Sparkles (2 page)

Amal and Guthrie exchanged a sidelong glance. Jan rarely visited the Saint Roi. Neither Amal nor Guthrie knew exactly why. He never spoke of his connection to the elegant art deco building, except to say he had an apartment there.

Guthrie threaded the car through Philadelphia’s crowded streets, skirting the city’s Chinatown district. It was here that Jan had met Michael. He thought on how happy they were together. Remembering the first time he saw Michael, really saw him, in the dim half-light of Michael’s import store in Chinatown; their first kiss, and Michael’s slick skin against his own, and the way Michael’s hair flopped to one side when Michael bent down to kiss him. He remembered, too, Michael’s stern reproach when Jan complained about how Colin seemed not to appreciate Jan’s hovering concern over his son’s rebelliousness. Tears he thought were all shed welled up. He ached for Michael’s voice, just once more, please God, just once more. He thought of the people whom he and Michael made happy through their own happiness, and he wondered if they too would still be happy with just the memory.

“Mr. Phillips!” Jerry, the Saint Roi’s manager, said as he crossed the lobby. “Sir. It’s so good to see you again, I ah—”

The man stopped short as he eyed Amal dressed in his elegant, traditional Arab garb.

“Thank you, Jerry. You’re very kind.” Jan turned to Amal. “Jerry, this is Amal. Amal is my right hand. If he asks for anything—”

“No worries, Mr. Phillips. I understand. Oh, the items you ordered from the Spruce Street Market arrived. I had one of the staff put them away for you.”

Jan nodded. With Amal in tow, he headed for the private elevator that went to his penthouse apartment. A few moments later, the polished bronze doors slid open. Jan took a deep breath and stepped into his past.

The two stood for a moment, Amal taking in the large living room’s quiet beauty, Jan fighting back the last angry words he and Tim had exchanged here, nearly three decades ago.
Like you said, love makes us careless, especially with ourselves. I just couldn’t fight the fantasy you had of me, the image I let you create, because you needed it so much. Comfort? Money? Power? Yeah, I got it all! But what you never realized, Tim, was all I ever needed was to be wanted, not as a trophy or a cloned successor to your ambitions in Mundus, or even as a memory of what you and Peter were—but needed for me.

Jan let the moment pass, as he had let so many moments pass since Michael died. He breathed deeply. The smell of aged wood and leather scented the still air.

Jan pinched the sides of his nose, trying to ward off a headache that had already begun.

“Ah, Amal, let me show you around. As you can see, the living room is in the center. On your left is a hall leading to the kitchen and dining room. Beyond is your room with a bath. My room is directly across from yours. There’s a laundry room and workroom too. To our right is my office. There’s a small yellow light next to the doorknob. When it’s on, I’m not to be disturbed—you understand?”

“Yes,
Effendi
.”

“You go on and take a look at your bedroom. If there’s anything that you want changed, just let me know.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,
Effendi
.”

“Good. Well, then, I’ll be in my office for a while.”

Jan slipped into the office and closed the door.

The yellow light came on.

THE INTERCOM
connecting the apartment to the lobby buzzed. Amal wiped his hands on a tea towel. He went to the intercom and pressed the receive button.

“Yes?”

“This is Jerry. Miss Betterman is here to see Mr. Phillips.”

Amal paused and looked at the yellow light, then said, “Please send the lady up.”

Amal went to the door. He opened it just as Marsha Betterman arrived. “Miss Betterman, please come in,” he said, smiling.

“Amal,” she said. “Goodness, you are efficient. What would Mr. Phillips do without you?”

Amal ignored the compliment.

“My master is in his study. The yellow light is on and I—”

“It’s all right, Amal. I know what the light means. I was hoping to speak with Mr. Phillips. He’s been so sad, and it’s been so long since Michael died. It can’t go on like this. I don’t want to sound mercenary, but people are relying on him. Pay increases for the attorneys, court cases he has to sign off on… I could go on and on. The staff is wondering what’s going to happen to them… and to the firm. Some of our best attorneys are talking about leaving. Mr. Phillips has got to get back to work.”

Amal shifted from one foot to the other. “I do not know what I can say. It is not proper for me to discuss my master with anyone—even you.”

“Thank you, Amal,” Jan said, smiling as he joined them. “Would you please make some tea for us?”

Amal made a slight bow, relieved to be rescued from what was, for him, an embarrassing situation.

JAN WENT
to a set of leather club chairs that faced the large living room windows. Outside, Philadelphia’s gleaming skyline soared high above them. The rain that had begun earlier continued, streaking the big glass panes with wide rivers of brilliant refracted light.

Marsha sat next to Jan. Amal arrived with two cups of Assam tea. Jan gave the man a quizzical look.

“I had the tea brewing when Miss Betterman arrived,” he said.

Amal set the cups down on a chrome-topped tea table, then left the room.

When Marsha didn’t speak, Jan said, “Well?”

“To be blunt about it, Jan, the firm needs you back in the office—and you’ve got to get out of this funk.”

“What do you suggest—take a lover?”

“Take a cruise. They’re less expensive,” Marsha said cynically.

Jan let out a mirthless chuckle, but then turned serious. “You know, Marsha, some people are lucky enough to find love once in their lives. Even fewer find it a second time.” Jan looked wistfully out the window. “But a third? Isn’t that asking life for more than is reasonable, or even possible?”

“Are you saying you want another man in your life?”

Jan shook his head. “I’m not sure what I’m saying. Michael’s dementia robbed me of five long years of loving. I feel more empty now than ever before.”

“Well, you are still young, and you’re überrich. It shouldn’t be difficult to find someone.”

“Tim found me, and I found Michael. Maybe I’ll be found again. What do you think?”

“Sounds lazy to me.”

Jan let the remark hang between them, then said, “I’ve been invited to a party at Larry Sinclair’s townhouse.”

“Go. It will get you out, and it would do you some good.”

Marsha picked up her teacup and took a sip.

Jan considered her suggestion. “Hmm, perhaps.”

“May I count on seeing you tomorrow? There’s a stack of papers that need signing.”

“Marsha, you sign my name as well as I do.”

“Better!” she said, laughing.

“All right, I’ll be there. Now get out of here. I have some work to do.”

Jan walked his office manager to the door. She looked over his shoulder at the room beyond. “Like you, it never seems to change, does it?” she said. “Think about Sinclair’s party. Give your heart a rest.”

Jan merely nodded. After Marsha left he returned to his study. He did not turn on the little yellow light. An e-mail from his son, Colin, waited.

Dad, do you have time for a long weekend visit? Zan and I would love to see you before the holidays.

Jan checked his calendar, and typed,
How about this coming weekend? I’ll bring Amal along, if I may. Dad.

Home on the Range in Big Sky Country

IT WAS
early morning. The sun had just begun to make a hazy appearance behind a bank of clouds that stretched far into the distance. Jan and Amal had been traveling for almost two days, first by Jan’s private jet to Ennis, Montana, with an overnight stay at a local inn, and then a long drive in a rented SUV. Outside, the air was cold. Snow squalls had slipped in and out of the area sometime during the night.

The car rental agent drove. They rode in silence, Amal in the backseat, Jan in the front passenger side. The driver, a taciturn middle-aged woman named Millie, turned off the road and headed up a gravel path, just wide enough for the car to pass without clipping the snow-coated branches of the trees that crowded close to the edges. After about a mile, she parked the car on a small concrete pad. To the right of this was a tiny cabin made of hand-hewn clapboards painted chocolate brown. Three horses and a pack mule stood huddled together in a corral off to the side. To the left of the parking pad, a chain, heavy with rust, that was normally suspended between two stone pillars had been let down. Beyond, a narrow bridle path wound over a knoll, and then disappeared into a thick band of hemlocks. Everywhere, the world was white with unblemished snow.

“Well, here we are,” Millie said. She pressed a button that released the car’s trunk lid, adding, “Do you want me to hang around till you see if anyone is here to meet you?”

“No thanks, Millie. Two of the horses are for us. We have someone meeting us.”

Millie gave Jan an up-and-down glance as if to say,
Are you sure you can handle one of those
? She shrugged her doubt. “You’re the boss.”

Jan handed Millie a tip for driving, while Amal pulled their bags from the car.

“You okay?” Jan asked Amal as they headed for the cabin.

“Of course,
Effendi
. The Sahara gets much colder at night than it is here.”

“How about the horses?”

Amal rolled his eyes in answer. “Have I ever let you down?”

Jan smiled. “No, never.”

As they climbed the steps to the cabin, Colin’s wife, Alexandra, opened the thick wooden door. She wore a red flannel shirt stuffed into blue jeans and square-toed riding boots. A wool felt wide-brimmed hat was pulled down to just above her ears. “I thought I heard a car. Come in quick, or we’ll lose the heat.”

The cabin was a square, bare one-room structure. Small rectangular windows set high in the walls let in light. Bunk beds stood against each of the sidewalls. Against the back wall a low dry sink squatted under a shelf loaded with canned food. Next to this, a cast-iron wood-burning stove provided heat and a place for cooking. A table surrounded by four chairs took up the center space. Jan noticed three of the chairs had leather chaps draped over them. “Cozy,” he muttered.

Known to her friends and family as Zan, she pulled off the hat and shook out her long auburn hair. Jan immediately thought of Tim.
His hair. Of course it would be. She is, after all, his daughter.
“Zan, you look lovely. Country living agrees with you.”

Zan gave Jan a kiss on his cheek, then pulled away. “You’re such a liar,” she said, laughing. “I look like Ma Kettle. My hands are dried out from mucking out horse stalls. I’ve had to swap my Oil of Olay for Corn Huskers Lotion! By the way, Colin will meet us tonight. One of our dogs had a litter of puppies. They’re weaned now so he’s taking them out to our Indians.”

“There are Native Americans here?” Jan said as he took the bags from Amal and set them down. “Zan, you remember Amal.”

“Of course I do,” Zan said as she offered her hand.

Amal took a step forward and bowed slightly, touching his breast with the tips of the fingers of his right hand. “I am grateful that the mistress of this beautiful land welcomes me. If I may be of service, please let me know. Many years ago, when I lived in Cairo, I too cleaned up after animals, camels I mean.”

“Don’t tempt me, Amal, I may take you up on your offer.”

Zan turned to Jan. “About the Indians, we have four families, plus a schoolteacher-cum-paramedic living on the property. They don’t refer to themselves as Native Americans. But they do use First Nations or First Peoples. Mostly they just say Indians.”

“Were they here on the land when Colin bought it? I don’t remember him saying so.”

“No, he invited them. They look after the wind farms and make sure they’re all working. Colin pays them very well for that. They also keep the deer herds thinned for us, and in return we provide housing. It’s a win for everyone.”

“Except for the deer,” Jan said.

“Except for the deer,” Zan agreed. “But a bullet in the heart is not nearly as terrifying as being clawed or bitten to death by a cougar, or a wolf.”

Jan turned his attention to the chaps. “Those for us?”

“Yes, do you know how they go on?”

“I do,” Jan said. “I looked them up on the web.” Pulling up the leg of his jeans, he said, laughing, “We even have boots!”

“Impressive. We’ll see if we can scuff them up before you leave.” Zan grabbed her chaps and a pair of spurs and headed for the door. “I’ll put these on outside and cinch up the saddles. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

THEY RODE
single file. Zan led, with the pack mule tagging along. Jan and Amal came in close behind. The trail wound along the low side of a string of hills covered with shiny hemlocks, interspersed with aspen that had turned autumn gold. It began to snow just as they cleared a ridge. Jan looked back at Amal, who smiled. Pointing at the aspens, he mouthed, “Beautiful!”

Not far from the trail, a log house cantilevered out from the side of a steep hill. Zan stopped and turned in her saddle and pointed it out. “We call that a safe house. Colin lets mounted state troopers live there rent-free. We’ve got seven in all spread out along the trails. Everyone around knows that all the big spreads have troopers. We’re very remote out here, and I feel safe knowing that at any one time we have at least two off-duty officers nearby.”

Curious, Jan said, “How do they get here?”

“The troopers keep their cars in a garage at the cabin where we met. When they have to go someplace by car, they stable their horses at the cabin. We have a woman who stays in the cabin when there are horses there. She takes care of them.”

“You’ve got quite a setup here,” Jan said, impressed.

“It’s all Colin’s idea. He’s amazing. You’ll see what I mean when we get home.”