[K][T] and Family Ch. 01

This was not trivial. Gerald had brought most of my clothing from the apartment, but I had not yet unpacked. Instead, I chose the ensemble Francine had chosen for me in Elizabeth. The silk skirt and organdy top would be suitable anywhere short of a formal occasion. I needed only accessorize. However, there was one thing I could not do—pull the laces of the corset. As Sean pulled the strings, everything seemed to come into focus.

Sean would not tell me where he was taking me, but it quickly became apparent that it was either in Trenton or beyond in Philadelphia. That gave me time to learn that the car had internet reception built in. Sean showed me the access port and then hooked up his PDA. I had a tablet, which would do well enough. For a while I was happy as a clam in sewage. Then I started getting news.

The nationwide report on the Amish buggies was only a 20 second spot, but it was also the last item on the program, so people noticed. I could live with it and I did not have to like it. There were several news items arising from Sean's impromptu new division. I still had mixed feelings about that. Then there was the email giving me my new corporate email account and asking me to come in for an orientation. I opened that account and saw three other welcome aboard/we need to talk messages. Then there was one from columbiapictures.net. I felt a gulf open below me as I clicked on the line.

It was as bad as it could be. Whoever Ivan Nevsky was, he obviously thought I was someone important. Of course, a signature reading "Sheila R. Schwartz-Richards, Vice President" might have something to do with that. I asked Sean. He said that Mr. Nevsky is why they rushed my division's formation. He was Columbia Studio's senior film editor, whatever his title. He wanted to run some images by me. Thanks for the heads up.

There were three images, all in high resolution. I wished I was at my cutting desk, but I could do enough to get more information. They appeared to be from an action sequence in a mall or depot. There was a lot of space and a lot of people. I chose the least cluttered of the three images and isolated the interesting parts. I saved those and tacked them to the reply. Then I overlay the three best cuts on the original, highlighting where each cut had been taken. It was student grade work, but it gave me a platform to ask what exactly Columbia Pictures wanted done.

I closed my browser and gave Sean my best evil eye. Unfortunately, the cad was immune. Finally, he took pity on me. Shutting down his PDA, Sean slid over and gave me a badly needed hug. Then he gave me a recap of his day, at least the parts bearing on me. It was all both impossible and thoroughly documented.

The week before, Justin and Peter had intimated that I was going to be receiving some high level attention in the photographic community. Harold Johnstead had given independent confirmation when he printed off proofs for signature. According to Sean, Curtis had been working up a contract for almost a week, which put it before the pictures had gone to the printer. I could understand that. Curtis and Sean get along because Curtis is enough of a maverick to keep up with Sean's crazy ideas. When Sean said that Emily Lucann had my staffing roughed out, I was floored. Emily is as straight an arrow as they come. Evidently the only one that did not see me moving into an executive position was me.

As I let all that soak into my consciousness, I could understand Sean's decision process. He had expected to be able to break the idea to me gently. Given our history, that would involve convincing me that he was serious. It made me wonder how many glass slippers he kept in his closet. In any event, the call from Mr. Nevsky had forced him to step up the schedule. Rather than an entry level executive position, like Tess McGill in Working Girl, I was getting the corner office. I was never getting back to my clients.

That thought was like ice water. I had commitments that I would not be able to service. I had just purchased a building, that I would not be using. I had personal friends that I would... Oh boy. Those personal friends would soon be seeing me socially. I needed a large rock, so that I could crawl under it. Sean was the soul of concern. He asked, "Are you over your funk yet?" I was. How about that?

It was just as well, because we were getting into the New Jersey side of Greater Philadelphia. I could see exits to Trenton, but we were not taking them. Instead we were boring toward the center of the city. I had requested a place where I could dress up, thinking Albert's or the place in Easton where Sean had proposed, sort of. Sean had decided I meant a five star restaurant. Typical. I tried to relax as George pulled us onto I-95. If we were going to downtown Philadelphia, we were only halfway there. The traffic was already heavy as Tuesday night on Staten Island. Was that only yesterday?

I went back to my email. Francine sent a message from Los Angeles, saying there was a mess to clean up and that she had a stray she needed to take care of. Francine was raised on a different planet, where that would still make no sense. Siobhan wrote to say she found storage space for my shoes. That was such good news, I teared up for a moment. Christine wrote to tell me that she and Jason had made latte (?) and that everything worked. Also, Jason was now famous, which was not proving easy to handle.

I did not notice when we pulled off the Interstate. However, I could not fail to notice when we pulled into a parking lot. Surprisingly, it was not a restaurant, but a strip mall. The anchor store had once been a Target, but was now a health food grocery. George parked the car a bit down the strip, near a Body Shop store. Sean unbuckled and opened his door. George got out and opened mine.

I may be a bit slow, but eventually things make sense. Sean wanted to apologize for the dandruff shampoo that first night. So we were at a place that sold upscale hair and bath products. He is such a Teddy Bear. Fine, he could get me some hair fragrances to sniff and I could get him a decent cologne.

We spent an hour at the Body Shop and the linen store next to it. I asked about the reservations. Sean told me not to worry. Either he had expected me to take time or the restaurant really liked his business. Regardless, I purchased an appalling amount of face and hair products, plus three sets of towels and some odds and ends. Sean's bathroom had a built in vanity. This would cover one small corner of it. Other than stopping, the most difficult part was letting Sean pay for it. He wanted to make the gift, so I forced myself to ignore the prices and get what I needed. The items for Sean's use, I paid for myself. I have some dignity.

It turned out that the restaurant was not far. George pulled us to the front and assisted me from the car. The restaurant was not five star, but I would not look out of place. Sean's power suit fit right in. Clearly it was a place that catered to business people. Once inside, I was charmed by the design. I only knew authentic Japanese from pictures, but this was not it. This was Japanese for American use. For example, there was a tile floor, but each private room had a small seat to remove shoes. Our hostess led us to one of these.

I removed my pumps, but declined to leave them in the case. If this was unusual, the hostess gave no sign. She showed us to a low table, with cushions on either side. I was shown the one opposite the door. It was later explained that this was the place of honor. Sean, as host, took the lower place, nearer the door.

Kneeling on the cushion seemed the natural thing to do. I noticed Sean was having more difficulty settling down, but it would be rude to say so. Once we were in place, Sean introduced our tutor, Kazuko. She brought chopsticks and showed me how to use them. After a few moments, she asked if I had used chopsticks before. When I looked confused, Sean told me that I had grasped them quickly and with good grace. Most Americans find chopsticks difficult, but they seemed simple enough.

Kazuko then brought a small bowl, a bowl of wasabi and a pot of soy sauce. She asked me to pour some soy and put some wasabi on the side. Simple enough. Sean did also. Sushi and ginger was laid on the table. I was instructed to pick up a morsel of sushi, dip it in the soy, add wasabi if desired and eat the piece. For something that seemed very trivial, if felt like a test. Kazuko seemed convinced that I was not a beginner, but was too polite to make an issue of it.

The meal consisted of grilled fish, fresh and pickled vegetables and rice (of course). Kazuko instructed me at each course. Sean was paying close attention, which seemed to mean that he was picking up pointers. Kazuko was very patient, helping with my blunders, but seemed convinced that I was faking something.

After the meal, where Americans would have dessert, Kazuko brought a pot of tea. It was wonderful watching her hands as she poured. All through the meal, there had been a thread of grace and elegance, which I sought to mimic. It was very soothing.

As we sipped our tea, a man knocked, entered and inquired how we found the meal. Almost immediately he and Kazuko engaged in a discussion in Japanese. After a moment he indicated silence, with a small hand gesture. Immediately, Kazuko became passive. He turned to Sean and explained that Kazuko was upset because we had brought a ringer—me. She felt that I was knowledgeable of difficult things, but made too many obvious errors.

You had to know my Teddy Bear well to understand how funny he found the situation. After listening to the explanation, he turned to Kazuko and requested a clean tea cup, which he had her place on the table. Then he asked me to pour the Manager a cup of tea. Not understanding what was going on, I mimicked the little ritual that Kazuko had recently performed. Since the manager was not close enough to reach, I had to rise. For some reason, this brought a small gasp from Kazuko. Still not understanding, I presented the tea, as Kazuko had done, then returned to my place.

The manager did not react for a moment, then dismissed Kazuko. He made apologies to Sean for the confusion, offering to provide the entire meal at no cost. Sean said that we were not disappointed and insisted on paying. The pleasantries went on for a while, til the Manager glanced at me. Immediately Sean took on his other aspect. He is not called the Bear in jest. This time the Manager's apologies seemed sincere.

When we were back in the car, I demanded to know what was going on. It took Sean a moment to calm down. The Manager had seriously angered him. The why of that came later. First, Sean explained that Kazuko felt she was being unfairly tested. I started by picking up the use of chopsticks too quickly and with too much grace. Everything Kazuko did was supposed to be graceful. She was trained to do so. I was being more graceful, but making mistakes Kazuko considered trivial. In short, she felt I was a ringer, making mistakes on purpose.

When I served the tea, the Manager understood why Kazuko was embarrassed. Sean explained that shame is a powerful factor in Japanese culture. When the Manager had seen what Kazuko had been seeing, he dismissed her. That would have been good enough, but he gave an indication of interest in me. Sean went from being amused to being furious.

As we worked our way out of big city traffic, I took comfort in the certainty of Sean's feelings.

Francine:

Meeting with a studio executive is something full of hazards. Hollywood is not like most business communities. Most deals are done informally, long before anything is given to the lawyers. When someone like AAA, Aaron A. Aldermann, asks to meet, the first thing to consider is the place. In my case, the location was left open, so it was an invitation of some sort. That being the case, I should go to him.

I almost called to set up the time. That would not have been a blunder, but I had people for that. Roxanna had just been uprooted, so a chance to feel useful would be helpful. I asked her to make the call and chat up the secretary. She was to say that the local office was closed pending restaffing. The story was that John Thomas had been forced to quit for personal reasons. When I came out, the shit had hit the wall. Richard Williams had been arrested and I was cleaning up the mess. Giving a story like that to a secretary would get the word out faster than anything I could think of off hand.

With all that in the wind, I made a fifteen minute appointment close to my departure time. Roxanna could babysit the baggage. If things went well, we would ride to LAX in the studio limo. A cab dropped us at the gate. I was expected, but security was willing to allow us both in. This was going to be a friendly meeting. A golf cart drove us across the lot, which gave Roxie a chance to see a production lot. I told Roxanna to stay with the bags, but otherwise look around and speak freely. When I set my phone on its dictation op, Roxanna nodded her understanding.

Like a good receptionist, Roxie had given my schedule. Perhaps that had been important. In any event, I was shown right in. Aaron Aldermann was not a studio executive his own company would have cast. He was remarkably bland, except for having a trained voice. Like me, he had done voice overs for commercials and animation. It gave me an ice breaker. I was immediately corrected. Aaron was still doing the occasional bit of recording. Clearly he was proud to still be working.

The rest of the meeting could be summed in two words—Sheila Schwartz. I love her dearly, but sometimes that girl is a pain in the ass. When the thought hit, my mind flashed on Christine's final stroke. It must have shown in my face, because AAA stopped talking and looked at me oddly. I motioned for him to continue, giving him the short truth that I had flashed on a memory. AAA clearly curious, but he needed information. He continued and I payed closer attention. It was good that I did.

I learned that Sheila had been named the new VP of Digital Arts for Richard's Enterprises. Since there had been no division of Digital Arts when I boarded the plane, this had to be something Sean had thrown together. It was just like Sean to make something up and work the details later. AAA stopped again, but this time he insisted on an explanation. I looked at him for a moment, then relented.

"OK. I guess you need some inside information. Sean Richards and I went to high school together. I had a serious crush on him, and we dated, but dancing..." I spread my hands. AAA nodded, understanding the demands of an obsession. "We have not exactly kept in touch, but each of us has had an interest in the other one's career. Sheila Schwartz and I danced together. She did the Nutcracker at Lincoln Center at age 14. Puberty killed her career." I stopped for a moment, lost in the memories.

"Anyway, Sheila called me a few weeks ago, to ask about Sean. We struck up the old friendship like we were never apart. I will be one of her bridesmaids on Saturday." That caused AAA's head to jerk. "Oh. You didn't know. That would be confusing. To make the rest of the story short, it is very hard to put into words what Sheila brought to dance. She had an unfailing knowledge of place, position, relative motion. Pedro de la Garza calls her the diosa. From what I have seen, she has the same gift for photography. You have the catalog. That cover shot was edited from high def video. I am told she can pull images out as fast as she can work the mouse. Does that cover some of your questions?"

AAA was silent for a long time. I did not interrupt, because I could see the wheels turning. He proved me right. "Sheila Schwartz is why you always claimed to lack talent." It was not a question. After that we had some pleasantries. He offered to buy me dinner. When I told him I had a flight, he called for the limo. I was on the plane, dealing with the inadequate food, before I regretted missing dinner.

Sean:

Dinner with Sheila started well. She had a wonderful time at The Body Shop. However, dinner itself proved difficult. The Lotus Blossom offers a training service in Japanese etiquette. Since Sheila had once told me that her only exposure to oriental cooking involved carryout boxes, I thought the experience would be unique. It was all of that.

Our hostess/tutor was named Kazuko. Considering her lack of English, she was most likely raised in Japan. How she came to be in Philadelphia, teaching beginning etiquette to executives and their spouses, I did not know or desire to know. She was clearly competent. Unfortunately, she was trying to teach Sheila.

The Japanese prize poise and grace. Sheila had enough of both for ten normal people. Repeatedly, Kazuko would show Sheila something, expecting to need repetition. Sheila would have it perfect on the first attempt. Then Kazuko would expect that level of performance in another area, where Sheila would make a beginner mistake. Sheila was not ruffled, but Kazuko was rapidly becoming flustered.

It came to a head when the Manger stopped to inquire about our service. Kazuko bemoaned the unfairness of trying to teach someone as quick as Sheila. I could not follow the conversation, but the broad strokes were clear enough. Kazuko thought she was being tested—with a rigged test. The depth of her misunderstanding was amusing.

To settle things, I requested a clean tea cup. Kazuko placed it on the table. Then I asked Sheila to pour the manager a cup of tea. Having seen it once, Sheila smoothly poured the cup. Rather than force the Manager to step forward, Sheila rose to her feet in a single smooth motion. Kazuko gasped. Not only did Sheila rise directly from kneeling, she did it without using either hand for support or balance, without coming close to spilling the tea. It was a demonstration the Manager could not ignore.

He dismissed Kazuko, to whatever fate awaited her. Then he offered his apologies for the inconvenience. I was having none of that. Oriental negotiations often start with a gift, but the payback is heavy later. I insisted that we were fully satisfied and would pay the entire bill. Tipping is impolite, so that never entered the discussion. Things were about to settle, when the Manager's eyes went to Sheila. I instantly saw red.

Much later, in the car, I explained my version of the situation to Sheila. She had not understood why Kazuko was upset. It is a typical modesty that Sheila does not consider herself particularly graceful. From my vantage, I could tell that Kazuko would never have attempted to rise with the cup in her hands. Sheila also made an impression on the Manager. He was considering an offer—til I snarled at him.

As upset as the memory still made me, Sheila saw it as comforting support. She called me Teddy Bear and snuggled close. It was nice, though I might wish she had not fallen asleep. I wondered what Kazuko's reaction would be if Kitten bared her claws.

Chapter 4—Crown Fire

Interlude: 25^thAnniversary

Cindy:

Things appeared fairly normal at first. There was some polite press interest. There were promises of pictures from Justin. People from Dad's companies did interviews for magazines. Behind it all, the serious interest was growing. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Jason's picture was worth a lot more than that.

The fire was laid. The flash point was probably the report on the Today show, though it was hard to tell. Then, Aunt Francine did the interview for the Beacon—that's the local paper. It was picked up nationwide. Google searches for both Mom and Aunt Fran's names exploded. Who is Sheila Schwartz became the question of the day.