Contrasts

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

She is twenty-four. Paul is forty-six. Theirs was, as many friends and relatives were quick to point out, a May/December relationship. No one thought the marriage held much promise, but they were wrong and eventually most admitted it. Paul is quick to say that he never thought he was capable of loving anyone one as much as he loved Ann. He says that, even after all that has happened, he still loves her, but not in the same way. Both he and Ann were led to discover who they really were. Everything she said and did during the first two years of their marriage suggested that her love for him was honest, deep, and forever. They were incredibly happy. It’s hard to believe, but there was never a quarrel, never even a bad word spoken or a day without expressions of tenderness and love. Although Ann worried about his gambling habit, she never mentioned it. Besides, Paul managed, during those first two years, to keep most of it from her.

He used his office phone and computer to bet on horses, ball games, and whatever else was available. One night a week throughout those first years Ann helped at the Catholic Youth Center in Bedford-Stuyvesant. She taught learning and coping skills to “at risk” teenagers most of whom attended because for them it was either go to the Youth Center or the Juvenile Detention Facility. Paul worried about her spending time with tough delinquents in one of the most dangerous areas of Brooklyn. But she never complained and had actually found ways to earn their grudging respect. Her volunteering also gave him his poker night. He played with a group of high rollers. There were six of them; Paul and five black guys. They were of different ages, but all seemed reasonably intelligent. One, Jim Albertson, was both a long time friend and the accountant for his trucking company. He introduced Paul to his friends, and they quickly accepted him because one of their regular members had moved to California. Each week one of the members hosted the game. When it was Paul’s turn, he had them come to his office which was spacious and well appointed. At first, no one objected.

He had not only inherited a very profitable trucking company, he also inherited a large and lovely old Victorian house on a half acre in the Ditmas Park area of Brooklyn. Although there was no reason for Ann to work, she insisted on “being of use in the world”. For those wonderful first two years she taught full time at the Paul Robeson High School for Business and Technology in Brooklyn. It was only a twenty minute drive from their house or short walk and two stops on the subway. Initially, Paul worried because like the young delinquents who attended the classes at the Catholic Youth Center, most of her students were black and Hispanic males from the projects. Many had criminal records for drug possession, drug dealing, robbery, or crimes of violence. But she was so incredibly naive, so sweetly innocent, so bright, so caring, that she charmed them, or most of them, into behaving and into feeling protective of her. So, at the end of those two idyllic years Ann had her black and brown students and Paul had his black poker playing friends.

Soon after their marriage, on the advice of his accountant, Paul had all of his assets; the company, the house, the cars, the cabin he owned on a lake upstate, stocks, and bank accounts placed in both names. He reasoned that because of the age difference he’d likely die before Ann did. Since she legally owned half of everything, she would avoid inheritance taxes and other complications at the time of his death. The downside of that arrangement was her signature had to appear on business transactions.

Toward the end of the second year of their marriage the economy began to plunge. Paul had to lay off a number of employees and sell some trucks. In order to cover those losses he, with the help of Jim Albertson, discovered a way to rig the stocks in his company at the expense of the stockholders. There was little risk. He was sure the economy would turn around and he could make things right. However this Ponzi scheme required Ann’s signature on a number of documents. He asked her to sign the papers. She did without asking questions. He thought this was strange because she was always curious about everything. Looking back, he suspected she knew he was doing something illegal and was dragging her into it. He was right. Ann knew. She didn’t want to embarrass him by asking questions. She also trusted his integrity and intelligence. She was sure he’d find a way to rectify any questionable things he might be doing. It should also be noted that at this time Paul owed his poker playing friends over seventy-five thousand dollars.

Journal Entry

Ann. As I’ve said she is stunningly beautiful. She’s young. She works out regularly in a gym and goes to yoga lessons on Saturday mornings. She’s five foot one and weighs about a hundred and six. A small woman. Her waist is tiny, her ass well rounded and firm, her breasts are small but full and firm, the smooth pink n*****s are long and extremely sensitive. Her hands and feet are small, her legs well formed...thin ankles muscular calves and thighs. She has the face of a wide eyed child: bright merry blue eyes, high cheekbones, an Irish pug nose, a scattering of freckles, perfect teeth, and a lovely Angelina Jolie mouth...generous and heavy lipped. Her hair is black. It’s slightly wavy and reaches to below her shoulders. She often wears it in a ponytail. Her skin is alabaster smooth and alabaster white. Why this gorgeous young woman agreed to marry me continues to mystify me.

She is perfect except for one minor thing I never mentioned. During those first two years of our marriage she was excessively shy. When we made love it was in the dark. We never showered together. I almost never saw her naked and if by chance, I did she would blush furiously and cover herself quickly. Her clothes were very conservative: slack suits, loose fitting dresses, baggy jeans, sweat shirts and pants, flats and sneakers. She had two pair of low heeled pumps, one black pair, one white. She was even reluctant to wear flip-flops in the summer or around the house. She seldom used makeup. If we were going out, she might apply a very light shade of pink lipstick, but nothing else. Her nails were always

meticulously trimmed but never painted with nail polish, neither fingers nor toes.

Her excessive modesty coupled with my small p***s and premature ejaculations combined to make our s*x life less than satisfactory. Since neither of us ever expressed dissatisfaction, we both assumed the other was comfortable with infrequent intercourse. Oral s*x was never even suggested. My old habit of m**********n carried me along. Her reserve led me to believe that s*x didn’t much interest her.

Ann’s figurative and literal journey into a darker world began several weeks before she and Paul were introduced to the initial contracts. Her classes at the high school were composed mostly of black and Hispanic teenagers from the projects. They tended to be absent a lot and disinterested when they attended. But generally they were reasonably well behaved. Although the textbook didn’t say much about slavery or the significant contributions of black men and women in America, she made sure her students were aware of the heroic struggles of their ancestors. She often felt the boys looking at her and sometimes poking one of their friends and smiling knowingly. However, her clothes were so loose and conservative the boys could admire her full lips and twinkling eyes, but had to imagine the rest.

A week after school opened in September a new student came into her last class of the day and took a seat in the back of the room. He wore an oversized black hooded sweatshirt. The hood covered his head. His thin face was very black, his nose long, his eyes small, his mouth wide, and his lips thick. One of his front upper teeth was gold. He stared at her, unblinking, his eyes hard. She smiled at him, “You’re just entering?” He nodded. The other students turned to look at him. He continued to stare sullenly at Ann. “Do you have an admit slip?” she asked. He reached into his baggy jeans and pulled out a yellow piece of paper which he held up. “Would you mind bringing it to the desk?” He hesitated before slouching up the aisle to her desk. He dropped the paper in front of her. She read it out loud, “Darnell Tyman.” She smiled at him again, “Welcome Darnell. You missed the first week but I’m sure you’ll be able to catch up.” She held the slip out to him.

In taking it, he kept hold of her hand, “You gonna make me stay after school to do that?” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. He looked out at the class then back down at her, “You know what I’m sayin, jus you helpin me to get it up...I mean get catched up,” he said. A couple of the boys laughed and high-fived each other. Ann felt her face grow red and quickly pulled her hand from his. He ambled back to his seat.

He was short and thin, but wiry, street smart, and arrogant. Some of the boys who knew him smiled knowingly at each other. The girls shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Shawna Williamson seated in the middle of the front row caught Ann’s eye and mouthed the words, “He’s mean.” Darnell had folded his arms on his desk and put his head down on them. The dismissal bell rang, but he didn’t move until the others had left. Seated at her desk, Ann called out his name, “Darnell.” He lifted his head to stare at her. She could see that Shawna was right. He was going to be difficult. She smiled at him, “You must have had a late night.” He continued to stare at her, saying nothing. She held up a copy of the book they were using, “If you’ll come up here I’ll write down the title of our text and give you the assignments you’ve missed.” First checking to see that the door was closed, he pushed himself out of his chair and slowly made his way along the aisle until he stood looking down at her. “The book we’re using is World Cultures. I’ll have a copy for you on Monday. We’ve already read chapter one but I’m sure you can get....”

“I bet you got some hot body under them old lady clothes,” he interrupted.

She felt herself blushing again. She looked up at him. A little smile flickered across his lips. “Why you always get all red like that?” He stepped behind her, “You thinkin what I’m thinkin?” Quickly he slid his hands down over her shoulders and cupped her breasts pinching her n*****s between his thumbs and index fingers.

She let out a little cry and, jumping up, turned away from him and stepped back. Flustered and feeling tears come to her eyes and her cheeks burning she stammered, “I....I...I’m going to report this. You must be...must be crazy. I...I’ll have you expelled!”

He grinned at her. “Ain’t no witnesses. Your word against mine.”

“You’re disgusting...a...a...disgrace to your race,” she stammered.

“Yeah, you ain’t the first to tell me that.” He licked his lips. “You got a hot mouth. I bet you kiss good.” He reached down to his crotch and squeezed his c**k. “I’d like to see you get on your knees and lay a kiss what I got right here.”

Still backing away from him she almost stumbled and caught herself on the edge of her desk. He took a step toward her, “I’d like to see you get naked for me. I’d like to watch you suck me off.” She ran toward the door. He called after her, “Your n*****s popped right up.” The sound of his laughter followed her down the hall.

Her attempt to have him expelled was unsuccessful. The principal repeated Darnell’s argument. Without witnesses it would be the boy’s word against hers. The best he could do was suspend him for a short period and try to place him in another class when he returned.

She told Paul about the incident. He promised to call a friend of his who was on the school board, but also felt since no one had seen the boy’s atrocious behavior it would turn out to be an embarrassment for her. In the end they decided to drop it and hope she’d seen the last of Darnell Tyman.

During the two weeks of Darnell Tyman’s suspension the lives of Paul and Ann Gardner would change dramatically. Nothing would ever be the same again for either of them.

Journal Entry

Earlier this evening Ann came home to tell me about a new student who, she said, had verbally insulted her and had physically touched her. After the other students had left, he’d put his hands on her breasts. He said he wanted to see her naked and wanted her to suck his c**k. She reported the incident, but the principal thought the best he could do was suspend the student. The boy’s name is Darnell Tyman. He’s black. It seems he has some sort of criminal record. I should be angry and I am. But as she was telling me about the incident, I started to imagine his hands cupping her breasts, and I felt my c**k begin to swell. That shouldn’t have happened. I find it disturbing.

Tomorrow night is poker night. I wonder if I should say something about this to the guys. They’re all black. Maybe one of them might know something about this kid. Lately they’ve been complaining about playing at the office. They want to know why we can’t meet at my house like we do at theirs. Since they are holding IOUs of mine for over seventy-five thousand maybe I should think about inviting them.

When I left the garage yesterday two of the drivers I had laid off, Cory Jefferson and Ned Warren, were hanging around the parking lot.

The investments Paul had been making to try to cover the money he had appropriated from his stockholders had gone bad. He was now more than a half million in debt. As he was getting into his car the morning after Ann’s incident, a battered old Honda van stopped in front of the house blocking his driveway. Ray Evans, one of the mechanics he’d laid off, rolled down the window and shook his fist, “Hey Motherfucker, I want you to know I know where the f**k you live!”

At first Paul was startled then felt the anger rising. “f**k you, Ray!” he yelled and gave him the finger.

“Yeah, we’ll see who gets f****d!” He slammed the van into gear and sped off.

Even before the economic downturn Paul had been ready to fire the two drivers and Ray Evans. None were reliable. He was sure all three were involved in some sort of criminal activity. They were bullies and gutter mouths. He’d been happy to get rid of them. But last evening the ex-drivers, Cory Jefferson and Ned Warren, were hanging out in the company parking lot. Now, this morning’s confrontation with Evans, who was the worst of them, had him worried.

Paul’s trucking company was housed in a large old warehouse on Quincy Street in Brooklyn. He had twenty-six trucks which he leased to various wholesalers. He also provided the drivers. Most of the warehouse was used for repairing the trucks and for parking the newer ones. The others were parked in the fenced lot next to the warehouse.

On the first floor was an office for the chief mechanic, Nelson Suggs, a heavyset black man in his mid fifties. Twenty five years ago he had been sent to prison on a rape charge.

The girl was a white teenager. He was given fifteen years, but served only ten. Paul had not wanted to hire him but his accountant persuaded him to take a chance. Suggs was an excellent mechanic. He kept the other mechanics in line as well as the drivers. Best of all, he didn’t demand a big salary. The second floor of the warehouse was used mostly for storage. Both Paul and John Albertson, his accountant, had large offices that were adjacent to each other, separated by a wall, the top half of which was glass. A single door connected their offices.

When he arrived that morning John waved at him and then joined him in his office. “Two more of our clients went bottom up and three are late paying. The whole country’s going down the shitter,” he said.

Paul shook his head. “I think things are going to get a lot worse. We have to cut more of the drivers, take some trucks off the road and maybe lay off a mechanic.”

“Hate to do that. Lay off guys, I mean.”

“So do I. One of the last ones was blocking my driveway this morning. Ray Evans, the mechanic. He was swearing and shaking his fist at me.”

“Ray’s mean, real mean. You don’t want to mess with him.”

“Yeah, well half the guys we got working here are ex-cons or current thugs. I think they spend half their pay on tattoos and the other half on booze.”

“They’re pissed off about the wages and no health coverage. Most think you take advantage because they got records and have trouble getting jobs.”

“They should have thought of that before they did stuff to get them in trouble with the police.”

John shrugged and started back to his office but turned in the doorway. “Thursday’s your night to host the poker game. Some of the guys say they’re tired of coming to this drafty old warehouse to play. They think you don’t want your neighbors to see a bunch of black guys coming to your house.”

“Jesus, what a morning this has been! Ok, ok, we’ll have it at my place this Thursday.” As soon as he’d said it he was sorry. Ann would be at her Catholic Youth Center, but she’d come home long before the poker party broke up. After her recent experience with the kid in her class, five black guys sitting at her dining room table, smoking and drinking beer was certain to unnerve her. In addition, he’d noticed that every time John came into his office he looked at the photograph of Ann on his desk. For that matter, so did Nelson Suggs, the chief mechanic.

Later in the day, John mentioned that he’d like to bring someone who might throw some business their way. This guy, Gordon Watts, was CEO of a huge import/export company.

John nodded, “This Gordon Watts is he...”

“He’s very rich, very powerful, knows all the right people, and yes, he’s black.”

“I just meant...”

“Yeah, well it looks like it will be six black guys and you. That ok?” There was an edge to his voice.

Paul was quick to answer, “Sure, it’s fine. Like you say this Watts person might be able to send us some business.”

On the Wednesday before the poker game Paul informed Ann that the boys would be playing at their house. She frowned, “Why the change?” She disapproved of gambling but had not objected to Paul’s Thursday poker games because when it was his turn to host, he had them at the warehouse. She knew they drank and smoked and that Paul seemed to lose a lot of money. But Paul looked forward to the weekly game and anyway she spent Thursday evenings at the Catholic Youth Center. But having these men at her house was a different matter. She asked again, “Why can’t you have the game in your office like always?”

Paul smiled at her, “I’m trying to do what you do at the Center, demonstrate that everybody’s equal regardless of religion or political affiliation or skin color.” He put his arms around her, “The guys, all of them African American, have kind of wondered why it was ok for me to go to their houses, but never invite them to mine.”

She stepped back and looked up at him. “Yes, I can see how they might feel...feel that way. They probably think it’s me, think that I’m prejudiced. You’re right, Paul. You should have them here.” She smiled, “I’ll make some snacks and maybe my famous clam dip, but you must promise to get the empty bottles out of here and clean up after they leave. I’d rather not have this place smelling of cigar smoke and stale beer when I eat breakfast in the morning.”

He laughed and hugged her. “I promise to get rid of the bottles, run the dishwasher, open the windows, turn on the fan, and buy a six pack of Airwick.”

“I’ll be home before the game breaks up,” she said.

“That’s fine. I’ll introduce you to anyone you haven’t already met and you can make a quick exit and go to bed.”

She nodded, “OK, but I hope they see that we’re not racists or anything like that and you convince them that it’s better to have these poker games back at your office.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard. They all live closer to the garage. Going there is more convenient for them.”

In addition to Albertson, the accountant, and Suggs, the chief mechanic, the poker players were Trevor Bass, one of the truck drivers, and his brother, Cliff, who worked on the docks. Ike Johnson was a wealthy client who owned a distributorship of women’s clothes and shoes. All Paul knew about the substitute was his name, Gordon Watts, and that he apparently was the CEO of a company that supplied armored vests to the military. He certainly would have connections and could perhaps get them some big contracts. He hated to think about it, but his trucking company was losing money every month. The scams he used to cheat the stock holders were criminal. If the tax guys started poking around he’d lose the company for sure and probably go to jail for awhile. The thing that bothered him most was the fact that Ann’s name was also on all the fraudulent papers. He simply had to find a way to keep the company solvent and to repay the stock holders not to mention the seventy-five thousand he owed his poker playing friends.