The Decision

The Decision

He had one more verse to finish on a song due tomorrow morning for a new customer. He tiptoed quietly through his bed room and looked at the lump lying under the covers in his king size bed. Though only nine o’clock, his fiancé, Lisa Bender, was already sleeping. 

A smile crept across James face as he contemplated the difference in their schedules these days. She’d be at her desk in Chicago’s FBI Field Office by six o’clock tomorrow morning. While James would likely roll out of bed many hours later.

He jumped as the rotary phone beside the bed issued its shrill alarm. Ring…ring. James rushed over and grabbed the receiver.

“Who’s this?” he asked in a low voice, trying to shield his mouth with his hand.

“Wordman, is that you, mate?” questioned the caller.

“Alan? What’re you… What time is it there?” asked James.

“It’s early…I’m buggered.” Alan, now pleading, “I need you here.”

“Call me back in my morning. I’ve had a crazy couple of days. I can’t talk now.”

James starts to hang up the phone.

“Wordman?” Alan growing more frantic, “You still there? Wordman?” Alan’s voice grew louder, more insistent, “James? I need you now…tonight.”

Bringing the receiver back to his mouth, James replied, “Come on Alan, really?” Now clearly frustrated, James says, “Can’t this wait one more day?”

“Wordman, you know full well I never ring you unless it’s a proper panic,” replied Alan. “Don’t make me send somebody up there to drag you out.”

“Yeah, sure,” James said, “so long as she’s got great legs and a cup of hot espresso…none of that tea crap.”

“Bollocks, that’s not happening,” snorted Alan, “Lisa would skewer both you and me.”

Despite James’ irritation, Alan’s retort elicited a chuckle as James glanced over at Lisa, lying asleep in the bed. He knew all too well that a ‘skewering’ would likely be the opening salvo in her passionate tirade.

Alan’s bark regained James’ full attention.

“Mason’s in a car waiting at the curb outside your building. He’s holding a first class ticket to London with your name on it. Your flight departs at ten twenty. Have at it, mate. OK?”

Seemingly back in control, Alan abruptly hung up, never being one for small talk. James was left holding a phone with a dead line.

The operator’s recorded voice called James to action, “If you want to make a call…”

He returned the phone to the cradle and sighed.

The lump in the bed stirred. Lisa’s sleepy voice rose from beneath the covers.

“Was that Alan again? What’s he want this time?”

“Not sure, but he was in a real snit,” replied James. He flopped down in the bed and lay his hand on top of the lump beside him. “He said something about a ticket to London so it could be a few days.”

Lisa replied, “Try to stay out of trouble; I really don’t want to get another call like last time.”

Though dampened by the down comforter, James could taste the tension in Lisa’s words. Yet, to her credit she’d delivered the line without blame. James shuddered, finding himself instantly delivered back to that horrific scene in Brighton.

Back in that car again…trapped. The rain was hammering at the roof as well as the glass enclosure that had been shattered by a hail of bullets; its steady rap was like the metronome astride his music teacher’s stand-up piano during his teen-year lessons.

James remembered having awakened from a coma many days later in intensive care. Apparently, Mason had gotten him to a hospital and contacted Lisa, who had immediately flown to England to be by his side.

James shook his head and willed himself back to the present. Gazing at Lisa beside him, he was still amazed how strong she’d been during that event.

Lisa wiggled back and forth, burrowing herself deep into the down comforter. Her slow, rhythmic breathing conveyed that she’d slipped back into the bliss of sleep. James marveled at her ability to flip the switch when she needed to sleep. It was an exceptional gift he envied. In reality it was only one of the many talents he admired about the woman he’d been dating for ten years, living with for nine, and engaged to for four.

“A decade. Amazing,” whispered James.

Their relationship had been the longest of his life by far. Lisa was a sophomore at UCLA when they’d met. James convulsed as a nerve electrified his entire body in response to the intrusive memory of how everyone reacted to his decision to drop out at the end of his sophomore year. He willed himself not to go there right now. Winning the mental battle this time, he smiled as the image of a dinner date at Amici’s moved to the forefront of his mind. He recalled deciding to pop the question that night four years ago.

The next day, James and Lisa had huddled around the receiver sharing the good news on a phone call with his mom and dad. Lisa and James had shared a deer in the headlights moment in response to his parents asking when the wedding was going to happen.

“We’re not sure,” had been James’ fumbled reply.

His parent’s finally stopped asking about a year ago. For the past six months even their closest friends had been rolling their eyes and asking if they were ever going to set the date.

James filed a mental bookmark. ‘I’m gonna have to give some serious thought to setting a firm wedding date,’ he mused.

But given the call he’d just enjoyed, it was not going to be tonight. James threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Stumbling back to the bathroom, James flipped on the light. He stared into the mirror. A pair of brown eyes stared back at his lean, muscled frame that had been shaped by a lifetime of elite athletic performance. Pantomiming shooting a pistol into his reflection with his left hand, James declared with a flair, “It’s showtime.”

Jumping into the shower, he gasped and issued a short cry as the cold stream of water struck his body. After a quick wash and rinse, still dripping, he dressed, grabbed his backpack and threw a few items from the adjoining closet into his carry-on. Picking up his watch and placing it on his wrist, he calculated the time till his departure. If Alan was telling the truth it was going to be tight…even with Alan’s remarkable connections.

“Jeez, I hope this is worth it,” James muttered. ‘Knowing Alan, it’ll be an adventure,’ he thought with a smirk.

Striding through the bedroom, he cast one last look at a sleeping Lisa. The bed beckoned him to lay down. He buried the impulse, opting to turn and hurry down the hall. Despite his rush, he reached out and tapped a picture frame hanging on his foyer wall.

It was a crude drawing in crayon of a shining sun on a square of cardboard drawn by his younger brother and sister when he left home for college. The caption below, scrawled in a child’s unsteady hand, was ‘Welcome to LA James.’

While clearly an odd choice to adorn the entrance to his Chicago luxury condo, it was a reminder of days long gone. Touching the picture for luck was a ritual he’d adopted a decade ago.

The elevator door opened directly into James’ foyer the instant he pressed the call button. Despite being on the 80^th floor, the trip to the lobby was nonstop. The elevator was dedicated to servicing his condo only, which was 18,000 square feet and encompassed the building’s entire top floor. There were two buttons. One labeled ‘Penthouse.’ The elevator doors slid shut as James pressed the other labeled ‘Lobby.’ If he’d entered at the lobby level, he’d have been required to use a special key to activate access to his home.

About a minute later the elevator doors opened to a small, nicely decorated private entrance. The room was just off the main lobby; access was restricted to those possessing the same special key. James pushed open the thick, glass door that exited to the lobby. Hearing the private entrance open, the doorman looked up from his bank of video monitors.

“You’re going out late tonight, Mr. Durant.”

James was always impressed by how John called almost everyone by name as they entered or exited the building. No small feat for an address that over two thousand people called home.

“See ya, John,” said James with a wave.

As he blew through the revolving door and hit the sidewalk, James was greeted with a blast of air chilled by its journey across a frozen Lake Michigan. Chicago, ‘the windy city.’ The phrase escaped the lips of every tourist at some point as they battle the ever-present winds. Few knew the original utterance was by a New York newspaper editor referring to Chicago’s never ending hot air from its infamous political wind bags.

Standing on the sidewalk was his chauffeur for the night. Mason was tall, large, and gregarious with a sparkle in his eye and an oft present grin. Lisa first met Mason when they both participated in a civil rights march that turned deadly during the summer of ’64. Years later, using FBI resources, Lisa spent weeks searching for the man who literally saved her life. Lisa and Mason bonded quickly. He was now virtually a part of their family. At Lisa’s urging, the FBI began engaging Mason for ‘off book projects.’ Mason proved resourceful and was a dependable go-to guy. His principal role now was as Lisa’s body guard.

James flashed back to the time a few years ago when he and Lisa had been surprised on the street one night by a young man with a gun. Mason had literally orchestrated a peaceful ending for what had appeared to be certain disaster. Yes, indeed, Mason had proven himself capable of handling a scrape. Later that night, while the three were having a drink and recovering from the shock, James and Lisa learned Mason had been a boyhood friend of Alan. Another example of the world being a small place.

Having grown up in Brighton, Mason called out his singular greeting, “Good morning, Ace.”

Mason’s south London accent frequently caught people by surprise. It was not the turn of phrase typically expected from a large, powerfully built black man living in Chicago. Holding open the luxury sedan door, he bowed and politely waved James into the back seat. The Lincoln was to be his chariot to O’Hare. James clapped Mason on his muscular shoulder as he climbed into the back.

“Always good to see you, Mason,” said James, “Alan’s fit to be tied this time.”

“Well, he’s in a bit of a bind Alan is,” said Mason, “Wordman to the rescue, eh?”

They laughed as Mason closed the car door. Glancing at his wrist watch, Mason clenched his jaw, fully aware they were a few minutes behind schedule. He quickly navigated the rear of the car, yanked open the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He pulled away from the curb, knowing it was going to be tight. This time of night the trip would be a thirty minute race down Wacker Drive to Randolph to I-90 and finally straight into the airport via a shortcut Alan had arranged.

“I’ll have you there in thirty minutes, mate.” Mason added with a smile, “Perhaps quicker if I fracture a traffic law or two. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Most people were already home for the evening, settling into a night of sleep. Few people would be on the city roadways. If they were lucky there’d be no accidents. Winter weather was cooperating, giving them clear skies with no snow or ice.

‘Maybe we’ll make it,’ thought Mason as he glanced again at his watch.

Zipping along the river that split the city, James observed the cracked ice forming a jigsaw puzzle pattern across its surface. The river’s span allowed awesome vistas along both its banks. Scanning the city skyline, James’ gaze lingered on one building in particular. The hi-rise had been the first development effort of his dad’s company many years ago. It began surrounded with pomp and circumstance, but the project ended abruptly when a group of well-connected, wealthy businessmen essentially blackmailed his dad to accept a backroom deal and give up his dream or the bank would foreclose his loan. Facing a costly court dispute, his dad realized the most likely outcome would be losing his business and declaring personal bankruptcy.

The loan officer had told him if he assigned ownership of the partially constructed building to the bank and walked away, all would be forgiven. The circumstances left his dad no choice, but to accept the one-sided arrangement. James’ fingers touched the car window, tracing the roof top of the hi-rise eventually completed by the businessmen who orchestrated the coup.

“I miss you, Dad,” whispered James. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

His father had died from an apparent heart attack one night in his sleep a few months ago. Taken at the early age of fifty-six. Untreated sleep apnea was the suspected cause of the heart failure. James felt a pang of guilt for not having been more forceful in urging his father to cooperate with the apnea treatment protocol prescribed years ago.

He forced himself to dismiss the thought. Twenty minutes earlier, he’d been trying to finish his work. Anticipating he would soon be enveloped in the warmth of his bed and asleep like most of the city. He’d anticipated waking next to Lisa and sharing the morning. Now he was on another adventure… to London no less.

He let his mind drift to the day lying ahead. Even with the typical tailwind, his immediate future was a long, intercontinental flight to Heathrow. He’d cross six time zones and arrive about one o’clock tomorrow afternoon. James wondered what had Alan in such a panic. It was out of character; Alan was not the type to be miffed. James wondered what the next twenty four hours would bring.

“Well, I’ll know more soon, Mason,” said James. “Alan always makes life interesting.”

“That he does, mate,” replied Mason. “That he does.”

Mason briefly glanced in the rear view mirror. While a lifelong friend and business associate with Alan, he’d recently developed a special affinity for Lisa and James. He was conflicted on how much he should share about tonight’s circumstance. Mason worried James might be getting in over his head this time…and he would not be there to keep James out of trouble.