Chapter 22: Looking forward to number fifteen

Two days of investors' meetings wiped me out. Remembering who was invested in which trusts made my head spin. Some were invested in all six trusts, while others were only invested in two or three. It may have been a mistake to assemble all thirty investors in the same room for two days, but having a separate meeting for each trust would have been a scheduling nightmare. As John said, "There are no secrets here. Everything said here can be found in the quarterly reports."

My job was to present charts and graphs depicting everything from occupancy rates to profit margin by trust. I gave Wanda credit for compiling the statistics, and everyone seemed impressed by the presentation.

The first bright spot came after dinner on Monday night, when Ms. Linda Joyce made a point of speaking to me. She was representing her father, Raymond Joyce of Atlanta. She not only resembled Mr. Joyce, she'd also inherited his personality.

"My father sends his regards. We would like for you to join us for dinner the next time you are in Atlanta," she said.

"Thank you, I'll be sure to call your father's office in advance of my trip."

"Call me," she said, handing me her business card.

I wasn't sure how to take the smile that followed. It was either 'come hither' or simply southern hospitality. The way her dark hair matched the swing of her ass, as she walked away, made me think it was the former.

The second real bright spot came toward the end of the second day, when Edith Rowell congratulated me on the job I was doing with the trust that I managed.

"Sammy keeps us advised as to the status of our investment, he has a keen understanding of the market, his predictions are accurate, and he keeps his promises. Our trust is in good hands," she said, and started the applause that followed.

"Why are we calling it The Disadvantaged Building Trust?" came from the back of the room. I recognized the speaker as Linda Joyce. Her question was followed with discussion, and suggestions for a better name. Ms. Linda Joyce suggested 'Jeopardy' as the new name, and it was unanimously agreed that the name would be changed to The Jeopardy Real Estate Trust.

The meeting was adjourned on a high note, and the investors went away happy.

That night at home, Suzanne speculated as to why Cynthia Collingsworth didn't come to the meeting.

"Do you suppose she's lost interest in her investments, or could it be that she's too ill to attend?"

"I don't know, and I'm too drained to think about it," I said, wondering how John and Suzanne were able to smile and answer the multitude of bizarre questions from the investors. For people who had a gift for making money, they could ask preposterous questions.

I went to my room to await Karen's call.

"I don't know if I should tell you this," she said, and followed up with, "Kevin has been invited to a sleepover with Gary's boys," she said, reminding me that it had been three weeks since I'd attended the boys' practice.

"When?"

"I knew I shouldn't tell you. It's for Saturday night. He'll be home after the baseball practice on Sunday. You should go to the practice."

"I would rather practice with you. What time should I pick you up?"

"We're talking about practicing your serve and backhand, right?"

"Right," I said.

"I assume you're talking about practicing at the courts across the street from your house?"

"Right, what time should I pick you up?"

"I'll meet you there. It will be early afternoon, sometime after lunch."

This was perfect. We talked the following nights, but I couldn't pin her down on what time she would arrive at my house. I made sure the company condo was free for Saturday night, but didn't say anything to Karen about it until Thursday night.

On Wednesday, Marsha Cody called to find out if I was coming to the Reapers' meeting that night. I told her that I planned to be there, but that I had nothing prepared to present.

"I haven't contacted the two people who volunteered to help out. Do you remember their names?"

"Forget about them, Sammy. I would like to get the entire group involved in something meaningful."

"Good luck. They're a bunch of lazy bastards."

She laughed. "I got your point when you walked out of the last meeting. The truth is you're the only one I can depend on to get everyone to do their share."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking we could lend our support to a homeless shelter. We certainly have the funds, and it would give us something meaningful to sink our teeth into."

Well, hell, she was a banker's daughter, and Suzanne had told me to be nice to her. Anyway, the idea appealed to me. I didn't tell her about my volunteer work when I was still in high school. At that time, I was only interested in obtaining a letter to pad my college application. Working in the soup kitchen had grown on me. Later, I had an ulterior motive when I worked with Ann Hastings in the fundraising booth. That was the same weekend I met Karen Parker, and that had worked out well. I was still benefiting from the day on the courts.

"How do you propose we proceed?"

"We'll name a committee to find a shelter that needs our help. I'll expect you to sell the idea to the group, and chair the committee."

I wasn't enthusiastic about chairing a committee, but I agreed to speak to the group about her idea.

Marsha was the ideal person to lead the group. She was persuasive and she tolerated laziness, something I found difficult to do. Also, she was forgiving, as evidenced by keeping the same boyfriend who had put his hand on Daisy's ass making his appearance that night.

As far as I was concerned, I was there for one express purpose. After Marsha introduced me, I picked the committee, told them when and where we would meet, and left in time to be in my room to receive Karen's telephone call.

She was excited about something, but as hard as I tried to find out what it was, she wasn't ready to tell me. Could it be that we were going to practice my serve on Saturday? Or, could it be that Karen was also going on a sleepover?

Karen had no interest in hearing what happened at the Reapers' meeting, but Wanda was willing to listen the following morning.

"I pointed to a mousy little female and told her that she was to be the recording secretary, and then I selected thirteen other members of the group. I invited them to meet here after work next Tuesday, so we'll need a conference room and refreshments."

"That's fifteen people," Wanda commented, like she was considering which conference room would accommodate a group that size.

"Make it eight at the most. That's all I expect to show up, especially since I don't know their names," I laughed.

As the day progressed, I took calls from three people who objected to being named to the committee. I talked two of them into attending the first meeting, and gave the one that flatly refused to volunteer some valuable advice. "Good things happen to people who serve others," I said, but I didn't elaborate about my own experience. Not only had Ann Hastings opened the door and guided me into the bedroom, Karen Parker had driven me to school after I locked my keys in the trunk of my car.

Later that day, I found out the name of my recording secretary. Stephanie Macon called to confess that she'd only been able to collect the names of ten of the people I'd selected to be members of the committee. She didn't apologize for failing to carry out my order, nor did she blame the lazy bastards who refused to give her their names. I heard wholesome quality in her voice, and was struck by the confidence it projected.

"That's better than I expected."

"It is?" she asked, sounding surprisingly calm. I pictured her with the telephone receiver to her ear, wrinkled brow, gray eyes peering over half glasses, and hair rolled into two balls at the back of her head. Were her eyes really gray?

"I'll book our largest conference room."

"Your method is unorthodox, Mr. Oldham, but the results are effective," she said, and we ended the conversation with her agreeing to fax the ten names she'd been able to collect.

The list of names arrived a few minutes later, and I was surprised to find that she was not only an attorney; she was a partner in a law firm specializing in family law. 'Macon' was the fifth name on the letterhead with four other names. Could she be related to Gary, possibly his ex-wife? No, she was too young to be the mother of a twelve year old.

That night, Karen seemed dubious about going to the condo, and by Friday night, her mind was made up.

"Bring your racket and a bucket of balls. We'll work on your serve." she said, making it sound like our date was to be strictly tennis.

"We'll go to the company condo. I've made sure it's free."

"What if something happens to Kevin and Gary calls my house?"

"That's simple. Give him your cell phone number."

I heard her sigh. "I knew I shouldn't have told you about Kevin going on a sleepover."

She agreed to come to my house, but wouldn't commit to going to the condo. What she was telling me was that I had my work cut out for me. How I love a challenge.

On Saturday morning, Ned and I put Samantha on the rover, and after we put it back the garage, I began a log describing the outcome of the experiment.

Lunar Rover Log Saturday, June 19, 1994

Samantha is an exceptional three year old, who will be four in September. After adjusting the seat, and explaining the basic operation to her, she was able to reach the accelerator, drive the rover forward, make turns, and stop. She had trouble operating the sample collection mechanism, and she found the blinking lights on the dashboard confusing. Even she viewed the absence of a reverse gear as a major drawback.

I considered sending the log to Josh and Eddie, but that would require explaining why my nephew had not been used in the first test. They wouldn't understand that Samantha was a faster learner.

Karen didn't arrive until after two PM. She was driving her small sports car with the top down, and was dressed for tennis. We walked across the street, and took a seat on a bench to wait for one of the courts to become free.

"Do you know these people?" she asked.

I looked around and didn't see anyone I recognized. "I've lost track of who lives in the community. For all I know, they are from other neighborhoods."

"It's certainly a popular place," she said, watching the various matches in progress.

"Did Gary come after Kevin?" I asked.

"No, I drove him to McDonald's where we met Gary and his kids."

"Were you wearing that outfit?" I asked, taking in her short skirt, bare legs, and white shoes.

"Sammy, why are you asking so many questions? I don't interrogate you about everything you do."

"Sorry, it's just curiosity. I was wondering how many guys whistled at you."

"I was wearing the baseball pants, and no one whistled at me."

"I'm surprised. I would have whistled if I had been at McDonald's."

"I wear the baseball pants because they are comfortable, not to have lewd guys whistle at me. I don't see why you like seeing me wear them. You've seen what I look like without anything on."

I moved closer and whispered in her ear. "I'll always remember the day you drove me to school. You had the top down, and your skirt was blowing up. I knew right then that I was going to see what was under those panties."

"Sammy, you're tickling my ear. Move over, people are watching."

"Relax, they don't know what I'm saying," I said, placing my hand on her thigh.

She reached for my hand, and brought my forefinger to eye level, like she was inspecting it. "How much of your finger do you put inside me?"

"Only the tip."

She studied my finger. "Won't it go in further?"

"It probably would. I was only duplicating what Erica told me she does with her girlfriend."

"You know, don't you?" she asked, still studying my finger, "The pips are all gone. We used the last one the first time you climbed over the wall. I thought you would make the floodlights come on the next time. When it didn't happen, I gave in to you even though we'd used the last pip. What I'm saying is that there are no more pips."

"I have a confession, Karen. The story I made up about the pips was just that, a way to convince you that we were going to sleep together twelve times. Last week was thirteen times and today will be fourteen, but who's counting?"

Karen gave no indication that she was wavering. "Tell me about the condo."

"It's in a cluster of four townhouse style units. We'll park the car in the garage and walk up to the main floor where there is a living room, dining room, and kitchen. The two bedrooms are upstairs. The kitchen is well stocked with food, and the beds have clean bedding. What else would you like to know?"

"Have you taken other girls there?"

"Yes."

"Did you put your finger in their asses?"

I whispered in her ear. "No."

"Will you push it further into me?"

"Is that what you want me to do?"

I had my head turned to her ear, and didn't see her take my finger into her mouth, but I felt her tongue massage the tip. I didn't hear the person approach either, but I heard her. "Are you waiting to play?"

Karen removed my finger from her mouth. "We were just leaving," she said.

We ran to her car, and stored the bucket of balls and the rackets in the trunk.

"You drive; I'll let you watch my skirt blow up," she said, sounding mischievous.

I wondered what made her decide to leave the courts and let me take her to the condo. Was it my admission that my story about the pips was bogus, that I'd taken other girls to the condo, or could it be her desire to feel my finger inserted into her ass?

"What made you change your mind about going to the condo with me?"

Karen pushed her skirt down to partially cover her thighs. "Your whispering tickled my ear. I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on returning your serve until after we have sex. Perhaps we can come back to the courts later."

"Could it have anything to do with my finger in your ass?"

"Absolutely not, stop talking about my ass. We'll have sex and come back."

"I'll stop talking about your ass if you'll stop pushing your skirt down. I like seeing your panties when the wind blows your skirt up."

She smiled smugly as the wind lifted her skirt. "You have the most perverse addictions I've ever witnessed. I can only hope that you don't infect my son with your weird tastes."

"What were you thinking about the first time you drove me to school? I believe you enjoyed hearing the guys whistle at you."

"I was thinking that you locked your keys in the trunk of your car on purpose. I was also thinking that you were the horniest kid I'd ever met."

"The guys on the second and third floors thought we were already fucking, and I didn't tell them differently."

She blushed, and pushed her skirt down. "Concentrate on your driving."

I stopped in front of the garage and opened the driver's door. "Come on, I want to get those panties off of you."

Karen followed me up the stairs without questioning why I wasn't putting her car in the garage. I opened the door and watched as she glanced around the room, probably to see if I had described it accurately, then she bounded up the stairs, like she couldn't wait to see the bedroom.

She kicked her sneakers off, and was pulling her top over her head when I caught up with her.

"You're really in a hurry. Have you forgotten that we have all night?"

She turned her back for me to unhook the sports bra. "You said you wanted to get my panties off. I'm just helping you."