Chapter 2

Friday, September 18th – everything changes

I had just one conference left for the week, the mysterious Ms. Lundquist. School was out at three but the conference wasn’t until five. One of the downsides of letting parents schedule the conferences is that sometimes you have to suck it up and wait. When the last kid was gone I sat down to work. I put together the final touches on next week’s lesson plans, organized some materials and finally finished my substitute folder. I was done with school and I played some hearts on the computer, wrote a few emails and checked to see if anyone was clever on Facebook today. Nope. Not today. I went to Amazon and synched my computer to my Kindle and read for a while. Nothing like a little Vince Flynn to escape reality for a bit. Finally, 5PM rolled around and in walked Ms. Lundquist. Except she didn’t. I read some more. 5:15 and no Ms. Lundquist. I read some more. It started raining. Then it started raining hard. I read some more. 5:30 and no Ms. Lundquist. I checked the weather radar online. There was a line of thunderstorms coming for at least another 30 minutes. I figured her for a no show but decided to continue reading. Thunder, hard rain on a metal roof and a good book. I didn’t really want to go home and cook anyway. I especially didn’t want to ride home in a downpour.

By six, the rain was easing up a bit and I decided to take advantage in a short break in the rain. I don’t like to ride in the rain but it’s not bad with a decent rain suit. I’ve had two suits for years and used the one I keep at work four times and the other has never been wet. I’m a fair weather rider and my Harley Fatboy likes it that way. I pulled my rain suit out of the closet and pulled on the pants and jacket. The man in red. Not exactly fashionable but a far more pleasant and dry ride home. Plus, I’m a firm believer that red is the international please-don’t-hit-me color.

My gear squeaked as I walked back to my desk one last time to synch my book back to my Kindle and log off. I was just about to leave when the rain came in. The door flew open and a ruined oversized umbrella flew into the room with a silver plastic sheet sort of thing attached. The silver plastic sheet followed the umbrella in and the door slowly closed catching the belt of the rain creature now only partially covered by the sheet. The creature spun left, water flying off and the silver plastic rain sheet thing slowed its frantic movement, slowly morphing into a rain coat of sorts. An arm came out and pulled at the belt but the door wouldn’t give it back. The arm disappeared back into the coat. It shrugged several times and the coat sort of fell away, the belt still trapped in the door and the coat inside out, mostly. The rain sheet had transformed into a rain coat and now, apparently a woman. She pushed the remains of the raincoat off, straightened her posture and reached for her hair. She tried to pull it back, off of her face but without much success. A clip was holding it captive and she wrestled with it, but the clip was wet and snagged so her hair was half free and half loose, wildly loose. She stomped her feet a couple of times to get the rain off and then a frozen silence.

Slowly and quietly, she began to survey the room, perhaps remembering from open house or perhaps really seeing for the first time. The life-sized skeleton hanging at her right, the microscope, mirrors, prisms, tuning fork and such on my lab table. Looking a bit farther to her left she saw the political map of Europe at the time of the Renaissance, white board, book case, and what passed for our audio visual center. She turned back to her right and saw the full length door mirror. The sign above it said, “Look Professional, Be Professional”. She didn’t.

“Oh my gosh, I am an unmitigated disaster,” she said ever so quietly. She still hadn’t noticed me. I sat there silently watching. ‘You can observe a lot just by watching’ I thought. Yogi Berra said that. She was entertainment worth the wait. She tugged at her hair again and finally got it free but her fine blonde hair was not just free, it had fully escaped. Totally out of control and she couldn’t seem to get a grip on the concept that first the clip and now her hair had won this battle. Wet and exasperated, she finally looked over and saw me sitting there quietly, a sort of Cheshire cat grin on my face. She looked surprised and saddened that another human had seen her in this state of dishevelment. She froze. And then she started to smile and then to laugh. At me. I smiled back.

“You’re wearing a red rubber suit,” she said, finding joy that someone could look sillier than she did. She had a very pleasant, even voice, the first time I’d hear her above a whisper.

“I am. It’s my favorite red rubber suit. When you are a man, sometimes you wear a red rubber suit in your room. It’s for fun,” I said in bad Mexican accent and she laughed even harder. Nacho Libre quotes will do that to people.

“That’s funny. I needed that. But I have to ask, what in the world are you doing wearing...” And she figured it out. “That’s your motorcycle in the parking lot.” I nodded. “And you were getting ready to ride in the rain.” I nodded again, still smiling, genuinely. “And that’s because of me. Because I’m so late. Oh. I am soooo sorry.” She wasn’t making fun of me now but it really wasn’t because of her. I would have gotten wet either way.

“Ms. Lundquist, I would have...”

“Elsa. I am so sorry. You shouldn’t have waited. Really.”

“Elsa, don’t worry about it. I have that suit for just such occasions.” I stood and squeaked over to the science closet.

“Mr. January?” I nodded. “Can we pretend you didn’t just see that entrance and I won’t tell anyone about your red rubber suit?”

“What entrance? It’s Danny.” Ice broken. I pulled a towel out of my science closet and handed it to her. She gratefully accepted. As she started to dry off, I started peeling off my “red rubber suit.”

Toweling her hair she apologized. “I am so late. So sorry I’m late. This has been a terrible day and my cell phone died and I didn’t expect this storm to come through so soon. The roads are a mess. I was hoping that you had left already or had another parent after me or something. But I didn’t want to be a no-show. I’m rambling. You must think me loony.”

The rain had kept me late as much as anything and I sure didn’t want to make her feel worse. Not on top of the bad day she’d had. “Not at all. I had finished for the day and you caught me just before I left. I don’t mind, really.” I didn’t, either. She squeezed her hair with the towel then ran her fingers through it to straighten it with limited success. Convinced that she had done all she could for it, she adjusted the fit of her clothing, tugging her skirt down and checking her collar, bringing fashion back into alignment with the universe. She began to look more and more like a woman. Chaotic disarray turned into casual beauty before my eyes and it was glorious to watch. She continued to dry off quietly for a few moments and then looked up to see me smiling and enjoying the show. She smiled back, pleased that I wasn’t the least bit upset with her.

She stepped out of her shoes and onto the carpet, making a quiet, soft squishy sound as she did. “Ruined, for sure,” she said looking at what were undoubtedly some very nice shoes. “Cole Haan’s. I really liked them. Leather hates water and they are soaked,” she said and I reached to take her shoes from her. She offered them up for whatever I might do to them. When she did our eyes connected and her face softened. It was as though by accepting the problem her shoes represented that I was taking much more of her burdens from her. A small gesture gratefully accepted.

“Teachers know how to deal with these natural disasters.” She watched me stuff them with paper towels and place them on the counter. I turned on a small fan and pointed it down at them. “Wick from the inside, dry the outside slowly, room temperature. They’ll be OK. Cole Haan’s are indestructible.” I have no idea who Cole Haan is or why he made these shoes but it sounded good. I motioned to a seat next to my desk. She straightened her skirt and tugged her collar and sat with her feet tucked under the chair. I took my place at my desk, diagonally. Across a desk is an authority thing. I sat parents on the side so they could feel like we were on the same team.

“Ms. Lundquist, I like to start with...”

“Elsa, remember? My mom was Mrs. Lundquist. I think after my inglorious entrance and your red rubber suit we can probably skip the formalities.” She smiled warmly. “I’ve had a week very full of formalities and late on a Friday afternoon I’ll bet you’re done with them too.” She held out her hand and I took it, a fine hand. Thin but strong, with a recent manicure, conservative nails with white French tips and smooth skin, and no ring. If we hadn’t had the crazy entrance I would have been tempted to kiss it. I still was. I held it perhaps a second longer than the comfortable norm.

I had been watching her dry off and pull herself together for a good ten minutes and had plenty of time to assess Elsa Lundquist. On open house she was a mystery woman, covered and quiet. She was a no-show for the pizza dinner. Today, she was vulnerable and her quiet reservation was quite completely gone. She had fine shoulder length hair, light, almost ash blonde, wet and wavy, it would probably dry even lighter and I thought would probably straighten out. She had a pronounced widow’s peak and for some reason I’ve always thought they look sexy on a woman. She had classic Scandinavian features. Thin, high eyebrows, a bit darker, a bit more golden blonde, a fine, thin nose and full but not fat cheeks. She had the tone of someone who spent considerable time outdoors and when she smiled her soft tan highlighted brilliant white teeth. Teeth like a model or actress, I thought. Who has teeth like that? But what really caused me to catch my breath were her eyes. Her eyes were an intriguing shade of blue; light and almost steel grey but softer than that sounds. She was thin but not skinny, maybe a size 4 or maybe a 6, and she brought Grace Kelly to mind. Grace Kelly had a widow’s peak too. Elsa Lundquist was definitely the most beautiful mom I’d met.

I have a visual ranking for women. When you get past ugly, homely and plain, you get to cute or pretty. When you’re under 25 cute is nice. Over that and pretty is better. Then a range of beauty. There’s prom queen or model beautiful – very nice on the eyes but temporary, artificial. The girl next door beautiful. That’s the kind of beauty most men hope to marry. Beautiful but somehow attainable. Then there’s stunning. The kind of woman that stops conversations when she enters a room. Most men consider them unattainable. And two or three times in my life I’ve seen a woman who I’d call breathtaking. Whatever you were doing stops and when she passes you probably won’t remember what you were doing and it won’t matter. These women are past unattainable.

Elsa Lundquist, in her disheveled state was still on the high end of stunning. Dry, and with half a chance to present her best side, she would undoubtedly be breathtaking. Totally and completely out of my league and totally and completely unattainable. I thought I’d like to see her when she was ready for a night on the town rather than having just come in from the storm. She would be a knockout in an evening gown. Some men would have been tongue tied because of her beauty. Not me. What’s the point in being nervous when you have no chance anyway? None at all.

She was dressed the professional. A form fitting charcoal gray wool suit with large buttons and a white blouse, poking its collar out at the top. Her pencil skirt couldn’t have made the walk in the rain any easier and her heels, pardon me, her Cole Haan’s, definitely would have complicated that walk. She was certainly not a stay-at-home mom and she knew how to project a sharp, professional image that is still very feminine. She looked good. Master of the understatement, that’s me.

“Hi, I’m Danny. Very nice to meet you,” I said very formally, sort of joking about how incredibly informally our meeting had started. “Shall we chit chat a while or consider that done about the time I set your shoes out to dry?”

“That seems about right,” she smiled back, happy to be done with rest of her day, including her rain dance.

“I want to talk about Maja, how she’s doing, what you expect and all that. But I’ve met her, had her in my class and already have some ideas about what she’s capable of. I want to find out about you, what your expectations are and what your role is so far as her education goes. I already know you’re a master of the rain dance. What else.”

“You’ll remember me that way forever, now I suppose.” Deep resignation.

“I will try. It was impressive.”

“I’ll bet. I’m so glad no one else saw.” I was too.

“No. Just me.”

“It’s a new thing, you know. I’m still practicing, still perfecting it.” She smiled and settled in. Trying to relax in clothing that had its comfort challenged by the weather. Then she reached out to my hand on the table and laid hers on top, almost, but not, pleading.

“Your secret is safe with me. Until you have it perfected.”

“It’s silly. I didn’t know you were here. I don’t know what I was thinking about. I feel foolish and I’m not used to that.” She withdrew her hand, far too soon, I thought.

“No. I wouldn’t think so.” How could she be?

“You’re kind. Thank you. Let’s see. What should I say? What matters? I’m a single mom, or at least I’m about to be. Maja is my only child. I work. Goldwater, Price. I’m a consultant. Let’s see. We’ve been in the Charleston area for eight years but just moved to IOP over the summer, to get away from Kiawah and closer to my new position. What else? Let’s see, I’ve been teaching Maja to play tennis since she was six. She’s getting much better. Another three or four years and she’ll probably be able to beat me.” That explained the tan. “I’m not sure what else I could tell you that’s important.”

“Where did Maja go to school last year?”

“Ah. St. John’s Academy. Straight As, except math. Tough teacher I think.”

“St. John’s is a good school. We have a lot in common and I know many of their teachers. Considering how she’s started off here, I’m not surprised by her grades there.”

“How involved are you in her schoolwork? Do you coach or monitor?”

“Coach and monitor. Work keeps me pretty busy and Maja is a self-starter. Monitor sounds almost uninvolved but as long as she keeps her grades up at a good school that seems right.”

“You said you work at Goldwater, Price. Investment planning?” Never met an investment planner before.

“That’s right. We have a relatively small clientele. Our clients can be demanding and they were today but I enjoy it. Challenge brings out our best.”

“So you help people with retirement planning, investments, that type of thing?”

“Yes.” Then changing into a professional, radio voice, “We help develop personal portfolios to match income with lifestyle.”

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone before who does what you do. I’m a do it yourself kind of guy when it comes to money, I guess.” She nodded. She’d heard that before.

“Most people are. Our clientele has a bit more capital to play with than most people and they prefer to have an expert staff help them plan. We have a tax attorney and an accountant on staff as well.”

“So, my teacher’s salary wouldn’t be much to work with?”

She smiled. No. I didn’t think it would but there was more to it than that.

“My dad left an inheritance when he passed and I probably should have gone to Goldwater, Price then.”

“I’ll bet you took it and invested wisely. People do it all the time without our help.”

“Still...”

“Second thoughts? Well, let me ask, is it enough to let you do what you want? To teach? Maja knows you enjoy this.”

“Yes. I guess it is. The old man surprised me. But you don’t want to hear this.”

“But I do. I’m surrounded by professionals every day. I love to hear what people do with their money without our help. Frequently, better.”

“I had no idea Dad even knew what the stock market was, let alone how to invest. He did, once and probably forgot about it. If he knew what he had he probably wouldn’t have kept his stock certificates tucked away between the pages of Moby Dick.”

“Moby Dick?”

“He had a shelf full of the classics, from Byron to Whitman. He worked security at College of Charleston. He had a high school education but was surrounded by college professors and students. He thought by reading the classics he could share something with them. I couldn’t believe it when I found stocks tucked away in one of his least favorite books.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why he did it. Maybe he didn’t like what Ahab became so he put the stocks there to remind himself not to get caught up in the chase for the great white whale.”

“Ha. Yeah, that sounds like my dad.” Memories of the old fart came washing back.

“I don’t mean to pry but can I ask? What did he leave you? Unless it’s all gone perhaps GP can still help. You didn’t invest it all in red rubber suits?” Nice.

“He bought Walmart back in 1980 or so, obviously before I knew anything about it. I think it was when they first went public. I’m not sure. I think he invested about $3,000 but it obviously did pretty well. He never talked about it. He passed away in 2002. I moved into his home and had lived there for four years before I went through his old books and found them. I didn’t’ even know what I had. They’d been there since he passed away. I sold them two years ago.”

“And?” We were in her element and she was much more relaxed. It was a nice transformation.

“And I paid a few bills, made two self-indulgent purchases and put the rest in a diversified fund.”

“Only two?”

“Only two. Well they seemed self-indulgent at the time but maybe not. I bought a cottage about two blocks from the beach on Isle of Palms, and a car. I have over half my inheritance remaining. So am I a potential customer?”

“Client.” Goldwater, Price had clients. Not customers. I should have known that. “Let’s see, a $3,000 Walmart investment in 1980 and you cashed it in two years ago? Maybe $700,000 minus a home two blocks from the beach and a car.” Doing the math in her head she asked, “You said cottage.”

“It’s small, 1300 square feet and walking distance from the beach.”

“And what kind of car?” Not how much for the car but what kind. Interesting.

“A self-indulgent one” I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious about my money matters.

“How self-indulgent?” I could see she was not going to let go of this.

“Not that self-indulgent. Not very expensive, really. Less than a new car.” I thought that would end it but it didn’t. I was supposed to be asking her the questions. Truth be told, I was enjoying it. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Nope. You have my curiosity up. Give it.”

“Fine.” Me all petulant now. “It’s a Ferrari. It’s 30 years old though. It’s a 1980 Ferrari. Satisfied?”

“1980? Really. Almost. You’re still holding out. Ferrari made a couple models. Which one?” She was enjoying this too, but I doubted she knew anything about Ferraris.

“308GTS.” That brought out a grin. Not really a smile but a grin.

“You didn’t. Do not tell me it matches your rubber suit.” I am not a poker player and for good reason. My face must have shown total unbelief. She knew cars.

“Let’s get back to you and your daughter now that I’ve come clean.”

“It’s red. Ha. I love it. Do you have THE floral shirt to go with it?” So busted. She really knew cars.

“Yes. I have the Jungle Bird shirt to go with it. I happen to like both. The Ferrari was surprisingly inexpensive. The shirt was way more than I thought but the car was pretty reasonable and had low mileage.” Having justified my purchase sufficiently, I moved on, “Now, let’s talk about you, Maja and her education.”

“I loved that show. Not that I was old enough to remember. Reruns.”

“No. Me neither. We’re not that old. You nor me. Neither of us.”

“You need a mustache,” she said, getting into it. And then the disappointment set in, “And to be about three inches taller. Do you have short shorts, too?” Now she was making fun, I think.

“No mustache, no short shorts. And I’d need to be 6” taller. I do smoke a cigar on occasion, though. I told you it was self-indulgent.” I pointed at some paperwork that was supposed to get her on track.

“After taxes, you have, what around $300K available?” She was quick with numbers and now serious.

“That’s pretty good. A little more. I sold a house to move to the beach and I had some equity. But that was really quick. I’m impressed.”

“Comes with the profession. And where did you tuck the remainder?”

“An index fund.”

“Ok, that’s safe, conservative. That’s good. You haven’t lost anything but you haven’t made much since then either. You could go more aggressive than that. At your age you can afford to increase your risk but you’ll do fine and you’ll be able to sleep at night.”

“Wait. That’s it? I reveal my secrets and that’s the estate planning I get? I don’t think I’m going to take my estate business to Goldwater, Price after all.”

“Magnum, you don’t need Goldwater, Price.”

“No?”

“No. Robin Masters needs Goldwater, Price. Magnum doesn’t. For one thing, you didn’t blow it all on stupid stuff. A lot of people who inherit or win the lottery do exactly that. Second, you’ve invested wisely. You’ve purchased property which will hold up in the long run, appreciate, and you’ve made a very conservative investment. The index fund says you’re a long term investor rather than aggressive. Careful. Otherwise you might have left what you didn’t spend in Wal-Mart. And the Ferrari should hold its value well. As long as Magnum is in syndication there will be a demand for your car. And it’s fun and there’s nothing wrong with that. And GP works with somewhat larger estates. We charge handsomely, but do not tell anyone I said so. And, if you like, I could give some specific advice. But you can be confident that your do-it-yourself investments are not bad at all.”

“Larger estates?” What did that mean?

“Add a couple of zeroes.”

I think my jaw must have dropped. My poker face again. “There’s a lot of money in this old town. Most of us paupers don’t even know. Some are rich and happy. Some are rich and miserable. Are you happy?”

I sat back in my chair. I was happy a minute ago. I’m a pretty easy going guy and I don’t think about money much but the idea of people with a couple of extra zeroes and miserable somehow didn’t add up.

“Relax, Magnum. You’re not rich but you’re not poor by any means. Keep your money invested in a good index fund, stay on your budget, and you’ll be fine. Really. Your home is paid off. A bachelor? Your bills are probably less than $3,000 a month. You could probably find a job that pays more but you enjoy this one. Not poor. Rich by many standards. Comfortable. And happy.” I think I was still preoccupied by it but now she was the one ready to move on. I got my mind back on Maja and her education.

“A couple of zeroes? I know there’s money in this town but still. And that’s your clientele?”

“That’s our clientele. It can be intimidating but you get past it.”

“You know, I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of money anyway.”

“See? No point in chasing the great white whale if you’re satisfied.”

“Why do I feel better about not being a robber baron?”

“It’s not who you are. It’s not a bad thing. It really isn’t.”

“No. Probably not.” I took a breath and refocused. “So, where were we? Working mom. Single mom. Have you looked at the curriculum for science and history for the year? Does it seem like familiar territory to you?”

“I have. It does. I read her history book and skimmed the science. I’m good with what she’ll be learning in your class this year. She’s solid in math and English too so that won’t be a problem. If she can keep her grades up in French she should be good.”

“You read the entire history book?” She raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly so I continued. “Most parents don’t do that.”

“Familiar material at the 7th grade level. It was actually kind of fun. It did short change the French Revolution.”

“You are probably the first person in history to complain about that.”

“Just an observation. I did not mind at all. No one I know celebrates Bastille Day.”

“I don’t mind leaving it till high school. You already know she’s an INFJ and primarily a visual learner. I’m sure you got my handout on that type thing.”

“I did and I skimmed it but not sure I get it. I think I have a handle on the rest.”

“Do you want the short version or the long?”

“Short is good, I think.”

“Maja is an introvert. That’s the ‘I’ in the INFJ. It doesn’t mean she can’t or won’t speak up in public, just that she would prefer not to.”

“That’s for sure. But once you get to know her.”

“It also means she tends to formulate her thoughts before she expresses them.”

“Most of the time.”

“These are preferences, not hard and fast rules. I’ll skip to the last one. The J means she’s organized. She likes to keep things in order and that’s a little unusual for a 12 year old.”

“You should see her room. I think she cleans for fun.”

“Extreme J. The middle two refer to how she collects information and how she makes decisions. She relies more on intuition and she’s concerned about how others feel about her decisions. Now here’s where it gets interesting. There are only about 1% of the people that fall into that category. The combination means she tends to be an organized dreamer. She comes up with big dreams but then she makes them happen. It’s an awesome combination.”

“All of that sounds like my daughter. Very much so. We each have one of these profiles? I mean a distinct profile like that?”

“Yes. I think understanding what your preferences are, not to be put in a box but to understand, helps us make decisions, to relate to the world.”

“You’ve been using this for a while.”

“Yup. Helps me too. I have an extra assessment if you’re curious about your own temperament.”

“I’d like that. Maybe it will help me too. I bet you’ve already got me figured out, though.” She smiled at that possibility, as though she were intrigued about being readable.

“I have an idea but this is a pretty limited environment. I would need to see how you interact in a different environment.” She smiled at that but hid her smile behind her hand. “Several different environments would be best.” What the hell.

“I would have thought my rain dance alone would be enough.” And now the smile was unveiled.

Now I hid my smile. “Maja is obviously very bright and her SAT scores reflect that. And Mrs. Barbier is a fantastic French teacher and very patient. If French is your and Maja’s biggest concern I think this will be a good year.”

“I hope so. She could use it.”

“Can I ask why she took French instead of Spanish?”

“Sabrina. Audrey Hepburn.”

“How foolish of me. Of course. Is there a better reason for a teenage girl to take French?”

“Probably not. But she’s not a teenager. Not yet. I’m not ready for that.”

“No. I don’t think anyone is. But that’s really why she’s taking French?”

“That’s it. I’d rather have her study a language because she wants to.”

“That sounds like a good way to look at it. I’ve never learned another language mostly because I wasn’t motivated to. If Sabrina can do it for her, great. Other than Maja becoming a teenager, do you have any major concerns? It seems like she is off to a great start and she seems motivated.”

We talked about each class in more detail and I asked about her previous school experience. She told me about that and leaving friends behind on Kiawah.

“My biggest concern for her has nothing to do with her grades.” She paused and I could tell she was trying to figure out if she should say more or leave it at that.

She began again, this time with a much softer tone, somewhat subdued. “It’s late. I don’t know.”

“I have no plans and nothing I’d rather be doing. If you have more you’d like to share, I’d like to hear.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “Her step-dad and I are going through a divorce. She likes him and she doesn’t like this.”

“No. I don’t suppose so. You said step-dad. Since she was how old?”

“It hasn’t been long at all. Fourteen months and we’ve been apart for the last 10 months. She barely knows him but he made a favorable impression on her. She likes him and doesn’t understand.”

“Wow. I’m no math teacher but that doesn’t seem like much time.”

“It’s not. It was a bad choice, a terrible choice and she has paid for it. We both have.” She paused and thought about that for a minute, perhaps realizing she had said more than she intended. “I didn’t really mean to go there. I guess I just wanted you to know that the next couple of months might be tough for her. She likes you a lot. Maja shares your stories at home. She thinks you’re funny. I don’t know. I guess...” She was stuck again. Tough on Maja? I suppose. But it had to be tough on her, too.