LUNCH WITH THE KING
The day before we were to do lunch with the King, Dr. Brinkhaus, and his assistant Stephen, we reserved a car to rent. We were bringing Kay, the Ph.D. who had hated the Doctor for over twenty years for making her wash the dishes. We were to meet the good Doctor at the hospital. Brent’s tiny convertible just didn’t work. When we went to pick up the car at the airport, they wouldn’t rent to us. Brent had Brenda’s credit card and they wouldn’t take it without her being there. We offered them a company check, which they said was fine, but they still needed the credit card and the person who owned the card present. I knew I couldn’t charge a jelly donut.
We didn’t panic, but we drove along the street just knowing that things would work out. Sure enough, a giant billboard appeared before us, “TRIANGLE,” advertising car rentals. It wasn’t a name that either of us recognized as a national corporate monster, so I figured we had a chance. From my past experience in business, I knew that if the rental house was privately owned, they might take a signed company check in lieu of a credit card. A few blocks later we pulled into their lot. Upon entering the office the first thing I noticed were pictures of movie and TV stars, framed and signed and covering the walls. I was relieved when I got to speak with the owner of the business. I explained our film, gave him our card, he took the check and gave us Wilmington film rates, which were slightly below those posted on the wall. That truly was a momentous occasion. I knew, with my big old truck in the driveway, that there would be the need for many car rentals, money permitting. The fact that that man took a check opened the door to the entire film. Right at that moment, I saw the film being made.
Rupert says, “Transportation.
Gotta Go, Gotta go, Gotta Go.
Trucks are good for Truckin’.
Without hesitation.
Cars are good for uh-huh,
to get you where you need to go.
Uh-huh.”
We picked up Kay in a late model, four door, silver Intrepid. I hadn’t driven a late model car since getting lucky on one or two occasions at the cab company I had driven for in Florida while attending the film school. This was definitely different. The Intrepid didn’t have a meter and there were no sado-masochistic dispatchers to deal with. I was behind the wheel as the producer of a documentary film on the way to a meeting with the King, Dr. Brinkhaus, with my star, Brent, and that thread of a connection that gave us credibility with the Doctor—Kay, a woman who shuddered at the memory of the Doctor.
“When I went into labor he gave me reading material for the hospital because he said I wouldn’t have anything better to do,” she vented on the three- hour drive across the state.
I felt that when she saw him, perhaps all of her anger would disappear, because he was so old and fragile, and he had accomplished so much for a community of people with his commitment to his work. Strangely enough, the stories she had told me did nothing but reinforce my admiration for the man and his commitment. Without people like him a lot of work would never get done. She was right to have escaped from there. She wasn’t cut out for that level of commitment. Kay was a “mild,” and hated him for it, of course.
We arrived in Chapel Hill early for the appointed rendezvous time at the hospital, so we explored a second hand book store. We each found something of value for our personal tastes. Brent searched for his family tree, Kay bought into Martin Luther and I found a Joseph Campbell book I didn’t yet have, “The Masks of God, Primitive Mythology.”
When the time drew near to meet with the Doctor, we drove to the front of the hospital and parked. I climbed out and announced to a security guard, “We’re here to pick up the King, Dr. Brinkhaus.”
“Move it over there,” he said.
We parked in a patient drop-off spot while I went inside to the front information desk of the busy hospital and was directed to a house phone. I called upstairs to the King at the precise moment I had been instructed to call. Stephen, the assistant answered the phone and informed me that he would be right down, and that the King, Dr. Brinkhaus, would meet us at the pre-arranged restaurant, the same place where we had met with Fabio. I hadn’t met Stephen, so he described himself as an academic carrying a folder. I told him we were in a four door, silver Intrepid with Kay in the back. Even though we were in front of the very busy medical school hospital, we connected with the pale, vampire Stephen very easily.
“The King, Dr. Brinkhaus likes to drive himself, and he drives like a maniac,” he stammered, “I’m afraid to drive with him.”
I wheeled quickly into traffic, pushing everyone back into their seats.
Brent smiled, “Uyh-huh, hang on to your oatmeal.”
“How old is he?” I asked.
“He’s in his eighties,” Stephen said.
I drove a little bit faster, reasoning that if this guy was still working in his eighties, and he was open to doing a film, and his assistant said he drove like a maniac, and after the stories Kay had told us about working on Christmas and while she was in labor, I wasn’t going to keep him waiting. We arrived at the parking lot of the restaurant quickly. After circling through the crowded parking lot once, we found a parking space. The King, Dr. Brinkhaus pulled into the lot and made a new space.
I didn’t know what I was expecting at the reunion of Kay and Kenneth, whether it be a hug or a handshake, a curtsy or a bow. Time heals, I thought. The King, Dr. Kenneth Brinkhaus actually moved toward Kay for what looked to be an incoming hug, but she trembled in fear and backed away, not even offering her hand, and feebly muttered, “Hello, Dr. Brinkhaus.”
He covered her rebuff well and walked with her into the restaurant followed by the rest of the group. He was above it all. He showed no anger or hostility, just charm and grace and the vigor of a warrior still high from combat on the highway. We played musical chairs in the restaurant. He asked me about the seating, catching me totally off guard. I placed him between Brent the hemophiliac, the community he had helped, and Kay, because maybe the ice would break.
We ordered veggie burgers and iced teas all around. Stephen passed me the Doctor’s Curriculum Vitae. I told him about our contact with Susan Resnik, who had written the book on the social history of hemophilia. It turned out that Dr. Resnik had interviewed the King, Dr. Brinkhaus for her book. Since she made up names for everyone in the book, this was news to me. It was a very pleasant lunch. When it was time for dessert and coffee, the King, Dr. Brinkhaus rearranged the seating; he and I switched seats, which put his assistant, Stephen, between him and Loretta. I mentioned Susan Resnick, and he said that Stephen would send us an edited transcript of his interview with her. I felt really lucky. We picked up the lunch check, using money from the original contributors’ fund.
After lunch, the King, Dr. Brinkhaus spun wheels out of the parking lot. We hauled Stephen back to the hospital. I gave him a couple of video copies of Tai-Chi-One, and we drove back to Wilmington.
“He’s so old,” Kay said, “but don’t be fooled by all that charm. There have been at least three people that committed suicide while working for him.”
And so had she, in a way, ended that life. She joined the ministry instead.