Chapter 6: Moving On with Life

Wednesday, September 27, 2028 (continued)...

Once Abby, Carla, and Tami had arrived for dinner and we had been introduced, they immediately joined Karen in the kitchen. Karen said she needed all of them to help her finish dinner. Brandy, May, and Abe, the three grandchildren, were left in the living room for Steve and me to babysit.

The conversation Steve and I heard drifting out of the kitchen was mainly talk about me and my plans to start the Rattler. I suppose someone can work and talk at the same time, but that kitchen was way too small for four adult women to move around in without running into each other. Besides, shortly before the three women arrived, Karen told us dinner was almost ready. I’m guessing that she had something prepared that only needed to be popped into the oven to warmup. It sounded as if there was only ten minutes of work to do. I guess we just have to wait for the main dish to finish heating, and then we can sit down to eat.

While waiting for the ladies to finish dinner, Steve and I took on the task of entertaining Brandy, four years old; May, five; and Abe, seven. Brandy climbed into Steve’s lap and shared her doll’s current problems with him. I didn’t know that dolls have problems that little girls have to deal with. May and Abe sat on the floor and read their books. I watched as May turned the pages in her picture book and looked at the pictures. I asked her what she was doing.

“Oh, I’m reading. Mary and John have to eat breakfast, so John can go to school. Their mommy is upset with John because he is going to make everyone late.”

Abe must have thought May was talking about him, and she probably was, for he said, “It wasn’t my fault. Mom didn’t wake me up in time to eat.”

“She did to. You went back to sleep.”

“If I wasn’t awake, it doesn’t count. It only counts if I’m awake.”

“Does to. You just didn’t want to go to school. You ate real slow. Mary says John does that when he doesn’t want to do something. That means you didn’t want to go to school.”

Trying to end the dispute, I asked, “What’s wrong, Abe, don’t you like school?”

“No! She makes us stay in the classroom. I want to go out and play.”

“Ah, I see. What grade are you in?”

“First grade.”

“And what about you, May, what grade are you in?”

“She’s lucky! She doesn’t have to go to school.”

“I do to! I go to pre-school every morning.”

“That’s not real school. You don’t start real school until next year when you go to kindergarten.”

“I do to go to real school. We have classes and play in the play area. We stay there all day.”

“No! Your classes aren’t real classes.”

“They are to.”

I again tried to interrupt their little fight by saying, “May, does that mean you start kindergarten next year?”

“Yes. Mommy says I will graduate from preschool and then start kindergarten. When Abe graduated, he got to wear a special dress and hat. I get to do it, too.”

Abe must not have liked May saying he had worn a dress, so he replied, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It wasn’t a dress! Boys don’t wear dresses; only girls wear dresses.”

“It was to a dress. Mary says she and John will get to wear dresses when they graduate.”

“You’re lying. That’s a picture book. John and Mary aren’t real and you are just making up stories about them.”

I decided I started this so it was up to me to end it. Ruth and I had no kids, so I wasn’t used to this sort of thing between siblings. Yes our friends had kids, but when we went to their houses for the evening, to make thing easier on them, their kids always played in their bedrooms while we adults talked. Calling it a gown is too close to a dress, so I decided to go with robe.

“May, Abe’s right. It’s called a robe, not a dress. Boys and girls both wear robes, although they each usually have different colored robes to wear. What color robes do you wear at your pre-school?”

“Blue and white.”

They say that when you manage to dodge one bullet, you need to be careful for there will be another just behind it. When I looked over to Abe to see if he found robe to be acceptable, he asked, “Are you my mom’s new boyfriend?”

Now that really stunned me. More importantly, why did he think I might be his mom’s new boyfriend? When I looked over at Steve for help, all he did was shrug his shoulders and say, “When one of Karen’s friends introduces her to a single guy that she likes, Karen always seems to think the guy would be a perfect boyfriend for one of our girls. I’m guessing she likes you and you’re are on her list.”

Turning back to Abe, I said, “No, Abe, I’m not. At least, I don’t think I have a girlfriend right now. What made you think that I might be your Mom’s boyfriend?”

“Well, I heard her talking to Grandma. When they talk about a guy, he always starts dating my Mom.”

When Steve’s daughters had arrived, I found all three of them interesting. If I were younger, I would have been interested in asking any of them to go out with me. However, I doubted they would be interested in a thirty-nine year old widower like me. Come to think about it, Abe’s mom wasn’t that much younger than I was. At my age, a seven-year difference is not that big a thing. I just felt like an old man. If I recall, their youngest daughter was Abby, and Steve told me she was twenty-three. That makes her sixteen years younger than me, which is too big of an age difference for her to be interested in me. Carla was twenty-seven, which made her twelve years younger than me and a ten-year age difference was sort of my breakpoint. But Tami at thirty-two was well within my acceptable age range. Who am I trying to kid? I would be happy if I was dating any of them.

“Well, did your mom say she was interested in me?”

“No. She said you were sort of old.”

Not to be outdone, May said, “He’s not interested in your Mom. He’s going to be my Mom’s boyfriend. It’s her turn.”

Abe replied, “No it isn’t. My mom said it’s Aunt Abbie’s turn, but he’s too old for her.”

Tami happened to walk into to the living room as Abe told me about his mother Tami’s remark. She said, “Abe Tilson! What have you been telling Mister Simmons?”

“Nothing, Momma. All I said was, you told Grandma he was too old for you and Aunt Abby.”

“That is enough of that type of talk, Abe. We will talk about this more when we get home.”

“But, Momma, you said it was Aunt Carla’s turn to get a boyfriend, and it was really Aunt Abby’s turn.”

I really tried to keep the smile off of my face when I looked at Tami. I failed. At least I was smart enough to read the emotions flitting across her very red face, and decided to do the smart thing by not saying anything to her. Steve however, must have thought the situation was hilarious for I could hear an almost suppressed laugh coming from his direction.

Tami looked at Steve and then at me, and said, “Abe, put your book down and come with me.” She then turned around and walked back into the kitchen. Poor Abe. I could tell by just looking at him that he knew he was in trouble.

As he was leaving, I said, “Don’t worry, Abe. Things will work out okay. I know it’s complicated, but we men just need to learn when to keep our mouths shut. Go on. She’ll get over her mad shortly. Talk to Grandpa Steve, later. He’ll explain things to you.”

As Abe marched to his doom in the kitchen, May asked, “Is Abe in trouble? We were only talking about what Aunt Tami and Grandma were saying. Is that wrong?”

Now how do you explain a situation like this to a five-year old? Steve said, “May, sometimes what we adults say is supposed to be a secret. I don’t think Aunt Tami and your Grandma knew you and Abe were listening to their conversation. So what the two of you said to Mister Simmons embarrassed her.”

“Oh. Am I going to get into trouble?”

“I don’t think so, May. It was mostly that Aunt Tami wasn’t expecting Abe to tell Mister Simmons about her conversation with Grandma, and she reacted a bit more than she intended. By now, she’s probably told your Mom, Aunt Abby, and Grandma what she heard; I suspect they are also asking Abe what else you and he said. Your mom will probably talk to you later tonight about private conversations, but I don’t think you and Abe are in a lot of trouble.”

I’m really glad that Steve knew what to say. I don’t know how to talk and relate with little kids about adult situations.

Dinner started off with the conversation a bit strained. Once Abby, Carla, and Tami realized I was not offended by what Abe had told me, things loosened up. By the end of the meal, our conversation reminded me of a group of new friends getting to know each other. Poor Abe sat in his chair with his mouth shut except for eating. I think he was a smart kid who learned a lesson on how to deal with women, or perhaps it was those stern looks he kept receiving from his mother that kept him quiet.

I’m not sure if it was a planned thing, but Steve and Karen were seated at the ends of the dining room table and their daughters were all on one side of the table. That meant I and the three kids were seated on the same side of the table. The arrangement definitely gave the two mothers the opportunity to watch their kids, but it seemed as if I was the one receiving the main focus of their attention.

Conversation during dinner was mostly focused on my starting the Rattler and the parts Steve and Karen would have in that venture. The possibility of a personal relationship between one of the three ladies and me was avoided, although I did note several looks from each of them that made me feel like I was a side of beef that was being appraised by a butcher.

I appreciated Tami and Carla seeming to commiserate with me about the way the media was hounding me, but Abby’s attitude appeared to be that I should just accept the way they treated me and move on, for they would eventually go away. I decided to avoid a confrontation with her during dinner about the media’s right to violate an individual’s privacy. Arguing about the invasion of my privacy with a person who had not experienced it, was essentially a waste of time. Perhaps I should invite Abby out to dinner sometime in the near future and anonymously call the media to let them know where and when I was having dinner with my lover. I wonder how she would feel about having the media define us as being in an intimate relationship and for them to refer to us as lovers in the local newspapers where her friends could read the articles.

After dinner, Karen told Steve and I to make ourselves comfortable in the living room and that she would bring us some coffee when it was ready. She then told Abby, Carla, and Tami to come help her with the dishes. That meant Steve, the three kids, and I were once again relegated to the living room. The primary difference was Brandy had become accustomed to me since she had been sitting next to me during dinner and I was now the one she was talking to about how to take care of a doll’s needs.

Abe, bless his heart, climbed into his Grandpa’s lap and asked him to explain what he had done that was wrong. Steve glanced toward the kitchen before telling me he would be back in a moment. He then carried Abe back into his study so he could talk privately while I babysat the two girls. Talking with two little girls was a challenge. I might have been on solid ground if the topic was Cops and Robbers or Cowboys and Indians; Brandy’s interest was her doll’s needs and May’s attention was on her picture book.

As Brandy and I talked, May would add a few comments of her own. It was interesting that May was now telling me about Mary and John’s opinions of how to properly take care of a doll. I wonder if adult women talk to each other privately via a proxy such as a picture book; the term we guys usually use for our proxy is a friend. Deniability can be a great thing. If things go wrong, you can always say you were only repeating what your friend said, not that you were recommending them actually do what you said.

Steve and Abe made it back to the living room before the ladies brought us our coffee, and they joined us a short while later. The rest of the evening was spent with us discussing what I hoped to accomplish by starting the Rattler. Actually, the evening was not that late when it ended, but Tami and Carla had to take the three young ones home and put them to bed at a reasonable hour. Abby left at about the same time. Once they were gone, Steve, Karen, and I talked for over an hour about our plans for the next few days, and with our planning complete, I left to go home.

It was about an hour later that my neighbor was helping me set up his ladders so I could climb over my backyard fence, and I made it inside my house without alerting the media to my presence. The nightlight in the hall bathroom was giving off enough light for me to make my way into my study without tripping over something. Once I closed the curtains and made sure the door was shut, I turned my computer on. The monitor provided me with enough light to see the keyboard. I can touch type, but I have a problem with the top row of keys, especially the symbols I get with the Shift key. I ended up turning on my desk lamp for a little more light.

My first task was to download the security camera footage for the past twenty-four hours. To simplify the task, I just downloaded everything which amounted to almost thirty hours of footage for each camera. I would go through the segments of each camera’s video at a later time. I suppose I could hire someone to do that for me, but I wanted to see the faces of the people who were trespassing on my property and invading my privacy.

I wouldn’t be smart for me to admit it publically, but I was going to wage a vendetta against specific individuals and the people who sicced them on me. I would have to be careful how I conducted that vendetta, so it didn’t look like I was singling out just the people I was upset with. Yes, I did realize that these people were just doing their jobs, but that didn’t give them the right to harass me and invade my privacy. While talking with Steve and Karen, we had the TV on so we could listen to the news. Yeah, the media had splashed what they learned of my private life, all over TV land.

I was pissed and out for vengeance!

Once the downloads were completed, I turned my attention to writing a business plan. I had never seen a business plan before, so I had no idea of how to write one. The only thing I knew was the business plan would be my roadmap for setting up the Rattler. To me, that meant the plan should define the structure of the business, its purpose, and its goals. Once I got that much on paper, actually on my hard disk, I could then expand the various items into a more detailed plan. It was all about how to get started.

Sitting at my computer, I opened my Word program and created a new file, which I saved as: BP for The CA Rattler V0.1. Next I typed in the document’s title to create a title page: A Business Plan for The CA Rattler.

That title bothered me. As I sat there looking at the title, I realized that in the past day, I had changed the paper’s name without realizing it. The CA Rattler didn’t carry the implication I wanted to convey. I had been saying the Rattler in my talks with Steve, Karen, and their girls, and I just realized it was a more effective name. So now, it was The Rattler. I deleted CA and sat there looking at the new name. Yes! That name just felt right, but the title A Business Plan was too indefinite. It only took a moment to change the title to Business Plan: The Rattler. Then I did a “Save As” and saved the file using the new name. I would delete the old file later.

Next, I plugged Karen’s thumb drive in and uploaded her files. I created an outline of all the topics that I could recall thinking and talking about since I started thinking about creating my own company and included the topics we talked about this evening. The list I made in the library was a good memory prompt. I gave these topics a Level-Two heading; I would add other Level-Two topics later. Once I had all my topics listed, I organized them into categories and I gave each category a title and assigned it a Level-One heading.

The next step would be the difficult and time-consuming task of adding content to the Level-Two topics. That would take weeks to complete, so I saved the file and transferred it to my laptop. After poking around the Internet for the latest in World and US News, I shutdown my computer. I packed my laptop, mouse, and its charger into their carry bag, and set the bag near the backdoor.

It was still sort of early, but I was tired. I knew I would have to get out of the house early the next morning, so I packed an overnight bag, and then went into the bathroom to clean up.

Boy, did that feel good! Do you know how hard it is to pack a bag, shower, shave, and brush your teeth without turning the lights on? Actually, I cheated and lit a small candle. The bathroom was at the rear of the house, so the reporters shouldn’t be able to see the light of a small flickering candle.

After adding my toiletries to my overnight bag, I set it beside my laptop bag. My last task was to set my alarm clock for five o’clock in the morning and set the alarm for a soft buzz. I then made myself comfortable in bed and fell asleep.

Thursday, September 28, 2028...

The alarm woke me and it was still dark outside. After dressing, I took care of a few things I had forgotten to do last night, and headed into my backyard, grabbing my laptop and overnight bags on the way. Once I locked the back door, it only took me two minutes to get my two bags and me over the fence and into my neighbor’s backyard; retrieving the ladder from my side of the fence and laying both ladders down on my neighbor’s lawn only took another minute. His lights were still off, so I slipped through his gate and made it to my rental car undetected. Once my bags were in the trunk, I headed to The Broken Yolk Cafe, which was not far from my home.

Before Ruth’s death, The Broken Yolk had been our favorite place for breakfast on Sundays. Since her death, I frequently ate breakfast there and chatted with the hostesses, servers, and busboys. It was well after six before I arrived. After a short wait, I was seated at a table in a remote part of the restaurant.

The busboy brought me water and coffee. I could have kissed him for the coffee; I really needed it to wake up. The young couple seated at the table next to me left to go pay their bill as I was taking my first sips of that delectable nectar of the gods. My waitress and the busboy both made an appearance at about the same time. My waitress took my order, while the busboy cleared the table next to me and wiped it for the next customer.

Have you ever really watched a busboy clean a table? It is an orchestrated dance of removing dirty dishes and moving the condiment holder around the table so it can be wiped off. This is followed by wiping down the chair seats and positioning napkins and cutlery for the next guests. I think my busboy finished it all in less than three minutes. Yeah, I am sort of odd when it comes to watching what other people do; but, because of that habit, I seem to notice what is happening around me more than my other acquaintances.

I was part way through a refill on my coffee and things seemed to be looking good for me at the moment. I could see my waitress headed toward my table with what appeared to be my food. Right behind her was the hostess escorting the next customer to the empty booth a couple of tables away from me. The customer was alone and a very attractive woman who appeared to be in her early thirties. Her makeup was perfect, but she was wearing some very expensive looking, rumpled clothing and she looked very tired. She reminded me of someone who had a night job and was stopping to eat something before heading home to sleep; although her clothes looked like she had slept in them.

I had a good line-of-sight to where she was seated. I watched as she briefly glanced around the room and then sat there apparently half-asleep, while waiting for her coffee and water. I had felt the same way just a few minutes ago. She must be like me, oblivious to the world until she had her coffee. The busboy brought her a cup of coffee and glass of water. As she sipped it, I could see her relax and sort of come alive. She was far more aware the next time she glanced around the room. Everything was fine until she saw me. Our eyes met and locked. I could see what appeared to be a shockwave pass through her body. I felt a similar shockwave pass though me.

I had heard people talk about “The Thunderbolt”. They said some men get that totally stunned feeling when he first sees “The Woman”. I had always just accepted it as exaggeration, and didn’t really believe the stories were true. Now, I was experiencing it and it seemed as if she was having a similar sensation; although I don’t know if women have a name for that type of special feeling. I was frozen in time as this gorgeous woman set her coffee cup down on the table, gracefully rose to her feet, and started walking toward me.

“Good morning, Mister Simmons. I’m Tamerlane Snider and I’m with the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. I would like to join you so we can talk. Is that okay with you?”

The first thought that flitted through my mind was, ‘Oh, God! Why does she have to be a Reporter?’ I hadn’t been looking for a girlfriend, and I still wasn’t interested in starting a new relationship; at least not right now. But there was something about this woman that just screamed, Grab her while you can! Talk about internal conflict. Should I or shouldn’t I talk with her. Well, she was polite by asking, so it probably wouldn’t hurt. Besides, if she asked a question that I didn’t like, I didn’t have to answer it.

“So far, Miss Snider, I have been fairly successful in avoiding the media. I don’t want to talk to Reporters about my personal life or feelings. If you want to join me, then do so, but I might not answer your questions.”