Rick
Painter sat with a pile of mail, mostly bills, lying unopened in his lap. Uncombed and unshaven, wearing a dirty T-shirt
and sweat pants, Rick had become sloppy as he languished over the past year
with no job, no car and no money, a sloppiness that included letting his mail
pile up for two to three weeks at a time.
Opening an official looking letter, Rick’s face darkened into a frown as
he read, [Failure to pay within fifteen days will result in the issuance of a
warrant for your arrest.] He
stared at the bold-faced type for several minutes, the wheels in his head
spinning through options and scenarios.
At length he came to a conclusion.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, Rick thought.
Putting
the mail aside, Rick went to the hall closet and pulled out a cardboard box of
old business records and stationery stuff he had cleaned out of his desk a year
ago when he split with his wife.
Rummaging through the contents, Rick cursed and dumped the box out on
the floor.
“Got
you,” he said, extracting a dog-eared business card from pile. “Time to make a call.”
“Sir, you have a call, Rick Painter, on
line one,” the receptionist announced over the boss’s intercom.
Cliff Rogers shifted nervously in his
chair, tugging at his shirt collar, his necktie suddenly feeling very
tight. He was surprised by the call,
given the unresolved offenses of two years ago.
Now at age forty-five, Rogers enjoyed the fruits of a successful
insurance agency. To some Rogers came
off a little bland and rigid. But Rogers
considered himself a middle of the road sort of guy. He was comfortable and looked to steer his
course away from the submerged rocks and shoals of life as best he could.
He was curious about Rick, his friend
and former recovery sponsee. The two had
spent several years working a recovery program together and in that time had
grown quite close, struggling with their respective addiction traits. Cliff was disappointed to see Rick, after
eighteen months of sobriety, corkscrew into a nosedive of relapse and
devastation.
“Thanks, Janelle,” Rogers said into the
intercom as he reached for the handset.
Leaning back in his chair and looking at the ceiling, he said, “Mr.
Painter. How in the world are you?”
“El Presidente! How you doing, boss?”
“I’m good, Rick. How about you?”
Rick chuckled, “Hey man, what’s going
on?”
“Not much. Same old thing. Where are you?”
“I’m staying with my mom,” Rick said, looking
across the living room at the shabby furniture he’d grown up with.
“In Peckville?”
“Yup.
How’s Rebecca and the kids?” Rick asked.
“They’re all well. When did you get back into town?”
“A couple weeks ago. I’ll be out your way day after tomorrow. Want to have lunch?”
“Let me check,” Cliff said. He reached for his day planner while puffing
out a long breath to quell his misgivings.
“Looks good. How about we meet at
my office at one o’clock? There’s a spot
for lunch right next door.”
“Great!”
“Anything in particular on your mind?”
“No, just catching up. I’ll see you then,” Rick said, hanging up the
phone.
The lunch had gone well. After saying their good-byes Cliff returned
to his office and reflected on their conversation. Rick had taken a hard fall, losing his
business, his house in foreclosure and his marriage on the rocks again. He had been separated from Marilyn and their
three daughters for the past six months.
The separation occurred when the story came out that Rick had
impregnated his secretary. But Rick was
on the mend. He was off the booze and
the drugs, had ended his affair with his secretary, was living with his mom and
was even going back to church. He was
clear-eyed and seemed to be confident in his recovery. I wonder if he can make a go of it this time,
Cliff thought.
Suddenly an idea flashed in his
head. Cliff jotted a note on his
calendar. He’d call Rick in the morning
to schedule a meeting for the following day.
Rogers was excited by the potential his idea offered, in spite of some
misgivings about Rick.
On the day of their meeting, snow had
accumulated overnight. Undeterred, Rick
was right on time, wearing a white shirt, a red and blue striped tie and khaki
pants. Cliff saw Rick as he entered the
reception area and waved him into a conference room.
“El Presidente! Como esta?” Rick said, extending his hand, a
wide smile across his face beaming face.
“I’m good. You’re pretty impressive with that Spanish
lingo, Rick. Is that a Peckville thing?”
Cliff said, closing the door and motioning Rick to a chair.
“No. No.
I picked up a little Español back in the Navy. You’ve just heard most of it. Bien, amigo?” he said with a chuckle.
Settling into a chair across the table
from Rick, Cliff studied the legal pad in front of him and bit his lip. He looked up, considering his friend for a
moment and said, “Rick, I want to talk
to you about coming to work with us.”
“Oh yeah? Really?
I thought maybe this had something to do with a job. You think I can be an insurance man?” Rick
asked, a wry playfulness in his voice.
“Rick, I think you can sell anything you
put your mind to,” Cliff said. “Let me
tell you what I have in mind.”
Over the next forty-five minutes the two
men hashed out a sales plan to open up a new territory for the agency in Rick’s
old neighborhood. Rick would receive a
salary and benefits package, plus commissions, and when the Peckville office
was on its feet in a year or two, he’d have a forty-percent equity stake in it. Both were nodding in agreement, the plan made
sense and had a good chance for success.
Cliff stood up to shake Rick’s hand.
Still seated, Rick said, “There’s
something else we need to talk about.”
“Okay.
What’s that?” Cliff said,
returning to his chair.
“I’ve got some financial issues I’ve got
to take care of before I can move forward.”
Cliff pursed his lips, “Go on.”
“Child support arrears, the judge is
going to swear out a warrant if I don’t get caught up.”
“How much?”
“Five grand.”
“Why so much?”
“Three kids with Marilyn, one with
Cindy.”
“Cindy?”
“Yeah, my secretary. You remember her.”
“Yes, of course.” Cliff said.
“You’re right about needing to get caught up. It’s not only the judge you need to worry
about. The state won’t issue you an
insurance license with unpaid support.”
“I’m also going to need a car. I borrowed my mom’s Diplomat to get here, but
I can’t…”
“I understand. You’ll need a car. Maybe we can lease one,” Cliff said, glancing
at the numbers on his legal pad.
“It doesn’t have to be new. A decent used car, that’s all I need to get
started.”
“That takes a chunk of cash. How much you think?”
“Six thousand, maybe less,” Rick said.
“What’s the tally then? Child support plus the car.”
Rick glanced up, calculating in the
air. “Eleven grand. Yup, eleven should cover it,” he said,
nodding confidently.
Cliff reviewed the calculations on his
legal pad. “There’s not enough room for
that in the compensation numbers I’ve worked up. And it doesn’t make sense for you start out
eleven-thousand dollars in the hole to the company.”
Rick froze, unblinking.
After a pause, Cliff said, “We’ll make
it a personal loan, from me to you, just between us. We’ll get the payments worked out and you can
start paying me back when you’ve got some commissions coming in.”
After settling the contract and a note for the
personal loan, Cliff concluded, “We’re all set.
Why don’t we set a meeting for day after tomorrow, Thursday morning at
nine?”
Rick smiled and nodded, looking at his
watch. “I’d like to. But I’ve got to make some arrangements, the
car and some new threads. I could use a
few days head start.”
“Alright. Get yourself prepped this week and we’ll get
started first thing Monday morning.
Probably better for me too.
Great! Monday at nine, then,”
Cliff said, standing and extending his hand.
He stopped and pulled back his hand.
“I almost forgot,’ Cliff said. Picking up a briefcase from behind his desk
he handed it to Rick. “You can’t sell insurance without one of
these. It’s not new, but it served me
well. It’s the one I used when I first
hit the streets. May it bring you much
success.”
“Thanks, boss. I mean, El Presidente!” Rick said, snapping to attention with an
exaggerated salute.
“Alright, alright. Get out of here. See you Monday.”
Rick left Rogers’ office and drove to
nearby a branch of his bank. He stepped
up to a teller’s window and, glancing at the young woman’s name tag, he said,
“Hi Nancy. I’d like to deposit this
check into my account as cash.”
She looked at the check and with a
sympathetic smile said, “I’m sorry, sir.
This a regular business check.
Those funds won’t be available for two days. That would be Friday.”
“Friday, huh? How much is available today?” Rick asked,
returning the smile.
“Five hundred dollars is immediately
available. The balance, ten thousand
five hundred, will be available Friday.
Will that be acceptable?”
Rick smiled and nodded, looking at his
watch.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Rebecca
said, long raven-haired curls framing her sparkling smile, as she held open the
door for her Saturday evening dinner
guests. They stepped through the door
onto the Italian-tiled floor of the spacious foyer and slipped off their coats. Rebecca was pleasantly surprised when Cliff
told her that Marilyn and Rick had gotten back together. She had thought the dinner invitation would
help them ease back into the swing of a social life together as a couple.
Marilyn was aglitter with dangling
jewelry and wafting sweet perfume. She was a Nordic beauty, flaxen hair, expressive
ice-blue eyes and an arresting smile of perfect white teeth encircled by glossy
red lips. Her dress hung loosely,
obscuring her lithe figure, but her stockingless legs showed tan and shapely
above her flattering open-toed pumps.
Cliff joined the group walking in from
the kitchen while wiping his hands on a towel.
There were hugs all around and drink orders taken before the foursome
settled into the living room with their non-alcoholic beverages in hand. The newly-reunited couple, smiling and effusive,
were eager to recount their unexpected reconciliation.
“Rick called me in Florida, out of the
blue,” Marilyn said, gesturing with her hand in the air. “I hadn’t spoken to him in, what?” looking at
Rick. “Three or four weeks.”
Rick nodded, smiling.
“Then he told me about how you guys had
gotten together and about this great job.
Thank you so much, Cliff,” Marilyn paused, fluttering her eyes. “This means so much to us.”
“I’m happy for the opportunity. Rick’s worth the investment and he’ll earn every
penny of it,” Cliff said, with an encouraging nod to Rick.
“Oh, you’re right,” Marilyn said. “I know he will,” pausing to sip her mint
iced tea, a crimson half-moon showing on the lip of her tall glass as she
returned it to table. “Well,” Marilyn said,
throwing her hands up in front of her, “the next thing I know Rick is wiring me
plane fare, that was Wednesday afternoon, right?” she said, turning to Rick.
Rick nodded again, still smiling.
“Wow!
That was fast,” Cliff observed, recalling that their Wednesday meeting
hadn’t ended until three that afternoon, when Cliff handed him a check for the
personal loan.
“Yeah, I really wanted to share this
with Marilyn,” Rick said, reaching over and giving her hug.
Watching them, Rebecca smiled and gave
Cliff a wink. Maybe there’s hope for
these two yet, she thought. There always
is if you’re willing to work for it.
“By the way,” Marilyn said. “Ricky told me about the loan. You two are terrific. This is a second chance for us. We’re very grateful.”
“Yes, we are,” Rick smiled and nodded, glancing
at his watch.
Growing uncomfortable, Cliff stood. “Come on.
Let’s eat some steaks,” he said waving them towards the dining room.
Monday morning arrived. Cliff was excited to start Rick’s
orientation, the first step in their new venture. Glancing at the wall clock in his office, it
read 9:05 a.m. Cliff checked it by his
watch, surprised that Rick was late on his first day of work. By nine-thirty Cliff was ticked, no phone
call, no Rick, nothing. He called Rick’s
number.
“Good morning, Mrs. Painter,” Cliff
said, immediately recognizing the older woman’s voice. After introducing himself, he asked, “Is Rick
in?”
“No, he went with Marilyn,” the elder
Mrs. Painter answered. “She picked him
up in her new car for the weekend. Not
back yet. You want to leave a message
for Rick?”
“Yes, thank you. Ask him to call
Cliff. He has my number.” A knot formed in Cliff’s stomach as he slowly
hung up the phone.
Two days later the phone call came. “Sir, Rick Painter holding on line three,” the
receptionist said.
Cliff slowly reached for the phone and
drawing a deep breath he answered in an even tone, “Mr. Painter. How in the world are you?” Cliff winced at the disingenuousness of his greeting.
“Hey, CR. Sorry I missed our meeting,” Rick said, as he
looked out the window. He watched as a neighborhood
dog relieved itself on the thin strip of grass in front of his mom’s row-home.
“Missed it by three days and
counting. What’s going on?”
“Marilyn took the car,” Rick said flatly. Out the window the dog kicked grass on the
little pile it had left on mother Painter’s yard.
“Took it where?”
“Back to Florida, I guess.”
“Florida?” Cliff paused. “Alright. Tell me what happened. Tell me all of it.” Placing the phone on speaker, Cliff settled
into his chair placing his hands behind his head, making himself
comfortable. The best way, he thought,
to appreciate good storytelling.
For a solid fifteen minutes Rick spun
his narrative. The long and short of it,
after dinner Saturday night Marilyn had packed up and left for Florida. She wasn’t coming back. Rick had titled the car in her name because
of his past DUIs. Marilyn had also taken
most of the cash advance.
DUIs? Cash advance?
Cliff thought. What is he talking
about? What good is a car when your
license is suspended from DUIs? And
there was no cash advance, just money to pay the child support. Shaking his head Cliff stopped analyzing,
remembering something he had learned in the rooms – grifter arithmetic never
adds up right for civilians.
“How much of the eleven grand do you
have left?” Cliff asked.
“None,” Rick said, pulling a wad from
his pocket and thumbing through several dozen one-hundred dollar bills.
“You knew she was leaving, didn’t
you?”
“Yeah, I guess I kind of did,” Rick said
as he plopped down onto his mom’s easy chair.
“What about all that stuff at dinner
Saturday night about giving you two a second chance?”
“You did. We’re grateful. We were in a tight spot. No wheels, no
money, child support and all.”
“Okay, fine. But this was all under false…,” Cliff stopped
speaking. There was no sense going into
detail, the plans, the promises, the
reunion dinner. “Enough said. Let’s leave it at that, huh Rick?”
“Yeah, sure,” Reaching down by the side
of the chair Rick retrieved the brief case.
“What about your stuff? I should
get it back to you.”
“Stuff?” Cliff asked.
“You know, the business cards, the
brochures. And I’ve got your briefcase.”
“No, Rick. Keep the briefcase.” Cliff slowly hung the phone.
