Good sense prevailed and he kept the appointment.

It was not only Jason’s elevated excitement about his evening date with Jenny, it was the incredibly beautiful Arizona weather. His plush offices were located on the nineteenth floor of the Bank One Building in downtown Phoenix. Outside his full-wall plate glass window he saw the distant peaks of the rugged McDowell Mountains. The smog seemed temporarily checked by the recent winds and rains. Farther east he saw a sun dappled outline of the Superstitions, almost surreal in its gauzy splendor. The tall palms along Central Avenue swayed and the vast blue sky stretched forever. A warm and pleasing lethargy came upon him, nestling nicely with his thoughts about the evening ahead.

The intercom interrupted his reverie, and he reluctantly pressed a button. “Yes, Nora?”

“Phil Langley is here, Jason.” After so many years with Jason, Nora was comfortable using the first name.

“Right. See if he wants coffee and send him in. Bring me a fresh cup, please.”

Jason stood and stretched, taking in a long gulp of refrigerated air, trying to shake his somnolent mood. He took a final look out the window toward the McDowell Mountains, sighed, and prepared the papers on his desk for reference in his discussion with Phil Langley.

The dark paneled door opened and a smiling Phil Langley came in with his hand extended. He was a tall, sturdy man with a bronze face framed in a pure white coiffured elegance. His presence in the luxurious suite further brightened the atmosphere.

“Hi, Jason, good to see you.” Langley looked out the broad window and added, “We should be having this meeting outside, my man. The weather is awesome.”

The two men sat and easily traded pleasant chatter. They were long standing acquaintances who had not taken time from their busy lives to form a friendship. They were comfortable with each other and never suffered any negative setbacks in their enduring relationship. Though it would have been a natural extension of their business bond, they simply never socialized, other than a working lunch here and there. The essential elements were there, mutual respect, trust, and an inherent fondness.

“Are we ready to crunch some numbers on ‘Apple Brown Betty?’” Jason finally asked, using the project name upon which each had previously agreed. The project name was Jason’s idea, so called because it was a dessert menu item at one of his favorite downtown restaurants.

“We’re close. Just need to factor in the landscaping, and I’m still waiting on figures from Antigua, Ltd. Some of those old Spanish décor items you want are not only scarce but they’re going to be expensive as hell. But I know you want them, and we’re going to get them.”

“How about the water treatment? Will we be able to modify those washes?”

“That won’t be a problem. We do have a small citizens’ group fighting us about some land use issues.”

“What can they want? We’re not harming the environment. Hell, I want to use the land as it is, without ripping out cacti and native trees. All we’re doing is trimming back some of the Palo Verde trees, the ironwoods, thinning out some of the wild brush. Nobody is more conscious that I am about the desert and its preservation. We’re building around the natural environment and we’re supplying a great need out there. It figures someone would start some sort of bullshit. Some people just can’t be happy unless they’re bitching about something. Problems of ecology and environment were never to come up in this project. We planned it all too carefully for there to be any problems. Who are these people? Do we know?”

“Sure, we know who they are. I’ve talked to a few of them.”

“You going to be able to satisfy them?”

“They’re just pest factors. We already have the council votes, so these people will soon fade away. They’ll get a little press time. As you know, the newspapers play up to this kind of crapola. But I do know how you feel. You want everyone to see the beauty of this project. It just doesn’t work out that way. But, look, we’re fine. Not to worry.”

“So when do we crunch numbers? The bank is waiting.”

“For the exact figures we’re probably looking at Friday. You want me to talk to Ewing at the bank?”

“No, I’ll handle it. Are those the final elevations you have with you?”

“Yes. They came out really neat.” Langley removed the heavy rubber band from the thick roll of architectural drawings and began spreading them across the round conference table.

The two men spent another hour going over the drawings, comparing, sorting among the various stacks of papers on the table.

‘Apple Brown Betty’ was an enormous undertaking that occupied Jason’s business mind for years. The idea actually came from his grandmother Wimsley, to develop a quaint, small Mexican-style village, complete with shops, office buildings, restaurants, houses, school, church, park, all on a large plot of family owned land between Phoenix and Casa Grande.

The grand plan evolved through the years, undergoing many changes and revisions. Many influential and financially healed people were drawn into a consortium of sorts until the project was now very close to becoming a reality. Most of the tedious planning details were overseen by Jason and he looked upon ‘Apple Brown Betty’ as his life’s work. All of his real estate holdings accumulated over the years made him a very wealthy man, but this project would become his personal denouement, his swan song, his ultimate gift to a grandmother who gave him so very much.

It would take a projected five years to complete ‘Apple Brown Betty’ once ground was initially broken. Jason would be approaching age forty-five. He wanted so very much to see it completed while his grandmother was still alive. He saw this strong lady as indomitable and ageless. He seldom thought of her dying. In his mind she would live forever. The ‘Apple Brown Betty’ project would make it so.

When Phil Langley left his office a little before 5:00 PM, Jason began immediately to think about his date with Jenny. This was in itself unusual because, normally, after a meeting on ‘Apple Brown Betty,’ he dwelled lovingly on thoughts of the project, envisioned its completion, saw children playing in the park, diners in the restaurants. These thoughts did not linger this day.

What was the significance of this woman? He knew many women in his life, before and after his prolonged ten-year affair. Some he liked and they were remembered fondly. Others, not so much. He always pulled away from a relationship when it became too sticky, when he felt the woman getting too close to him. The long ten-year affair was punctuated with breaks along the way because there was a tacit agreement there would be no marriage. It was a pleasant enough arrangement where either one of them could live basically his or her own life. The arrangement had simply uncomplicated their social activities, until, or course, it, too, ran its course.

He never confronted himself about his retreats from women. Even in his one long affair he retreated time and again. He had an incipient thought that he might have to confront himself with Jenny Mason.

Was it the dramatic way in which they met that had him thinking differently about Jenny? Was there something that was conveyed to him on that rain-soaked day while he kept pressing his mouth over hers? Was it the first look into those beautiful and frightened blue eyes?

Jason shrugged, stood from his desk, and looked again out his office window. The distant mountains had lost their hazy shrouds. They now had a coppery clarity and dimensional depth.

He did not know the reasons for his intense and lofty feelings for Jenny Mason. He only knew he had the feelings and he accepted them. Whether fate, serendipity, or some newly born need within him, he was hungrily anticipating his evening.

Even the compelling hold which ‘Apple Brown Betty’ normally had on him was diminished. Perhaps some of that lightning struck him as well.

Nora was surprised to see Jason leaving the office before she left, and there was something different about his eyes. They seemed glittery with expectation. His smile was almost a guilty glee. “Hmm,” she thought after he said goodbye and closed the door behind him, “he’s met a woman, and he could be in a whole lot of trouble.”

Nora Hadley, a handsome lady, fiftyish, stylish, in Jason Prince’s employ for ten years, and wise beyond her time, knew more about the man than he knew about himself. The eyes and the set of the mouth could be the signs of love.

Nora smiled and spoke aloud to the empty reception area: “I hope it’s love. He deserves it.”

At 5:30 PM she turned off the machines, the lights, locked the offices, and went home. She was still smiling her warm thoughts as she rode down in the crowded elevator. The people around her smiled in spite of themselves.