I could care less about writing since it can be a waste of time, but, Doc,I was moved by your little statement quoting, "writing may bleed a thousand unquestioned thoughts," So, I guess, it wouldn't hurt to leak out my darkest secrets into the open. Now what I'm going to tell you what really did happen. I didn't account the dialogue word for word, but the events are accurate. What happened, actually did happen.

It was a warm July day like every day in North Chicago near the lake. The birds flew in waves churning into a blue monochromatic sky where the winds galloped and the liberty and intellectual ambiance of the upper-class was virtually identical. I stepped out of my hope-to-be girlfriend's Mercedes Benz (In respect of confidentiality, I will conceal their names and call them the Roswell's) and stood in front of her residence. I visited her house only once, but the building overwhelmed me as much as it did the first time. I could only stare at this kind of dwelling, which was uniquely designed for the most prestigious entrepreneur. The perimeter surrounded this modern-day castle stretched out to forty thousand square feet of total unparallel luxury. We passed through the entrance of Le Manoir du Privilege engulfing the fountains and cascades masked by unrivaled craftsmanship from artists aboard. A butler stood at the door as we entered. He gestured that I should wait there until Katherine came back from the living room.

I was given a two hour tour on my first visit. The basic stats are two Master Suites; six Guest Suites; thirteen personal bathrooms; a Study; a library; a Dining Hall with seating for 22 persons; two Private Cinemas; a Cigar Room; a Wine Room cellar accommodating 1200 bottles; two laundry rooms; an indoor/outdoor courtyard; and with the total net worth of 13.9 millions dollars. In the living room, Katherine's mother, who was lying on the couch, watched "As the world turns" holding a wine glass in her hand. She didn't notice me standing there when I gained clearance to enter the room. I felt like I was invading her privacy.

"Mother," Katherine yelled, but she didn't look up. Instead, she swallowed a third of her glass, and poured another drink to the tip of the rim. I remembered on my visit a week ago she was drunk; therefore, we haven't received a proper introduction. "Mother," Katherine yelled again, "this is Jarrett, the boy I told you about." Her mother looked up, startled. I guess she wasn't expecting any company. Before there was any responds, Katherine's mother swallowed her entire drink, and then motioned Katherine to sit down."Mother, daddy doesn't like it when you drink in the evening. Let alone his expensive wine."

"Hush, child," she placed her finger in front of her lips. She still didn't notice me standing there across the room.

Personally, I could care less about these people who isolated themselves from an outside environment. I came here to challenge myself and self-define my only ambition; to be accepted by the patrician class. It's funny though because it seemed like they are from a distant state in a foreign country near an uncharted planet. When I first spoke to Katherine, I never expected she had this much money. She articulated, portrayed, and subsisted like a normal human being. I still can not begin to wonder why she would even mingled around people like us.

"Jarrett," Katherine said with her back turned from me, "this is my mother, Valerie."

"Hello, ma'am." I said trying to be polite.

Valerie's empty eyes frisked across the room absorbing the sound that clamored out into a low echo. It took a second for her to spot me. When she did, I felt her expressionless gaze perceive my causal attire, then pour another drink of burgundy and come to a conclusion that I wasn't a complete loser. I had on fresh clothes, which were my father's, but my hair wasn't fully tamed. I lost my comb and had to use my sister's on the way here.

She smiled and told me to sit next to her on the couch. "How tall are you, child?"

"Six six, ma'am." I said creating a little space between us.

"How long have you known my baby?"

"About a week."

She looked over at the door and signaled the butler to bring another bottle of wine. She hollered before he went down to the wine cellar in the basement that she wanted a Romance Conti.

"A week, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You from around here," she asked licking her lips with the edge of her tongue.

"No, I lived in Oak Park with my parents."

"Rich?"

"No, ma'am.'

I hate being securitized, especially, by people whom I have no plans of making any future acquaintances with for simple recreation. This woman was a real stiff and her breath reeked of liquor. Katherine took a seat across the couch watching us chat seeming unconcerned. At every question I answered, Mrs. Roswell acted as though she couldn't hear what I was saying. So, she moved in a little closer nearly driving me off the edge of the couch. She spoke so flirtatiously and giggled at my every fallible gesture of discomfort. See, I forgot to put on deodorant, again. I discovered that if you keep your arm clutched at your sides, it prevents the odor from seeping out. I mean, people can still smell it, but they have to be real close.

"You're pretty dark, child." She proclaimed accepting the bottle from the butler. She looked at it and grasped. "You idiot, I told you Romance Conti, this is Chateau Latour Pauillac. I know this isn't Spanish, but you can distinguish the difference between Romance and Chateau or should I handle this with Diablo?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Roswell."

"Sorry my ass, now go downstairs and get the right bottle, before I get Diablo to fire your not reading..."

She trail off realizing it was pointless. After she turned her back to him, she shoved the bottle in his hand like receiving the bottle in the first place was an insult. I watched him as he went back to the basement.

"I'm sorry about that," she said scratching an itch between her cleavage and fanning herself with her free hand. "It's really hot today. I should take my shirt off, what do you think?"

"Mother!"

"Hush child, I'm just teasing the poor boy. He's acted like he's never seen anything more beautiful in his life."

I wasn't. To be honest, I'd rather go in the backyard and feed the deer. I mean, she was attractive, but now she's at least fifty years old. Her long grayish ebony hair which ran down to her shoulder was braided while she wore a tank top and cut-offs. An outfit I might find my sister and young women wearing when going to the mall or to the show.

"Go to school?" she asked gaping at a bulge of pants with those expressionless eyes.

"Yes ma'am. I go to Alabama State in Montgomery."

"What's your major?"

"English."

"Oh," she responded brushing her hand across my hair. "You gonna to teach?"

Why is she touching me? Katherine will you please say something. Don't just sit there with you head down. I smiled trying to play it off.

"No, ma'am. I plan to write, even though I'm not too fond of it."

"That's nice."

Unexpectedly, there was an awkward silence. Valerie lay her right knee on the couch and moved closer while she picked invisible lint from behind my ear. I told her it was gray hair and she laughed in embarrassment. Then she asked me where I was originally from and told her Chicago. Somehow, I was accused of lying.

"I'm from Sierra Leone." She said. "I'm sure you've heard of that place in west Africa, bordering the North Atlantic Ocean, and lying between Guinea and Liberia. Mostly swamps, wooded hills, plateaus, and mountains as I remember it. I miss that place."

It took both Katherine and I to convince her that I was an American Citizen. All the same, she was getting frustrated and that's when the butler came in with the correct bottle.

"This is last bottle, Mrs. Roswell," he said.

"Thank you," she took the opened bottle and poured it to the tip of the glass. The French burgundy liquor relished of berries, French spices and boot leather. The aroma was well-seasoned and arousing without being too profound. While Mrs. Roswell took time to liquor up, I looked over to find Katherine entertained by a Snuggles commercial. She was listening to our every word, though. I knew she was.

"So," Valerie said finishing the glass in four gulps. "Are you two dating?"

"No, ma'am." Katherine was staring at the cracks on the floor. "We're just friends."

"Good," she replied like it was the answer she expected to hear and wasn't hesitant about her intentions. "What size shoe do you wear?"

Before I could even think about giving a response, Katherine stood up, frowning, and tugged me by the collar going for the kitchen. We could hear Valerie still yelling things in retaliation from her daughter's acts of jealousy.

"Let the poor boy have some wine, Katherine. Where are you taking him? Katherine, come back here!"

I was told later that the bottle cost over fifteen hundred dollars and tasted like soy sauce and licorice. A bottle of wine for fifteen hundred? What is this world coming to?

In the kitchen, Katherine didn't say anything, so I queried about the parrots inside the birdcage near the stove. She said they were Samson's, the butler who greeted us at the door. I looked at my watch. It was 11:55. I needed to go home before eight.

Samson walked in and told us to go to the dining room because lunch was being served.

"Where is the rest of your family," I asked.

"They're coming."

"I hope they are as nice as your mother."

"That's only the beginning," she said solemnly and finished, "I shouldn't have brought you here."

The dining room occupied a table with 10 seats on each side and two chairs facing each other vertically. I sat facing toward the lake was across from Katherine's brother, Jimmy. Katherine was three seats down from me and next to her was her little sister whom they called Pie. I haven't really met anybody except Pie because Katherine's father was out of town and her brother was stationed somewhere in South America.

The lunch was prepared by the best chef on the north side of Chicago. His name shall be confidential. What he served as a meal I could only pronounce on paper. Like Rotolo di manzo, Stracci ai Funghi Porcini e Gamberetti and for desert Chocolate Cake with Caramelized Bananas. In between servings, the butlers handed out Ricciarelli, which looked like almond cookies. He said these are popular dishes made in Florence, Italy. Everyone else ate their own Tuscan food specially made for them. How it was presented probably took three hours to prepare. And this was lunch. A butler stood by an entrance to the living room, the library, and the corridor leading to an outdoor courtyard. They stood there very militant, holding
a napkin over their forearm watching us as we began to dig into our meal. Outside, the family's planter cut and mowed the grass for the party that was arranged at five. I told Katherine I had plans to leave around six thirty, so I could go home and catch up with LaShaunda. I didn't tell her that part, but I had no problem being late; LaShaunda is a pretty understanding person.

"So, young blood," Katherine&Mac226;'s father said, "how do you like my humble place?"

"It's nice, sir."

"I know it's nice. That's why I brought it. I asked how do you like it."

I didn't entirely understand the question and Katherine wasn't showing any signs of interest during the interrogation.

"Shut up, you old fool," Valerie finally said. She was faded. I would place bets that she wouldn't make it past three.

"Darling," Katherine's father tried to excuse her for her absent-mindedness, "I told you politely not to drink when we are planning to bring guests."

"To hell with you damn guests. I don't even know them."

He smiled. Then turned his attention back to me. "I apologize for my wife's asinine-"

"I know what that means," she picked up a butter knife and acted as though she was going to fling it across the table. Good luck, I thought, because she would have to toss it about 50 feet.

"By the way," Jimmy said. "That's my old man, Mr. Roswell and I guess you met my mother."

I nodded and carved into my food. No one said anything as the lawnmower outside subsided. I started to become aware of everyone and slowly discovered that Pie was different from the rest of her family. Jimmy was a shade color lighter than me, while Katherine had her father features. Pie looked half Sioux and half Nubian. Her hair was light brown, thin and rode down the sides of her back. She was no older than seven as she blew her nose, which was long and pointed, on a handkerchief a butler gave her. I also observed that she was the only person at the table with light green eyes. Mr. Roswell, from what Katherine told me, was part Hispanic and part Italian.

"So," Mr. Roswell said, breaking the silence. "I hear you would like to become a writer."

"Yes, sir.&Mac226;"

"You know, you remind me of my younger days except you're black. Darker than my wife, I must say. Are you African?"

"No," I said hesitating to give the second part of my answer, feeling offended. I think one of the butlers chuckled. "I'm from Oak Park."

He sighed and ate. As I tried to eat, I could feel Valerie's clueless eyes staring at me. "Do the girls like you at school, Mister Jarrett?" she asked.

"No, ma'am." I felt like lying. "I'm not into too much of that at an early age."

Mr. Roswell laughed. "This here boy is polite. Ma'am and sir. Ha. Jimmy, you should learn from this kid. Where do you go to school?"

"Alabama State in Montgomery."

"The poor south, huh&Mac226;" he said. "Been there and done that. Still segregated, son?"

"No, sir."

Suddenly, a butler came out from the kitchen and entered the dining room looking to speak with Mr. Roswell. He whispered in his boss's ear. Mr. Roswell looked at his wife, who was looking down eating her food, and whispered back,"Tell her I'll call her back," he paused and finished, "that goes for everyone else. Okay."

"Yes, Mr. Roswell."

We all jumped when Mrs. Roswell yelled out, "One of your damn heifers, aye, Diablo."

"Naw, baby," he confided. "Just another model calling about the next photo Session."

She didn't believe him, but still she capitulated and continued eating. No one spoke. Then, all of a sudden, Mr. Roswell grew a sense of pride and wasn't too delighted about a stranger having a misperception concerning his private life.

"We usually don't eat together ever since Jim went off to the Navy," he said. "I hate eating at a five star restaurants because there's always a slight tone in some simple-minded waiter who brings up an issue about obtaining water. You know spring water goes for $12 a bottle as opposed to free tap water, and if you ask for tap water they brand you as cheap rip-off. It's so displeasing the way they push for bottled water. One time, I added up what I spent on water in one week, and it equaled up to a month's salary for a blue-collar employee working at Wal-Mart."

Valerie mocked at her husband's life lecture. "Just like Diablo, cheap and care on rather what people think of him. I'm surprised you ain't got enough sense to buy your own damn bottled water company."

As I expected, Mr. Roswell smiled. "Are you and Katherine in love?"

"No, daddy."

"Quiet," he said like he was speaking to one of his servants. "Let the man answer for himself."

"No, sir."

"Good," he said. "Where do you work?"

"Sir?"

"You understand what I mean. How do you hope to support yourself if you and Katherine were to hook up?"

"Well," I said being cornered. "I'm looking for a job. Foot Action, the job where I worked a year ago, hasn't called me back."

"Unemployed." That wasn't a question. It sounded like a remark. He didn't push it, though, because a butler, Samson, came in and told him that an urgent message from Ms. Denver just come in. Mr. Roswell brushed it off as though he knew Ms. Denver would call back.

While they were talking, Jimmy described the stories of his younger days in the Navy. His was about three years older than me. He said living life at sea was very mundane. First, there you are isolated from your friends and family and your only means of communication are letters and the magazines you brought since you last visited at an American port. Months at a time you are surrounded with 100 people that you don't really know who smoke, snore, occasionally fight and bicker, and use foul language like it's a part of a cult. Sometimes he had to work in 19 hour shifts, sleeping only four hours at a time, and did this to a point that his body no longer cared if it was night or day. The sleeping cabins were basic since the rules were strict and they weren't allowed plants, pictures, or decorations of any kind. He spent many nights lying in bed with the thermostat at two degrees Centigrade and only had a hard pillow and a thin blanket for warmth. Every two months, they were responsible for painting the interior of the sub using paint colors of gray, white, and another color he couldn't remember, but it was just as much achromatic. Then his voice deepened and he spoke very erratically taking pleasure that someone besides Katherine was paying any attention. The one they call Pie brushed her Indian hair aside and told him to shut up. I took it lightheartedly and laughed, but realized it was the wrong move.

It wasn't a joke. Jimmy didn't say anything for the rest of the meal. These people take everything serious.

"Well, Jarrett," Mr. Roswell said, "I see you are done eating, so come with me to the stream room."

I wasn't and I didn't want to leave Katherine. She tried to tell her father we were going to take a walk, but he demanded that she should be quiet and not to talk back. "It won't be long," he assured. Personally, I didn't want to sit in a room with a half naked man being steaming hot. I find that quite queer, to be honest.

"I don't have anything to wear, sir."

"Don&Mac226;'t worry&Mac226;" he said, "We have towels for you to cover your black behind. I take it you never been in a steam room before."

"No, sir"

"Can I come, dad." Jimmy cut in.

"No."

"Why?"

"You just came in from swimming. Take a break. Jarrett and I need to talk about a couple of things."

Valerie suddenly laughed while finishing what was left of the Romance Conti and said, "Boys will be boys. Katherine, do me a favor, marry a nun"

The Steam room was near the laundry and the staff quarters. If I had my watch, I would tell you that it was maybe two o'clock in the afternoon. Valerie was stretched out unconscious in her master bedroom, Pie went to go play in her doll house, which was the size of a garage, and Katherine stayed in her room listening to the Spice girls. The Spice girls?

After much deliberation, Jimmy convinced his father to go with him to the steam room. I figured he cared less about spending time with his old man. I think he was after me. So, the three of us took our corners, forming a circle, and relaxing about waiting for the big party this evening. Mr. Roswell smoked a cigar as we unwound within the erotic clouds taking leisure to the soothing moisture which surrounded us. I leaned back on a wall staring at the ceilings made with some special kind of glass and tiles. I believed it was imported from Indonesia. A soft unyielding breeze gently diminished the tension between our muscles and tendons. At the same time, the steam penetrated deep into my skin leaving it smooth and shining.

A butler walked in wearing the proper attire of a white tuxedo with black buttons and tick tack shoes. He inquired a Ms. New York called. Mr. Roswell puffed air in his face and said he would call her back despite it being another urgent message. Jimmy, now carrying a quarrel, didn't say anything to me because he thought I would laugh.

"This is nice, sir," I said.

"I know it's nice. That's why I brought it."

Mr. Roswell finished the cigar, slouched a little and coughed. His stomach bulged out to a point that his water could have broken at any moment. There was an ulcer on the back of his left calf and liver splotches appeared randomly thought out his feeble body. His mid-section was plump and obtrusive while his arms and legs were merely meat on a stick. Despite this description, he was the youngest looking person inside the boiler room.

"Do you enjoy fencing," Mr. Roswell asked.

"No, sir."

"Well, I enjoyed it since my youth. You like women?"

"Sir?"

"I take that as a yes. Women are such a beautiful sanctity. Listen to me, kid. A man with power and money controls two things."

He was waiting for a response, so I said, "What is that, sir"

"A man's labor and a women's chastity," he laughed. "We are not gods like you read in those history books, but those two things will never change."

Why is he telling me this?

"How did you meet my sister," Jimmy asked fiendishly.

"She was walking downtown and I came up to her and asked if she was free for conservation."

"Where?"

"Downtown."

"I know that," his eyes reddened, "where downtown?"

"State and Lake near the Chicago Theater."

"That's Katherine for you," Mr. Roswell broke in. "Always mingling in with the common folks. Did you know who she was before you approached her?"

"No, sir."

"Are you sure?" Jimmy said leaning forward to see if I was lying.

"I didn't know who she was. Your sister is a nice person."

"Yeah, we'll see about that."

I felt a frown draw upon my face. Mr. Roswell laughed breaking up this little gauntlet Jimmy and I had and called for Samson. He told him to get his outfit ready. Samson nodded and left. Quietly, Mr. Roswell thought about what he wanted to say, but forgot. He acted his age when it took him three full minutes to get his thoughts together.

"Fencing," he fumbled, "when I was a little boy I started the art and mastered it by the time I was 13. Let me tell you. Do you know what a fencing strip is? Well...a fencing strip is divided into several physical areas that can lead into different tactics and systems. Mistakes occur the most in the transitions between the phases of attack. I tried to teach Jimmy here that falling oto far forward at the end of the lunge, or showing an off-balance redoublement can open up options for the defender. That's Jimmy'd problem. He didn't want to learn so he took up wrestling. I was so mad...well, anyway, when you attack always remember to lunge at a point from a certain distance. In result, kid, if the defender opens up a counter attack you won't get caught overextending or shifting the initiative to your opponent."

"Thanks, sir. I guess." I didn't recognize it at first, but Mr. Roswell was slightly intoxicated. Jimmy didn't care about what his father had said. It was obvious he had heard this talk a million times before.

"Also, when defending," he continued, "look out for the transition periods between the attack phases. Another problem Jimmy had was space control. He would just stand damn near shoulder to shoulder with a guy and when you do that you can't respond quickly enough in the changes in dis-"

"What do you want," Jimmy interrupted. At the same time a butler, I had never seen before, came in and said, "Mr. Roswell, a Ms. Orlando is on the phone. She says it's an emergency."

"Didn't I say to hold... tell her I will call her back," he said and finished what he left unattended, "Jimmy, I taught you better manners than that."

"You taught me nothing."

"Son, I could care less that you may bench 550 and squat 725 pounds. Don't forget, I can hire men to take you out. Now, if you don't mind, you can leave."

"But-"

"Now, and hurry up, you're cramping my style, son."

Jimmy, head buried and disappointed, left the room. Mr. Roswell smiled and acted as though his son never existed. I finally found out why he was so eager to be alone. His unspoken status kind of bothered me. Katherine and I were both young and gonna do things, but he's afraid that I could easily take advantage of his daughter. As he explained it, Katherine had a rough childhood. She never spoke to anyone in high school and was always teased on by her less fortunate classmates.

She was always a bright kid because she graduated from school at 16, but was never asked to the prom. She was valedictorian and received a scholarship to Harvard Law School. Being isolated from people for eighteen years except from her relatives, as the family psychologist put it, created a serious case of social phobia. There were days when Mr. Roswell caught his daughter signing off in a deep daydream.

"My concern is," he said, "unlike my family, you are attentive. They do not understand the dangers of being attentive. They never had a problem out there in the real world, hell; the only problem Jimmy had was spending four months underwater with a group of men like yourself and look how he came back. Doesn't even comprehend that he is still a part of the privilege.

"Another problem is, kid, Katherine goes off by herself like she does because poor people excite her. She would like to live average until she can't deal with it no more and like I said-"

"Mr. Roswell, a Ms. Cleveland is on the phone. She says she will not make it to Spain this weekend."

"Thank you, Garfield," He said, "Is that all?"

"No, a Ms. Dallas, Ms. Dayton, and Ms. Hollywood called."

"Ms. Hollywood called?" Mr. Roswell's eyes lit up. "What did she say?"

"She says she will call you back."

Garfield took instructions to give Ms. Hollywood his boss's cell phone number and to get in contact with Ms. Portland later this afternoon. Then he nodded and left. Mr. Roswell gathered himself and had to think again. A small vein above his temple bulged. The liver splotches across his chest expanded as he reached for another cigar laying arm's length away from him. Maybe it was the steam, but the little hair he had left seemed to stick out.

"Oh, yes," he finally said. "Katherine. I was like you once and guys like you and I take advantage of insecure girls like that. I guess I still do."

"Wait a minute, sir-&Mac226;"

"Let me finish, kid, listen when grown folks talk. You need to understand that you two are different, and I'm not saying she's better than you, but what I am saying is she doesn't know what's outside Highland Park. If someone of your class catches a hold of her, I wouldn't be surprised if you roll up with a house down the street acting like one of us." By this time, I was ready to go. "Now," he concluded, "for your troubles, I have a butler picking out an outfit for you this evening."

I take it he didn't approve of my clothes. I liked the outfit I came here with, a plaid shirt with kakis, but by the tone of his voice, he didn't wish to be interrupted. Still, I even ironed it and washed it the day before. When he ended his monologue, we sat there for another ten minutes in silence. Garfield, a short man with stubby hands, came in and informed Mr. Roswell a Ms. Sacramento called. He got up and left me there to decide on whether or not I should attend the party. As I lay there, I thought about LaShaunda mentioning something about this internal happiness I so desperately seek for. She was always smarter than me when it came to the circles of life. I figured that money brought happiness. How couldn't it. We all know about poor people suffering from hunger and living in poor conditions and the solemn stories about old folks having to skip meals in order to pay for their medication or living life on just not having enough. I wanted to be rich but
just couldn't figure how. I lied about Katherine, I mean, I saw the girl get out of her Mercedes Benz and proceeded inside a bank. I thought everything over for awhile until I was disturbed by a man standing over me.

"Excuse me, Mister Fulton," the voice said, "I have your outfit waiting for you."

"What about my-"

"It will be waiting for you when it's time to for you to leave."

Didn't know how he did it, but Garfield picked a size that fitted perfectly. It was a Giorgio Armani. I asked him how much it cost and he said "It's on Mr. Roswell's tab". Also, I was advised not to get it dirty. Honestly, I didn't know I looked very well in white.

"How did you know this would fit," I asked glaring at myself in the mirror.

"Before I worked for Mr. Roswell, I was a tailor." He said. "Stayed one for twenty years."

I sensed he wanted to get into the subject, but the planter came in and told Garfield that he was leaving for the evening. They shook hands, laughed at an inside joke, and exchanged friendly punches like they were Sugar Ray Leonard and Marvin Hagler. The planter stood nearly a foot over Garfield with broad shoulders and a lean chest. He was too built to be content with cutting grass and trimming bushes.

"He's a nice guy," Garfield acknowledged.

"He's too tall to go around cutting grass." I said.

"You telling me, man, who would think?"

"Think what?"

"His grandfather was a chief of a tribe once."

It was already 6:30 when I caught up with Katherine. She sat by herself outside where there were people socializing and I guess having a good time. A band, consisting of 75 instrumentalists, was taking instructions from Samson.

"Mr. Roswell wants you to play Stravinnsky, 'The firebird'; Vivaldi 'The four seasons'; and Shostakovich 'string quarter number 19'."

"Is there anything else in particular from the other guests?"

"No," Samson said shyly, "he wants those along with the songs on the list to be played. He also says to disregard any special request until after midnight"

The band instructor did what was told to him as he heaved his arms into the air and signaled the violinists to begin. No one except me had any interest in the transaction. The conversation between Katherine and I was dry. She just answered yes or no to my simple questions about us spending more time together. I didn't tell her what her father said in the steam room.

"Katherine," her brother came over, "Did you see Valerie?"

"No," she answered, "why?"

"She's missing, you know, like one minute she's damn near poisoning herself and next she wondered off."

Katherine didn't show any concern, and Jimmy wouldn't take the hint that we weren't to be bothered. So, I wasn't surprised that he sat there for an hour just looking us as the music played. Groups of people accumulated, filling up the lawn wearing expensive attire, drinking imported wine, and gleefully discussed of recent satire. Top notch men brought their wives who wore negligees revealing their bust while enshrouded their decaying faces with mascara and plastic surgery. These women of the privilege knew something. They competed with the half age girls who either shown up by some anonymous guest or just came there all together. Several women would touch, flirt, or even toss their fannies about looking for an old fool who still had fantasies of high school and a threesome. I overheard a woman complaining that she hated parties like this because at the last one she caught her husband in the lady's restroom with one of the maids. By 7:30, all the chairs were occupied. Katherine forecasted that 650 visitors would come and half of that will follow uninvited. I stood up and walked over to the concession to get something to drink. They served Penne with Cauliflower Florets and Olives, Lemon Chicken, Baked Pears in White Wine Sweet Ricotta Mousse with Macerated Berries and Delizia al Cioccolato Bianco or White Chocolate Delight. As I stood there eating the appetizer, three women near me gossiped about the host of the evening.

"Has anyone seen Valerie," one woman asked.

"No, I haven't," a girl answered. She looked familiar. "I hear that she's sick and lying in that house drunk. She does it all the time."

"You know," the third woman said, "she nearly burned the house down a year ago. I also heard it wasn't no accident."

"I heard about that. The last time I seen her, she was an awful mess. I lied and said "hey, Valerie, girl you look wonderful". I don't know what Diablo has done to her, but she looks sick to be 38."

"38!"

They were all staring at me. I played it off by looking the other way. The youngest girl of the group didn't completely partake back into the conversation. She kept looking at me as I tried to finish my Italian hors d'oeuvre.

"Anyway, Diablo still blames that poor girl for the death of his first wife."

"You mean Elizabeth," the girl said still watching me. "How did she die again?"

"Well, about twenty years ago when Diablo had hair, Katherine was born and Jimmy was walking around causing trouble, rumors spread that Diablo was sleeping with a 17 year old. That was 20 years ago. Now, well look! Look at these heifers at this party." The woman stopped feeling disgusted, and then continued, "aren't even 16 and they trying to look grown."

"That didn't answer my question."

People continue to come in like masses of protesters, scattering across the intricate stone and wood floors in the ball room and the indoor courtyard. It was nice I must admit and I wouldn't leave if LaShaunda came here by herself and asked me to.

Garfield came by, "Excuse, Mister Fulton, you having a good time? Good...good to hear. Have you seen Mrs. Roswell?" I told him no. He nodded and continued to search for her around the mansion.

The girl whom I didn't recognize at first tapped me on the shoulder and laughed.

"Jarrett," she said, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm the guest of the family."

"Who?"

"The Roswell's."

"Well," she said softly, "I guess you can say I am, too."

"Do I know you?"

"You don't remember Mr. Han's class. Biology? You sat behind me because my last name is Fisher."

"Karen," I said, "What the hell. You were a freshman."

I was a senior then, and now, I'm a sophomore in college.

We didn't get to say much to each other because Katherine came out of no where grabbing me by the arm heading for the library. She explained that that was Mr. Roswell's mistress. I couldn't believe it because she wasn't graduating until next year. I could see she was becoming upset, so I changed the subject, which was nothing. It was quiet sitting in the lobby of the library and we would have sat there if it wasn't for a book that fell nearby. Jimmy came stumbling about with his head down acting as though he didn't hear a word. I didn't say anything as he walked circles around us trying to seem inattentive.

"What do you want," Katherine finally said. "We're not doing anything."

"I know about you," he said addressing me.

"What do you have against me," I asked.

"Jimmy," Katherine said standing up to confront her brother, "I'm fine."

"To hell with that bum."

He pointed his finger in my face and asked for me to leave. "You're no better than my father," he said. "And I know. I know."

In the mist of the argument, a window broke and then there was yelling from a guest house. The three of us left our confrontation aside to follow up on the disturbance. In the guest house, there was Valerie sitting on the bed with her daughter, Pie. With her, walking in small paces back and forth beside a dresser, was the planter. His face flustered with discontent while blood stained the carpet floor from his right hand. He broke another window, but visitors who were in the living room and courtyard were the only ones to hear the racket.

"Valerie," he said. "You're not happy here. You must come to Dakota with me."

His voice fulminated causing more spectators to investigate the outburst. Then, as everyone anticipated, Mr. Roswell walked in asking what's going on.

"We're leaving," the planter said.

"How," Mr. Roswell responded, "where are you going?"

"Valerie, the baby, and I are leaving," he said proudly, "and that's all you need to know."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

Mr. Roswell relit his cigar, spoke to himself, and nodded like if being asked a question from the crowd.

"You ungrateful," he stopped and thought it over looking at his wife, "I brought you everything you ever wanted and even took care that half breed kid of yours. I knew it wasn't mine; she's too ugly to be mine."

The planter trudged toward Mr. Roswell as if he was going to do something, but retreated when the butlers walked in inquiring on the reason for the charade. He could have handled all three of them, though, but this was neither the time nor place. Mr. Roswell demanded that the butlers escort Mr. Wolman (still being confidential) out of his home, but they were scared. The man's head nearly touched the ceiling and his arms were like tree trunks. Valerie sat there, faded, and didn't say a word. So Mr. Roswell knew he needed a different approach.

"Where would you go," he asked, "how would you live? Making dream catchers."

"That's enough," the planter said.

"You of all people should say anything. I kept you here and knew you were banging my wife, and did I care? No, you kept her happy and all of a sudden you want to take her from me."

"You knew," his wife said. "Why you didn't say anything."

He took a puff from his cigar and replied, "You both are just being selfish."

Valerie tried to stand up and at the same time snapped at her husband. "You kept me in this pr-prison for eighteen years an-and didn't say nothing." She flopped back on the bed being exhausted from standing up.

"This is mere foolishness." Mr. Roswell said looking at me and nodded. "I had enough. Is leaving what you want?"

"I just said-"

"I wasn't talking to you."

Valerie didn't answer.

"Daniel, I'm not mad. Not mad at all. This is what I'm going to do instead of firing you; I'll give you a two week vacation. And with this time off, think about the mistake you just made. When you come back, I will have you transfer to Mr. Kennedy's lot; and of course, you may see your daughter once a week and only when I'm not around. If you don't oblige, then I going to have to make some calls and make sure you will never work on this soil again."

The planter reconsidered the Roswell's affairs, and I'm just saying what I saw, the man seemed to shrink. I mean, he no longer appeared taller than Mr. Roswell or even pie. The flare in his voice resigned as he responded, "Yes, Mr. Roswell."

"And Valerie, my dear wife, you and the kids will spend a month in Sicily with some relatives of mine and-"

"Mr. Roswell, a Ms. Hollywood is on the phone." He smiled and turned his back to the defiant couple. "Gerald, take care of the arrangements for Valerie and the kids to go to Sicily and Daniel will be going the Pacific."

"The Pacific?" Gerald said. A strain look grew across his face. "But why, sir, he hasn't hurt-"

"Do it." He demanded. "Now if you people don't mind, I have a telephone call I must attend to. You are all my guests, so go out and have good time."

I'm surprised no one clapped and asked for an encore. Mr. Roswell took one last look at his bitter wife, then her lover, and then ay me. He nodded and tipped his cigar in my direction referring to the proof he claimed in the steam room. No doubt about it, I thought, he controlled two things. Without another second of cogitation, Mr. Roswell was swallowed by the crowd of faces and then he was no more. Mr. Wolman, with his head buried on his chest, was escorted by Garfield and Samson to the door. No body bothered Valerie because she was unconscious, again. Jimmy picked up his little sister and kissed her on cheek. The guests just went on like nothing happened. Like nothing they saw actually happened.

"It's time for you to go," Katherine said as more people began to disperse.

"You sure you going to be alright," I asked.

"Yeah," Jimmy, carrying pie, placed his hand on Katherine's shoulder. I guess he was the man of the guest house. "She will. Now do I have to show you the front door?"

"Jimmy, enough. Jarrett, I apologize. I'll take you home."

"But-"

"Leave me alone, Jimmy." Katherine said staring at the floor. "I'll be fine."

"You sure you don't want me to come," he said.

"No," she answered, "I'll be back before they start the fireworks." She stopped and then finally said, "Thanks, Jimmy."

On the way home, neither one of us spoke. The radio played as she exited the Eisenhower and cruised down Harlem turning on Washington. When she pulled up in front of my apartment, she apologized for the evening and wished we met on better terms. I reached over to give her a kiss, but she backed away.

"What's wrong," I asked.

"Jarrett, you're a nice guy, but you're dishonest. I can't see myself being with you."

"Why not?"

"I know about your girlfriend."

I laughed, "What are you talking about?"

"Jimmy was right," she said crying now. "He checked your wallet while you were in the steam room with my father and found a picture of you and a girl."

I was defeated, so I asked one last question. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I guess so," her tears kept flowing, "I know my father told you about me. Well, you can see why, people don't see Ms. Katherine Roswell. They just see a price tag and I thought you were different, I shouldn't have brought you there."

"But-"

"Please, get out," she said softly and I did. Before she drove off, she said, "My father may control two things in this world, but became inhuman in the process. He became like you."

Just like that, she was gone.

Doc, can't even say it was a happy ending for either of us. I'm not really proud of this story, but I do feel better, though. I called LaShaunda that evening and we went out to catch a matinee the following morning. We never argued over "money equaled happiness" again. As for Katherine, I happened to catch up with her at a mall downtown. She was with some of her girlfriends. She told me her father fired all of his servants while Mr. Wolman spent a year in jail for allegations Katherine kept in secrecy. Well, I'm running out of things to say, but I'm doing fine and did I tell you; LaShaunda and I are getting married, yes indeed. I quit college, you know, because it's a waste of time and guess who I work for? Mr. Roswell himself. Got me doing things I have to keep confidential. I'm real good at
that. Real good.