BurrChapter 34 Sammy and the Baldwin Sisters
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BurrChapter 32: The Baldwin Sisters free porn video
On Tuesday morning Suzanne came to the mailroom and said she needed to speak with me, privately. When I went back to work, I was confronted by Phil, the kid who was training me. He asked what Suzanne had talked to me about. It was none of his business, but not wanting to get into trouble on my second day at work I told him.
"We're going golfing later and she just wanted to make sure I brought my clubs and shoes today."
"How is she?" he asked.
"She's okay, I guess, but I've only seen her play once," I said.
"That's not what I meant. How is she? You know, is she as hot as she looks?"
Phil was probably five eleven to my five eight and a half and he probably outweighed me by fifteen pounds. He saw that his question had provoked me and squared off, like he expected me to jump him. My head was spinning with people giving me advice. "Diplomacy," said Mr. Oldham. "Hold your temper," said Ned. "It's not worth it," said Alice. "Stay out of trouble at all costs," said Suzanne. "Don't let him fuck with you," was Russell's advice, making me laugh.
"What's funny?" Phil asked, showing the kind of irritation that comes with confusion. He mistakenly thought I was laughing at him.
"It was not you. I was just thinking of something a friend always tells me," I explained.
"You only work four hours and play golf all afternoon. If you're name wasn't Oldham I would kick your ass," Phil growled. Now it was me squaring off, no longer listening for advice.
"Try it. I'll stick you in one of those mailbags and send you..." I caught a glimpse of his right fist directed towards my left eye and reacted, ducking so he caught the top of my head and grabbing his forearm with my left hand. It was only seconds before he was writhing in pain, begging for me to let go of his arm. I released him, but not before his screams attracted attention.
"What's going on here?" It was Sally, the Human Resources clerk I had met the day before. She closed the mailroom door and spoke to us in whispers, wanting to know what the disagreement was about. Phil blamed me for starting the fight and I said it wasn't a fight, but he was the one that swung first. Sally warned us about causing disruptions, that company policy strictly forbids it. We both agreed with her, saying it wouldn't happen again. "Shake hands and go back to work," Sally said, pleased with how she had handled an unpleasant situation.
But Phil refused to shake hands with me. He must have seen how I grinned at him when I offered my hand. Sally's negotiated peace agreement was in danger of blowing up. She patiently spoke to us, reminding us how important it was to work in harmony. I stood with outstretched hand for five minutes until she finally got Phil to shake it. I didn't squeeze hard, but I didn't let go either. "Let him go," Sally implored when she saw the fear in Phil's eyes.
"Tell Sally what you said about Miss Cummings," I said, squeezing a little harder.
"I didn't mean it," Phil cried.
"Tell her," I insisted.
"Tell me what? What did he say?" Sally said, forgetting her speech about harmony in the workplace.
I eased up on the pressure, afraid that I would hurt him. Phil pulled his hand back, inspected it and stuck it in his pocket where it would be safe.
"What did he say about Miss Cummings?" Sally asked me.
"It's not important now. He's not going to say anything like that again," I said, looking at Phil for his concurrence. He nodded.
Trouble had found me on my second day at work and I was not proud of the way I had handled the situation. Phil was humiliated and I felt badly about mouthing off. What made me say I would stuff him in a mailbag I'll never know? Sally was the only one of us that felt good about her actions. I would never become friends with either of them and neither of them would regret their loss.
Suzanne's apartment was small and very feminine. We had a light lunch, chicken salad sandwiches and iced tea. I cleaned up the kitchen while Suzanne changed clothes and we made it to the club for our 1:30 tee-time. We were on the fourth green before Suzanne broached the subject of my encounter with Phil in the mailroom.
"What did he say about me?" Suzanne asked after my ball successfully dropped into the hole on my third putt.
I knew immediately what she was referring to, but her question took me by such surprise that words would not form in my mind. I retrieved my ball and replaced the stake before looking at her. "Did Sally tell you what happened?"
"No, she told her manager that you wouldn't tell her what was said, except that it was something about me. What was it?"
"He just mouthed off. It won't happen again," I said, not wanting to have to repeat what Phil asked about her.
Suzanne handed me her putter and told me to drive the cart, saying she preferred to walk to the next Tee. I tried to think of ways I could avoid telling her what was said. Suzanne yelled to me to bring her two wood so I chose the same club from my bag. We both hit short shots, mine carrying wide to the right and we were back in the cart before she spoke again.
"Sammy, I just want to know what it was about. I'm sure it wasn't something complimentary, but I want to hear it anyway."
"He was just trying to get under my skin. I don't think he likes me. He's always saying stuff about me taking the afternoon off and lying by the pool. It was more about me than you."
Suzanne reminded me of the dogleg to the left and had me estimate the yardage to lay up the shot. We were back in the cart again when she turned to me. "Let's have it."
I had no choice but to sheepishly tell her what Phil had said. Suzanne became visibly shaken. I stopped the golf cart and was ready to get out when she grabbed me by the arm. She didn't have to say anything. I could tell she wanted me to sit there with her while she regained her composure.
Suzanne never thanked me for what I had done on her behalf, but I could tell that she was grateful. That day on the course she told me things, personal things, deep secrets that I would never have learned at the Oldham home. Suzanne Cummings was born October 30, 1944 while her father was aboard a ship heading toward Italy where he remained until the end of the war. She was the youngest of five children, the only girl. Her only living family was two brothers, whom she had not seen for three years. Suzanne admitted to growing up sheltered and overprotected by her four brothers. She was still a virgin when she graduated from college, something she was neither proud of nor sorry about. It was something she wanted me to know to bring us closer.
I always thought it would be Ned, who would divulge the Oldham family history, but he never did; it was Suzanne. She said she didn't know Marian very well, but Noland often came to the office and had even worked there for short periods of time. Ned was a frequent visitor to the Oldham home and the year Noland graduated from C.M.A. he brought Ned home with him to spend the summer. They tended to the park across the street from the Oldham home during the day and partied at night. That summer Ned had an affair with Josie, Alice's sister and Noland was involved with a girl also, but not like Ned and Josie; their love was real.
I don't think our talk was planned. Each time I stopped the cart, Suzanne put her hand on my arm to indicate she had more to tell me. It took forever to play the round; we let other golfers play through.
"The accident happened a week before the boys were to leave for school. Noland was driving with Ned sitting next to him and his parents were in the back seat. They were going to the county fair and traffic was heavy. John has always blamed himself because he insisted that the boys go with him and Marian that night; something they would have preferred not to do. They were crossing an intersection when the brakes on a big truck failed. Marian was killed instantly. Noland and Ned were rushed to an emergency room where Noland lived only until a few minutes past midnight. Ned's leg was broken in three places. John came out of the accident with a stiff neck, headaches and nightmares that lasted three years. Ned's been living over the garage ever since, refusing to do more than look after things."
"When did you and Mr. Oldham get together?" I asked, feeling adventuresome, wanting to take advantage of Suzanne's talkative mood. She looked out at the fairway, took a deep breath and then turned to me.
"I was always the ugly duckling, very self conscious because I was tall and gangly. My first job didn't work out, not because I was incompetent, but because I met a man who told me I was. It took years for me to leave the man and the job. My second job was not much better although I found a limited amount of success there. I was feeling better about my self, taking pride in my physical appearance when I went to work for your uncle."
"Let's drop the charade. We both know he's not my uncle," I interrupted her. Charade was a new word to me and I was anxious to use it in a sentence. Suzanne looked at me strangely and said, "Indulge me.
"As I was saying before your rude interruption, your uncle didn't know my name until I received my second promotion. Then the accident happened and he went into a three-year depression and he didn't notice any of us. He wasn't paying much attention to the business and several of us decided something had to be done. The other concerned employees appointed me to do the 'something.' I took the assignment as a personal sacrifice, thinking that by getting John back on track I would be saving everyone's jobs, including my own. I bought new clothes and consulted experts who suggested I have a complete makeover. It was an investment for the future.
"You can imagine how nervous I was. For the first two months your uncle didn't pay any more attention to me than he had before. My coworkers were becoming dissatisfied with me, saying I was a poor choice for such a delicate job. Out of desperation I invited your uncle to have dinner at my home. He accepted the invitation, but at the last minute something came up and he had to cancel. Two days later he apologized for standing me up. I let him know that I was still furious with him because of the lovely dinner I had ready that had gone to waste. He said he would make it up to me by taking me to dinner. I had to admit the dinner was not very good anyway. As you know, I hate to cook. John was 43 and I was 33. We've spent nearly every weekend together since that first night and I've cooked a total of five times."
"Why do you keep the apartment? Why don't you move in with us?" I asked, hoping to keep her talking.
Suzanne leaned toward me and for a second I thought she was going to kiss me. "People might talk," she whispered confidentially before going on. "The same people that urged me to bring John back into the present began to begrudge me of my new closeness to the boss. According to them every promotion I've received since then was earned on my back. They're a ruthless bunch of vultures," she said, shaking her head.
On the way back to the clubhouse she lectured me about my conduct at the office, saying that my actions were on display, that they mirrored how my uncle John was raising me and were a reflection upon him. She cautioned me to be respectful to my elders and treat everyone as my equal, even Phil.
"Invidia festos dies non agit [Envy keeps no holidays]" I said, quoting from one of the Francis Bacon essays I was reading; thinking myself so fucking clever.
Mr. Oldham was waiting for us in the dining room. Suzanne blamed our lengthy round on me, telling him that she had to wait for me to reach every green and that my putting needed work. "I tried my best to explain everything but I'm afraid you'll have to take him out next time John," she said, winking at me.
Nothing was said about my mailroom encounter with Phil and if Mr. Oldham had heard anything about it he kept it to himself. In fact, there was no talk about the office while we were having dinner. He was interested in the progress I was making with my summer reading assignments. It took a lot of willpower on my part to refrain from telling him the list was too fucking long and contained some confusing shit. I told him I was finished with the three Bacon essays and was starting to get a feel for Tennyson. He seemed satisfied with my progress.
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