CHAPTER SEVEN
Worth
All in all, I think my first day went remarkably well. Jervis was headed in my direction, probably to discuss how everything went. Good thing I had Patsy send that intercept call directly to his personal cell. I knew that would stop him on the spot. Jervis couldn’t handle more than one issue at a time.
I pulled the Porsche out onto Shelbyville Road and headed downtown. As one of the major shopping areas in town, it was constant start and stop traffic. I understood why the office was convenient here, but I would by far rather stay in the country.
One of my favorite hangouts was a little bar called Joe’s, tucked beneath the Third Street Bridge. It pre-dated the first Derby and if you looked around, you might think you’d stepped back to that time. The patrons were strictly old money. The attire de rigueur was baggy wool, combatting plaids, and a cap that had been properly mashed beneath a hoof on some muddy track. Presidents had been determined here and influence reeked from the age-scented bodies. It was a world where there was no longer any need to impress one another and certainly anyone who wasn’t there didn’t enter their minds. Almost without exception, the ancestors of these craggy faces with their bushy eyebrows and yellowed teeth had come ashore still respecting their King. They’d been sent on a mission to lay claim to the virginal America before the peasants could learn to build a split-railed fence.
This was the battlefield of Kentucky Colonels, a world that ate burgoo and drank juleps made with Bardstown bourbon. It was a world where a small man was not a runt, but a possible jockey. Here, a man’s wealth was measured by the acres of bluegrass he’d fenced and the institution that was the Stockyards Bank. Their Derby boxes had been handed down through the generations and their names were like bloodlines carefully selecting fillies as brood mares for their offspring. Need I add that it was an unspoken rule that women weren’t invited?
I go there from time to time, just to be alone and free of the need to acquire a bed partner for the night. There was a certain stress release that came with entering that unmarked door. A place that smelled of the manure trod in beneath boots that had so recently surveyed the paddocks.
I remember the day when the IRS deemed horse breeding to be a hobby and no longer a tax deduction. It certainly approximated the stock market crash in the thirties and served to winnow out the new money — those who were in horses as dollar investments. Those who remained had coffers and lineage. These were the men I admired, if not simply for their lack of innovation as much as for their endurance. These were my people. These were the untouchables.
It was dark, cool and devoid of cologne, factors which made it perfect. I could leave my charm, as well as my insolence, at the door. It also meant that I could leave in whatever condition I drank myself into and nothing would be said. My father never came in here. He said he preferred to do his drinking in his study with guests. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected there was something a little gray in his past he didn’t like to be reminded of. This was the kind of place where the walls chastised your conscience. Words or looks weren’t necessary. So far I had managed to stay undetected, but I was fairly sure all that was about to change. I just never expected how it would come about.
***
I knocked on Jeremy’s door about three a.m. He answered after long minutes and was in a flowered robe. “Honestly, Worth? It’s three in the morning. Some of us have to work for a living, you know.”
I nodded. “I do…” I slurred, “I mosth def-initely do.” My tongue felt very thick.
“So what do you want?” he asked, visually perturbed.
“Your couch. Can’t go home and you were close.”
Jeremy leaned forward and sniffed. “Jesus! You’re ready to puke. I don’t want you on my new sofa.”
“Let me in your bed, then.”
He threw up a hand, then planted it on his hip. “Now you know we’ve been all over that. My bed is reserved for my playmates and it just happens that it’s occupied at the moment. Now, go on with you. Find a room somewhere. There aren’t any at this inn.” With that, Jeremy shut the door and I made a mental note to never hire him to decorate my office again, but I have a short memory.
It was a hot and humid night. Nightlife was still in full swing. Somehow my car made it to the office and I let myself in, marveling at the number of lights that were on. I guess the ghosts needed to see.
I did not, however, realize that ghosts giggled. I distinctly heard the sound of a woman’s laughter and I saw a light beneath Jervis’ door. It drew me like a beacon. I lost all discretion when I’d been drinking.
I opened the door without knocking and found the kind, eminent Dr. Jervis au natural with a woman of approximately his own age. She was well-preserved, even at her age, and I stood still a moment to enjoy the view of her uplifted legs.
There was a loud squeal, then Jervis sat upright, his cock dangling in a sort of bent, pitiful way. As I stared, it partially deflated and was well on its way to becoming road kill. The lady in question pushed herself back and struggled to sit up, pulling a blouse over herself and tucking her head. Her breasts were bountiful, if a bit wrinkled from too many trips to the tanning bed. Her hair was an unnatural shade of red and it looked like she was due for a touch up at the salon. In my mind, I named her Jervis’ Jezebel. She went to great lengths to not look at me.
“How dare you!” Jervis spat.
I lingered just a moment longer, grinned and shut the door behind myself as I headed to my office. Letting myself in the door, I locked it securely and pulled a freshly laundered quilt from the closet. We kept a few on hand for the more traumatic confessions — it seemed to help. I wondered if I should offer Jervis’ Jezebel one right about now.
I chose the longer of the two sofas and had just curled up when I heard the front door close. Smiling, I dropped off to sleep.