If you insist on controlling your own life, your Lord will not force you to give up your control.
JEANNE GUYON
AFTER THE WEEKEND in Napa, I return to a pile of work. I should know better than to take a couple of days off. I dive in on Sunday evening and don't let up until Wednesday night, when Jason calls and I decide to answer.
"Hey, I've been worried about you. You haven't returned my calls or texts."
"Yeah, sorry." Someone has to work to cover your father's backside, and yours, by the way. "Catching up on work."
"You okay?" His tone, his concern, irritates me.
"Of course. I'm a big girl, Jason. I'm used to taking care of myself."
"I know you are. But I need to know you're okay."
"Oh . . ." I don't know what to say to that. "Sorry. Like I said, I've been busy."
I expect anger, or at least agitation, from him, but instead, he laughs. "Well, it's good to know you're alive and well."
"Oh, yeah, well, that I am. How about you?" I get up from my desk and walk to the kitchen where I bend, reach for Sam's food dish, and take it into the pantry and fill it while Jason talks.
Before we hang up, Jason says, "How about dinner tomorrow night?"
"Sounds great." I'd intended to say no, but, oh, he is charming. "And hey, Jason, sorry I . . . I don't mean to . . . You know?"
"I know, Andee. I'll see you tomorrow."
With that, he hangs up. No reprimands. No hurt feelings. "He's a pushover," I say to Sam. "No backbone whatsoever." But even as I say it, I know it isn't true. I've seen Jason stand up for what's important to him. But he doesn't demand his own way. Instead he offers something else . . .
"What is it?" I ask Sam. He flicks his tail, takes the last piece of food from his dish, and then saunters away. "You're a big help."
Jason does seem to know. Sometimes he seems to know more about me than I know about myself.
And he accepts me.
Why?
"Because, Andee, he is a pushover."
From the living room, Sam mews his agreement to my reasoning. I walk out to where he's sprawled on the sofa and scratch him behind the ears.
"Oh well, who cares right? He's good for a free meal." I look back toward my office and the remaining piles on my desk. But instead of going back to work, I sigh, and sit down next to Sam. I reach over and heft him onto my lap, where he settles in and kneads my legs with his paws.
"Well, look at you." Sam closes his eyes and begins to purr. "You're all the man I need." I bury my hand in Sam's fur and question the agitation I feel regarding Jason. My work provides ample agitation for my life. I don't need more.
I think about my meeting in Napa with Bill and, as I have so many times since we talked, I consider the perfect solution for his financial situation.
Well, almost perfect.
I'm not employed by Azul. I'm just a friend. An acquaintance of Bill's. That's all. I won't accept any payment from Azul and, therefore, I'm not ethically bound in any way. I consider the details again.
And again, I hesitate.
I consider the pros and cons of the plan and realize there is one thing, or person rather, standing in the way.
I lift Sam off my lap, go back to my desk, and pick up the phone. I dial Jason's number and wait. The call goes to voicemail. Perfect.
"Hey, it's Andee. Listen, about dinner tomorrow, I think we'll have to hold off a few more days. I'm buried and taking off tomorrow night was wishful thinking. I'll give you a call at the end of the week."
I hang up the phone satisfied. "Keep your eyes on the goal, Andee." Love, or even infatuation, isn't part of my master plan. It's time to take a step back and refocus. I reach for the mouse and wait as the screen lights up on my desk. There is work to be done. I open my in-box and scan the contents. I have e-mails from some of the top executives in the country, along with those of smaller companies that I've handpicked to work with for various reasons, including an e-mail from Brigitte. I open it and read:
Andee,
We are moving forward on your suggestion to take Domaine de la Bouvier public. Research is underway and a decision will be forthcoming soon. I'd like to schedule another meeting for next week. Thursday, 2:00 p.m., at the Bouvier offices. Will that work for you?
On a personal note, I'd also like to invite you to join me for dinner at our home that evening. It will be an intimate party of friends including the mayor and a few other interesting locals you might enjoy.
Regards,
Brigitte Bouvier
President—Domaine de la Bouvier.
I check my calendar and hit reply.
Brigitte,
Thursday, 2:00 p.m., at the Bouvier offices is fine. And I'll look forward to dinner at your home that evening. Thank you for your kind invitation.
A. Bell
Brigitte's invitation didn't mention Jason as my date for dinner. Did she mean to exclude him? Is she sending a veiled message? Perhaps it was just an oversight. I'll wait and see. But I have no intention of mentioning the dinner to Jason. I'll follow Brigitte's lead.
I look again through the list of waiting e-mails and see I've received another post from www.iluminar.me. I subscribed to the blog, but now I press delete before reading the entry. Let the rest of the city follow her little drama, I'm not interested in her brand of spirituality.
Been there.
Done that.
Then I notice I have an e-mail from lightseeker@iluminar.me. It looks like a reply to my e-mail regarding her blog. "Ah . . . maybe you want to make a little money after all." I open the e-mail and read:
Dear Andee,
Thank you so much for your interest in my blog. I'm aware of the opportunity, through advertisers, for financial gain.
However, that isn't my purpose for the blog. But again, thank you for your interest.
The e-mail is, of course, unsigned. I shake my head. "What a fool." I read the note again and then hit reply.
Lightseeker,
If you aren't interested in financial gain, what is your purpose?
A. Bell
I let my irritation take over. There's no point in engaging her. She's a fool. But then, I open my trash folder and search for the new post I just deleted. Let's see what she's whining about now. I'm just curious, I tell myself.
I find the post, open it, and begin reading. But just as I begin, the computer pings, letting me know another e-mail has come in. I click on the stamp icon and see that Lightseeker has already responded. This should be interesting.
Andee,
What is my purpose? That's a question I'm wrestling with. I don't know the answer. What is your purpose?
Ha! She's serious? I thought we were talking blogs, but it seems she's moved on to life purposes. What is my purpose? Isn't that obvious? I click reply and begin to type, but then I stop. What am I doing? Who cares? I don't need to respond to her. She's desperate for relationships—that's obvious. "Maybe if you lived somewhere other than cyberspace you'd have real relationships."
I delete my response and close the mail folder. Then I delete the post I'd begun reading.
I have more important things to do.