Reunion

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.