Phoenix Fire (6 page)

Chapter Nine

A haze lay upon the distant mountaintops like a surreal shroud. The light and shadows dipped and caressed the boulders and wide canyons.

There was something majestic and primordial in the view. It occurred to Jenny Mason that it was insufficient to classify such an awesome vista as simply, 'pretty.' It was more poetically deserving than her mundane words. Such beauty surely deserved more than just mere ephemeral acknowledgment. It deserved a giant hug, a kiss, something given back to it for its being there in its exquisite and strangely haunting beauty. Jenny loved these pristine desert mountains and their ageless wonders tugged at her in wistful ways.

Jason inserted a CD and the music seemed to mix with the beauty of the landscape outside the car to produce a biding state of euphoria.

Jenny sighed, rolled her head away from the seat's backrest to look at Jason. “What is that lovely music? I've never heard it before.”

“It's called,
Dusk
. It's my number two favorite riding companion,” Jason said with a smile.

“It is beautifully haunting. Oh, and what occupies number one your favorite riding companion list?”

“Not, 'what.' It's 'who' and the 'who' is you.”

“Really!” She lightly touched his shoulder, returned his smile. “To think! I beat out 'Dusk.' That's very nice.”

“Well, don't get too carried away,” he teased, “the voting was very close. Besides, the Chinese food has sated you and made you easily pliable.”

“Uh-huh. I suppose that has something to do with it.”

They sat in easy silence for a moment as the music played. Jason kept his speed just below sixty miles per hour. They were in no hurry. There was comfort and warmth in their shared space.

Then, Jenny spoke again, to finish a thought that was left in abeyance. “The great food, the ride, the marvelous views, 'Dusk,' and, to large measure, you, sir, all have me spellbound.” She gave Jason a cute school girl eye flutter.

“Seriously, though,” she continued her monologue, “a moment ago, looking at those mountains, I had an odd and wonderful feeling. It's kind of hard to explain, really, but it was a sense that something from a long ago time was trying to get through to me, like, some ancient wanderlust. The mountaintops out there in their shimmering haze brought some sort of, umm, a sort of ancestral impulse, like, the scene was speaking to me from the past, trying to give up some of its secrets. Pretty dumb, huh?”

“No more Chinese food, lady.”

They laughed.

Jenny went on, “Oh, I know it must sound loony and weird. It was just a good feeling that swept over me and, darn it, I wish I could describe it better. Listen, do you have any idea what I'm trying to say here? If you do, for goodness sake, help me out. Help me stop fumbling about.”

“You know I believe that I do.” Jason said. “It's maybe a soulful response, a sort of déjᾀ vu, a subtle linking with the eons. Beauty can at times, I believe, make such a flash upon the soul to almost render the mind numb to explain it. But, then, of course, you're a very open and caring person. You're more vulnerable, more susceptible, than most.”

Jenny's face showed a dubious and playful frown. “How do you know that I'm more vulnerable and more susceptible than most? Are you a part time psychiatrist?”

Jason chuckled. “Jenny, you must remember, I went through a lightning strike with you – I was so close, some of it might have passed through me, giving me these amazing powers of observation. But, really, you had an 'out of body' experience that was very real for you. You are not wary about showing your emotions. You are a person who has a higher degree of susceptibility than most, and that's good, not bad. That's just my perception of you. Seriously, does it bother you that I'm sharing these observations?”

“No, it doesn't bother me at all. I'm in no way offended.” She snickered. “Guess it makes me feel a tad silly, though.”

“You're not silly at all. You're honest and true to your feelings, and you don't mind sharing them. You're strong and confident in your words and actions. That's enviable. You have a soul, Jenny Anne. Some people don't know how to find their souls, too busy seeing life in black and white terms, too incapable of coming to terms with thoughts that seem alien to them. Some people are too busy acting out their little deceptions, too busy contriving instead of striving. You are, in short, a remarkable woman. There, I've had my say. Hope it didn't sound too arrogant, didactic, and/or pedantic.”

Jenny looked at the strong, pleasantly assured profile of the man with whom she was falling in love. With little effort she could cry tears of joy, but she would not. So many emotions stirred within her. Finally, she could only mutter a weak retort: “Takes one to know one.”

They looked at each other for some seconds. Jason put his right hand over her left upturned palm, squeezed gently, and smiled a warm and silent response. He then returned to the business of driving.

They were quiet for a protracted period of time, each lost in the motor hum, the tires whine, and the vast desert all around them. Their silence was not an uncomfortable thing.

Jenny spoke first. “Have we been doing some metaphysical, philosophical meandering here? It seems to me we got pretty deep.” She snickered.

“Suppose we did, in some very general way. Why do you ask?”

“Hmm, I don't know. Guess I just have a lot of questions crowding my mind.”

“Questions? Like, what?”

“Well, like, what gives you pleasure in life, Jason? What is it you want from life?”

“Oh, I suppose the first question is the easiest to answer, sort of. What gives me pleasure in life? Well, I'm a lucky guy because my work gives me a lot of pleasure. Maybe you'll get a hint of that today. Many people can't say they get pleasure from their work. Lots of studies show that there are people stuck in jobs they hate, just marking time day in, day out. Had a man tell me once that he worked in a sub-assembly division of a major aircraft plant, stamping numbers on wires, clustering those wires, small and large, and soldering them into receptacles of one size or another. The whole process was so boring he lived for the fifteen-minute coffee breaks and the thirty-minute lunch breaks, dying little by little in between. The stamping process and the soldering joints needed to conform ever so precisely to specifications, and many times they did not conform. The man said the quality control people often times approved the receptacles without carefully, thoroughly checking the soldering joints.

“Now, that scared me when he told me about the shoddy inspections. Those receptacles go into passenger jets that people use for cross-country travel. If we have people working on critical parts of an airplane with such boredom and nonchalance, you have to wonder if that behavior ultimately results in major crashes.

“But just imagine the thousands, tens of thousands, of people who have jobs they hate, bored out of their minds. For one reason or another, they are stuck in those jobs. The pay is good. It's the only job they know. They have no ambition or aptitude for anything else. So many people never find out in life what it is they really want to do. Imagine, mired for years, a lifetime, in an endless string of hours hating what you're doing.

“Me? I'm a lucky man, a fortunate man. Sure, I was born into privilege, never really wanted for much. When my parents were killed by a truck driver asleep at the wheel, I felt lost for a while, cheated, depressed, lots of anxiety, whatever. But Grandma Myrena and Grandpa John took up the slack and were always there for me. They pointed me toward my work of choice with careful guidance and positive stroking.”

Jason became conscious that he was really talking too long and he glanced over at Jenny. She seemed rapt by his words, so he continued.

“So I'm doing what I love to do, creating, developing, something that will live beyond my lifetime. We're driving to the most important work project with which I'll ever be involved. 'Apple Brown Betty.' Crazy name, huh? 'Apple Brown Betty' was a dream that began when I was a kid, really, sitting in that wonderful old parlor with Grandma Myrena and Grandpa John. They began talking about 'Apple Brown Betty' all those years ago. Of course, they didn't call it 'Apple Brown Betty' then, but that's when the idea was born, sitting there in front of that beautiful stone fireplace.

“They had spent some time in Mexico. They loved the small villages there, the lazy, peaceful, way of life. They loved the smell of refried beans, the music of the Mariachis, the people with deep furrowed faces and forgotten dreams. The world of Mexico fascinated my grandparents and I suspect they felt some sort of national guilt for having taken some of their land --- and maybe those 'forgotten dreams.' Anyway, that's where the idea was born and incubated.

“Grandma and Grandpa experienced some of what you experienced, looking out toward those mountains. Something stirred within them, maybe that ancestral thing you mentioned, and they wanted to recreate a village reminiscent of their composite Mexican town right here in Arizona. There were, and are, lots of Mexican-Americans here in Arizona, living in some semblance of a Mexican community, but it wasn't the same thing for my grandparents. They wanted to build the Mexican village that was in their minds and in their hearts.

“The problem, the dream came too late for Grandpa John.” Jason paused, lost for some seconds in thought. Then, he glanced at Jenny. “You want more?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she quickly answered.

“Well, Grandma Myrena built that dream in me. She tried to include Carlton in the dream, but he was too busy being a brat. Anyway, Carlton and I were taken on some of those trips to Mexico. After Grandpa John died, Grandma Myrena took us on those Mexican holidays. I fell in love with the dusty roads, the smells, the mariachis, the hard brown faces of the people, the aura of the small Mexican village, just like my grandparents fell in love with the country.

“All through college and all through my early development projects, that dream stayed with me and it stayed with Grandma Myrena. Finally, I decided it was time to create the reality from the dream.

“Originally, I wanted to acquire some land around Bartlett Dam, government owned land. It was an area where we had camped a lot as kids, and Carlton and I romped, played, and were closer than we had ever been as brothers, likely closer than we will ever be again.”

Jason hesitated, and Jenny could see a wistful sadness settle on his face. He took a deep breath and continued.

“Anyway, that was the place, in that general area, where I wanted to ultimately build 'Apple Brown Betty.' Unfortunately, we could never get the government to do some land swapping.

“So, we had a considerable land holding down here in the Casa Grande area. It was in the family for many years. I decided, with Grandma Myrena's blessing, that 'Apple Brown Betty' would come to life on this land. It just needed some imagination and some resources turned its way.

“Today, you see firsthand what gives me pleasure. At least, you will see the beginning, meager efforts expended thus far. You will have to wait about five to ten years to see the entire dream come into full focus. But you have the imagination and vision to see it today, just about as it will be ten years from now.

“That is what gives me pleasure, Jenny. What I want from life naturally follows. I want to see the dream of 'Apple Brown Betty' become reality. I want to know that I did it. It is, no doubt, an ego thing, but I'd like to think that it's a lot more than that, like maybe a monument to Grandma Myrena and Grandpa John, something with my signature on it, something that I can leave for posterity. It better be a lot of things! It's going to take just about all that I own before it's finished.”

Jason was coming to his exit off Interstate 10 as he turned on his directional light and glanced again at Jenny. “You will see soon, Jenny Anne.”

She giggled, like a schoolgirl. “I really never liked anyone calling me Jenny Anne – sounded so 'hill-billyish.' But I like you saying it. Oh, I'm so excited, Jason. Thank you for sharing your beautiful dream with me, for all the beautiful words you've spoken.” She gently touched his shoulder and allowed her hand to linger there.

“You're welcome. It has not been shared with many people.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, touched it with a feathery kiss.

“Oh, by the way,” he added, with a schoolboy grin, “you give me a great deal of pleasure as well, Jenny Anne. After we see 'Apple Brown Betty' maybe you can do some talking, like, what gives you pleasure and what you want out of life. Seems only fair.”

Jason exited the freeway, made a few turns, and headed toward a distant mountain. A huge dust devil seemed to be leading their way a hundred yards ahead and to their right.

Chapter Ten

Danzetti smiled a crooked smile as he accepted the cash from Carlton Prince. Meticulously and slowly he counted the bills and checked the denominations.

“It's all there, Danzetti, dammit! Please take it and go. It is not comfortable meeting you here.”

Danzetti paused briefly to cock his eyebrow toward Carlton and smile a menacing smile. Finally, he completed his counting.

They stood in the carpeted area just outside the men's room of the Beefeater's Restaurant. They were much too exposed for Carlton Prince. He wanted the short, squat, darkly sinister man to be out of his sight. Danzetti looked for all the world like the stereotypical thug Carlton remembered from movies and books. Carlton could not leave because Danzetti was blocking his way. Carlton was cornered between the cigarette machine and the joining juncture of walls.

Enjoying the drama, the slow and methodical motion of his action, Danzetti pocketed the money. Someone was just emerging from the men's room. Without any words and with crab-like movement, Danzetti turned to his left and allowed Carlton his access for exiting. A sneer was pasted on his ugly acne scarred face.

Carlton went straight to the bar and ordered a Manhattan on the rocks. He would not leave the restaurant until he was sure that Danzetti had gone. He sighed into his highball glass. Finally, it was over. He would not get himself into this mess again. There would be no more dealings with Lupo and the likes of Danzetti. He saw from the large back bar mirror the image of Danzetti moving toward the front door of the restaurant.

Carlton gulped down his Manhattan in two swallows and ordered another. Danzetti was gone. The bastard!

Carlton began to relax. The sweat on his palms and in the pits under his arms began to dissipate. A second Manhattan helped considerably in the relaxation process. He decided that he should have a third, one for the road, as they say.

Yes, the ugly business was over. How had he allowed himself to get so absorbed in such a sordid world of thugs?

The answer, he thought, was easy. Gambling! He liked to gamble, and, who controlled gambling? Crooks, gangsters, thugs. He must have known this going in. He was not a naive bumpkin and an easy mark. Or, was he? Of course, he was not.

It had all started innocently enough. Yes, of course, he thought, 'innocently!' Hell, he had dropped twenty thousand dollars the first shot. That was not too damned innocent, thank you very much. But, then, he had come back, and, wow! Fairly big, he had won. For a while, he had won, a very short 'while.'

He sat on the bar stool, thinking. Who had introduced him to the first private game? Sheila’s friend, Joanna Snead? Well, more or less, she had set it up, through her boyfriend, Larry. They were all out for dinner in Scottsdale, some sort of Mensa group affair. Ha! That was rich! A Mensa group dinner led him into gambling. Well, extrapolation came easy these days. Actually, Larry had introduced him to Lupo. Lupo was an intriguing character and had invited him to a private game at someone's house in Carefree. Wonder of wonders! A damned gangster at a Mensa group dinner. So what! Really! Gangsters were everywhere, taking a piece of everybody's pie.

That's how it began. A fun adventure! Checking out the wild side of life! He had never done much gambling, just a bit in college. He had gotten caught up in the drama and excitement of it all. He had learned the nuances --- the bluffing, the dark glasses, the down-turned mouth feigning a bad hand, the quick darting eyes, the snide little smiles, the sweaty brows, the whole body language repertoire. He got to the point where he thought he was pretty damned good with the nuances.

That's when 'they' began taking him to hell in that proverbial hand basket. That's when 'they' got him hooked. He was playing in all the private games. They were all good poker games, no 'piss in the sink' or 'baseball' or any of the sissy juvenile games. They were good poker games with no wild cards: jacks or better; five-card stud; seven-card stud; progressive; low ball, straight draw, open on your guts, dealer's choice. All, a real gambler's poker options. He loved all the true 'no frill' poker games.

When he started losing, he did it in a very big way. No small stuff for Carlton Prince. Just the big ante stuff for him, all the way. And, Mr. Lupo? Good ole Mr. Lupo? Well, he was just, what? Mr. Lupo was just omnipresent, that's all. He was at all the private games, always there to give a marker, to help out. He was such a nice guy, a real gentleman He dressed elegantly and spoke the way he dressed. He was a man Carlton could trust. Lupo was a man to whom Carlton could show off a bit, show off his big stakes gambling style. Lupo was a man with whom Carlton could laugh and joke, share a drink, a real pal in the lurch, always there with the markers. A first class guy, Mr. Lupo!

In that old pig's eye!

Carlton decided on a fourth Manhattan. They were tasting really good, and he was feeling so much better. The nasty business was over. Over, and out. Finis. 'Taps' was playing. 'God Bless America' TV sign off music was playing. All over!

Well, it turned out that good old elegantly dressed trustworthy buddy-buddy Mr. Lupo was also omnipotent as well as omnipresent. When Carlton had gotten in so deep, too deep, his playing became too defensive. He lost big and he lost often. Someone told him, “scared money don't win,” and he had told that someone to go diddle himself. His money was not scared. He had plenty of money, an unlimited source. But Mr. Lupo lost his understanding and his patience. He called in all his markers too damned fast.

There was Mr. Danzetti suddenly showing up at the games, an aberration in the crowd, someone who could get your attention. Mr. Danzetti had that intimidating aura, the muscle. Oh, yes, he was a big time attention getter. He was a creep!

All of a sudden Carlton had begun borrowing large sums of money from Grandmother Wimsley. Then, the awful thing happened. He saw the ease with which he could set up at work a bogus account, then, two bogus accounts, even, more bogus accounts. From these accounts he could siphon off some needed dollars. At first he was so nervous, setting up that first bogus account. He must have been nuts, diseased, doing something like that! Then, it got easier to do. He had himself covered. He could correct any problem situation that might come up. Sure, Grandmother Wimsley could be getting a bit suspicious, but she would not let him flounder. If it got too tough she would bail him out.

He would not let it come to that. He could find the control button before things went too far. He knew what he was doing. He had borrowed money from grandmother for his 'look good' investments, and, well, investments went south sometimes.

Now he was clear. Lupo's markers had all been made good. He was free of Lupo and Danzetti. He could begin to focus on those bogus accounts and get them off the books.

Carlton was only peripherally aware of the people around him in the crowded bar area, only remotely connected to the tinkle of glasses, the noise from the cash registers, the laughter and singing from the piano bar. The bartender had broken into his thoughts for a drink order, but he had lost track of time.

The fourth Manhattan relaxed him so much that he began to have flashbacks from his past. He thought of Jason, brother good, true, a brother he should acknowledge more than he did. For some reason, he recalled the camp out days with Jason and his grandparents. They had enjoyed those times so thoroughly, romping, playing among the cacti, scrub brush, sand, and pebbles. They were closer then. A melancholic smile came to his lips in the remembering.

The death of his parents had crippled him emotionally in ways he could not fully grasp, but his grandparents had helped him immeasurably through that rough passage. He knew that. But what had happened to him and Jason? Their relationship? It was some slight, perhaps erroneously perceived by Carlton, some conjured up favoritism shown to Jason by his grandparents, something vague and illusive. It was not fair to think in these terms of his brother and his grandparents. They were fair to him, more than fair, all of them. It was he, Carlton, who, for some inscrutable reason, had drifted away, had gotten off the family path.

Maybe it was simply that he could not, would not, face the truth about himself. No matter the jealousy, favoritism, whatever his perceptions, it had always been easier for him to rebel, to play the role of the aggrieved. Perhaps it was his way to subliminally belittle the talents and the achievements of a younger brother. A sibling rivalry had somehow formed, and it was easier for Carlton to mock and cajole than to join in a friendly sibling competition; it was easier to try and take away from, to discount, Jason's accomplishments; it was easier for Carlton to cause problems and to get in Jason's way.

Did he love his brother? Yes, he loved him. That made him, what? Hell, he was just who he was. Carlton’s acknowledgment of this sibling paradox both amused and unsettled him. The four Manhattans were making him too soppy.

Carlton had to get away from this kind of thinking. It was easier to think about Jenny Mason. Now, there was a lovely lady. Too lovely for Jason! Not really, but it was easier to think so. Too much of a woman for Jason! Probably not, but it was easier to think so. In any event, Jason already had a love affair going with his 'Apple Brown Betty.' Jason did not have the time for a pretty lady like Jenny Mason. Maybe, just maybe, Carlton should help his good brother out, sort of keep it in the family. Maybe a little of that sibling competition was in order.

'Apple Brown Betty.' What a stupid name for a real estate development project! It was just the kind of name Jason would come up with.

His brother, Jason, was a righteous man, moral, upstanding, so pure. Jason was so all together, so typically all American in every way. Jason was Grandmother Wimsley's shining star, her polished medallion of perfection.

But, there Carlton goes again, he thought. Grandmother Wimsley had helped him a lot, maybe under false pretenses, his false pretenses, but she had helped him nonetheless. And, maybe grandmother Wimsley even loved him in her own way. Of course, she loved him! He had to stop with the crap! But, at least, he was right about Jason being her favorite. She could not hide that sparkle in her eyes when Jason was around. Grandfather Wimsley was more even in distributing his attention. That is, the attention he had time to give. Again, he was not being fair.

Oh, well, Grandfather Wimsley was gone. All was as it was. There was nothing Carlton could really do to change it all. Oh, really! How about the attitude, pal? No, it was too much fun this way, he thought.

Jenny Mason, however, was another matter. She was a lovely lady. He thought back to the night of Grandmother Wimsley's dinner. Had Jenny given him the eye once or twice? He could not be sure. Perhaps she was just being friendly and sociable. Then, again, one could never tell. After all, sibling rivalry, competition, all that good stuff, was likely very important in families.

It was 9:00 PM when he left his bar stool and went to the bank of phones in the walled space outside the rest rooms. He found Jenny Mason's phone number in the directory and dialed it. Leaning unsteadily against the wall he let her phone ring seven or eight times. No answer. Back at the bar, he ordered another Manhattan.

Jenny was probably out with Jason. She had not answered last night either. She must go out a lot, he thought. Why the hell not! She was beautiful and no doubt in high demand, no doubt had many suitors. He would like to be her suitor. There was, beyond her physical appeal, something else that was drawing Carlton to her. He could not say exactly what it was, but he felt it strongly. He definitely wanted to know her better.

Perhaps tomorrow he would accidentally run into her at lunch time. He would just leave his office earlier than usual, hang around her office building for a while, see where she went to dine. She did not strike him as a brown bagger. She would be the 'eat out' type.

He sat through another Manhattan. Strange, he thought, he had never sat at a bar this long. But he had needed to unwind, particularly after his meeting with the goon, Danzetti. He chuckled to himself. He had done a damned good job of unwinding. He was so relaxed and pleasantly buzzed that he began to get antsy. All the thinking! Too much! He needed some radical change of pace.

He checked his watch, debated, decided not to call Jenny Mason again. She was likely not home in any event. He thought about her, about how she had conveyed warmth, a certain animal magnetism, So lovely, she was, and so desirable. He could see her face in his mind's eye and he unconsciously moved his tongue over his lips.

His mind, all of a sudden, did an abrupt turn, and he thought of Sheila. Damn, he was supposed to have seen her tonight for dinner at her place. The Danzetti business had thrown him off track.

Sheila? She was okay, good to him, likely in love with him. She was pretty and sexy, but not in the same league as Jenny Mason. When they had first met, he had thought that she would come to mean more in his life. But they had run their course. He had tired of her, of the sameness in her routines, her placid life style. He knew that she wanted him, long term commitment and all. She had even begun, ever so manipulatively, to throw out her thinly veiled feelers. There were a few times when, in his anger, he had perhaps overreacted. But, dammit, he did not like being manipulated.

Women! They could be so subtle. They could even be recklessly bold at times. He had never met a woman who could hold his attention for very long. Actually, Sheila had done pretty well in holding his attention, and, truth be known, he probably felt more for her than he was admitting to himself.