The Garden Club by James Gerard (bill gates best books .TXT) 📕

Crawling along, entertaining questions popped up: Why wouldn’t I want to live along the coast?  Why wouldn’t I like to live in the security of the coastal community?  But no matter the many ways it could be rationalized, or how many opportunities there would be to associate with senior executives of all the major corporations running the world, Hal could not help but feel that the lifestyle was somehow forbidden.  The opulence of that very lifestyle was meant for those who had earned their way to the top; not riding on a brother’s coattail.  Then again, he wondered, what is so terribly wrong with me to think that?

The car came off the freeway and rolled to a stop as it reached the iron-wrought gate of the Ardath Road entry point.  “Good evening,” said Hal to one of the security officers walking up to the car.

The officer looked over the beat up car, “This is a private community pal.  Get this sorry thing back on the freeway.”

Hal chuckled.  “My brother lives here.  He invited me over to his house tonight.”

The officer laughed and turned in the direction of his partner standing in a booth by the gate, “Oh, his brother lives here.”  He turned around to Hal, “What is he, one of the servants?”

“It depends on what you mean by servant.”

“Look, get before you make me mad.”

Hal reached for the phone and tapped a key.  “Hello Kenneth”   He smiled as the guard inched up close as to eavesdrop on the words spoken on the other end, “the guards at the West gate won’t let me in.  He seems to have a problem with me.”

The guard leaned in even closer to the open window with a quizzical look.  “Is that you Mr. Wilson?” he shouted.

Hal tapped a spot on the dashboard and leaned back.

“Yes it is Larry.  Now tell me: What is the proper procedure for identifying visitors?”

Hal just sat quietly, refrained from chuckling as the guard stuttered out the answers to Kenneth’s shrewd interrogation.  He could hear in his brother’s voice a tone cleverly disguised to embarrass more than a means to correct the error in judgment.  But as the guard fidgeted about, the thoughts of immediate termination for the man sent shudders through his body.

“Alright Kenneth, that’s enough already.  It was just a misunderstanding.”   Hal nodded an acknowledgement to the guard’s humble apology and offered as words of comfort, “No problem.  Have a good evening.”

Hal realized the pleasure derived from the occurrence was unwarranted and had not manifested itself by the actions of a man that lived an existence closer to his status in life, but rather from the frustration of living a life fearful of those in control.

The anger from the irksome encounter eased.  It became clear that the guard was just abiding by the strict procedures.  Then Hal reasoned if I had a nicer car maybe that problem could’ve been avoided altogether.  But the fact remained that in comparison to the wealthy residents of the gated community nestled in La Jolla, he would always be considered an outsider.

As the car turned onto Prospect Street, things began rolling along in slow motion.  This is where they all live, he thought.  All the executives living in the finest gated community in the country.  He cruised along spotting all the imported sport and luxury cars parked safely in lots of upscale tearooms, juice bars, bistros, cafes, and restaurants.  Limos lined the curbs indicating the multi-billionaires had descended Mount Soledad.  Isolated from the common communities surrounding them in numbers, the well-to-do feasted on the freshest of meats and fruits and vegetables available only to the wealthiest of the corporate leaders—regardless of their own corporate law.

Stopped at an intersection, Hal could hear the melodies of harpists gently strumming the instrument’s delicate strings, and of fingers tickling piano keys serenading the nightscape.  Valets were seen staring at the sad excuse of his car from their curbside stands, from couples and groups of people strolling along the pristine sidewalks, and from those gathering outside the crowded lounges.  But unlike his fascination, the stares received were contemptuous ones, as if he were just a servant lost in the night.  The stares were piercing judgments as to whether or not he deserved to be in such a privileged place where you want for nothing.

Turning onto Coast Boulevard, a constant parade of patrol cars passing by leered.  They gave the car a double look as if in disbelief that it was there on the street, or that it must have snuck through some breach in the shield surrounding the community.  Through the window of one of the patrol cars, Hal spotted an officer apparently conferring with others through the communication network as to the status of his authorized presence.  Fortunately, he believed that while they held a constant vigil against those that sought harm to any particular corporate head, they ascertained his presence had been authorized.

Finally the car reached Kenneth’s street.  Eyes scanned the area for any other patrol cars lurking about, but in this little niche of the community his brother had told him that hidden eyes inconspicuously patrolled the area.  With that in mind, the car held a straight and steady course then slowly turned into the driveway.  After Hal rolled under the carport and came to a complete stop he could not wait to get the evening over with.

Not having access to the code to the elevator from the carport up to the main house, Hal hiked up the stone lined path.   Its ascent was highlighted by a string of soft glowing lamps all the way to the front door.

He almost expected either Kenneth or his wife to emerge with a greeting, but they either had not noticed the compound’s alarm system screaming out the presence of an intruder, or the their high status in life deemed such a task too menial.  In either case, Hal just rang the doorbell.  The butler opened the door.

“Good evening sir.  Please come in.”

As if walking on egg shells, Hal carefully entered the mansion.  The behemoth of a house sat on ten acres of beach front property.  Before him, eyes beheld the light of a grand, crystal chandelier rescued from the past.  It was mounted in splendid glory.  Its light glinted off the marble floor and shimmered off the walls of pristine white all throughout the foray.

Throughout the expansive room sat decorative vases filled with freshly cut roses of yellow and red and white and landscape paintings formed with the delicate stokes of soft and muted colors.  Each was masterfully painted from the vision of some esteemed artist from the past.  But contrary to the warm reception the room offered, there was a portrait that loomed ahead in a prominent position.  In stark contrast to the softness and lavish items about and lurking just above the first flight of stairs leading upstairs, was the last portrait depicting his mother and father.

Hal’s eyes were transfixed on his father's face that was a mixture of pride and power.   His stare seemed to hold contempt for whoever dared to look directly in his direction.  And although he had seen the portrait on numerous occasions, Hal had always dismissed it as an image caught in time; not the overreaching effect it had from beyond the grave.

It was the only image Kenneth had requested upon the death of their mother.  Hal believed that while the stare perpetually demanded the uttermost respect and reverence of him, for Kenneth it was different.  The stare served as a vigilant presence and reminder of the course and direction their father had carefully groomed for his eldest son.  Their mother, however, reflected the warmth and love from the bowels of her heart.

The posture, as always, was submissive to the husband.  Sitting below and to the left, her glowing countenance spoke in hushed volumes.  It was a tone unheard by the man that believed nothing escaped his unrelenting watch for anything that threatened the imposed rule of law that dictated absolute control.  There was, however, the second rebellious act carried out in secret.  

The loving eyes mocked such rule of order.  The tenderness was for Kenneth to behold as well, but understanding she had relented control of his life over to their father.  Hal felt the sentiment was in truth for him alone to cherish.  It was a bond that was perpetual from even the grave.

A noise from the parlor broke the sentimental moment.  Hal strolled into the elegance the parlor was and beheld the manufactured items of a yesterday that had been resurrected by those that desired the finer things of life.

From the furniture wrapped in the finest Italian leather to the enormous, mounted screen that appeared more as one found in a theater rather than in a family room.  Its elaborate surround sound system also served as the finest stereo creating the natural sounds of tweeting birds and cascading water.  The crystalline figures of various forest creatures and flowers scattered about the room on tables and sitting on the mantle above the fireplace were the best things money could buy.

“Happy birthday Hal,” Carol offered as she walked into the room.

“Thanks.   Where’s Kenneth?”

“He’s out in back salivating over his new toy.”

The source of the noise that led the way to the parlor made its presence known.  A little crest of blond hair was spotted popping up from behind a chair.  Hal tiptoed over to the figure and announced, “I see you.”

“Go away,” screeched the voice of Martha.

Hal squelched the confusion from the thoughts realizing the five year old girl had been programmed by those that sought the end to the park or anything else that would dredge up the memories of an oppressive past.  “Go away you say”

“You’re a bad man.”

“No sweetie, I’m not a bad man; I’m just uncle Hal?”

“Animals are bad,” she responded.

Hal held out his arms.  “Come here sweetie.”

Martha stood up and came from behind the chair, yet Hal could see the confusion in the decision to embrace a mere man who had been made a scapegoat by the corporate powers’ hunger for the prime piece of land.

Hal dropped to the knees and looked her squarely in the eyes.  “Animals aren’t really bad.  They’re good.  Do you hear that?” he asked hoping Martha would tune into the soothing sounds of the forest realm.

In response, Martha just nodded her head yet the eyes fell to the ground.  Hal could almost imagine the confusion running in her immature mind as a battle between natural affection and carefully laid tenets of the new world order fought for an ever enduring supremacy for thoughts and attitude.

“No they’re not,” she whispered.

Cleary seeing the internal struggle was too much to handle, Hal ceased the reasoning not wanting to cause harm to her delicate psyche.  He instead wrapped her in his arms and whispered, “Do you think your daddy made me a cake and ice cream?”

She giggled.  “Yes.”

“Well good then.  I think I’ll get you a fat piece of cake with gobs and gobs of ice cream on top when the party starts.”

“I like cake,” Martha giggled as Hal stood up.

“I do too,” he said while walking towards the door to the backyard. 

“It’s about time,” shouted Kenneth as Hal stepped outside.

“You got to do something about your security Kenneth.”

“How many times have I told you to use the north entry gate.  They know you there.”

“By the way, what’s the deal with Martha?”

“What do you mean?”

“She thinks I’m a bad man.  It’s bad enough your schools keep on telling her what is right and wrong, but what have you and Carol been telling her?”

“She’s only five years old.  What does she know Hal?”

“It’s bad enough my own daughter won’t talk to me.  I don’t want to be coming over here and have to face that too.”

“My god Hal, it’s your birthday.  Just quit worrying about it and come here.”

“Oh boy a birthday card.”

“Well go on and open it.”

“This card entitles the bearer to one full-time