Sommes du Soleil
The sun was starting to sting his shoulders. He half sat up and turned his chair so that a fresh side of his body could bake.
“I hate the beach.”
“And it hates you. Why are you in a lawn chair? Everyone else on the beach is on a blanket. You couldn’t be any more conspicuous, godsake.”
Larry searched a tote bag for some sunscreen. “Then I would feel like a piece of chicken in a frying pan. You are just another strip of bacon, Ellen. Besides, I promised you I would sun with you out here for an hour. I never said I would tan myself with any degree of gusto.”
The water was still cold, but it didn’t affect the children who were running into it as if their skin provided some extra type of insulation. On the beach, though, the heat was a drug, creating a pleasant buzz in the head for those that succumbed to its power. The heat haze put objects in motion with a lazy, sweeping hypnosis. Couples walked hand in hand at the water’s edge, where the receding water left miniature bubbles on the saturated sand.
It was the worst possible time for a vacation, but Ellen would listen to none of Larry’s arguments and bribes to reschedule it. It was their first real vacation in three years, and they (Ellen, actually) had spent six months planning it. She had called the Sarasota Chamber of Commerce and received an armload of brochures, which she gleefully sifted through. Larry shopped airfares and made hotel suggestions to Ellen based on a couple of business trips he had made to the area. Finally, Ellen had planned each day so that they would always wake up with an event to look forward to, but she took care to leave each afternoon open to relax. Larry, like most type-A personalities, had a lot of difficulty with the relaxation part.
Three days prior to leaving their home in Elmhurst, Illinois, Larry’s food service company picked up a fairly good-sized account that he had been trying to get for over two years. John, the young salesman that he had put in charge of calling on the new customer, was doing a good job handling the initial detail, but Larry decided that he wanted to be in town to baby-sit the new customer for at least the first month or so. Ellen thought otherwise. So the short-term fate of his company was in John’s hands, or so Larry felt.
It was hard to resist the temptation to try and make Ellen feel guilty, Larry thought, as he wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm. On the plane he told Ellen that they wouldn’t be able to afford any future vacations if business didn’t get taken care of. She looked him straight in the eye and informed him that for him working was an end in itself, and that if it were up to him they would never take a vacation. She also added that it was Larry’s fault if, after running a business for fifteen years, he hadn’t learned to delegate responsibility for at least a week.
“Thinking about work?” Ellen asked sarcastically.
“No crime against that, is there? It’s what I love. I enjoy it. Most people hate their work, anyway.”
“Larry, don’t you enjoy being with me? I don’t think that most people hate their work; I think that most people prioritize their families first. I understand that you are driven, and I know that your success is largely due to the fact that you are relentless in your work. But surely as your wife I can expect you to be able to walk away from it a couple of days a year.”
Some of the sunbathers were beginning to head back toward the cabins, either because they had enough heat or to get an early lunch. Most seemed to be couples like themselves, self-appointed exiles from corn country who were escaping slush, cement colored skies, and salt laden cars. They were on a private beach, as most beaches on the gulf side were becoming, which was part of the semi-exclusive community of three dozen or so townhouses. Each townhouse had two bedrooms, a full kitchen, living room and dining room, laundry service, and a garage. While it wasn’t stated that children were not allowed, management of Soleil Estates made it clear via word of mouth and during the reservation conversation that it was not a place where kids were welcome. As a result, the clientele were generally wealthy, middle-aged couples looking for a quiet week or two of sun and shopping.
“I guess I was thinking about what you said on the plane, about me not being able to walk away from the business. I always figured I could delegate, but maybe I really don’t. Not fully. I guess I’ll find out this trip, with John in charge.”
“Do you remember what else I said on the plane? I bet you wouldn’t dream of not calling in while you were down here. But you know what, Larry, if you didn’t I guarantee that everything would be fine when we got back. Have you called in yet?”
“Not yet, but it’s still our first day, and the day is young. They expect me to call in, Ellen.”
“They expect you to call in because you always do call in, not because they need you. John knows exactly what to do with your new customer. He brought them to you, Larry! Think of the confidence boost you would give him if you let him handle the transition while you were gone. Letting him do what you pay him for is only going to allow him to get better, and allow you some breathing room to do other things in life, like get away with your wife. Or is there a tinge of jealousy that the Young Turk is starting to capture the big accounts without your guidance?”
Larry had a towel wrapped around his neck, like a fighter’s trainer, in order to block the sun from his shoulders. He had been slowly digging his toes under the sand, and he had gone deep enough that he actually felt some coolness on the balls of his feet.
He moaned slightly. “Sure, there’s a little of that, but I think I’m man enough set that aside. I know I’m greedy enough; I’m supposed to be setting them out there in the market to succeed. If they do well, I do well!”
“Are you really letting them go, though, or are you just letting your people hold the pole until the fish strikes, and then you reel it in?”
“I don’t know. Let’s enjoy our vacation, shall we?”
“Sure,” Ellen agreed. “But let’s get in the apartment before I roast.”
* * * * *
They had forgotten to dial the code for the maid into the phone when they went to the beach, so they laughed in mock disgust that the service hadn’t yet cleaned up. Ellen showered as Larry lay on the unmade bed. He turned to look for a clock, and saw that it was almost 11:45. No wonder he was starving. He stood up, peeled off his shorts and underwear and went into the bathroom to shave. As he began to run hot water into the sink, he changed his mind and climbed into the shower with Ellen.
She was genuinely startled. “Is there room for both of us?”
Larry laughed, and the sound echoed slightly in the confined space. “Vacation spontaneity – aren’t you proud of me? We used to do this all the time when we were first married. Remember, you used to say it saved on our gas bill?”
Ellen put her arms around his neck and rested her cheek on his chest, as the water fell on both of them. “How did we get by? We must now spend enough in a week what was our monthly budget then. I can still see you writing down all the anticipated expenses when you got paid each month, and then whatever was left over -”
“I would split that, put half in savings, and we would use the remainder for unexpected things.”
“Which always came up. You know, we did that for over three years, and how many times did we fall out of budget?”
“I’ll bet not even three times,” Larry said with pride. “It’s not too awfully dissimilar from the way I run the business now. Hand me the soap.”
They were toweling off when Larry mentioned that he was ready to eat. Larry wanted to take a walk after sitting all morning, so they agreed to stroll to the canal and grab a bite from one of the street side vendors, and have a nice formal meal later in the evening. Ellen put a little lotion on Larry’s shoulders for insurance against peeling, and they dressed.
There was a slight, welcome breeze, the precursor of the brief afternoon thundershower that often struck central Florida in the winter months. Ellen pushed her hand into Larry’s as they walked toward the canal area. They knew they were getting close when they could hear the squawking of the seagulls as they fought over the scraps tossed by boats. The birds dropped onto the water with their wings stretched in wide arcs, the equivalent of cats hunching their backs, ready to fight for a meal. On the other side of the street, across from the canal, shops were doing a brisk business with tourists who, like themselves, had absorbed their share of sun and were ready to move around. The shops were small, and many sold the same objects; polished driftwood, glass lamps filled with seashells, T-shirts with inane comments. Nonetheless, the streets weren’t too crowded, and they had no trouble finding an outdoor cafe that boasted cold beer and “gourmet” hot dogs.
“Only the price is gourmet,” Larry guessed. “I wish I could make 200% profit.”
“You’re on vacation. “Profit” is one of many forbidden words, pal. Besides, you love tube steaks and beer.”
“You’re right. I won’t talk business if you won’t bug me about what I eat. Now I’m beginning to relax and enjoy myself!”
The outdoor tables had over-sized umbrellas, so they chose a spot next to the canal where they could watch the sailboats motoring their way through to the ocean to hoist sail. Most of the boats carried names of women or witticisms, but one that slid by was named the “Maigret.” As it passed them, Larry called to the captain.
“Named after Simenon’s character?”
“You bet,” called out the captain. “You a fan too?”
“I think I’ve read all of them.” The sailboat drifted out to the end of the channel, and the captain waved and returned to his work.
“Read all of what?” Ellen asked.
“Georges Simenon was a French mystery writer who created a detective named Maigret. Very popular in France in the ‘forties and ‘fifties, and then the mysteries were translated into English. Maigret’s shtick was that he never used force, was very patient, and basically relied on his noodle.”
“Why name a boat after him?”
“For a period of time Simenon would take off alone and float on a boat, writing his way down the Seine or whatever. Kind of like the legend of Hemingway writing at night by lamplight on the beaches of Cuba.”
“What do you mean you’ve read all of them? How many of them are there?”
“Oh, I don’t know…thirty or so.”
“When did you read all these? How can you have read thirty books by one author, and I’ve never heard of him?
“It was a binge, I guess, during college. Over the course of three years some friends and I really got into Simenon, and we used to just pass the paperbacks around. There was a general interest in Europe among a large group of students – foreign language classes were packed to the gills. There were six or eight foreign exchange programs; I tried to get into one in London, but it was the most popular one, and I didn’t get in.”
The waiter came looking for a drink order, but they were ready to order and did so. The breeze from the ocean was refreshing, and Ellen hoped aloud that it took awhile for the hot dogs and beer to arrive. Seagulls could smell the food, and they hovered motionless above the restaurant looking for scraps. “Dogs of the sea,” Larry would be calling them all week.
Ellen continued her questioning. “I wonder how this never came up before. It seems to me that you are pretty passionate about this guy. I’m not happy that at this stage of our marriage that I’m not aware of all the things you’re passionate about, buddy!”
“There are so many things you don’t know about,” Larry kidded as shrugged his shoulders at her.
“C’mon! Were there any women I should know about that were reading Simon Says with you?”
“Simenon,” Larry corrected, with a feigned air of indignation. “And chicks dig him along with the men who read him.” Ellen rolled her eyes. “There was another writer, P.G. Wodehouse, pronounced “Wood” – house, I think. He was a British expatriate who lived in New England somewhere, and he wrote hilarious short stories about late Victorian society, great golf stories and stuff about the last of the real dukes.”
“How cosmopolitan you are. You really should find time to read again. It’s hard to think of you absorbed in something other than inventory turns.”
“Speaking of cosmopolitan, here are the hot dogs.”
They were delighted that the hot dogs were “Chicago” style, with chunks of tomato, small peppers, and onions. They ate for awhile in silence. Larry thought about what his wife had said and did wonder how he had lost his appetite for reading. He had liked European authors primarily – Trollope, Hesse, even Kafka from time to time. And he had gone through a period when he’d devoured authors from the early American period – Hawthorne, Melville, and James Fenimore Cooper. He determined to get to a bookstore that afternoon and pick up something good to read for the remainder of the vacation. Maybe he would get something for Ellen as well. The fact that she only read periodicals certainly had something to do with the fact that he hadn’t read more than half a dozen novels since he was married. Part of reading was discussing the story with someone, and Ellen never had shown any interest in books. In the end, though, the fault was his own. Business had fascinated him from the day he entered to workforce, and he never looked back. Anyway, Ellen was clearly showing an interest in his erstwhile passion, and if he rekindled his love for reading, she might even join him.
“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “I think we should find a bookstore right after lunch, and each of us should pick up a book to enjoy on the beach.”
“Really! That’s a turnabout. I can’t remember the last time I read a book; probably in college, I’m embarrassed to say.”
“So what. I think I’ll start slowly and pick a short Trollope. He wrote glorious stories about the England of 150 years ago. He was the creator of a sort of soap opera of his time, but on a classier scale. If you want, I can help you pick something out.”
Ellen winced. “I’m not so sure that I want literature, if you know what I mean. I think I need a frame of reference that’s a little closer to home.”
“As long as we avoid romance novels,” Larry joked.
“Give me a little credit, Larry.”
The shop had comfortable armchairs scattered throughout the room, and Larry and Ellen had several books apiece that they were showing each other. They were playfully scoffing at each other’s choices and at the same time encouraging each other to get whatever they wanted. They handled the tomes like schoolchildren visiting the library for the first time, careful not to break the backs of the books, and handing them to each other like newborn babies. Larry was trying to get Ellen excited in his born-again hobby, not really realizing that Ellen was already delighted to see Larry exhibit the same joy in something he had, until now, reserved solely for the business. She wouldn’t have discouraged him for anything, even if it meant trudging though some obscure British author herself. He was truly relaxing now, and detaching a little from the business, even if only for a few hours. The lines around his face were softened, and he went from one volume to the next and back like a child choosing between licorice and gumballs. Ellen was both happy and jealous; Larry was enjoying a contented place in his mind where he had been before, yet she was just learning about this place. Why had he denied himself this pleasure for so long? Why had this joy never been mentioned when he was recounting his college years to her? Maybe the fact that she was never a reader had caused him to drift away from it when they had at first become serious with each other. She determined not only to make sure she did not become an obstacle to Larry re-discovering his hobby, but also to encourage it, if it remained this exciting and relaxing to him.
“Which one do you think I should get?” he mused. “It’s a choice between something studious and something that is pure enjoyment.”
“Why aren’t you buying both?” Ellen asked with genuine astonishment.
“Oh, I don’t know. I might not have time to finish even one if I don’t finish it here on vacation. No reason to leave one lying around never opened.”
“Larry, get them both. I promise that if you don’t get to the second one that I will read it. Then there won’t be any waste. I want you to get both of them.”
“Umm. Alright, what the heck, I will. They have gotten a lot more expensive since I was buying them regularly.”
“Larry, I’ll be honest with you. If you get anywhere near the enjoyment reading these two books as you have had buying them, it will be money very well spent. Honey, it is wonderful seeing you absorbed in something other than the business.” Her voice softened. “This time, though, I want to be a part of it.”
Larry took her hand and kissed her fingers gently, one by one. “I’ve never really read in the past couple decades because the business became everything, and I love it. But I love you more. You’ve never been much of a reader, though. Some couples plant gardens together, but maybe we can do this together.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever read much, but you can talk to me about what you are reading. You can tell me what you like and don’t like.” She grinned. “You can tell me when you have found a new foreign author, and maybe I’ll try one of those.”
* * * * *
There had been no conscious decision to dig a hole in the sand. Larry’s phone had rung just as they were returning from the bookstore. The call to the office had lasted only a few minutes, but Ellen was inwardly furious. She knew enough about the day to day business to know that the issue could have been resolved at the office if anybody had stopped for ten seconds to think about it. Dammit, they were only supposed to call him for an emergency, and this wasn’t anything approaching an emergency! What made her really upset, though, was the fact that Larry had been all hers until that phone interrupted them. There hadn’t been a fiber in his being concerned about work as they were driving back to the apartment, and to her the phone had been like hearing a gunshot.
Went he got off the cell phone he had immediately suggested a walk along the beach while it was still warm. They had walked until they both were tired, so they sat, with the waves reaching the beach, each wave only to be hindered by the last one retreating back from the sand. Their feet were just touched by the wet film that raced up the sand, some of which turned back, some of which sank into the wet sand. As they talked, one of them had begun idly burrowing into the sand with one hand, and the other had joined. Before long they had created a hole, the bottom of which was filled salty water and bits of shells. From time to time there was the screech of a seagull, but otherwise the beach was unusually empty, and the couple enjoyed their solitude. Both of them found it relaxing to direct their attention to the mundane task of digging the sand hole, and Ellen soon felt the tension from the phone call leaving the muscles of her neck. She seemed to be regaining her husband, which surprised her, since he always transitioned slowly from work situations. Soon she realized that once he had hung up the phone, he hadn’t said a word about the call. Instead, he had suggested going down to the beach, and that had been the end of it. Gawd, she took the interruption worse than he had! That was an absolute first. This man was really settling into this vacation after all, she thought.
Later, leaving their sandy blemish in the beach behind, they walked along the water as the sun set, hand in hand. They spoke very little, and Ellen realized after awhile that Larry was deep in thought. She sensed that it was not the preoccupation that he exhibited when something at the business was bothering him, but rather the absorption the overtook him when he was working over possible solutions to a problem in his mind. She didn’t interrupt him. Sea birds flew low over the water, dipping their bills into the surf from time to time. The sun was turning from egg yolk yellow to Titian red, and they both seemed to know when it was time to turn around back to the hotel.
Larry took the change of direction as his cue. “They can run the shop without me, can’t they, Ellen.”
“That’s what you hired them for, hon. You pay those two way too much to hound them the way you do.”
Another, shorter pause. “Like watching a kid grow up, godsake. I’ve worked all these years to grow the business to the point where it could take care of me, but when it finally happened I still wanted to baby-sit it. It seems inconceivable to me that with solid management it can exist with nothing more than tinkering from me, but we are at that point, Ellen.”
“But we both know that you can’t sit back and enjoy your success. You have to be gnawing at something or else you’d go crazy.”
“Yes, but trying to expand beyond where we are now would require a loss of control that would drive me crazy just as quick. Letting the guys manage it where it’s at is the best thing that can happen.” Larry stooped to scoop up a handful of pebbles, which he launched into the sea one by one as they continued to walk along. The sun was a crimson fireball being quenched by a liquid horizon.
“So what’s next?” Ellen asked, knowing that this was not casual conversation.
“What is next is the fact that I manage the shop as much as is necessary, but I let it be run by the men whose job it now is to run it.”
“Then what’s next?” she asked again.
“Next? Next, we do a little research when we get back, and we plan to open a bookstore somewhere in town. The city needs one. And you and I run it together. We won’t kill ourselves doing it. Just a going concern that will be ours, that we’ll enjoy. That’s next.”
* * * * *
Ellen unwrapped a piece of gum to try to chew the pressure out of her ears. Larry was asleep. She never understood how he could sleep on planes with the turbulence and the noise, and especially being surrounded by strange people. She had her tray table down with a Scotch and water placed on it, along with Larry’s rough plans for the bookshop. They would take out a fresh loan, he had said. They wouldn’t take profits from the main business for a risk venture. Larry was confident that it would work, though. There were two community colleges and a satellite campus of the State University in town, which meant that both students and faculty members would be obvious potential customers. Ellen smiled to herself. When she said that a good way to differentiate their store from the existing chain bookstore would be to offer coffee and a lounge area to peruse through books, Larry had been delighted with idea. He said that she had discovered their sales hook before he had even thought about needing one. Just planning it together was enough for her, she thought. Larry would work hard enough for both of them, and she wondered if just getting out of the way might not be her best contribution. He seemed serious that this was both of theirs, though, he had insisted that she knew how to make people feel welcome. The front of the store would be hers; the back his.
“I’m going to call Paul, our accountant, as soon as we land,” Larry said, his eyes still closed.
“I thought you were sleeping. Anyway that can certainly wait until morning, can’t it?”
“No, it can’t. I’m going to get this ball rolling before we get sucked back into the usual rut. When I get to work tomorrow, I’ll let the guys know about it. They’ll be so excited I won’t have the heart to change my mind.” He opened his eyes and turned toward her. “If I haven’t learned enough to get a small book store up and running, then I don’t know anything. This is going to work because we want very badly for it to be ours.”
“I know I do,” Ellen said. “I can’t believe that we left on vacation just hoping that we could get you to relax, and now we’re coming home to this. It’s hard to believe.”
Larry reached over and took a sip from her drink. “We all learn eventually that life is too short. You helped me to learn it earlier than most entrepreneurs do. Besides, it was your idea of having coffee and sofas in the store that tipped it in.”
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