The OrphanAGE, Vol. 1.26
First Lines
The seller of lightning-rods arrived just ahead of the storm.
~Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked this way Comes
How does one lout, manage to deflate the pride of an entire nation?
Gleeful cruelty and avarice, corruption and the rapine looting of the wealth of a nation, all slathered beneath a hubristic icing of performative incompetence. A hostile, Queer-eye takeover/makeover of the Galilean's radical’s gospel of kindness, thoughtfulness and peace.
We get it. This sucks.
Yet, if one holds to aspirations of our founding, understand that we’ve been here before. Yes, there’s work, very hard work, perhaps even bloody work ahead in order to repair the damage and restore the promise.
Time to cowboy-up, to commit a shoulder wherever we can, to resolutely do the work.
Remember: be kind wherever possible, love those you love, hug close your friends, and stick to those self-evident (yet currently ex-sanguinated) Truths. Through the accrual of millions of small kindnesses, a wave of common decency can do much, even in times such as these.
Happy 250th birthday America! We do not forget.
Peace,
Dante
In This Issue:
- Holiday Mixology: The Reflecting Pool
- Music by The Red-Headed League
- Fiction: A Very Desirable Woman (2nd installment of Bob Moore's series Call Me)
Holiday Mixology : The Reflecting Pool
Several takes on this are floating about the interwebs, but this is our fave:
- 1/3 green Absinthe (house of Pernod may have made this elixir famous, but I still lean toward one of the premiums: Kubler or Duplais Verte or Vieux Pontarlier Verte
- 2/3 Chartreuse
- a dash of Peychaud's anise bitters
- muddled blueberries
- aerate with champagne
The Red-Headed League
Dan Starling & Mark Stahl
Trivia: Do you know the genesis of the band's name?
Call Me: A Very Desirable Woman
by Bob Moore
Herndon noticed “that ad” again. It was the same small block ad in the “Marketplace” section of The Pitch, the local alternative weekly newspaper. The ad read:
Call me. I may be able to help.
The motivation fascinated him. Who was running it and why? His long-engrained cynicism wouldn’t allow him to believe it simply someone wanting to help people. As he had done the first time he encountered the ad, he picked up the phone and called the number.
A pleasant male voice answered, “Hello, Herndon. Still curious, or do you have a problem I can help with?”
Blunted by the directness and that this person knew his name, Herndon faltered, “Well, yes and no. I am still curious what you’re about, and no, there is no problem that I need your help with.”
“Herndon, I do not wish to seem recalcitrant, but don’t you have better things to do?” Cooper replied and then hung up.
* * *
Cooper was keenly aware of gawking tourists who would call out of curiosity about the ad. He tried to be polite but never engaged unless a caller seemed sincerely seeking assistance. It was Herndon’s persistence that irked him.
A few minutes later, his phone rang again: Joan K. EC showed on the caller ID. EC was how he designated an eager client.
"Hello Joan, have you decided to proceed?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I want you to look into the possibility of my husband’s infidelity.”
“Good, I think the best place to start is with me talking to him. Are you OK with that?”
“No!” she abruptly replied.
Taken a-back, Cooper asked, “Are you not interested in if, with whom, when or even how often his indiscretions may have occurred?
“Of course, that is why I contacted you.”
“So, you just aren’t keen on me speaking with him?”
“Not at all, you see, he’s dead.”
The line went silent.
“You still there, Cooper?” Joan asked.
“Uh, yes, I’m just processing what you said about your husband.”
“Oh, you mean that he is dead?”
“Exactly. If I may be so obtuse, if he is deceased, why do you feel the need to investigate the possibility of infidelities? One might argue that it is best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Well, you see, I am a very desirable woman. That any man — least of all my late husband — could not be totally and completely satisfied with me, is immensely insulting.”
Ignoring the unabashed arrogance, Cooper asked, “So you have no reason to believe he was engaged in any extramarital activity other than curiosity?”
“I’m not sure what you are getting at with that comment.”
“Only, that you have no evidence of infidelity, correct?”
“That is true.”
“May I inquire as to the nature of his passing?”
“Well, the police initially called it an Equivocal Death. They were not sure if it was accidental or a suicide. They have subsequently ruled it accidental.”
"Is that something that you would like me to assist in determining, the nature of his passing?”
"No, not at all. I’m more concerned with the possibility of infidelity. Women like me, very desirable women, cannot accept promiscuity.”
“So you mentioned.“ Cooper was having real qualms. Her opinion of herself was more than off-putting. He reminded himself that from the outset of this undertaking, the attitude of a client should not stand in the way of someone in need. “Very well, Joan, I’ll look into your situation. Can you please provide me with more information about him?”
“Of course, I’ll ask his executive assistant to do that,” she replied. “Vera is still working out of his office wrapping things up.”
* * *
Vera was very thorough, forwarding Cooper the deceased, J. Jason Kreamer’s, bio, CV and several articles from Business Week and The Wall Street Journal. Kreamer had been a nationally recognized investment counselor. The WSJ profile provided a detailed background, explaining that he had made a name on Wall Street before he decided later in life to return to his hometown. Nearly all his customers lived worldwide, so where he chose to reside had no impact on his ability to do business. The article recounted a Hollywood-based client’s condescending comment about his choice to live “in a Cowtown” to which Kreamer had replied, “Well, like you, I’m only eight hours from Paris.”
After digesting the background materials, Cooper decided that a conversation with Vera could shed some much need light on the situation. He picked up the phone and after a brief conversation, Vera agreed to meet with him the next day at Mr. Kreamer’s office.
* * *
Cooper arrived at the offices of Kreamer and Dietrick Investment Counselors. He was seated in a spacious reception area and informed that Ms. Wilkerson was expecting him. He couldn’t help but be impressed with the view from the top floor of the bank that overlooked the County Club Plaza. A few moments later, a well-kempt, matronly woman who looked to be in her early fifties introduced herself as Vera. She led him to a corner office spacious enough to host any number of major sporting events. They were seated at a small conference table opposite the main desk.
Cooper thanked Vera for the information, “A very comprehensive view of a very impressive man.” Cooper, choosing to gloss over the issue of infidelity, explained that Joan had contacted him to review the circumstances surrounding his death.
“He wasn’t only impressive, but genuinely kind.” Vera remarked. “I can tell you that New York did nothing to tarnish him. He was still the same polite and charming Midwestern boy that moved there after college.” Cooper listened as Vera expounded on Kreamer’s life: clients, friends, admirers before asking him, “Are you some sort of private investigator?“
“No, not in the classic sense,” Cooper replied. “I am a sort of facilitator who helps people cope when confronted with serious life issues.”
“Interesting. So, how can I assist?”
“Well, you have already been a huge help in providing me with your insight and perspective. Would it be possible for me to look at his datebook? I’d like to familiarize myself with the people he kept in regular contact with.”
“Well, Mrs. Kreamer said that I should cooperate in anything you might ask, so, yes, we can do that.” Vera rose and retrieved the daybook from the desk and handed it to Cooper.
“I am going to need some time to digest this, would it be possible for me to keep it overnight? I can return it tomorrow, if that is all right.”
“Perfectly fine.”
“Before I go, what can you tell me about Mrs. Kreamer?” Cooper had sized up Vera as someone reluctant to speak disparagingly of another.
“Oh, I was under the impression that you were acquainted with Joan.”
“No, we have only just met.”
“Well,” she paused, “Joan is a very attractive woman, and, at the risk of sounding unkind, she makes a point of letting you know it.”
“So I have noticed.”
“That said, she has always seemed deeply devoted to Mr. Kreamer, so a bit of vanity can be overlooked.”
* * *
Cooper’s examination of the daybook yielded several names. Fortunately, the book included a directory of contacts that he was able to crossmatch against entries in the calendar. Several entries were recorded around the lunch hour with initials, followed by @Chaz. There were several such entries. Half a dozen repeated over and over.
* * *
The following day Cooper returned the daybook to Vera, “I noted several appointments at Chaz, isn’t that the restaurant in the Raphael Hotel just around the corner?”
“Yes, the firm maintains a suite for visiting clients. Mr. Kreamer entertained guests there. The restaurant catered a special menu to his specifications, and the chef was a close friend.”
* * *
MVT@Chaz was an entry Cooper reasoned to be Maria Vandertuck, the widow of Miles Vandertuck, the fiercely wealthy heir to a railroad and meatpacking fortune. She agreed to see Cooper at her Ward Parkway mansion. Meeting her, he observed that she could only be described as pampered. Everything about her was perfect: make-up, hair, teeth, apparel, nails, jewelry, even the tiny tattoo on her ankle. She could have been anywhere from late thirties to early sixties. It was nearly impossible to determine her age as all the “work” concealed even the tiniest imperfection.
“Well, on the phone you said that you wanted to talk about Jay. How could I resist talking about my favorite subject? “
“Jay Kreamer is your favorite subject?”
“Oh, my darling, he was the stuff women dream about.”
“How so?”
“My dear, I don’t mind telling you because at my age and in my position, I have nothing to hide or fear. The fact was that Jay, and I had been lovers for years.”
She went on to opine at great length about Jay’s prowess, juxtaposing stories of romps at the Raphael that would make a sailor blush against expressions of his genuine kindness and tenderness.
Cooper listened. He was searching for an opening to cut short the meeting when Maria said, “Well, I suppose that was a little more than you bargained for?”
Cooper did his best to express his gratitude for her candor.
* * *
Cooper worked his way through the daybook’s entries with initials @Chaz. Armed with Maria Vandertuck’s insight, he narrowed the luncheon appointments to seven women.
Over the next few days, Cooper made contact with each of them. As he identified why he was calling, most cut him short or simply hung up. A couple engaged briefly, admitting knowing Jay and meeting him for lunch. One, Sara Prather, burst into tears at the mention of Jay’s name. Cooper explained that he was simply looking into his final days and anything she could tell him would be of great help and comfort to the family. After a few minutes of cajoling, Sara agreed to see him at her condo the next day.
* * *
Sara Prather’s condominium occupied the entirety of the 31st floor of the San Francisco Tower at Crown Center overlooking downtown. …a parting ‘gift’ from her ex-husband who sold his family’s 100-year-old prefab building business and left her for his secretary.
Sara apologized for her emotional outburst on the phone, “Jay was such a comfort to me when my husband left. He had always handled our finances and was involved in the sale of the family business, so we had been close for many years. Following the shock of William leaving me for that young tart, Jay could not have been of greater support.”
“Everyone I talk to expresses similar accolades,” Cooper agreed.
“I’m not surprised: he was the kindest, most gentle man I have ever known.”
Cooper delicately tried to see if Sara would give any indication that their relationship was more than financial. He asked, “Did you meet often at the Raphael?”
“I think I know what you are fishing for: yes, I did, as well as at the firm’s suite.”
* * *
Cooper thanked Andre Morgan the head chef at Chaz for seeing him.
“Glad to,” said Andre. “Jay was one of my closest friends, an ardent supporter of me and the restaurant. Losing him hurts. But I must confess, I’m very curious as to why you want to see me about him.”
“Joan asked me to look into his final days, just to understand where his head was.”
“Oh, you mean: she who must be appreciated,” he chuckled. “That is how Jay referred to her.”
“Meaning, her referring to herself as desirable?”
“You picked up on that?”
“Hard to miss. Were they close?”
“Very much so. He was deeply in love with her. You have to understand, women naturally gravitated to Jay. It’s hard to explain. He wasn’t a womanizer. He truly cared for the women, and they cared for him.”
Cooper asked, “So, he was often with other women?”
“Yes, I let him use the staff elevator to escort friends discreetly from the restaurant to the suite. Again, you must understand, it was in no way a reflection of how he felt about Joan.
Cooper showed him the list of names he had compiled from Jay’s daybook.
“Yep, that would be most of them. By the way, if you share any of this with Joan, I’ll call you a bold-faced liar.”
* * *
Thinking of how Andre picked up on Joan’s insistence that she was a very desirable woman, It was something he needed to understand better. He reached out to an old college buddy, Taylor Jenkins, now a psychiatrist.
“Let me guess, you’re fishing for another armchair diagnosis regarding someone you are working with?”
“I hate to be the kind of friend that only calls when he needs something, but… that is the kind of friend I am.” Cooper went on to described Joan’s compulsion to discover if her late husband was cheating and her persistence in pointing out her own desirability.
“What you are describing could be called Cheating OCD,” noted Jenkins. “It’s an obsessive-compulsive disorder characterized by constant concern about a partner’s faithfulness. Individuals who experience this often have consuming worries about their partner cheating, most always without evidence. It’s a condition more about unresolved low self-esteem than about a partner’s infidelities, if that makes any sense.
“I guess. So, it’s sort of jealousy on steroids?”
“It’s not that simple. It’s typically brought on by experience of previous infidelity in their own relationships, but it can also be triggered by infidelity in one’s family. I actually had a patient whose father was a cheater. The mother coped with her rejection by lashing out at the daughter, browbeating her, saying she was unworthy of finding a husband. She presented with one of the more severe cases of Cheating OCD I have ever witnessed. The notion she was undesirable was so ingrained that she experienced a “Reaction Formation” which is a term for severe over-reaction. She went around telling everyone how desirable she was.”
“Wow, sounds like my client. Let me ask you, if a woman like that was to discover that their partner was unfaithful, what might be the outcome?”
“Clearly, it depends on the individual, but I would say it could range from significant depression to even becoming suicidal.”
“Well, that’s an upbeat notion.”
“Hey, you asked”
Cooper pondered how best to report out to Joan Kreamer. Taylor’s armchair diagnoses made clear that learning of Jay’s transgressions, let alone their scope, could be profoundly devastating. He had always promised himself that being honest was paramount in this undertaking. But honesty, like most virtues, was complex. As he reflected on the fragile psyche of his client, he needed to think this through.
* * *
Cooper provided the name and location of Rudy’s and asked Joan to meet him at 5:00.
Joan thought the place sounded “positively dreadful,” but acknowledged that she wasn’t likely to run into anyone she knew. “How will I know you?” she asked.
“I’ll be at the table closest to the front window, furthest from the door.”
“I’ll see you at five.”
Cooper chuckled to himself as he recalled the Jim Carrey movie about a lawyer cursed to speak only the truth for a day. Such behavior can be unkind or thoughtless, and both kindness and thoughtfulness are virtues, Cooper thought. Does my bond to “honesty” trump the fragility of a widow’s tenuous condition?
* * *
Shortly before five o’clock, Cooper arrived at Rudy’s. Taking his regular seat, he was joined by Rudy, Pinot Grigio in hand.
“Ah, my five o’clock angel,” Cooper said looking at the wineglass. “I’m meeting a client in a few minutes. She’s the sort who, when I told her where, described your place as positively dreadful.
Rudy mused, “Might be a good candidate for a name change.” He made a sweeping hand gesture as if describing a neon sign, “Rudy’s Positively Dreadful Bar & Grill.”
Joan arrived at precisely 5:00. Julie, one of Rudy’s servers approached and asked what she was drinking.
“I’ll have a Pernod with a splash of water and just one ice cube,” Joan said with just the appropriate amount of disgust.
“Don’t think we have Pernod. Any other ideas?”
“Why am I not surprised? Just bring me an Aperol Spritz.” She looked at Cooper, “Well, I must admit, I have never been to this establishment, how did you come to find it?”
Cooper spotted Alain the bartender trying to read the recipe for an Aperol Spritz from the back of a bottle. “Before I went away to Brown for college, this was where I could drink without being carded. I have maintained a certain fondness for the place. When I returned from London, it just felt like where I should be. Plus, I’m very fond of the owner.”
“Well, I’m afraid my diagnosis was correct: it is positively dreadful. But I’m not here to review the place. What have you learned about my late husband?”
Cooper thought to himself how difficult this report out was going to be. He danced around the disclosure telling Joan about his conversations with Vera, of the many clients and associates he had discovered in Jay’s daybook and the staff at Chaz and the Raphael.
She took a sip of her Aperol Spritz, “Dreadful, I swear this is nothing more than Aperol and soda. Please, do get on with the details.”
“You mean your late husband’s infidelities?”
“Exactly.”
Cooper hesitated, “Well, I’m afraid I have to tell you there is absolutely no indication of any.”
Joan sat quietly for a moment, then said, “I was quite confident that’s what you would discover, but I needed outside validation. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he replied.
With that, Joan departed, leaving behind her unfinished drink.
“Well, positively dreadful appeared happy with whatever you shared with her,“ Rudy observed as he rejoined Cooper.
Cooper refrained from his usual observation, “You know, you learn a lot about people doing what I do,”
“So, what have you learned today?”
“It is probably best to it let dead husbands, like sleeping dogs, lie.”