DINNER WITH WARREN JEWETT
I had become enough of a moving target that I figured maybe Cleo had forgotten about me. When I let the dog go she was so pissed off I thought I was dead meat. But we simply ignored each other. I didn’t get any more voice mail from Muffy, but I did get a letter demanding two hundred and thirty dollars for her not showing up for work either for the project or her kitchen job. She said she was going to take me to court. I immediately sat down and responded in writing about the necessity of keeping appointments and showing up for work, also mentioning the fact that she had never returned any of the books I had loaned her nor the tai-chi tape.
I was somewhat relieved that my work had taken me out of the small town. I had needed a change of scene. I knew, however, that if we got funding for the film I would be looking locally for the necessary technical support staff, except for the camera man who was still willing to come down from Baltimore for the filming. If things turned out to get really petty locally, the man up North could muster together a crew and bring them with him. The plan was to be ready to run through the entire alphabet a few times, keeping every option open, being ready to act at a moment’s notice. There had to be extreme flexibility.
BG set up an evening appointment with Warren Jewett, the Judge. I called Stephen Pemberton the day before and suggested that Dr. Brinkhaus might wish to see the Judge again. Another 20 year reunion was in the works. The meeting was for the next day.
Around noon the next day Stephen called to say that the King would love to join us, and he planned on bringing his wife, another doctor and his wife, and Stephen and his wife.
“The King, Dr. Brinkhaus took the liberty of making reservations at the Varsity Club on campus, if that’s okay with you.” he said. “It’s a fine restaurant,” he added.
“Stephen, you’ve got to be kidding. Of course, it’s okay with me.” I said. “I don’t gotta wear a coat and tie, do I?”
“I don’t even own a sports coat,” he said, “but I will wear a tie.”
“Okay,” I said, “you wear the tie and I’ll wear the coat.” This got a rare chuckle out of Stephen.
Craig, BG, the Judge and his wife and me were to meet them at 6:00 p.m. in the lobby of the club. I called BG and said I was on my way, and asked her to call Craig and the Judge and everything would be hunky dory. I scurried around and found three hundred dollars to pay for the thing—hoping three hundred would pay for grub for eleven people at a “fine” restaurant. This tapped everything I had, even the car rental money.
After running around for an hour after money and getting cleaned up, I got to BG’s in two hours, but she had yet to speak to Craig or the Judge. She walked around the apartment brushing her mane, with a cigarette hanging out of the side of her mouth as she talked.
“I’ve left messages and the Judge knew he was on for tonight anyway, he just didn’t know what time,” she said, removing the cigarette just long enough to pop an ice cube in her mouth.
“Was Craig on for tonight?” I asked, planting myself in a comfortable chair in the living room where framed pictures were stacked against a pile of boxes.
“He’d die if he missed this,” she said, swinging her hair to the other side and sliding the cigarette to the other side of her mouth at the same time. “No, I haven’t talked to Craig. His office said he was in Greensboro.”
I lit a cigarette from the one I had been smoking. “Are you moving?” I asked.
“I’m manic. I’m re-arranging the apartment.”
She finished brushing her hair and got on the phone. She left a surprisingly calm message for Craig on his answering machine and then another for the Judge. She had this way of speaking in an even tone no matter how much emotion her body language exposed.
“Why don’t you run around the corner to Craig’s and leave a note in case he doesn’t pick up his messages when he gets in,” she told me in the same tone.
I was out of my gourd sitting there so the safest thing for me to do was get moving even if only for a short trip. It was a bit after three, and we figured it would take an hour to find the place and park, plus half an hour to retrieve the Judge. I drove over to Craig’s and posted the note on his door. When I got back to BG’s, she had gotten through to the Judge.
“The Judge won’t be ready until 5:30,” she said.
I called Stephen at the hospital and told him that we wouldn’t be there until 6:30. He excused himself from the phone, returning in a few minutes.
“The King, Dr. Brinkhaus said he had already made plans to be there at six. We will wait for you in the lobby,” he said.
I hung up the phone. “Oh shit, BG.” I said, “They’ll be waiting for us in the lobby.”
She broke out in a big smile. “He’s used to it,” she said.
“I’m not. I hate to be late.” I said.
She took the cigarette out of her mouth, stuck her face in front of the mirror and slammed on her bright red lipstick.
“You must drive your husband crazy,” I said.
“He’s used to it,” she said.
I planted myself in the chair in the living room and lit another cigarette. It was after 4:30 when we left BG’s apartment and tried Craig one last time. His car was there when we pulled up. We parked and went to his door and knocked.
“Oh, there you are.” he said, “I just called you. What’s the emergency?”
“Get ready now,” BG said calmly, “we’re having dinner with the Judge and Dr. Brinkhaus.”
“Now?” he said, “I can’t go to dinner, I’m a mess.”
“Craig, get your shit together right now. You are having dinner with the King, Dr. Brinkhaus.” BG spoke calmly with her eyes riveted to Craig’s as though she would surely kill him.
“I don’t feel well,” he said, “I had a rough day.” He looked at me in my sports coat. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Craig,” she said. “Wear a dress if you have to, but get ready.”
“Oh, all right,” he said. He disappeared into his room.
I was hoping he wouldn’t come out in a dress but I thought I’d live with it anyway. He appeared in a few minutes without tie or coat or dress but ready for dinner. We made our way through traffic across the town of Carey and arrived at the Judge’s by 5:30. We parked in front of his house and BG sent me in to get him, even though I had never met the man. BG climbed into the back seat to give Craig the lowdown on the day. The Judge answered the door and invited me in. He told me to wait right there while he finished a phone call. I counted the minutes while he spoke loudly of futures and patent rights, finally hanging up the phone, limping over and showing good teeth in a smile.
“My wife had to work late,” he said, “she won’t be joining us.”
I counted quickly. That meant I only needed money for grub for ten.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “This should be fun,” I lied.
The Judge sat in the front seat with me and spoke of how his childhood was in the 1930s when there was not suitable treatment available for hemophilia. He was an inventor and a businessman, and was HIV positive. On the ride he told me how Chapel Hill had been known as the “Athens of hemostasis” in the 1950s. It was after 6:30 when we arrived at the Varsity Club, so I dropped everyone at the front door and went for a parking space. I parked at the first spot I saw even though it required some kind of sticker, and raced into the lobby where the doctors were suited up and waiting for us. Everyone looked marvelous. It was more of an event than I had imagined. We walked in together and were seated around two round tables with the King, Dr. Brinkhaus deciding the seating arrangements.
“We’ll switch around for dessert,” he said.
I sat with Stephen and his wife and Chief Clotter, Doctor Gilbert White, the other doctor, and his wife. The King, Dr. Brinkhaus and his wife—also in her eighties—sat with the members of the hemophilia community. There was the scene: The King with his Queen, The Judge, The Bitch Goddess and the Fairy Godfather at one round table, and the Vampire, Chief Clotter, the babes and me at the other.
After dinner the King, Dr. Brinkhaus switched seats with Chief Clotter and sat next to me over sorbet and coffee.
“Where did you do your graduate work?” he asked me.
“Doc,” I said, “I graduated from Archbishop Curley High School and they threw me out of Full Sail Center for the Recording Arts film school. The film is a good idea. And as you well know, it isn’t simply the idea, they’re a dime a dozen, it’s what you do with the idea.”
I thought I was dead. Kay had told me that the only people the King, Dr. Brinkhaus valued were MDs, and all I had to offer was my BS. But we had fun.
Stephen passed me the letter of support that the doctor had written and then informed me that the King, Dr. Brinkhaus was picking up the check. I was ecstatic. And I still had cash in my pocket. I also had a parking ticket and a fine. Tada.