The Lovely Chocolate Mob

News from Walter

On Wednesday at work, my new cell phone rang; I looked and saw a number I didn’t recognize. I opened it up and said, “Hello?”

An electronic, tinny-sounding voice said, “Tonight, after work, take a walk. Same place. Same time.”

“What?”

“I have news you need to hear.”

Then it hit me. This was Walter.

“Okay, I’ll take a walk.”

The phone went dead. For the rest of the day, work dragged on, since now I was curious about the news that Walter had. I was glad to see five o’clock finally arrive.

I went home, made a snack, took a shower, read my computer e-mails, caught up on the news, cleaned up the kitchen, then put on my shoes and went for a walk. It was a nice stroll down past the Dairy Queen and around the corner to the post office. I stopped and waited, but not for long. The large and slow recreational vehicle came down the street, but from the opposite direction than before. It stopped, and with no invitation I walked across the street and hopped in.

Walter was wearing his disguise, so I didn’t say anything until we left the city and made our way south, back to Estella’s bar and grill. We sat at the same booth, far from the other people; there were more customers there that night. There were some bikers I had been worried about; they appeared to be mostly in their mid-fifties, maybe even into their sixties and seventies; either that or they’d all had a rough life. I really had nothing to worry about, since they seemed to enjoy each other’s company, and their fighting and hell-raising days were far behind them now. At least a quarter of them appeared to be vets, based on the tone of their dress. American flags were sewn into their clothes, their bandanas, and even painted on their motorbikes in the parking lot. They seemed to know Kim and Walter, and were also comfortable in this setting.

We got comfortable, ordered some drinks, and Walter started talking. “I did a little research on your old sweetheart, Helen Ceraldi, or Helen Ceraldi hyphen Burke,” lowering his voice when saying the name a second time. “Guess what I came up with.”

I had some idea what he was talking about, and was extremely curious. I tried not to appear too anxious, but Walter knew me. “What did you come up with?” I asked.

Walter looked pleased, like the cat who ate the canary. “You know she married that doctor, right? Franklin Burke, M.D. They’ve got four kids: three girls, and one boy. Got that?”

“Got it. I knew that.”

“I did a little research,” he said. “A little fact-checking, and… did she tell you they’re broke, up to their necks in debt, practically one paycheck away from bankruptcy?”

I let this sink in for a moment. It didn’t make sense. Why would she keep this from me?

“No, she didn’t tell me this. In fact, everything I know about her tells me the opposite. Married to a doctor, four kids, sports car, a house…”

“Not just a house, a mansion!” Walter said with glee. He was enjoying this. “In the rich part of town!”

I started naming their known assets. “Kids, a mansion, a car…”

“And not just a car, an Italian sports car, an import!” Walter said. “That’s not their only car…”

I interrupted, “You better let me write all this down; let me get situated. This might get heavy.”

I borrowed a piece of paper from Kim. Fortunately, I usually carried a pen, so Walter talked and I wrote down everything important. It turned out that Helen and Dr. Burke owned an old, beautiful mansion near a gated community; it would have been included inside the gate, but was built many years before modern developers came along. The two oldest children had a car, which made a four-car family. It only made sense for Mindy to have a car since she needed to get around while at college. Their mansion had a five-car garage, located near the house; they all drove into a little courtyard area, between the house and the garage, the kind that used to exist back in the horse and carriage days, among those who could afford it.

Walter rattled off all what he found they owned, which included a swimming pool, a maid and a cook (but they were only part-timers). Well, nobody really owns a maid and cook, but they were employed. When the cook was off, the family ate out, especially on weekends, and many times at the country club, which brought even more expenses. They belonged to the Lovely Country Club, which, I suppose, is expected if you want to hob-nob with the movers and shakers.

Helen was on different community boards, including being a patron of the local arts, a sponsor and board member of the local public television group, and active with the local pet shelter. Oh yes, they had pets, and more than one. Sometimes they brought home dogs and cats no one wanted to adopt, until they could find homes for them. Many times they’d become attached to the pet, and keep it as one of their own, one more mouth to feed.

The children went to private schools, with Mindy attending an Ivy League school, with a declared degree in journalism. Since she was a beauty like her mother, she could be hired as a television reporter or news anchor at any station in the country.

Franklin Burke drove a Mercedes convertible, and liked to speed around with the top down when weather permitted. They used to own other houses, homes, properties, even a private plane, but these had been sold off and let go, probably due to “financial reverses.” They still owned their own boat, though, which was parked at the nearest marina.

Walter painted a picture of a family who got rich too quickly and spent it all as they were making it, who had acquired more than just a piece of the American dream, and were stuck trying to maintain it, if just for the sake of appearances. The Ivy League school alone cost at least $50,000 annually, and who knew what other kinds of expenses were required to keep their little girl mixing with the Greek crowd. She had probably already pledged with a sorority, which is expected if you’re to be sociable in college. That would cost her parents as well; those aren’t cheap, and you’ve got to have the right car and clothes to go along with that. What happened to kids who kept their noses to the grindstone?

The other three children were attending various different private schools, depending on their ages. The prices for these schools were high as well, and of course laptop computers weren’t provided; they were purchased by the parents. The children needed the latest model, the most costly. They were required to wear certain clothes and uniforms. The second oldest also had a convertible, and wound up driving the other two children to school and picking them up, which was probably the price of her having the car she wanted. It was painted red, like her mother’s. If they had to carry schoolbooks or equipment, it would be a crowded car.

Helen required having her hair done at least once a week; she ran a tab at Rebecca Meredith’s, the high-dollar store for clothes in the area, and when she wasn’t busy with the volunteer work in the community, attended the opera and orchestra concerts with Franklin. They took vacations whenever the seasons changed, and had traveled the country and all over the world. They booked themselves on cruises, and sometimes took the kids along in the summer, which served to expand their “world-views.”

When Walter finished, I looked at my sheet of paper. It was filled-up on both sides, and quite a mess. “How do people manage to maintain living expenses with all they own,” I wondered, “all that stuff?”

“Wish I had some of that stuff,“ Walter exclaimed. “I’d like a Caribbean cruise every now and then.”

“Walter, your whole life is a vacation,” I joked. “How did you manage to find this information?”

“Top secret, Randall-boy. If I told ya, I’d have to kill ya,” he joked back. “Anybody can find this stuff out, nowadays. Much of this is from the internet. The rest of it is… well, like I said, trade secrets.”

This didn’t stop Walter from sharing, however: “I used to have to go to the library to do research like this, and that was skimpy compared to the information age! Other info gathered is from just plain old legwork. Stake out, ‘borrowing’ their mail, remember what I told you about the television sound gun? I have one of those, too. I traded for it with an insider at a news station.”

Walter was bragging, but I guessed it wasn’t bragging if he could do it. He continued, “And I didn’t even have to go inside their home! I heard much of what they said from parking across the street. I borrowed Kim’s van and pointed my ‘gun’ in their direction.”

“I’ll bet you looked a little out-of-place in that swanky neighborhood,” I said. “With all those sports cars and Mercedes’ nearby, any van would stick out like a sore thumb.”

“That’s true what you say,” said Walter, “but a neighborhood like that has to be maintained, so they need help, like the fellows who mow their yards, vacuum their carpets, cook for them, trim their trees, clean their swimming pools; I found their pool from a satellite picture. Anyhow, I just park near and behind one of those other cars, and I fit right in!” Walter was way ahead of me.

He continued with his surveillance abilities: “Plus, they all have cell phones, and those are easy to listen in on. Want to hear some of their conversations? I recorded a few,” and he placed a little digital recording device on the table.

“You listened in to their home?” I asked. “Don’t you think that’s…” I trailed off. Yes, it was extreme, but all this information was good.

“Crazy? You think I’m crazy? Is that what you were going to say?” Walter said, getting defensive.

“No,” I tried to reassure him. “I was going to use the word ‘extreme’, as in ‘wiretapping.’ But I’m not the specialist. You are.”

“Darn right I am,” he said, somewhat disappointed in me. “I was hoping for a little gratitude.”

“Yes, you’re right, Walter. You’ve worked hard getting all of this info. I’m grateful. You’ve done a good job, one that nobody else could do.”

“And it’s not wiretapping when they use cell phones,” said Walter, satisfied with himself.

Having the last word seemed to mollify Walter, but he was still a bit angry. He didn’t like anyone challenging his abilities. He was the best at what he did, gathering information in ways nobody else could, in ways that might have been perhaps a little questionable. But I could turn a blind eye to some of his methods if the information proved good.

We drank a little more, then Walter took me back home, or close to home. He didn’t drop me off in front of my house, but did let me off about a hundred yards away. Not a far walk, for which I was grateful. I was getting tired, and although I appreciated the exercise, I still had to work the next day.





Meeting with Helen

A few evenings later I sat at the computer to catch up reading my e-mails. I saw a new contact and assumed it was Helen Ceraldi-Burke; I was right. She wrote me with a request to join her for another dinner to discuss the current situation, and left her cell phone number at the bottom of the screen. I answered back and wrote, “Yes,” but that we’d meet at an Italian restaurant one town over. I called her cell phone, but there was no answer, so I left a text message for her to call me, and then I waited. I sat there at the computer and counted the minutes; after 11 minutes and roughly 45 seconds, she finally called, and we made arrangements to meet.

After dark, we both arrived at the restaurant close to the same time; it was hard to miss her bright red convertible sports car. We met in the parking lot and walked into the restaurant and were guided to a table, where we got comfortable and placed our orders.

After some minor chit-chat, she revealed that she had come up with some more information about Susan Lovely, based on what Mindy had turned up. Mindy didn’t accompany Helen on this outing; I supposed she was depressed from our last meeting.

“What do you have to tell me?” I asked.

“I have more information on Miss Lovely. I’ve found that her finances are mostly tied to her family Chocolate factory, the worldwide confectionery company based here in Lovely. Her grandfather, Cornelius Lovely, created the specialized chocolate line and built that factory from the ground up; she, however, doesn’t work there. When the company went public, Cornelius stayed on as the CEO and was the major stockholder. He was filthy rich at the time of his death, which, of course, was just a few weeks ago. He had two children who had no interest in working for the company, so basically he payrolled them until they were old enough to work for themselves elsewhere, then cut their paychecks substantially. They never went without, of course, because he kept tabs on both of his children, and they always seemed to be fairly well off. He did demand that they work, in some capacity, if he was to help them in the financial realm.”

“Sounds as though I would like the old man,” I said, approvingly. “Please continue.”

“Susan Lovely was his only grandchild, and she also worked, but as a model, being very successful in her field. She hasn’t worked in the past few years, probably because she really didn’t have to, and also her grandfather was ill, and it appears that she hoped to cash in from being around him, or else, his estate.”

We looked at each other for a moment. We both were old enough to realize that some children, and grandchildren, could be vultures.

“Now that he’s dead, she stands to inherit many billions of dollars, and that’s after Uncle Sam gets his share.”

I sat there, letting it soak in. I thought to myself, “One billion by itself would be enough for a lifetime. That’s a lot; she can’t possibly spend it all in one lifetime, or can she?” Then I wondered aloud, “Where do you think Franklin fits into all of this?”

Helen squirmed. “Franklin has been talking about retiring for the last few years. Medicine has been very stressful for him; it demands much of his time and energy, and as a result, the kids and I haven’t seen him as much as we used to. Now I’m wondering if it’s because Miss Lovely was part of the equation.”

“What would Miss Lovely see in Franklin?” I asked. “Even though he’s a well-off medical doctor, certainly he doesn’t fit into her care-free Hollywood lifestyle.”

“Franklin is a handsome man…” she said before trailing off. She forgot for a moment I was one of her past suitors. Handsome I’m not; I get it. Decent-looking, yes, but handsome, no way.

She continued, “He has charisma, charm, and can make a girl feel loved….” Oh, yes, Helen, I know I’ve failed in all of these departments as well. But I don’t think you’ve felt loved in the past few years or else you wouldn’t be sitting here talking with me about personal problems.

“I know he’s all these things, probably more,” I chimed in. “Do you think Miss Lovely was lonely enough to want to get involved with an older man? He’s at least 10 years older than her; do you think she goes for distinguished, settled gentlemen as opposed to dynamic, up-and-coming, but not yet established young men?”

“Franklin can make a girl feel she’s important, as though she’s desired,” continued Helen. “I felt that once. We had a fast engagement and quick marriage.”

I sat there, looking into Helen’s eyes, which seemed to shift between her plate and my eyes. “Yes, I remember all of that.” She didn’t move, but her eyes looked down. I continued with, “Are you saying that Franklin doesn’t make you feel loved now?”

“I think Franklin loves me, but the communication is just not there. He’s so hurried; he’s tired all the time. He doesn’t take time to relax anymore. I don’t feel the same way about him as I did when we first got married.”

“You did have quite a whirlwind romance. You must have been swept off your feet, falling head over heels in love with him. He had charm, charisma, good looks, and could make a girl feel desired. Yes, these are all the qualities of a suitor,” I said, trying not to sound too bitter, and hoping I wouldn’t get angry. “However, from another perspective, people change over the years. That’s no reason to say ‘I don’t love you anymore’ and end a marriage. And who says a marriage can’t survive without love, or even the feelings of love?”

“What you’re saying is a hard concept; I think that marriages work better if love is involved,” said Helen.

I answered, “Yes, I’m sure that’s true, but look at it this way: Franklin has already won you. He doesn’t have to act as though he’s trying to win the prize anymore. Did you expect him to keep up the act?”

Helen’s eyes flashed. “I want him to treat me as though he loves me, and show me some attention.”

It was time to talk hard facts to Helen. “Look at your life. You have four kids. You drive a red convertible. You don’t have to work. You’re living the high-end version of the American dream; what else do you need?”

“I need a loyal husband who will add some stability to the home,” she replied. “And I did work while he was in medical school!”

“Well said. He owes you for medical school. Does he currently have a wife who adds stability to the home and who shows him love and respect?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, getting defensive.

“What gave you the impression I didn’t respect him?”

It was time to dig in. “I mean, why are you driving a red convertible at your age? That’s a car for sixteen-year-old-girls who want to be seen and to go parties and to the prom. You should be driving a family van that costs a fraction of a sports car.”

Helen’s mouth dropped open.

I continued. “You don’t work now. Franklin does. I’m not saying being a wife and mother isn’t work, but I imagine you’ve got plenty of help, with cooks and maids and probably sitters or nursemaids. You dress to the nines, even right now.” I gestured my hand up and down Helen’s outfit, as if she couldn’t see it herself. “You look like you’re dressed to kill. I’ve got a question for you: Do all of your children attend private schools?”

Helen was still shocked. So I continued talking.

“I thought so.” Actually, I knew so. “Since you’re at home anyway, why don’t you home school them? Teach them everything you know, then turn them over to the school systems. As I recall, you were a pretty good student. You’re probably brighter than most teachers.”

Helen looked betrayed. “Why are you saying all this, Randall? Whose side are you on?”

“I’m not on anybody’s side, except for Mr. Truth. I’m saying all of this because I think I’m aware of a problem your marriage is having. Franklin is tired of working. He’s probably working his tail off, but he’s not getting ahead. You live on a high level, as though you’re rich and will never go broke. What happens if Franklin dies? Do you have any money stashed away? Do you have a 401K plan, or in your case, a 401M plan? Have you made provisions for the future?”

Helen looked down. “No, not really. We had some investments, but they all went bust in the stock market. We’re trying to make our mortgages and hope to pay off our house one day.”

“Where is Mindy going to college? Nearby, or out-of-state?” I asked.

“She’s attending an Ivy League school up north…” said Helen, answering a question to which I already knew the answer.

I pressed on. “What’s she going to learn there… psychology, sociology, fine arts?”

Now Helen looked angry for a moment, then the light bulb went on in her head. “She’s taking journalism. You think we’re living beyond our means. You think we spend too much.”

“Yes, that’s what I think. I’ll tell you more if you want to hear.”

She was quiet and took a drink. She then said, “Yes, I want to hear. I want to know what you think.”

I brought it down a notch and shifted into gentle. “Okay, let me tell you how I see it. I think you’re living like wealthy people. There’s nothing wrong with being rich, but do you know how hard it is on a man trying to maintain a high standard of living for his family? He’s always got to be working. He’s always worrying. He’s always under constant pressure, especially if his wife is a spendthrift.” Helen looked up here. “Now I’m not saying you’re totally to blame. I think you two need to revamp your lifestyles so one of you doesn’t have to be worrying about money all the time.”

Helen began to look down again, and didn’t say anything, so I decided to continue.

“You live in a high-dollar mansion in the super-nice part of town, when a regular ‘A-Frame’ two-story would probably do for your family just as well.”

Helen looked up and asked, “What do you want us to do, live in the slums?”

“No, nobody said you had to live in a slum. I’m just looking for solutions to a problem, which I think is destroying your relationship with your husband. Franklin is obviously a part of the problem as well. He may have placed himself in this situation; some of the expenses you’ve incurred may be his fault.”

Helen calmed down, just a bit. Then I went in to follow up. “Are you and Franklin in debt?”

She looked up. “We have bills.”

“That’s not what I asked. We all have bills. I asked if you were in debt.”

Helen looked exasperated. She shut her eyes and said, “Yes, we owe on everything. We owe on the house, we owe on the cars, we owe the college, we owe the private schools. We don’t have any money except for what Franklin earns. If he died tomorrow, the kids and I would be broke and have to give up everything. No college, no schools, no house, no country club.”

“That country club doesn’t quite sound like a necessity,” I said, hoping she’d get a little riled.

“Randall, you just don’t know how it is. Doctors who work for hospitals have to keep up professional appearances. They and their family members have to have the expensive cars; people expect us to look intelligent and successful. We mix with a group who are well off, we have friends who send their kids to school with our kids. It’s a different society altogether. It’s not like the way you and I were raised.”

I looked at Helen, studying her over. “What’s wrong with the way we were raised? Weren’t you happy growing up? You certainly looked happy. The Ceraldi family was an on-going adventure; whenever I came over, your family welcomed me with open arms and lifted my spirits, and there was plenty of food and clothes and love there. I even learned how to speak-a the Italiano.”

Helen looked at me with disbelief. “Poco-poco,” I said, correcting myself.

Helen smiled at the memories. I continued, “You had six brothers and sisters, all living in a house that your father and uncles built with their own hands. You didn’t have a lot of luxuries, but neither did anybody else on the southside. You had a household filled with love, which was more than most.”

Helen’s smile faded. “Yes, and you know that Dad and my uncles only built one bathroom for the nine of us? Do you know what that’s like? We have five minutes, five minutes, in the bathroom, and three on school days! We had to get up early to get a place in line, and if we missed our chance we had to use the kitchen sink to wash up or even the garden hose in the backyard!”

“Well, I’ve done that!” I said. “I’m sure we’ve all done that at one time or other, when the plumbing went wacky!”

“You didn’t do it every day!” countered Helen. “And most of the time we had to hold it until we got to the bathroom at school, and hoped the school bus wasn’t hitting every pothole that day. The teachers always counted on us to be using the restrooms early in the morning. Now, I can spend all day in one of the upstairs bathrooms, soaking in the sunken bath without even having to share, with anyone!”

I didn’t know what “scars” had been left on Helen’s psyche, but this wasn’t something terrible. Every family had to make adjustments, one way or another.

“At least you had plenty to eat and clothes to wear, and don’t get the idea that you were abused. You may have worn hand-me-downs at some time, but your mother made sure they were clean and looked good. I never saw you wearing rags.”

Was living the jet-set life making her happy? No, I didn’t think so, or else she wouldn’t be here with me, a fellow who was making just a few thousand above the blue-collar worker, and somewhat financially content.

“Helen, I think your husband may be looking for a way out of his debt by taking up with a rich girlfriend.”

At this, Helen just looked into my eyes, as if she was wondering if I were lying. But she knew I wasn’t, it made too much sense and all the pieces fit. And I didn’t make any mention about Susan Lovely being younger and richer.

The meeting ended with our fishing in the dark, looking for motives and reasons, but at least Helen had been introduced to the idea that they burned money as though it were nothing.

And, I had learned that Susan Lovely may have loved Old Man Lovely for his lovely money, the little vulture.





The Big Picture

The next week went slowly. There had been too many developments for me, too much information for my slow-paced life. I suppose I had become accustomed to being a bachelor, or a loner; I liked it when the dust began to settle so I could get back to my own interests. What a dullard I must appear to be, at least to any outsider. But when things were on my terms, when life was slow and plodding, it was pleasant, and I could deal with life this way.

It was time to visit with Miss Planter, listener. Paid listener. This didn’t quite make her a friend, but it did keep her objective, which is what I needed and wanted. Sometimes a fellow needs a little outside guidance, even if it was from a curvy younger woman. Hopefully she wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to hear, but what I needed to hear. I may not have been happy at the moment, but, while taking stock of my feelings, I didn’t feel sad either. Maybe Miss Planter was onto something when she told me to help somebody.

I said “Hello” to Phyllis, the young pretty secretary, and took my seat in the waiting area, and she offered me the usual coffee and candy, mostly chocolate. Lovely was a great town for chocolates; we probably had an “at-risk group” for obesity, and I was surprised the town hadn’t appeared on any national journalism shows or in any health magazines.

That day I had brought along a new toy, an electronic book. I sat and read an article on the life of Cornelius Lovely, trying to get some insight into his family situation, plus learn about his success in the chocolate trade. It was a fascinating read, an insight into the man who built a business and supported much of the town and how most people here, one way or another, owed something to Mr. Lovely. It wasn’t written by him; he was probably too busy for that, but he did allow the author some interviews; he must have been someone Old Man Lovely trusted, or else this was a puff-piece.

Miss Planter opened her office door and welcomed me in. I entered and sat, and she began asking questions, our normal routine by then. “How are you? How has your week been going? Any new developments?” I answered in the affirmative to these questions, so then she got specific. She wanted details. Not wanting to disappoint her, I told her of Helen Ceraldi-Burke, and the problems she’d been having with her husband. I told her about our conversation about spending and saving. Miss Planter seemed interested in this, so I left out no details.

I had already made mention that this old flame had contacted me a few weeks prior, and that she had confided in me how she wanted to preserve her marriage. Miss Planter paid close attention, while trying not to look too interested.

I said how I thought this old flame had been having financial difficulties with her husband because they had investments which had gone bad, plus had been trying to maintain their lifestyle. “You’re saying she’s rich?” Miss Planter asked.

“I’m saying she and her husband are very well off,” I answered. “I’m not really sure what constitutes ‘rich’ anymore. I suppose if you’re a billionaire, you’d be what everyone would call rich, but they’re nowhere near that figure. Let’s just say, if they chose to live simpler, they could be set for life. As it is now, they’re burning it up as fast as they make it, and time is working against them. Her husband is expressing an interest in retiring, and he’s their only monetary income at the moment.”

“You seem to know an awful lot of this old flame’s business. Don’t you think it’s risky for her to share too much information with you? You’re not a financial counselor, you know.”

“No, you’re right,” I said. “I’m not a financial counselor. But I’m cheap. Extremely cheap. And I prefer the term ‘thrifty.’”

Miss Planter laughed at this, and I smiled. It’s good when she laughs. It showed that she found me funny or ridiculous; I didn’t know which. Guess it didn’t matter.

“Explain to me how ‘thrifty’ you are, Mr. Owen.”

“Okay,” I said, accepting the challenge. “I have a small house, which is paid for. I have a car and a bicycle, both of which are also paid for. When one doesn’t work, I make do with the other. When something breaks, I try to fix it. When I see a sale on something I need, I’ll stock up. I try not to have a lavish lifestyle, because it would be hard to maintain. I’ve been able to save as a result, and I’ve managed to make a few investments. My goal is to be making as much money when I retire as I was making while working. I don’t know if I’ll make it, but it’s a goal.”

Miss Planter was making a few notes. “This doesn’t sound too extreme. You make it sound simple.”

“Oh, it’s not simple,” I replied. “I can be just as spend-foolish as the next person. I have to watch my mood swings so I don’t go out and purchase things on a whim. I’ll try to talk myself out of fast purchases. Most people I’ve met have this weakness; it’s a part of the human condition, I suppose.”

“You’ve brought up an interesting subject, Mr. Owen,” said Miss Planter. “Listening to you is like listening to a college professor. You have a reason and answer for most things you do.”

This was flattering to hear, coming from a pretty (and classy) lady like Miss Planter.

“What was the subject, Miss Planter? I don’t remember saying anything interesting, although I’m glad you enjoy listening to me.”

“You said the human condition. What are your views of the human condition? How do we all exist, or fit into this worldview of yours?”

“My worldview?” I repeated. I’ve always wanted someone to ask me about that. “Ha! I have a very small world, Miss Planter. I suppose my family and friends, from school and college and church have formed much of my worldview. Hopefully these views reflects what the scriptures say; they don’t always line up, and I’m continually surprised how out of line I am, but it’s good to have a place to start in order to get a proper worldview.”

This last sentence made Miss Planter sit up straighter. “’Proper worldview’? Is there any such thing as having a ‘proper worldview’? Aren’t all people free to have their own worldview?”

“Yes, you’re right,” I said. “I didn’t mean to sound authoritative. We’re all free to have and form our own opinions of how things are and how the world should be, but, as I said, this comes from church, so I’d like to get in line with that.”

“What does your church say about the human condition?” she asked.

“It says quite a bit. It says we’re people, humans, not animals; we’re made in the image of God. That’s not saying we look like God, but we reflect God; we’re creatures, created by an infinite being, which makes us finite. We have limits. We were born, we’ll live a short while, and we’ll die. The reason we die is because of the “fall,” or sin. We’re corrupt. We’re so corrupt we don’t even know how corrupt we are. You’ll agree with this.”

“I would?” said Miss Planter, a little startled at that. “How do you know?”

“Well, we’ll find out with a few questions. Mind if I ask you some questions, counselor?”

Miss Planter, wary but curious, said, “By all means.”

“Do you consider yourself to be a good person, Miss Planter?”

“Well, I suppose I do,” she said, “Sometimes. Hopefully most of the time.”

“Do you consider yourself to be a perfect person, Miss Planter?”

“No, I wouldn’t presume to go that far. I’m not perfect.”

“You’re saying then, that you admit to having a flaw or two?”

“I suppose most people would agree that they have a few flaws. Where is this going, Mr. Owen?”

“I’m trying to ascertain that you agree that you’re not perfect. You’re not, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I’ll concede that I’m not.”

“Well, then… why aren’t you perfect?”

“What?” she asked, with another startled look.

“You heard me,” I said. “Why aren’t you perfect? You’re good, aren’t you? What keeps you from being perfect, from going ahead and making that leap, that jump from good to perfect?”

Flustered, Miss Planter said, “Well, I’m not; well, nobody can… that is, nobody’s perfect.”

“Nobody’s perfect? Is that what I heard you say, Miss Planter?”

“Yes, you’re correct. I said that nobody’s perfect. It’s impossible for anybody to be perfect,” she yielded.

“You’re right,” I remarked, trying not to sound too smug, and suppressing a grin. “It is impossible for anybody to be perfect. So you agree with me.”

“I what?”

“You agreed with me. Nobody’s perfect. We’re flawed. We’re corrupt.”

“Yes… I suppose we are.”

“And why are we not perfect?” I asked. “Why are we in this condition?”

“I suppose you’d say because of the fall.”

“Yes, I would. We’ve fallen. We were created with no sin, but we’ve fallen into sin. Now we’re a mess.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

“You wouldn’t?” I was a bit surprised by that remark. “Well, I suggest taking a look at the daily newspaper and you’ll see that …”

“You’re saying this is your worldview of the human condition?” asked Miss Planter.

“Yes, it is.”

“You don’t leave much room for hope, then.”

“I would think that Christ gives man hope.”

Miss Planter’s eyes lit up for a moment, then quickly looked to her clipboard, and then she pretended to write.

“Man is a mess” she wrote and read out loud slowly.

”Yes, that’s what I said,” hoping she wouldn’t be too angry with me. So I tried to lighten things up a bit.

“What you’ve just heard was brought to you by the Reformed Christian church,” I said, sounding like a commercial, hoping for a laugh. “This is not a popular worldview. Hope I haven’t scared you with this.”

“Oh, no, you haven’t scared me.” She looked over the top of her clipboard. “I know a few professors you’d scare, though.”

I laughed. “Sometimes it’s fun to scare people, Miss Planter!”