“Is it really?” Jameson Prescott, her client on the other end of the phone, replied.
“Yes. Unless it’s an emergency, of course, nobody is supposed to honk their horns at all.” She mused at the useless knowledge that filled her active mind.
“You should be on that trivia game show. You’d probably win.” Jameson chuckled.
“Now, you know that I don’t like to be out and about. That sounds pretty out and about to me,” she replied. She wasn't officially diagnosed agoraphobic, but she didn’t enjoy leaving the confines of her apartment for more than a food run most of the time.
Her favorite client, Mr. Prescott, had hired her to help him write his memoirs. Jameson Prescott was probably about her dad’s age. Older than her, somewhere around his mid-fifties, he’d lived an interesting life and wanted to leave a legacy of some kind behind. Not for his family, as he didn’t have any, but he didn’t want to be forgotten. That’s what he told Riley when they met for the first time in person, at Riley’s favorite coffee shop three blocks from her apartment.
“You’re young, Riley. You really need to get out of that apartment and get some fresh air,” he said in a fatherly tone.
“Okay, Dad, I’ll take that under advisement,” she replied sarcastically.
“I know that means you won’t.”
“You know me better than I thought you did, Jameson,” she replied with a laugh.
The two had grown to be friends over the eighteen months they’d been working together on their project. Asking someone to explain their life in detail so it can be documented meant that the two of them spent a tremendous amount of time talking. Riley was never sure how Jameson had found her, but she was grateful for the opportunity and had been paid a very large sum of money to make herself available on Jameson’s timeline. He had requested she name a dollar amount that would be sufficient enough for her to decline any other large projects and only take on small, creative projects while under contract with him.
Originally, Riley thought it was a joke and she named what she believed was a fair amount that equated to a full year’s salary for a mid-level copywriter. Not only did Jameson agree to it immediately, but he also gave her a ten thousand dollar bonus—he called it—for beginning right away and wrapping up any projects she currently had on her plate. She signed the contract with him and when the money was wired to her account almost instantly, she realized he was not only serious, he was rich.
What she didn’t know when she first met him was what a kind soul he was, and that he’d lived a life worth telling the story of. When they were introduced face to face shortly after finalizing the contract, Jameson made the trip to New York City and took her out for the fanciest dinner she’d ever had. That was the only other time they’d met. It had been over a year since they’d gotten together in person, and although she generally preferred working remotely with all of her clients, she was compelled to ask him to come back.
“Do you remember the first time that we met in person?” she asked him.
“Of course I do. Why do you ask?” he replied.
“I was just thinking it’s been a long time and we’ve been working together for over a year, almost daily. Maybe we should sit down and go over everything we have for the book. Start talking about how you want to lay it out, and all that?” There was no reason for her to ask other than the fact she simply wanted to see him. She enjoyed his company, and they had the most interesting conversations. It was unusual for Riley to request a sit-down. She’d never even considered asking that a meeting take place in the same time zone, let alone the same room.
Silence on the line had Riley reconsidering. “I mean, we don’t have to. I just thought it might be nice,” she added with a shake to her voice.
“I’m sorry, no, that would be lovely,” Jameson replied. “I’ll be away on business for a while though, so we’ll have to plan it for sometime this summer. That’s actually why I called you. I need to take a short break on the book while I’m gone and we can get back to it when I return. That will be a perfect time for us to look at everything with fresh eyes, and you can come up to Port Henry if you’d like.”
Riley hadn’t considered going up to the Port. She assumed he would come back to the city. Spending even an afternoon there would be wonderful, and she immediately began racking her brain to see if she could turn it into a mini-vacation. “That would be lovely, Jameson! Are you sure though? I don’t want to be an imposition.” She knew some might think their relationship was intimate and to an extent, it was, but it was also intellectual. She didn’t feel anything but kinship with him and she was quite certain it was the same for him.
Besides the age difference between them, Jameson was practically old enough to be her father, and he was more of a mentor in the ways of life—an advisor, of sorts. Trying to qualify their relationship in a way that was both platonic and special rarely crossed her mind, except for the times she tried to explain it to her best friend, Colette, who lived in Boston. Colette finally chalked Riley’s fascination with the older man as filling a void the crappy relationship she had with her father had left.
“I think we’re long past the formalities, Riley. You know more about me and my life than any of my wives ever did at this point.” He laughed. “It’s also no secret that I have a house too big for just the likes of me, and you’re welcome here any time. I think a summer get together in the Port would do us both some good, don’t you?”
“I’d love that. In the meantime, are there any other projects you would like me to work on while you’re away?” Riley was employed by him and only him, so if she wasn’t working on the book, she wasn’t really clear what he wanted her to be doing with her time.
“Just reread what we have and make any notes you think I need to see.”
“Are you sure that’s all you want me to do?”
“I’m sure,” he replied. “Take a little time off to enjoy spring in the city. Even in that concrete jungle, there are leaves that change with the passing of time.”
Confused, but not altogether upset about a little time away from her desk, she agreed. “When should I expect you back?”
“If all goes well, I should be back home in the Port in about three weeks.”
“Where you headed?”
“Switzerland,” he replied without further explanation.
“Gonna do any skiing while you’re there?” she asked. Riley had never been skiing, but assumed it was something you’d do if you were headed to Switzerland. She hadn’t traveled much, but her mom used to tell her that living in New York City was almost as good. With the different parts of the city, like Chinatown, Little Brazil, and so many other ethnically rich areas, you could go on a tour of the world within just a few blocks. She knew it wasn’t the same, but smiled reminiscing about her mom’s imagination.
“No, no. I don’t ski. I have some business to attend to. But I’ll be in touch,” he said.