Finding Parker (5 page)

“I have golfed, but I am far from a golfer. I do enjoy the sport,” I responded.

“I don’t know what type of that jam is, but it’s damned tasty,” he said as he licked the tips of his fingers.

“Downes, bring me another sandwich, would you?” he spoke in the direction Downes had walked from the room.

“Now, let’s sit. Tell me about your day,” he said as he turned and walked into the furnished portion of the room.

I studied the furniture, not sure of where to sit.

“Sit wherever you like, Parker. In time, you’ll find I’m not the type of person you believe me to be. I’m wealthy, but I’m not a wealthy
prick
. Sit, please,” he motioned toward the open room as he spoke.

“It’s not so much
you
. I think it’s being
here
. It’s rather intimidating,” I admitted as I walked around the arm of one of the chairs and sat down.

Viewing the home from outside, it was apparent the center section was two stories tall. I assumed the two stories were two stories of living area – two separate floors. Once inside, it was obvious the center of the home was one very, very tall living area. I looked up at the ceiling, which appeared to be thirty feet over my head. As I lowered my head, I looked out once again at the ocean in front of me.

“I can see how it might be. Let me tell you a little about me,” Kenton said as he lowered himself into an overstuffed burgundy velvet chair.

He looked around the room as if everything in it was new to him. Slowly, he took every viewable inch of the home into his path of sight. As Downes entered the room with food and beverages, Kenton sighed lightly and nodded in his direction. After leaving the tray containing the food onto a large coffee table positioned between Kenton and me, Downes quietly exited the room.

“My wealth. I didn’t deserve it. Hell, I don’t deserve it
now
, but I have it. I suspect because I have lived on the other side of the wealthy, and have earned all of what is before you, it allows me to keep myself in check. I don’t take my wealth, life, or people for granted,” he hesitated and reached for one of the glasses of water.

“At least not
now
. I appreciate all of what I have and what people offer me from my exposure to them. Don’t get me wrong,” he paused and turned to face me.

“I enjoy
this
,” he motioned in my direction and opened his arms toward the room.

“I graduated college and worked in architecture for about ten years. I lived below my means, but appeared - at least on the surface - to be wealthy. I drove a ten year old luxury car, but I kept it spotless. I leased a condo in Old Town. I dressed well. People
assumed
I had money.  I allowed them to assume what they assumed, and I used it to my advantage. I manipulated women, had sex with anyone who would allow me to, and never once fell in love. My love, I can easily admit now, was money. My only concern, Parker, was how people perceived me,” he shook his head lightly and took a drink from his glass.

“Their perception, albeit an inaccurate one, allowed me to become a horrible person. I cared about nothing and no one but myself. Well, myself and money. I appeared wealthy, worked like a slave, and saved every penny I could. At around that ten year mark, I got an investment tip from a friend on a particular stock. What is now Sirius XM Radio,” he stood from his chair, walked toward the windowed wall, and gazed out at the ocean.

“It was 1997. I invested everything I had saved based on this tip. The tip proved to be an accurate one, and through investing, reinvesting, and having the stock split multiple times, I made tens of millions. The money I earned allowed me to make additional investments, and in turn, more money. The money, at least initially, allowed me to become a monster,” he said over his shoulder as he continued to peer through the glass.

“I continued to be concerned with nothing and no one but money and myself. The money became a means.  I was now able to be the person people had always perceived me to be. I picked women up in clubs, lied to them, wined them, dined them, and had sex with them. I’d immediately move on to another and start over. It was as if I was in some type of contest with myself, and my measure of my success had become fucking various women,” he paused, still staring out the window, and took a shallow breath.

“So, one day not too many years ago, Downes and I were eating in a restaurant. It was right after he returned from Afghanistan and went to work for me, 2005 I believe. The woman sitting beside us in the restaurant was alone and attractive, so naturally we began to talk. Through the course of talking I learned she had been a victim of sorts,” he placed his hands on his hips, hesitated and looked upward.

“One night in a bar in Mission Hills, she met a man. One thing led to another, and they ended up at her place. She said he convinced her he had tremendous interest in her as a person and a potential mate. Destiny, he told her. Soul mates or some other ridiculous shit, I don’t recall. At any rate, that night, they had sex. Her efforts to contact the man after that first night were unsuccessful, he provided her with a fake phone number. Imagine that.”

“A month later, she missed her period. A pregnancy test revealed what she already feared. Nine months passed, she gave birth to a daughter, and now raises the girl alone. Some might say her life was ruined. Others, I suppose, could look at it as a blessing or a gift. It didn’t settle well with me. She is raising a child who will never know her father. She’ll never have a family in a conventional sense. The child becomes the victim, and for what reason?” he turned from the window, walked toward the burgundy chair, and sat down.

I sat quietly and listened as Kenton Ward began to become human.

“Her story wasn’t awful, and it certainly wasn’t all too devastating. I had no ties to her or her daughter and I’ve heard far more saddening stories many times. But Parker, for whatever reason, her story was what I needed to hear when I needed to hear it. Here we had a woman who had fallen for a man who wasn’t necessarily truthful with her. As a result, she had been forced to raise her daughter alone. At that particular moment, as we sat in the restaurant, I thought about her misfortune. And something within me changed. A spiritual awakening, hell I don’t know.
Something,
” he turned toward me and smiled as he placed his empty glass onto the coffee table.

“Have a sandwich before the bread hardens. I’m almost finished,” he said as he reached for one of the plates.

I reached for the remaining plate, placed it on my lap, and lifted the sandwich to my mouth.

“Wow. This is amazing,” I said after I swallowed my first bite of the sandwich.

“I think it’s the jam. Karen is quite a cook. She’s young and struggles with maintaining a diverse menu, but she can cook like no other,” he chuckled as he took a bite of the sandwich

“At any rate, on that day, for whatever reason, something within me changed. I attempted to make amends with everyone I harmed in my wake of being me. In doing so, I learned a lot about myself, Parker. Not all of which, I might add, was good. The end result, you might ask? I haven’t been with a woman since. It’s been almost ten years, I guess. I had told myself I’d forfeit all of this, everything…” he paused, motioned around the room, and took another bite of his sandwich.

“My belongings, wealth, as well as myself to the woman I love and only if I truly loved her. I just had to find her or allow her to find me. In
that
regard, I’ve tossed my respective hands in the air. For me, the search is over. In recent years, I’ve decided to live my life in a manner I believe to be kind, considerate, and caring. Along the way, I’ve selected a few people to befriend, help, or guide, if you will. You, Parker, are one of those people,” he placed the uneaten portion of his sandwich on the plate and stood from his chair again.

“Parker, life is like a Texas Hold ‘em Tournament. The poker tournament, have you seen them?” he turned to face me, waiting for some form of acknowledgement.

“I’ve seen them on ESPN. The tournaments, yes,” I nodded as I wondered what the similarities were, at least in his mind.

Kenton began to pace in front of the window as he spoke.

“Everyone gets two hole cards. Only you get to see these cards. Everyone has an opportunity to bet, check, raise, or fold. To bet is to place money on your belief that you’ll win. To check is to say,
so far, I like what I see, but I want to see more
. It cost nothing to check. To fold is to say,
based on what I’ve seen, I give up
.
This isn’t worth my time or effort.
Three more cards are dealt.
The flop
. Everyone gets to bet, check, raise or fold. Then, another card is dealt.
The turn
. Bet, check, raise, or fold again. Then, the last card is dealt.
The River.
Bet, check, raise, or fold. It’s a simple game.”

“The tournament, like life, starts with a wide assortment of people. Wannabe’s, hacks, the hopeful, the desperate, the one or two who inevitably lied or fumble-fucked their way into the room, the ones who are slowly learning, a few who know actually how to play – but not necessarily well, and then there’s
the one.
The one person who has it all figured out. He has every potential option, equation, and scenario tucked away in the back of his mind. Based on experience, their understanding of people, and some simple mathematics, he or she will kick the respective ass of everyone else, Parker.”

“Now, it’s down to you and him. He gets his hole cards and checks. You look at yours. A pair of aces. After the ace, nine, deuce flop, he checks. You wonder why he’s even there. You’re sitting on three aces. On the turn, another deuce, and he goes all in. Hell, he shoves a million three hundred and fifty fucking thousand dollars into the center of the table. He’s
that
sure.
What’s he thinking,
you ask yourself. And you study the cards. You wonder. You don’t see it. All you see is your three aces. He must have
something.
You can’t see it.
Fuck it
, you say. You go all in. Say a million one. Everyone gasps. They can’t believe it. Over go your cards, and you realize that the deuce you saw on the flop wasn’t the only deuce on the table. You missed the deuce on the turn. And he’s holding the other two. For some reason you didn’t see it. You forgot to eat breakfast. You had one too many martinis for lunch in the lounge. Your girlfriend called you the night before and said
I wanted some space
. Your ingrown toenail hurts, who fucking knows. But you missed it. The river card is your only hope, and here it comes…an eight of hearts. You lost. He won. You missed a small detail and it cost you,” he continued to pace and look out at the ocean.

“The details, Parker. Details. You have to pay attention to the details. They’ll be the death of you if you don’t. And you have to know when to shove your cards to the center of the table and say,
I give up
. There’s no shame in it. All the winners do it, and they do it regularly. The unintelligent, the dreamers, and the unknowing don’t,” he hesitated, and took a slow breath.

“And as a result they lose.” he breathed.

“Conversely, you must know, and
know you must
,” the tone of his voice changed to stern as he stopped pacing, turned, and shook his finger toward me.

“When to hold your cards close to your chest and say,
I’ll risk it all
. Being so certain that what you’re holding is
right
. That it is, without a doubt, the clear winner. So sure that you’re willing to risk it all, everything you have,
knowing
you have a winner in your hands.”

“In life, know when to
check
. It cost nothing to see what little additional life has to offer. Know when to
fold
. It’s when life’s dealt you a hand that just isn’t worth the risk. And know, Parker, when to hold your cards close to your chest and risk it all. Don’t ever be afraid to go
all in
, as long as you believe you’re holding a clear winner.”

I sat in the chair and stared at him in admiration. He was a very intelligent man with very sound advice. Life had most definitely dealt me a winning hand when Kenton decided to employ me. I didn’t want to disappoint him, and hoped that he would understand if I ever made decisions that were contrary to what he believed was best. I looked down at my empty hands and realized I had finished my sandwich.

“So, tell me about your morning. I took control of the conversation earlier and didn’t even let you speak. I’ll do that if I’m allowed. Just tell me to shut my mouth if I do it again,” he grinned, slowly walked to the chair, and sat down.

“Well,” I squirmed in my seat as I considered where to start.

“Don’t worry about what you say or how you say it, Parker. Just talk. We’re simply two guys discussing the events of our day. It’ll make me far more comfortable when you become at ease speaking with me, that’s for damned sure,” he rested his elbow on his thigh, lowered his chin into his hand, and raised one eyebrow slightly.

I smiled.

He laughed.