THE USUAL NOTE FROM LB: From the summer of 2002 to the spring of 2010, Gwen the Beautiful and I were the proud and often exhausted owners of a beautiful Ozarks property we called Cloud Creek Ranch.
In many ways, the ranch was paradise. But it was a paradise with a price that started going up before we even knew it existed. Here’s another Monday musing about our adventure and the lessons we learned.
Oh, and if y’all detect any irony, please believe me when I say it comes straight from the universe and not your kindly Uncle Larry B.
by Larry Brody
When I first met the Old Billionaire a few years ago, he was on top of the world.
The man was rich.
Smart.
Personable.
Powerful.
Even happily married.
In my eyes, he had everything.
A few months ago, however, things started to change for him. The Old Billionaire discovered that Esther, his secretary for lo! these many years, had embezzled millions of dollars from company accounts. He was devastated by the betrayal, and his family’s reaction made him feel even worse.
They blamed him for what happened every bit as much as they blamed her.
In my mind it was an example of the Old Billionaire’s success turning around and biting him in the butt. Those closest to him were so accustomed to the Old Billionaire getting everything he wanted, the way he wanted it, that they couldn’t see him as a victim, no matter what had happened.
Even I kept thinking that—somehow—the O.B. was responsible for what’d occurred. I was more relieved than worried when he dropped out of sight, focusing, he said, on “damage control. I need to do whatever it takes to get the business running smoothly again.”
Yesterday he called me. The man who had everything said he needed to talk to me. We met at K.T.’s Barbecue for a late lunch. The joint was so crowded it might as well have been primetime. It’s been that way since its reopening after an unexpected twist in the form of an equally unexpected early Spring tornado took out K.T.’s roof. (“The wind just flew off with it,” Allison, K.T.’s owner, explained. “All I could do was stare and be thankful it wasn’t me.”)
I chewed my beef sandwich with gusto. The Old Billionaire picked at his chicken. “Had to make some changes,” he said. “I don’t think as fast as I used to. And I get into these ruts…so my Son the Harvard Genius takes over as CEO at the end of the year. I’ll stay on as Chairman of the Board, but he’ll be the boss.”
“What about your secretary?” I said. “What’s happened with her?”
The Old Billionaire frowned. “We’re not filing any charges. The MBAs think we should keep this as low profile as possible. The lawyers are working out a restitution plan she can’t ever live up to.”
“So she gets away with it?”
The Old Billionaire didn’t answer. He looked around the restaurant, and his eyes stopped on a middle-aged couple near the door.
“See those two? Eating and not talking to each other? When I was a young man seeing a man and a woman being quiet together like that always made me sad. I’d think, ‘Poor things, it’s all over for ‘em. Nothing to talk about. Nothing in common. They’re just going through the motions, and maybe remembering what it felt like back when they were in love.
“Then, one day in a restaurant, after Nettie and I’d been married about twenty years, I realized we weren’t talking much ourselves. That we almost always ate together silently. And read together silently. And got into bed together silently too.
“And I felt so sad about it. So achy, gut-burning sad. I wanted the joy of love. The rumble-tumble. The wild, crazy flame—“
He broke off, embarrassed. Then: “Since this thing with my secretary, the silence has changed. Now Nettie and I don’t talk because we’re afraid. She thinks what really happened is that Esther and I had an affair. In every minute of silence she tells me that. Without saying a word.”
The Old Billionaire looked back at the couple. They were leaving now, still silent. But holding hands.
“Look at those two,” the O.B. said. “They’re not going through the motions, barely remembering love. They know each other’s every feeling, and don’t give a hoot for chatter and fire. They’ve got friendship and warmth. Who needs to talk when you’re—one?”
He sighed. Sipped his sweet tea. “Go ahead,” he said. “Ask. I need to tell somebody, so ask.”
“Were you and Esther having an affair? That why she thought it was all right for her to do what she did?”
The Old Billionaire’s straw made the sound straws make when they’re sipping air. His weathered face paled.
“I sure miss the old silence,” he said. “The friendship. The warmth.” And, like a cry from his soul: “I miss it far more than I ever missed the fire.”
That’s when I realized that just because the Old Billionaire had told me to ask didn’t mean he had to answer.
And that we were closer than I’d ever thought.
