A Condolence Call

I really knew Morty Abel for just a short time. He joined a running group that I coached. I am a corporate trainer and as a result spend an inordinate amount of time traveling. So, I run where I can and coach for a local running store on weekends.

Morty showed up one day in an old sweat shirt, baggy sweat pants and “sneakers”. He said he wanted to learn how to run to lose weight and “get in shape”. He needed it. He was in his mid-fifties, maybe five foot nine and way overweight.

“Morty,” I said, with my arm around his shoulder, “I do not want you to die on the roads. At least not on my watch. So, here are some of the things that have to happen if you are serious about this.”

I explained to him that he should get a complete physical first. I told him he had to make the investment in running shoes – good ones. I gave him a diet that was right from Runner’s World Magazine. I gave him some tips on cross training, like swimming, stretching and weights.

Morty came back the next Sunday with some bright red running Asics running shoes. He assured me his doctor had given him clearance – kind of. I found out Morty was an accountant and married to a high powered defense attorney about whom I had heard. He took the training regime seriously and orderly. Like I said, Morty was an accountant, so, orderliness was in his DNA.

After about four weeks on the roads, Morty was looking better. He liked his red Asics shoes, he began wearing a tighter long sleeved shirt that still showed some progress needed on his abdomen. He had finally moved to running shorts. One Sunday, after our weekly group run, he came up to me.

“Harris?” Morty had a way of looking down as he talked instead of keeping eye contact. Had he been a client of mine, I would have cured him of that in ten minutes.

“Morty,” I replied. “Good run today, man. You are really getting into it.”

“Um, thanks, Harris. My wife Grace and I are having a few folks over for barbeque next Friday night and, well, I’d love for you to meet her. Could you and your wife maybe come?”

“Morty, I’d love to. But Adrian is overseas for her company. Matter of fact she accepted a post in London for the next year.”

Morty’s eyes were still on his red shoes. “Wow, Harris, that’s tough.”

“Well yeah, but Adrian Jacobs is a high powered talented executive and she is on the fast track. Anyway, I’ll make it if I can, okay?”

Morty broke into that crinkly smile of his. “Great. I’ll e-mail you directions.”

So, the following Friday evening I had a goodnight call with Adrian in London, saying all is going great and yeah, we miss each other. Adrian and I had been trying to bring some of the magic back. It didn’t seem to be working too well, especially since the two girls left for college. Maybe it was never there in the first place.

Anyway, about two months ago we took a long walk on one of the Florida beaches within an hour of home and talked. “Maybe we should take a sabbatical,” Adrian suggested, and told me about the opportunity in London. “Six months? You think we should?” She asked.

But I know her. Her mind was made up. Well, turned out it was a year, not six months, but a deal is a deal so there she is and here I am. I won’t say she’s not coming back and neither will she, but we’ll see.

I hung up and headed to Morty and Grace’s. The Abel home was on almost a half-acre of ground on a large lake. In front of the house was a long drive bordered by pines and palm trees. There was subtle lighting on the ground pointed at the trees that gave a very quiet dignity to the entrance. The doors were wide open to the front. I heard the murmur of conversation and occasional laughter as I parked the car and walked into a stunning front hall with a black and white square marble tile floor.

You looked right through a large living room to a huge patio around an hourglass shaped swimming pool. I had no idea how well Morty did in his accounting practice, but I did know that Grace Abel was a shining star in the firmament of defense lawyers in our town.

I walked towards the noise and out to the pool. There were about a half dozen people gathered around the bar where a bartender in a white jacket was serving drinks. I saw two large smokers in the backyard behind the pool where two more white jacketed guys were watching what looked like large briskets cooking.

When I got through the doors to the pool, Morty dislodged himself from another small group and came forward to shake my hand. “Harris, I am so glad you could make it. Come, I want you to meet Grace. I think you know some of these folks.”

Well, mostly I didn’t. But like I said, I travel a lot. Morty had me by the elbow and steered me half way around the pool. There, sitting comfortably in a chair at a patio table, was a rather tall, blonde, somewhat overweight woman with a gorgeous face and sparkling blue eyes. She was wearing a long sleeved white blouse up to her neck, white slacks and a blue scarf thrown carelessly around her neck.

Coach that I isveçbahis am, both in business and on the roads, I immediately thought, give me six months with that woman and she is Vanity Fair material. I knew it was Grace Abel from various TV interviews and numerous newspaper interviews.

“Grace,” Morty said loudly. Here’s my coach, Harris Jacobs. I don’t think you guys ever met.”

Grace Abel turned those large blue eyes on me. I was wearing a short sleeved button down light blue sport shirt and a blue blazer with white slacks. We matched. “Nice to meet you Grace. Morty has told me a lot about you, more than I learned from sound bites.” She gave me a really cool stare.

She reached out one long nailed hand and I shook it. She had a firm grip. “Yes, Harris. I understand you are the man who is saving my husband’s life.”

I continued to hold her hand. “Well, really all I’m doing is giving him a regimen that might help him live a happier, healthier life.”

She gently pulled her hand away. “Well, Harris, whatever it is, I thank you. Morty is actually looking much better. Final word will come at the end of the month when he sees his cardiologist.”

I looked over at Morty. “Everything okay? Morty, you have to let me know these things.”

Morty shrugged. He looked at his shoes. “No big deal. Grace wants me to have a checkup. She says I snore too much.”

Well, that stopped the conversation. I moved on to a couple I had met before and was able to strike up some other conversations while nursing a single white wine. Finally, Grace called out. I looked over and she was standing in the back yard by the smokers.

“Folks, dinner is served. If you will grab a plate and some silverware down here and move through a line, then just find a seat at one of the tables. Waiters will be by to serve some drinks and give you refills.”

I moved through the line, had a couple of large slabs of brisket put on my plate, took some vegetables and a little salad and looked for a place to sit. I saw Morty waving at me from the table where I met Grace. She was beside him.

“Sit, Harris. Grace? Harris’ wife works for Donnelly Sparks – the multi-national plastics outfit? Harris tells me she is on a one year assignment in London. That’s how come he’s alone, right Harris?”

I nodded. Grace gave me a long look. “So, you are like a bachelor for a year, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Well, yeah. But please call me Harris. I travel a lot myself, so this is just a larger extension of the same.”

“Well, that is a shame. Will you get a chance to visit?”

“Probably. We’ll have to see what works out.”

The conversation drifted to some local politics and the usual arguments between Florida State and Florida alums. I graduated from Williams College in Williamstown Massachusetts, so I did not have a dog in that fight. Apparantley neither did Grace. She was sitting next to me. She put a cool hand on top of mine.

“Not a big fan, Harris?”

“Well, no, not in this league. I’m out of my depth here.”

“Me too. I’m University of Pennsylvania law, myself.”

“Williams College.”

“Another Yankee transplant.” She gave me a dazzling smile.

The conversation got back to water shortages and property taxes and folks drifted away. I had some reports to get out this weekend and of course, the group run on Sunday, so I said goodbye, thanked Grace and Morty and headed for home.

Sunday’s run was in beautiful seventy two degree weather with fairly low humidity. When I’m coaching, I run like someone herding cats, trying to keep the group together, encouraging stragglers, trying to get everyone to finish within the time goal we have set. The group is pretty well matched, about sixty percent male, forty percent female. As we neared the finish, I trotted alongside till everyone had passed. I found Morty at the end of the line, puffing and not looking well.

“Everything okay, Morty?”

“Tough Harris. Got this stich in my side. Must have eaten something wrong, feels like a steel band around my chest.”

“Not good, dude,” I replied. “When are you supposed to see your cardiologist?”

“Grace made an appointment for tomorrow. Sounds like a good idea, huh?”

“Damn straight. Call me and tell me the skinny.”

Monday we had a video conference with my team and a client in Ohio. It took most of the morning. I had my usual staff meeting in the afternoon. There’s only five of us. Two to man the office and three road warriors, including me who as I say, along with being the CEO, I travel.

I got home about five. There was a voice mail from Morty and one from Adrian. Adrian just said all was going well, she had found an apartment that was cute and convenient and that I should plan to be there for Christmas.

Morty’s was not so good. He said that he had to go back to the cardiologist and take a stress test. Well, I know a lot of people who have gone through that. Usually it just means a change in routine. I thought I should move Morty to a slower running isveçbahis giriş group and let him come along slowly.

Tuesday morning I was on the road again. This time for a couple of weeks. First Charlotte for a day, Atlanta for two, then on to Cleveland, Chicago, St. Louis and then to the Coast for a national conference the next weekend. It was a grind, but business is business.

By Sunday I was in Chicago for a two day meeting on Monday and Tuesday. I checked in to the hotel and there was a voice mail from Phil Taglione, one of the guys in the same running group as Morty. Probably wanted to know when I would be back coaching. I would, in a week.

“Phil? Harris Jacobs. What’s going on?”

“Bad news, Harris. Morty Abel died on Wednesday. I just found out.”

I sat down hard on the bed. “Died? Oh my God. When? How?”

“Seems the cardiologist decided he needed a stent operation and quickly. He went in for the operation on Friday and died on the table. You know Harris, he looked like crap the past couple of weeks.”

I replied slowly. “Right, Phil, he did at that.”

“Yeah, well, funeral is Tuesday. Can you make it?”

“Shit, Phil. I’m in Chicago and have to go on to St. Louis and then to LA for the weekend. Don’t get home until Monday afternoon.”

“Oh. Well, sorry to fuck up your Sunday.”

I hung up and sat there numb for a full five minutes. My fault? Could it have been my fault? Did I push Morty Abel too hard? Should I have seen symptoms before that last Sunday? Truthfully, I think I did all I could with the information I had. But that did not prevent the guilt trip from starting. If only I had…what? He seemed fine when he stopped running and he did go to his doctor right? Still…

I went down to the bar. I ordered a Bushmill straight up. I called Phil Taglione back.

“Phil? I guess the Abels are taking visitors?”

“Georgia and I are going over tonight.”

“Thanks Phil. Are people sending flowers or is it a donation thing?”

“I think it’s donations to the American Heart Association. “

I hung up again. Morty Abel was a nice guy. Maybe not the greatest personality, but pleasant. And conciensious. I mean he worked hard at trying to train. I really didn’t understand the relationship with a power house like Grace Abel, but that was none of my business, really. Well, I thought, that’s life. No, it didn’t always make sense. I sat for a few minutes more trying to think about what I should do next. I looked at my watch. A little after six. That was past midnight in London. Hell, I had to talk to Adrian.

“Adrian? Did I wake you?”

“No Harris, just getting into bed. The apartment needs some more work, but…everything all right?”

“Girls are fine, Adrian. Look, there’s a guy I was coaching in one of my running groups. Guy named Morty Jacobs.”

“You mentioned him. You went to dinner at his home, right? He’s married to that lawyer?”

“Well, yeah – Adrian, Morty died this past week on the operating table, getting a stent. I feel guilty as hell.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re always taking responsibility for things that you can’t control. Get over it, Harris!”

Typical Adrian. “Well, okay. But I mean, should I call? Funeral is Tuesday but I won’t be home until next Monday. Look Adrian, my fault or not, I feel like shit.”

Her voice softened. “Harris, call. See if she is still having guests when you get home. If she is, go over. You want one of your running buddies to go with you, call one up.”

“No, if I go I’ll go alone. Right, Adrian, I’ll call. Thanks for the advice.”

“Any time, sport. Anything else?”

“No, that was it.”

“Good. I’m off to bed. I am literally falling off my feet. Good luck.”

•******

I took a plane home right after the LA weekend conference. With the three hour time difference I got home about ten o’clock on Sunday night. Too late to call, I figured.

Ten o’clock the next morning, I called Morty’s house. A female voice answered. It did not sound like Grace. “Abel residence.”

“Hi. This is Harris Jacobs. Is the family still taking visitors?”

“Oh, hi Mr. Jacobs. Sally Copening. Met you at the Abel’s dinner party. Yes, mostly family now, but please come over this evening. I’m flying back to Atlanta later, but there will be people around. Can you come over?’

“Seven o’clock all right?”

“That’ll be fine. I’ll be here until about eight. It will be nice to see you again, despite the circumstances.

I got home about six, skipped my run again. I put on a white shirt, no tie, some light blue slacks and my trusty blue blazer. Luckily they were in the closet. Everything I took on the road was at the cleaners or in the wash. I had left the Prius in the driveway. Adrian’s Jaguar was in the garage. For a year, I guess.

I pulled up to the Abel house just as it was getting dark. The driveway lights were on. There were about a half dozen cars parked up and down the driveway. I parked about halfway around isveçbahis yeni giriş the circle and walked to the front door. I rang the bell. About a minute later a nice looking lady with prematurely white hair that looked like it had been done on purpose in a beauty parlor came to the door. She was taller than me, dressed in a multi-colored blouse that showed an incredible pair of breasts and a slim waist above a pair of white slacks.

“Hi. I’m Harris Jacobs. Friend of Morty’s.”

She gave me a dazzling smile. “Of course.” She held out a long fingered hand. “Amanda Reese. I’m Morty’s cousin from Atlanta. We talked on the phone earlier.”

“Of course, Amanda. Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks, Harris. C’mon in.”

Everyone was in the living room. I spotted Grace sitting in a large wing chair by the fireplace. I went over. She was wearing a simple sleeveless black dress with a single row of pearls around her neck. She had gold slippers on her feet.

As soon as she saw me she broke into a half smile and beckoned me over. She reached out a hand to me and I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “So sorry Grace. Morty was a wonderful person.”

She kept holding my hand as I stood up. “He thought the world of you, Harris. You really had an impact on his life.”

“Well, thank you Grace. I hope it was positive for him. I know it was for me.”

“It was, Harris. It was.” She was lasered in on me with those startling blue eyes. “Don’t leave for a while, okay?”

“Sure, I mean fine. I’ll be right here.”

She smiled a brief smile. There was a tall white haired man sitting beside her in a straight chair. “Harris, this is Trent Williams, Morty’s partner.” I recognized him from the party. Jesus, was that just two weeks ago?

We shook hands. His eyes were red and he had bags under them. “I heard Morty speak of you, Harris.”

“Sorry for your loss.”

“Yes. A shock. A shock.”

There were people from her law firm of Abel, Reilly, Madison and James there and a couple of other people who introduced themselves. Mostly from Morty’s family. Didn’t see anybody from Grace’s side. They must have left for back north by now.

Like I said, Grace’s firm was a really high powered outfit. They defended murderers, white collar criminals and even some nasty divorce cases. I introduced myself to a couple of people from Morty’s accounting firm. None of them seemed to know who I was, but I smiled and went into the dining room

There was food laid out on the dining room table, mostly fruit and some cookies. There was coke and ginger ale and a bottle of red wine and one of white. Eventually, the crowd thinned out. Finally there was Grace, still seated in the wing chair, Trent Williams and his wife, a short thin woman who sat holding Grace’s hand in another straight chair next to her on the other side from her husband, and me.

Trent stood up, and Grace followed. He hugged her tightly. He let go and his wife did the same. I walked over to say my goodbye. Grace motioned for me to sit in the chair that Trent Williams had just vacated.

Now it was Grace, me and some clinking glasses in the kitchen. She squeezed my hand and said quietly, “stay here a minute, will you Harris?” She got up without waiting for an answer and went into the kitchen. I heard the murmuring of some voices and then she was back.

She sat down heavily in the wing chair. “God, Harris. I have not been out of this house since the funeral. Is it really Monday already?”

“Yes, Grace. Monday. How are you holding up?”

Grace nodded slowly. “I’ve had better weeks, Harris.” She stopped to dab at her eyes. “What time is it?”

I looked at my watch. “It’s just short of eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“Grace, if this sounds dumb, just tell me. But would you like to go out to dinner?”

She gave me a small smile. “Harris. That is so sweet. The truth is I would love to get out of here for an hour or so. Give me a minute.” She stood up and so did I. She was just my height in her gold slippers. She was, as I had seen last week, a voluptuous woman who carried her weight very well.

She squeezed my hand and headed for the front hall. I watched her climb the stairs. Her stride up the steps was strong. She was downstairs ten minutes later. She had kept the black dress, but added a long white scarf thrown carelessly around her neck, and some low heels. Now, she was taller than I. She also had added some subtle makeup and a dark red lipstick.

I stood staring for a bit longer than I should have, but I was realizing what a woman this was. “Anything in particular for dinner you care for” I asked without taking my eyes off hers.

“Something substantial. I’ve just been picking since Morty…well…” I saw her eyes begin to brim over.

I took her arm and said “Well, Grace, that sounds like steak and a good Shiraz. Does that work for you?”

For the first time since the night I met her, a real smile radiated her face. “Perfect.”

o*****

I drove downtown to an open grill steakhouse that served only open range beef and had a great wine list. I knew George the manager. He was by the front desk as we walked in. He recognized Grace right away.