Straits of Fortune - Anthony Gagliano [21]
“Something’s not quite right with you today,” he said.
“I saw Vivian today.”
“I guess that means you’ll be losing your mind again shortly. Too bad I won’t be around to witness your madness.”
“Where are you going now?” I asked.
“My family is having a party at our hotel in the Bahamas—a reunion, you might say. Would you care to come?”
“I’m not family.”
“Not technically. My father would like to see you, though. Why don’t you come? He’s not so well, you know.”
“I have some business here to take care of.”
“With the woman?”
“And her father. Possibly. They made me an offer that I refused. But now I’m wondering if I did the right thing. Seeing her kind of rearranged my brain.”
“Her father? You mean the scientist?”
“That’s him.”
The Sheik said nothing. He was looking down into the bubbling froth of the hot tub with a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know,” he said, “I met him once at a party down at the Biltmore. I think I told you. Some kind of charity function, I forget which. There was something about him I didn’t like. I never quite put my finger on it.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Have you ever found yourself playing a game of chess with someone—even though at the time you thought you were only having a friendly chat about the weather?”
“It was that way every time I trained him,” I said. “I always got the feeling he was looking for an opening, probing. I think it was almost a habit with him.”
“Do you think he found your weakness?” the Sheik asked, smiling.
“Probably.”
“Have you ever thought about my offer at all?” he asked.
“Not recently.”
The offer had been to get rid of all my other clients and become his personal assistant, duties to include some body-guarding, personal training, and whatever else came up.
In any case, I had never taken him up on his job offer. I didn’t like the idea of having only one big, rich boss. The money he offered me would shock you, so I won’t even mention it, lest you think I’m nuts for turning it down. But look at it this way: You have multiple clients, you have multiple options. That means you can always tell at least one person who gets on your nerves to kiss your ass, without going bankrupt. Anyway, there’s more to life than a great dental plan and a 401(k)—at least until you get old and your teeth start falling out.
Later, after I got dressed again, Anwar walked with me to my car. Neither of us said very much, but I could feel his concern. He had a depth of presence that came through most strongly in his silences. They were like the atmosphere inside an empty church. He was my age, and yet he seemed much older. Sometimes it seemed to me that I had known him forever.
We shook hands in front of my ride. His dark eyes were solemn. I slapped him on the shoulder, hoping to bring on a lighter mood, but he wasn’t buying it.
“I’ll see you when you get back,” I said. “Tell your father I said hey.”
We embraced, and I got into the van with a completely different mood from the one I wanted. I wanted to be breezy, cavalier, but there was no changing the climate in Anwar’s expression. He stood back listening as the engine of the Ford sputtered, then caught.
“You should know when something is over, Jack,” he said. “Sometimes it’s dangerous to go back once the dance is done. Even if only five minutes have passed, it will not be the same.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “But what if the music is still playing?”
“Then it will be a different music from the one you heard before.”
As I drove away, I glanced at the rearview mirror. The Sheik was standing there, watching, just as Williams had.
Nothing went right after that. The Ford died as I was going southbound on the Don Shula, and I had to push it off to the side of the road in the middle of a rainstorm that lasted just long enough to soak me to the bone. I used my cell phone to call Tamara, the German singer, to tell her that I wouldn’t be making it that afternoon. Then, as I was calling for a tow truck, the battery in the phone died, too, and the spare in the van didn’t work either. It was