CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Worth
I knew I was playing with fire telling Auggie to contact Jessup. It wasn’t so much Jessup I cared about, but Auggie walked a narrow line, one with which I wasn’t so familiar. If anything, the lines I’ve walked in my life have been anything but straight.
I went into the office early and noticed that Jervis’ car was in the parking lot. There was no way to know whether he’d never gone home, or whether he was in even earlier than me. I decided I really didn’t care and went into my office. As it turned out, I was to learn shortly. A tap on my door was the only announcement he gave me.
I looked up to see Jervis standing in the doorway. “You’ve been avoiding me,” I said calmly. At least he had the grace to flush a bit and clear his throat.
“I thought we should talk,” he began.
“Oh? Really? What about?” I wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
“I, ah, well, you know there was that incident…” he faltered in his words.
“Yes.” A simple response that leaned in neither direction.
“Well… that is… I’m not sure if you know who that was in my office.” He was begging for me to fill in the blanks so he wouldn’t have to spill more than he needed to.
“I’m aware,” I answered.
“Good,” he said and took a seat, crossing one leg over the other in a gesture of defense. This was not lost on me.
“What can I do for you?” I put him on high alert.
“I had a phone call late last night, from the lady in question,” he began.
I only raised my brows. “I’m not sure how that involves me.” I gave him no toe hold.
“You’re seeing her daughter.”
“I still don’t see how this involves me,” I repeated.
“She doesn’t want you to,” he stuttered and looked down.
“I see.” I tapped a button and music filled the office, making his predicament insignificant and giving the overall message that I was in control. Chopin spilled into the room, weaving around the furniture from hidden speakers, giving an illusory effect of floating.
“That’s all you’re going to say? ‘I see?’” he questioned.
“Yes.”
“Look here, my boy…” he began.
“Dr. LaViere,” I corrected. I was strangling him.
“Worth, Auggie was a patient here. It’s against our ethics.”
“Dr. Jervis,” I emphasized his title. “Her mother sent her and there was nothing wrong with her. Anyway, I believe the key word here is ‘was’ and now that she no longer is, that ethic is not being broken. Will there be anything else? I have a patient coming shortly and need to prepare for my day.”
He looked like a man who’d been abandoned on a climb to the summit. “Will you stop seeing her?” he finally asked bluntly.
“That’s my personal life. We’re professionals and that’s where it ends. Have I made my point?” I laid down the law.
“So, you will stop seeing her?” he tried once more.
I simply stared at him and then at the door. He finally got the message and I could see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip, even in the cool of the early morning air conditioning.
“Yes… well,” he said, resigned to the realization that our conversation had come to an unsuccessful end. He stood and walked toward the door.
“Jervis,” I said, stopping him cold before he left.
“Yes?” he turned around, hope all over his face.
“You are not to discuss Auggie or me with her mother, father or any goddamned body ever again. Do I make myself clear?” My voice was cold and completely clear, and he knew he stood in far deeper hazardous waste than he’d ever realized.
“Of course, yes, I understand,” he mumbled and left.
I suspected that Jervis had dirtied his hands on more than one occasion. He was an idiot, for all his education, and spineless as a jellyfish. I knew he was into my father for a handsome amount as his practice began to fail through incompetence and undoubtedly his little habit of spending afternoons at the track. I knew without question that’s why I had the office I had, but this meant nothing to me. I would have only opened my own and most likely still would. Jervis just had the setup already and it saved me some trouble. I doubted my father was the only one holding a marker for Jervis. His kind weren’t survivors.
For the moment, my thoughts went back to the preceding night and the discussion, a/k/a argument, between Auggie and myself. I was disappointed when she’d left so suddenly. She was going to ground, retreating when flustered and unhappy with not being able to break me, as she did her horses. Obviously, there was no way I should share the conversation between the bitch Jessup and myself, and Auggie should have known this. She should trust me enough to realize I was trying to help her. I was pissed that she didn’t, but, more importantly, wondered why that was? Did it have to do with me, or with something on her side of the circuit board?
It struck me then that I’d never cared about what anyone else was doing or thought until now. It wasn’t my habit to adjust my behavior to accommodate anyone, most especially not a woman. There was an ample supply. When you pissed one off, you simply went after the next. Even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself.
There was only one Auggie. That’s exactly why I was in the mess I now found myself in. I was going to have to make some major changes in my life, but somehow that didn’t seem like such a horrible thing at this moment.
That afternoon, when the last patient cleared the doorway, I locked up and headed for Joe’s. It was one place where I could think clearly.
Joe’s was clogged with the smoke of cigars and pipe tobacco. No one would ever think to file a complaint. There was enough power in that room at any one point to begin the next world war. I made my way to the end of the bar and ordered a bourbon. I forced myself to sip it slowly instead of ordering six or so lined up in advance. This was the new me.
The room was fairly filled this time of the day. It was a gathering of men to confer on the events that had gone on that day and tonight the talk was about the gubernatorial race and who they were to support. Politics in Kentucky was a variable uncertainty. State employees were expected to match the governor’s party affiliation or lose their job each term. There was an Independent in the race this election, an outsider who was calling for taxing land that wasn’t in crop production and raising inheritance taxes. This flew directly in the faces of the men in this very room, but the candidate had some momentum and he was forcing the others to talk about the topic. This made men in here nervous.
I overheard Clinton McLean. In fact, most everyone could since he’d been there for some time and was well into his private bottle. His voice raised in volume as he drank. Everyone knew he was having financial problems, primarily as a result of divorcing Mrs. McLean, whose legs had spread for a few other men but more importantly, whose family had provided the backing to buy his thoroughbred farm. It sounded as if his place would go to the attorneys.
I had enough of my father in me to buy him another bottle and slide over to the stool next to where he sat.
“McLean,” I acknowledged and he raised the bottle in salute. He wore the requisite wool jacket with patch sleeves and he reeked of booze. Even in this environment of well-worn couture, he stood out as having seen better days.
“Thank you, young LaViere.”
“Couldn’t help but hear you might be putting the farm on the market. Any truth to that?”
He looked upward, as if seeking guidance, blew a smoke ring toward the antique tin ceiling and nodded. “It’s a fact,” he confirmed.
“Remind me, how many acres?” I asked casually.
“Well now, the house sits on a twenty or so, the barns and farm manager’s house on another thirty. There’s two hundred in tobacco base and another two thousand fenced for pasture. What’s that add up to?” His mind was beyond the math.
“She’s to get it all, I take it?” I asked.
He belched loudly and froze for a moment as if considering whether more of his stomach contents were to follow. “Every fuckin’ thing. What the two-timin’ whore won’t get, the lawyers will take.”
“That’s unfortunate,” I sympathized, to which he nodded.
“McLean, what do you say we get your mind off this for a bit and have a nice, friendly game of cards?”
He considered this and smiled. “Don’t mind if I do,” he responded and we adjourned to the room beyond the bar. This was a cooler, cleaner atmosphere and the furnishings were sparse. There were a few gaming tables and I headed to one of the poker rounds and took a seat. Most of the crowd from the bar had overheard and followed us inside.
McLean took his seat. A couple of others attempted to sit in, but I waved them off. This game was between McLean and me. I wanted witnesses but no more players. There were grumbles of ungentlemanly behavior as a few glared at me, tugging at their pipes in admonishment.
It was child’s play. McLean quickly lost the meager pile of cash he had on him, so I raised the stakes. He looked around for someone to stake him, but was met with opaque stares. He was flushed, beginning to feel ill. I saw the time was right.
I pushed everything I had into the center of the table, twenty thousand at best. “McLean, I have a proposition for you. Let’s play one more hand. I’ll bet everything I have on the table and you put up your farm.”
The groan of disapproval was loud around the room. There was even some movement to indicate a few were preparing to drag either McLean or me outside, but we were all gentlemen and as such, responsible for our personal behavior. It was their code that prevented them from interfering.
McLean considered my proposal but his eyes were fixed on the pile of cash in the center of the table. He reasoned that he had little to lose and untraceable cash to gain, so he finally nodded in assent.
It was quick work. My three of a kind beat his pair of aces and there was a general uproar of disapproval throughout the club.
I pulled the cash toward me and then extracted five, one-hundred dollar bills. I pushed them toward McLean and said in a voice that those close by could hear, “It’s been an honor, sir. This is for our bar bill and I expect you to be in my office first thing in the morning with the signed title to your property. I have but one requirement,” I added and there was a hush. “I will hold title to the entire property until such time as the whorin’ bitch is gone and then I would like to lease back the house and its twenty acres to you, for a dollar a year. If you decide to vacate for any reason, including drinking your way to an early grave, it reverts to me. Will also be needing someone to keep an eye on the place and see to things — someone who might know a thing or two about the horse business. Pays a hundred thousand a year. I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers.”
McLean’s eyes went from desolation to a glint of consciousness and realization of what just transpired. His mouth worked up and down even as his head shook left and right. “Where will you live?” he finally asked.
“I’ll build,” I commented, standing.
“You are a gentleman, it’s true and a man who outranks his sire,” he said, paying me a high compliment indeed.
There was a general murmur as word spread of what just transpired. Mr. Dougherty, probably the most respectable of the equine pirates inside stopped me by the arm. “That was a noble thing to do, young LaViere, but how will you get her to sign off on it? Surely her name is also on the title.”
“She will have no choice,” I said quietly. “Liens must be satisfied before divorce settlements,” I said and he nodded, considering the legalities. What I neglected to tell him was that the errant Mrs. McLean was also one of my patients, one who habitually tugged down her neckline and reclined on the sofa with her legs opened for my approval.
I left Joe’s on a cloud of approval and the fresh air outside held promise.