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- 02/07/2016
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Toph's Empty Year - 8. Early December
Portraits.
Everything this month was beginning to revolve around portraits. It began when Joanne came home with me. That is, the portrait of Joanne, which was completed at Naomi’s once I had captured her angry smirk.
Positioning it on a chair which faced the door, I wanted Anders to see it as soon as he got home from work. This would gauge his candid feelings. I knew courtesy would prompt him to say he liked it, but observing his first emotions would tell me so much more.
Judging by what I saw, I’m sure he truly liked it. He dropped his case and walked toward it, stopping about five feet away. From my position on the couch, I could see his eyes and they were exploring each section of the portrait. Then he walked over to stand by me as I got up. With his arm around my shoulder, we both admired Joanne. I’ll have to admit, I was a little proud. For perhaps the first time, I think I captured someone’s soul.
Anders was beside himself with gratitude and praise. He wanted to buy it from me so he could give it to her for Christmas.
“Toph, it’ll be the first half of her present.”
“And what will be the second half? Do you want me to paint a portrait of her mother?”
That earned me a soft push and hard laugh. “No, come with me.”
I followed Anders into his room where he withdrew a small box from the bottom drawer of his dresser. I knew immediately what it was. He showed me a stunning engagement ring.
“Toph, this is going to be a perfect Christmas.” Judging from his smile, I had to agree.
What we couldn’t agree on was a price for Joanne’s portrait. I had intended to give it to Anders, but he steadfastly refused. “How can I give it to her as a present if I don’t buy it?” Well, he had a point.
We decided to worry about price later. I hid the portrait in my room, but not before Gary came home and saw it. Then the whole last half-hour repeated itself, with still no resolution. The conversation thankfully shifted to Gary’s portrait.
“The employee we’ve sort of been discussing was in my office today. She spotted my portrait, Toph.”
“Did she light votive candles in front of it?”
He chuckled. “No dummy, she was impressed with it. She studied it for quite some time.”
“Did you dock her for time wasted?” He ignored me.
“She spent a bit of time looking at your signature.”
“Do you think I’ll get a new commission out of it?”
“I don’t know what you’ll get, but she sure had a warm smile on her face when she left.”
“Oh no. I hope you told her I have a boyfriend! Wait, isn’t she getting married? Maybe she wants a wedding portrait.”
“Getting married? Why would you think that? She’s already married.”
“Really? I can’t remember why, but I thought for sure you told me she was getting married. I must have gotten mixed up somehow.”
“Toph, she’s old enough to be your mother! Anyway, my father wants to take us to dinner for your little meeting. How’s a week Friday at seven?”
“Sure. Might as well get it out of the way, although I’m still confused why he wants to meet with me.”
. . . . . . . .
Today a Christmas card arrived for me. Gary and Anders have received a few but this was my first. Let’s face it. Guys sharing an apartment don’t get many Christmas cards. It’s not like we’re a family.
This card was not what I ever expected, or wanted, or was happy with. It was from my mother. Not from the family. Not from Mother and Father with a trite “Happy Holidays from the Dennys,” which I think was the intimate message in the ones they sent out last year.
No, this wasn’t from a box to be spammed to all your friends. The front of the card contained a print. The Madonna and Sleeping Child of Bernardino Luini, with no little preprinted message inside. A note from my mother was handwritten on the inside of the blank card.
My Dearest Christopher,
I saw the portrait you painted of Garrett, which he proudly displays in his office. You have remarkable talent and I could not be prouder of a son. Would you please do us the honor of attending Christmas dinner with your family.
Your loving Mother
I can’t explain exactly what my feelings were after reading the note. I had so many. I think anger was the emotion overshadowing most of the others whirling around my head.
Gary was her boss? Garrett England and Gary Blake was the same person? Does he realize she is my mother? If he does know, what does it mean? What is he up to?
Suddenly all my shields were at full height. My brain was on red alert. And this was just for Gary.
What was I to think of my mother? It sounded like she was sincere, but no one else signed the invitation. Somehow I couldn’t envision Clarence or my father changing, or Chester suddenly noticing he had yet another brother. No, Charles was likely the only sibling to honor me with a smile. Why would I ever want to be in the company of my family again? With my walls now securely protecting me, it was completely out of the question.
I set the card down on the table with the handful of other cards Anders and Gary received and left for Happy’s. I hoped a little bit of Betty and Big Joe would calm me down.
. . . . . . . .
I said nothing to Gary about the shocking disclosure from my mother. In fact, I said virtually nothing to Gary at all and bailed out of gym and tennis. I spent most of the week in the loving arms of my boyfriend, who did not lie to me or have secret agendas.
I think the little picket fence between my apartment and my boyfriend suddenly became rebuilt as a privacy fence.
. . . . . . . .
The second Wednesday of the month arrived and found me at Luke’s for the Tea, or better described, the TALON meeting.
Somehow they knew.
Probably Anders mentioned it to his mother. Theirs is a strange mother-son relationship where they actually like each other. I’m sure both Anders and Gary had seen the card and note from my mother. Here, at the Tea, it reared its ugly head. Abigail began the probe gently enough, but I was onto her motives immediately.
“What are everyone’s plans for Christmas?”
Apparently Naomi has no family, and so she will spend the holidays, as always, with Abigail. The same Abigail who will entertain her entire family, including Joanne, Naomi and a few others I had never met.
Oscar will be in Barbados, as usual, for Christmas. ‘As usual’ was not yet explained to me. But from what I had come to realize with this group, you received information only when they deemed you ready.
Luke was flying to California, as usual, to be with a sister and family. This time, the ‘as usual’ made sense.
All eyes fell upon me. Abigail saved me for last, I’m sure to have the entire TALON out and sharpened for action.
“...and Toph, what about you? Are you going home to kith and kin?”
“No. Steve and I are planning a quiet day.”
“What about Steve’s family?”
“I think our plans are to visit them on Christmas Eve; it’s their tradition.”
“Anders tells me your mother wishes you home for Christmas dinner.”
And there it was. At least Abigail was honest and didn’t try to deceive me.
“Abigail, I am home.”
Luke was next at bat. “But Toph, family is important. Friends may abandon you, but family never will.”
Poor Luke was clueless.
“A family must accept you before they can ‘never abandon’ you. It is a prerequisite, else ‘never abandon’ makes no sense. I have never belonged to my family. You are all wonderfully kind in trying to understand and help me, but what I have as a family cannot be understood by normal, kind people. No, I will spend Christmas with the only one who loves me.”
Only Oscar seemed to understand. He came to give me a hug. “You are not without those who love you, Toph. Remember that.”
And this is how the TALON finally caressed Toph, with understanding and love.
. . . . . . .
When Gary arrived home that evening, I finally confronted him. I’m afraid it wasn’t asked in a friendly manner.
“For how long have you known who I was?”
He turned a little red. “I took note of your last name when I first met you. You introduced yourself as Christopher Denny. Then, when your mother began to lose focus, it was right there in her file. It actually helped me understand her problem, which, by the way, was the loss of her youngest.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No. I wouldn’t do that to you, Toph. I’m sure she found out when she saw your signature on the portrait. She knew it was painted by my apartment mate.”
Well, at least that abated some of my anger toward him.
“I’m not happy Gary. The one thing I had here was happiness. And now I’m not happy.”
Gary got a worried look on his face. “Toph, please, this doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything. Everything.”
I went into my room and closed the door--loudly. Later, I quietly came out to leave for work.
. . . . . . .
When I came home the next morning, Thursday, Gary was waiting for me. We had a long talk. In fact, we talked until nearly 10.
He was very contrite. I began to only consider the prospect of trusting him. Time will tell about that. Then we discussed this Christmas dinner proposal of my mother. We had a bit of a disagreement when I confessed no intention whatsoever of attending the family dinner. Gary was most adamant, attempting to convince me it would be a healing occasion. Poor Gary never sat through a Denny Dissing Dinner. Needless to say, the disagreement was left unsettled.
I think Gary and I might be OK eventually, but not yet. He hurt me. Then there was the specter of meeting the next day with his father. I almost bailed on it. If he hadn’t come clean today, I definitely would have. But I agreed to go, which was the first time Gary smiled all morning.
. . . . . . .
“It looks fine, Toph! Stop preening!”
I’d never worn an Armani before. Gary decided there was nothing in my wardrobe good enough for tonight’s dinner. Once he told me where we were going, I had to agree. The only fine suit I owned was the tux I arrived in. We were, thankfully, close enough in size the suit he lent me fit reasonably well. I was trying to perfect the knot in my tie when he yelled at me.
I felt like a hypocrite. I avoided similar occasions like the plague when I lived in Euphoria. Now here I was in New Glory, and I was doing it! At least the restaurant was downtown on the river. I’d mentally separate it from New Glory to retain my honor. Another picket fence, I guess.
Of course, Gary drove us. Well, you know, my car wouldn’t blend well in that restaurant’s parking lot. Also there would be the embarrassment if it wouldn’t start and we’d need a tow. Gary relinquished his car to the valet and we entered. I stood back while Gary talked with the maître d’ and shortly we were being escorted past the dining room and into a hallway. As we moved down the corridor, there were smaller rooms on both the left and right side. We were ushered into one, which had a flawless view of the river and where a table was already adorned with an array of flowers, appetizers and two bottles of wine, one in an ice chest. From the table settings, I detected there would only be the three of us tonight. A very distinguished gentleman in perhaps his mid-fifties rose as we entered. He smiled warmly at Gary but offered his hand to me.
“Very pleased to meet you Mr. Blake. I’m Christopher Denny.”
He immediately took his eyes off me and looked questioningly at Gary.
“I’m sorry, Pops. Toph only knows me as Gary Blake. It’s the name I use, for safety’s sake, in New Glory.”
At this point, I felt like Alice in the rabbit’s hole. I also felt like bolting!
“Clever to use your middle name, son.”
He continued to hold my hand with a firm grip. “I’m very happy to meet you, Toph! Most people know me as George England. This person you share your apartment with is my son, Garrett Blake England.”
Little warning sirens were going off in my brain. My mind was beginning to put things together. I was not enjoying the picture emerging from this canvass!
“I gather you are the England of England Inc.?”
“Technically, no. That England would refer to my father, I suppose. He’s happily retired and living in warmer climes. The CEO of England is, naturally, my eldest brother, Michael. I’m the vice-president.”
That clarified the genealogy of those Englands, but not at all what was their interest in me. Before we went any further, Mr. England, the elder of the Englands present, sat us down. A waiter suddenly materialized to take drink orders. I decided to stay safely with iced tea. My world was getting surreal enough without sipping from any glass labeled: Drink Me.
The meal marched on, course after course, without another word being said about why we were there. I listened to discussions of the economy, the political fabric, current Broadway productions and the price of beef on the hoof. All fascinatingly interesting to Toph, the painter. I mostly concentrated on the red roses adorning our table, wondering if they had been painted.
I noticed the hours were passing and I needed to get home to change for work. Although, I supposed straightening shelves and tagging merchandise, while wearing Armani, would be no more peculiar than the rest of this evening.
Gary caught me checking my watch and placed his hand over mine for a moment, so I would look up at him.
“You have the night off, with pay, Toph. Relax.”
I didn’t think they intended me physical harm, so I tried relaxing to let this very, very long drama bleed out. During after-dinner coffees, the fattening of the lamb for slaughter finally complete, Pops began to speak specifically to me.
“I’m sure Gary told you how impressed I was with his portrait. I’m not sure you realize the high quality of your work, Toph. But that aside, Gary has also told me about the plans to prepare you for Abington. I’m sure you realize Abington is not simply an art school. You must have an aptitude and demonstrated skill in a wide variety of art and design, including industrial design.”
I nodded in agreement. I certainly knew I had my work cut out for me to merely be accepted.
“This is where I might be of help to you. We, at England, do an incredible amount of design, from products through architecture. Interning in our departments, you would gain an enormous amount of experience without the need to run around from place to pace, school to school. If you’re as good as you seem to be, I’m sure you would be ready to apply to Abington by the end of the spring for the fall semester.”
I sat, quietly attempting to absorb all the implications of Pops’ proposal. Finally, I spoke.
“So, you wish to hire me as an apprentice who will work in several departments? All at the same time, or one after the other?”
“I would expect one after the other. However, if you believe the work similar enough, you could certainly divide your participation between a couple. Only if it wouldn’t interfere with your success, of course. That is the primary goal. We want you in Abington.”
I did not realize until months later the true meaning of Pops’ last sentence. It’s when I discovered he was on the Board of Directors at Abington.
“Well, if I agree to this, and it is certainly attractive, I’ll need to give Mr. Pettibone some notice so he can advertise and hire a replacement. He’s been very fair with me and I could never cause him any difficulty.”
“That’s very noble of you, Toph, but...” At this point Gary interrupted his father.
“Toph, don’t take this the wrong way. I know exactly how you’re going to react, but please let me explain. It’s all been taken care of with Mr. Pettibone. We’re not steamrolling you. You can still say no and go back to work at Pettibone’s. It’s just we knew you would probably agree and this would be a stickling point. We made sure a replacement was ready for Pettibone’s if you accepted. And if you do accept, you’re finished at Pettibone’s and begin work at England on Monday.”
I sat, quietly going over everything in my mind. Maybe I was taking too long for them because Gary once again spoke.
“If you’re concerned about the pay, you’ll be making more than twice as much as you were at Pettibone’s.”
“You don’t have to sell it Gary. I accept. It’s a great deal and will best prepare me for what I truly want. Thank you for the offer, Mr. England. I’m still a little in shock.”
With that, I became a day worker. My only worry was, did I sell out?
. . . . . . . .
The next day, Saturday, I arrived at Steve’s a little past four.
“You didn’t go to work last night. Were you sick?”
“No, I don’t work there anymore.”
“Pettibone fired you?”
“No, I somehow resigned. I have a new job beginning Monday. It’s a daytime job too. In fact, I tried to sleep last night to alter my hours. It wasn’t easy. I didn’t fall asleep until three. Maybe tonight will be better, sleeping with you.”
I think Steve stopped listening after ‘somehow resigned.’
“How can you somehow resign?”
A that point, I explained the entire Dinner with Daddy and the subsequent consequences. I thought he would be happy. I was mistaken.
He crushed me in an embrace, but softly whispered, “This is the end of us, I can feel it.”
“No, Steve, you’re entirely wrong. It’ll be good for us. We’ll have both Friday and Saturday nights together and it won’t change any of our other dating. We never worked together at Pettibone’s anyway.”
He pulled back, then kissed me and sadly said, “I can’t shake what I feel. You've moved into another circle.”
We didn’t go out that Saturday night. We stayed in and made love ...all evening long. I slept peacefully in Steve’s arms the entire night.
. . . . . . . .
There was good news about my new job. I did not work at the location where Gary and Mother lurk. I was assigned to the other location, where Gary cut his teeth. I guess it’s sort of what I’ll be doing too--cutting my teeth. Hopefully, no one will realize I have any connection to the Englands of England Inc. The first few days saw me on a grand tour of every department even remotely connected to drawing and design.
Soon I was helping out a few talented fellows in product design. The particular product we were involved with had not yet been on the market. There were a few working models, but certainly not consumer friendly in either look or convenience. The prototypes did the intended job, nothing more. Our task was to create a product which incorporated all the utility of the models, but which looked good. We were to create a few different, competing designs. The next step, after ours, was consumer testing. There, the convenience of use and the likelihood it would be chosen from other designs, would determine the winner. In other words, the consumer had to want it, prefer the design and had better be happy with it.
. . . . . . . .
During these first days on the new job, my car was becoming more and more obstinate. I decided, with my increase in salary, perhaps I could afford car payments. I hit the credit union right after work and was sitting, once again, in front of a loan officer. This one was named Brenda.
Hoping to shortcut through all the grief from last time, I explained to Brenda, up front, I had no credit history and realized I would pay a higher interest rate. What I needed was pre-approval for about $20,000, figuring I could find a decent used car for less than that. I also needed to know the monthly payments for, say, 10K,15K and 20K. I figured this would give me enough data to make a reasonable decision.
I explained to Brenda that with my trade and some of my savings I would probably need a loan for much less than those figures, but I needed to see what these payments would be to act as a sort of ceiling.
That’s when my life got complicated. Brenda called up my account on her computer, then looked at me like I was some snake-oil salesman.
I had roughly figured my account balance to be in the high eight thousands, with the savings I had added each week to the seven thousand something I began with. Brenda informed me otherwise.
“I understand why you want to take a loan for the car, since it will build a credit history. However, the interest rate you’ll pay on the car loan will be pretty high. Why not simply take a share-secured loan. The interest rate would only be 1% higher than what you earn on your account, which is a pretty low 1% in today’s interest rate environment.”
Everything she said was in a foreign language to me. I should have brought Merle along. Brenda must have seen the look of bewilderment on my face. She patiently began an explanation, which had an effect more stunning than she ever could have guessed.
“Christopher, let me explain it in a different way. If you have one thousand dollars in an account and take a share-secured loan from us for eight hundred, we would give you the money but freeze that amount of your account. You could not touch it. You would only have two hundred dollars available to withdraw. We would pay you 1% interest on your full one thousand dollars, but you would pay us 2% on your eight hundred, or on what remains after each payment you make. Eventually you would pay it all back and the full one thousand would become available to do with as you wish. The advantage to you is if you withdrew the eight hundred, instead of taking the loan, chances are you would never pay it back to yourself. In your case, you have the added advantage of building a positive credit history, since you currently have none at all.”
Surprisingly, I was able to comprehend what Brenda said. There was only one significant flaw, as even I could easily detect.
“Thank you, Brenda, for that clear description. But how could I take a share-secured loan for, say, fifteen thousand if my account had a balance of only eight thousand?”
“Well, you couldn’t.”
“Brenda, am I missing something here?”
“No, Christopher. Your account balance of $58,962.31 is more than enough for a loan in the amounts you mentioned.”
This made no sense.
“There must be a mistake. My balance is somewhere in the eight thousands.”
Brenda struck a few more keys, then said, “Your ACH for fifty thousand dollars was cleared Monday.”
“My aye see aitch? What’s that?”
“It’s an electronic transfer. ACH stands for Automated Clearing House. It’s how money moves today.”
“OK. There still must a mistake. Can you tell where this money came from?”
Brenda struck more keys, then said, “It’s identified as JP Morgan, but has your name and this credit union clearly indicated as the recipient. It’s no mistake, Christopher.”
“Thank you, Brenda. What should I do about the car?”
“Go buy it, bringing the paperwork back here. You’ll need to give them a hundred dollars to hold the deal. It’ll probably take them a day to prep the car. Contact your insurance agent, giving them the VIN number of the car. We’ll give you the check right away. You give it to the dealer with your trade and its title, and you’ve got a new car!”
“Thank you, Brenda. You’ve been more than helpful.”
Then she asked if I had a credit card or a checking account, neither of which I did. Brenda advised me to get both to help with my credit history. I agreed and she promised to have everything ready when I returned for the check. I was going to receive a debit card too. I’m moving right into the realm of the elves of finance!
I had two important discussions that evening. The first was with Gary. I was a bit perturbed about the little deposit into my account. Gary pleaded ignorance.
“Honestly, Toph, we don’t even use JP Morgan!” So my benefactor remained anonymous, at least for now. Or Gary was lying.
The second talk was with Merle, who assured me everything Brenda said was accurate. He even advised me to use the credit card every month, if even only to buy a small item, and pay it off each month. I guess they don’t charge any interest at all if you do this. Amazing what those elves of finance come up with. He also warned me to only use the debit card to buy groceries and stuff like that, and never online. It’s nice to have an accountant as a friend, especially for someone like me.
The bottom line was I now drove a spanking (almost) new two year-old Chevy Cavalier, which I love.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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