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![TJDSCM Icon [34K]](CMIcon.jpg) |
brightest day a cloud"
(Shakespeare)
CHAPTER ONE: THE SPECTATOR.
Jack, wearing his power Armani suit with the tie that Jennifer gave him, and carrying his briefcase, entered the elevator and pressed the up button. When the doors closed he bent forward and squinted trying to see his reflection in the metal doors. With his hand he combed back a strand of his hair that had fallen over his eyes, straightened his tie, and smiled at the results. Though reluctant to admit it, Jack had been excited all that morning, it was his first day back officially in charge since he went on the run back in October -- over four months ago. Today was also the day that he and Jennifer would get their money back. He had grand plans and dreams for the paper and especially for them -- today was going to be the beginning of those dreams. He thought back, he had purchased the paper to prevent Diana Colville from printing an expose on him. He smiled to himself, thinking of the irony of the situation, how two percent control had changed his life forever, making it better than he ever dreamed: How he had found his true calling, journalism; how he found himself after that dark year; and how it brought into his life Jennifer, who was his life. The paper meant so much to him. It was so a part of him; it would be apart of both their lives, his and Jennifer's; and it would be their legacy to pass on to their heirs.Jack stood tall and erect, putting on the appropriate dignified pose to show his staff that Jack Deveraux was back. The doors opened, and Jack stepped out into the busting hall way. He let out a deep breath, taking in the sounds, sights, and smells of the office. His heart quickened, and despite his efforts to remain stern and dignified, a slight smile crept across his face. It's so good to be back"
His staff and reporters were milling around, drinking coffee and talking. A young reporter stopped, "Excuse me, what did you say?"
Knitting his brow and giving him a stern look, "I said get back to work."
"But.... I--"
Jack raised his left eye brow and glared at him; and the young reporter rushed off. However, the rest of the staff continued to mill about. Jack cleared his throat, "That means all of you! You're not being paid to hold up the building!" With that his staff got to work, or more accurately pretended to do so. Jack smirked, "Ah power, I love it."
He walked over to his secretary, Marie. Marie was in her early thirties, blond, and attractive; she was talking on the phone and filing her nails. "Marie? Marie! Yes, I'm back.... Yes, Simon Legree Deveraux is back, with a brand new whip." He hung up the phone. "You can talk about what Luke and Laura did in their last exciting episode on your own time."
"Luke and Laura aren't on--"
Jack tried to glare at her, but was not too convincing, his face could not mask the child like excitement over being back. "Cub Med Spectator is officially closed. This may be a Herculean undertaking, but this is a work place, ergo we work. I realize that particular word does not exist in your lexicon." Marie just rolled her eyes. "Now let me enumerate what I want you to do, first, find a pad and pencil; second, listen intently to what I have to say, and write it down; okay; and finally -- now this is the fun part -- you do exactly what you wrote down!"
Marie mumbled under her breath; Jack squinted his eyes and glared at her more intently. "Okay first I want you to call Roy to come up here and change the name on the door back to mine --, and if he misspells the name, it literally is the firing squad. Then I want you to call some florist and have some flowers sent to Vern, and Brian."
"Ahhh, Mr. Deveraux, you're so sweet--"
A mock scowl appeared on Jack's face, "Newspaper men are not sweet, Mrs. Hahwiggins," speaking in a very bad Swedish accent.
"My name's not Hahwiggins, it's Clark--"
He just shook his head and sighed, it was not worth bothering. Jack continued, "Mr. Scofield is the best damn -- pardon my language -- best darn newspaper man in the country; the gallant soldier injured in the line of duty, that.... tha.... that's all.... And if you ever tell him I said that, the next thing you'll be doing is filing out forms at the unemployment office. To continue, then I want you to gather the tribe for a little powwow, at which time all will be relieved. Let's say.... in one hour and a half, here in the hallway."
A short time later, Roy Rodney , a elderly man in his eighties, with thick salt and pepper hair, a beard and mustache, tall but with stooped shouldered, and wearing granny glasses, finished painting Jack's name on the office door. Jack tilted his head back and forth, "It looks a little crocked. Let's try it again."
With a slight whistle to his voice, "It looks fine to me--" Roy stopped in mid-sentence, and shook his head, he realized it was futile.
Just as Roy was about to wipe the lettering out and begin again, to his surprise Jack stopped him. "Well it doesn't look that bad -- I guess. You can go." Not waiting around for Jack to change his mind Roy shuffled off as fast as was possible -- which was not too quickly.
Jack looked around, and seeing that no one was watching, he put his hand up towards the door, nearly touching the lettering, "Jack Deveraux, Owner and Publisher." No it was not "that bad" it was wonderful.
He walked into the office, no correction his office. Thanks to the bank officials for the past several weeks Vern had been put in charge. During this time Vern had rearranged the room and desk to suit himself. The office and desk were neat and tidy, and the desk was practically cleared, the few papers and folders that were on it were neatly arranged. Jack shuddered, "Vern, Vern, Vern, a tidy desk is the sign of a sickmind. How am I supposed to find what I am looking for." He then plopped down in his chair and closed his eyes, drinking in the sensation of being back where he belonged. Jack opened his brief case, and on top he found his and Jennifer's wedding picture; and attached to it was a note, "For your desk, Mr. Deveraux, Lord of the Spectator. With all my love, your wife." "Jennifer," he smiled. He lovingly placed the framed photo on his desk; and admired it for a few moments. Enough of this sentimentality, he thought, time to get back to work. Jack looked at his watch and saw that there still was about twenty minutes before his meeting, this would give him a few minutes to go over his notes detailing his plans for tomorrow's edition and his grand schemes for the future.
Jack surveyed his troops, trying to affect the image of the strict and stern general. "First, any interruption will result in beheading, and/or in an even worse fate, firing. Now, as you see, one, yes I am alive; and two, I am back in control; I am no bleeding heart like Mr. Scofield, my word is law." Jack squinted his eyes and frowned. "Now, with your help The Spectator will become the best damn paper in the country. It will become a beacon of truth, integrity, and journalistic superiority in a world of mediocrity, trash, and sensationalism. It will take a lot of time and hard work, but....but." Mumbling and speaking quickly, "I have one of the best staffs and reporters in the medium, and I have no doubts that it will occur."
The staff cheered and Jack's face slightly blushed. "Now, I want to see Murphy, Rosenberg, and Jones in my office -- pronto. The rest of you, get back to work, the powerful Oz has spoken!"
A short time later, Jack was meeting with his reporters. "I don't know what it is, but there must be some freaky magnetic convergence or something in Salem, but yet again we are the center of a major news item. And I'm be damned if I'll let ourselves be scooped by those high school forays into journalism, especially that rag -- not even suitable for lining a bird cage -- The Chronicle. So, in case you've been living under a rock, you know that there was a bombing at the Salem Museum."
Jack summarized the facts. The Torres family, for as yet to be revealed why, hired someone to bomb the museum, during the gala benefit. The bomber was killed in the explosion, but not before confessing to the police. Jack received privileged information that the bomber also revealed that the Torres family had been holding Bo Brady; and that thanks to the tip Roman had rescued him. By this time various law enforcement agencies were rounding up and arresting members of the family. Also killed in the bombing was a security guard. The causality toll was large; though all will recover. However, at this point Brian Scofield was in guarded condition.
The excitement within Jack built. He was back to doing what he loved, overseeing his newspaper. He could almost burst with excitement, but remained professional and aloof. "Now you have the facts. Okay, Jones I want you over at the hospital, talk to the surgeons, surgical staff, and some of the causalities. Rosenberg, I want you to write an article about the break-up of the Torres Family, head over to the Salem PD, talk to Roman, some of the arresting officers, and try to get an interview with Rafi Torres; oh, and include some history. Murphy, I want you to do research on the security guard -- I believe his name is Lombard -- does he have a family, what's his history -- the tragedy of the innocent victim. As for myself, I shall write the editorial; prerogative of being the owner. Oh, one thing, Padilla it probably would be best to ease off on Vern, interview him later, wait until he's feeling better and we know that Brian is okay."
Alone in his office Jack sat back and smiled, he missed working at the paper, but it was not until now that he realized just how much. This was where he belonged; it gave him a sense of purpose and made him feel as if he was not worthless. Just then the phone rang. "Jack Deveraux," he paused and smiled, "The Spectator. Mickey yes, yes, of course. 4 PM. Wings. See you then. And thanks again." Jack hung up. It was just a couple more hours, the bank would be paid off and it would be legal and official; these past few months would be forgotten history. He looked at their wedding picture, Oh, Jennifer. You have given me so much. I just want to do the same.
"Jennifer, you hardly touched your breakfast, " Alice pointed out.
"I'm sorry, Grandma, I just couldn't. Maybe it's the stress of the last few days, but I just can't face food."
"Obviously, Carly didn't feel the same," her grandmother said. "Eat!" she instructed before she took Carly's empty plate into the kitchen. Jennifer and Carly had arranged to meet for breakfast. Jennifer had wanted to explain why she had avoided involving Carly in the scam with Hawk. Given Bo's situation, Jennifer couldn't bring herself to drag her friend into hers and Jack's mess. But -- like Jack had said the afternoon before -- Roman's lead panned out and now Bo was a free man. They had found him and had arrested Rafi Torres and his associates, charging them with the bombing of the museum. Carly had shown up for breakfast but had left early wanting to spend the day with Bo.
"Penny for your thoughts," piped a familiar voice.
Jennifer looked up to see Isabella Toscano smiling down at her.
"You looked like you were a million miles away," Isabella noted.
"Just my brain trying to catch up with all the events that have happened lately," Jennifer explained. "Sit down. Please, it seems like forever since I last saw you."
Isabella awkwardly tried to sit in the booth. She smiled apologetically. "I feel about eleven months pregnant."
"You don't look it. You look great." Seeing the direction of her gaze, Jennifer slid Isabella her breakfast plate. "Do me a favor. Take this."
Her friend laughed. "Never offer a pregnant woman food.... unless of course it's the first couple of months. I actually lost weight the first month that I knew I was pregnant."
"Your situation was awkward what with John thinking he was Roman and that he was married to Marlena. You know, even saying that seems strange, living it must have been mind boggling."
"It was-- it is." Isabella buttered Jennifer's toast. "But if I'm honest, it wasn't John's problems that kept me from eating. Love life troubles usually have me reaching for the Hagan Daz. It was morning sickness." She bit into the toast just as Alice arrived with a large glass of milk.
"I saw you come in," Alice said to the young red head. "Drink this. It's good for you and the baby."
"Thank you," Isabella answered.
"And Jennifer," Alice said, "I saw what you did. I'm bringing you another plate." Alice again disappeared into the kitchen.
Jennifer sighed. "Sometimes she makes me feel like I'm still fourteen years old."
"Just be thankful you have someone looking out for you."
Jennifer's eyes dropped to the table as she remembered that Isabella really did not have anyone. Her mother was long dead, and she had never been close to Victor. She supposed that Bo being Isabella's half brother meant that she had someone.... but then Bo had been a hostage of the Torres family until last night. And then there was Roman.... or John.... or whoever he was supposed to be this week. He was John now, but Jennifer still had trouble remembering that. It didn't seem quite real. It seemed like some strange scenario out of a Robert Ludlum book -- the John Black Identity.
"How are things going for you and John?" Jennifer asked.
"It's strange," her friend said honestly. "He's unhappy. I know here is, and then the baby coming complicates things, and now this Romulus stuff."
"Romulus?" Jennifer asked.
"It started with the museum exhibit. Someone sent clippings...." Isabella took a deep breath. "There seems to be yet another clue to John's mysterious past."
"Another one?"
Isabella nodded. "There were articles about art thefts in Europe attributed to someone with the code name Romulus and there seems to be some evidence that that 'someone' could have been John in a former life."
"Wow! How strange. How is John taking that?"
"He's going to Europe," Isabella said softly.
Jennifer protested, "Europe? But what about the wedding? I mean, it may be the nineties and I may be a bit old fashioned but you're carrying his child. Shouldn't a wedding precede a trip to Europe."
Isabella shrugged sadly. "He wants to find his name. He says he needs an identity to give one to his child."
Jennifer reached across the table and took Isabella's hand. "It will work out. I'm sure of it. We've all turned a corner. I can feel it. We've had a dark couple of months but things are going to start getting better around here. It will be a rebirth. And just to prove it," Jennifer reached over and took a slice of toast off the plate and bit into it. She stopped.
"You look green," Isabella noted. "I haven't seen anyone look that green since my last bought of morning sickness."
Suddenly Jennifer went from green to ashen. She frowned and started counting on her fingers. She stopped and started counting again. "Oh my God," she whispered.
"Are you okay?"
Jennifer shook her head in disbelief. "No, I...." Suddenly her stomach protested. "Could you excuse me for a moment?" She dashed toward the ladies' room.
(Air date
March 28, 2000)
CHAPTER THREE: WINGS.
Jennifer walked into Wings found an empty seat and an empty table and sat there. She didn't wait for Dave to seat her but she didn't think that Julie would mind. She felt anxious, confused, and exhausted all at the same time. Just over a week ago Jack had wondered whether when their life got "back to normal" -- whatever that was -- they might become restless and bored. Well, if this was normal then he had nothing to fear. She felt as though she was flying in a million directions at once. First this morning with Isabella.... but she wasn't ready to think about that now. She had enough things to worry about without worrying about that. Then work. Ugh! Work.Dan had been standing at the door when she had walked in. She was only five minutes late but the look he shot her made her feel as though she should fall on her knees and ask forgiveness. She didn't like the feeling. Then there was the morning meeting where assignments for the evening news were discussed. Dan gave Madeline the follow-up to the bombing. Jennifer supposed she understood that. To be fair, Madeline had been the one to cover the original story -- no matter how sanctimoniously she had done it -- so Jennifer could understand how Madeline had been assigned the follow-up. But later in the meeting when Jennifer had brought up the idea of doing a story about Roman Brady and the officers who had tracked down Rafi Torres or perhaps Brian Scofield who had been critically injured in the blast, Dan had also assigned those stories to Madeline. Jennifer had been shunted to the side then told to do a fashion critique of the previous night's Golden Globe awards and a story about the history of heart shaped boxes of chocolate. Dan had muttered something how Valentine's day was coming up so they needed something "seasonal." Seasonal? Jennifer called it fluff or grunt work or just plain boring. Then to make matters worse, after the meeting Madeline had walked over to her desk, said how overworked she was and asked if Jennifer could help with the research on the piece about the policeman saying, "Any news report is a team effort." Feeling as though she had been backed into a corner Jennifer had agreed and now she was doing the research on the story she honestly felt had been stolen from her. Now she felt used, exhausted, and a bit nauseous and if that wasn't enough Jack just walked in the door with a grin from ear to ear.
"Great day isn't it?" he chimed as he sat opposite her, signaled the waiter and said, "Garçon, a bottle of champagne."
"Isn't it a little early? " Jennifer asked.
"Long overdue. We deserve a celebration."
"I meant isn't it a little early in the afternoon? It isn't even four yet."
"Give it five minutes. Then it will be four." Seeing her frown he cocked his head to the side and muttered, "What about mimosas?"
"I didn't hear you order orange juice."
"Garçon!" Before she could speak he had ordered the orange juice and was reading the menu. "The rosemary chicken sounds good."
She pulled down the menu to see his face. "What has brought on this uncharacteristically good mood."
"Nonsense, I am known for my good humor."
She arched a brow. "You or Billy Johnson?"
"Aha!" He took the champagne bottle from Dave's hands and popped it open. The bubbles ran over the lip of the bottle to puddled on the floor. "Surely, Mrs. D, you aren't one to forget that Billy and Jack are one in the same."
She covered her glass before Jack could fill it and said, "I'll just have the orange juice. Thanks."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. "
He gave her a boyishly petulant look. "Spoil sport.... then again that just leaves more bubbly for me."
She had to laugh at the look on his face. "So I take it that it's good to be king... of The Spectator."
"You should know, my consort."
She grimaced. "I think at the station I'm more like a Lady in Waiting to Empress Madeline."
"Nonsense, you're twice the reporter that she is."
"With half the influence on the boss," Jennifer muttered.
"I'm sure there is some intern in the news office at The Spectator muttering the same thing about you."
"Oh great, Jack, make me feel better."
He looked shocked. "What did I say?"
"The simple fact of the matter is that I did have influence over you." With her fork she stabbed the rosemary chicken that Dave delivered. "Just as Madeline has influence over Dan."
"Then I don't see the problem." Jack smirked at Jennifer. "He's bound to fire her."
Jennifer gasped and Jack simply laughed. She glared at him. "So did you invite me to a late lunch slash early dinner simply to torture me?" she griped.
"Touchy, touchy. Is it that time of the month?" He bit into a yeast roll.
"Jack!"
He swallowed. "Okay, okay, " he conceded. "You know I invited you here to celebrate. Today not only have I assumed my throne at The Spectator, but your uncle is due here any minute to deliver the crown jewels."
"You've lost them?" she asked archly.
"Ha. Ha." he said flatly. "Your questionable humor aside, Mrs. D, any minute now we will again be in the money." And he started singing the song line and verse -- off key.
Jennifer seriously considered throwing something at him. Perhaps her roll, or the juice in her glass.... or her plate. "Jack will you please shut up! "
Several people in the restaurant abruptly stopped eating and turned to stare at them. She gave a strained smile. "Sorry," she said in a small voice then turned to glare at Jack.
His face lost some of it's childish glee. "You really have had a bad day haven't you."
"Yes."
He nodded then said, "Don't worry. Things will look up soon as your uncle arrives with the check for all that money that Hawk stole from us."
She pushed her food around her plate. "I not sure money will solve anything."
"Sure it will. Like the song says, money changes everything."
She looked up sharply and eyed him suspiciously, "You aren't going to burst into song again are you?"
"No."
"Good. Because, I don't like to think that money makes your life any better. It's a perk. It buys nice things but only things. It doesn't buy happiness."
"There speaks a woman who has always had money," Jack quipped.
Jennifer cocked her head to one side. "And there mocks a man who has also always had money, and it didn't solve all your problems."
Jack shrugged. "Being broke wouldn't have helped. What's your point?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I know you wanted to celebrate and I'm in some irritable, edgy mood. There are just so many things going on, good and bad and I can't quite seem to catch up, and I'm taking my mood out on you."
Jack smiled, "Don't worry. When we get our money back, we can buy a Lear jet and you can catch up."
She sighed. Sometimes there was no getting through to Jack.
Jack was getting impatient. He and Jennifer had been at Wings for over two hours and still Mickey hadn't turned up. Jack had begun to pace backwards and forwards from the bar to their table and Jennifer was ready to hit him.
"Jack, will you please sit down? It doesn't help to see you wearing out the carpet. You know how thorough Uncle Mickey is. He's probably making sure that all the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed before he brings the check over." Jack turned back to her. "Jennifer, there are no i's or t's in Jack Deveraux. He might be a good lawyer Jennifer but sometimes he drives me to distraction with his pedantic little ways. He should have been here an hour ago, money in hand. When he gets here I'm going to give him a piece of my mi.... Mickey Horton, Mickey, Mickey, Mickey. Just the man we want to see. How nice of you to be on time."
Mickey had overheard the last part of Jack's comment and was glaring at him. "Sit down Jack, we have to talk. Jennifer, I'm glad you're here too." Jack glanced at Jennifer as he took a seat next to Mickey and opposite Jennifer. Jack patted Mickey on the back.
"Nothing like a little pedantry to keep things in check, eh Mickey. Check.... get it?" Jack looked in Mickey's eyes but saw no response. "It's a joke.... a pun.... you know.... ha ha ha!"
Mickey remained solemn. "Jack, I don't know quite how to put this."
"Just put it right in my hand Mickey. Every last cent of my money, right here, right now."
"Jack, calm down. Jennifer I am so sorry. You don't deserve...." Jennifer interrupted. "Oh Uncle Mickey, please don't take any notice of Jack. I think I deserve him very much." She smiled across at Jack.
"That's not what I meant Jennifer. I was late because there is a problem with the money. A big problem."
Jack and Jennifer looked across at each other. Jack spoke first. "Wh.... what kind of problem? Don't beat around Mickey, just spit it out."
Mickey opened his briefcase and took out a folder bulging with papers. "It's like this. I went to the court first to get the contract so that the check could be drawn in your favor. Now the contract is fine but when it came to the available funds, there was a problem. To be blunt, Hawk there is no five million dollars."
Jack pounded his fist on the table and began to fire questions at Mickey.
"What do you mean no five million?" Jennifer spoke over the top of Jack. "You mean there's no money?"
"I didn't exactly say that. What I meant is...." Once again Jack and Jennifer began firing questions at Mickey. Jack said, "Not exactly! It's either there or it isn't." Jennifer's reaction was even more anxious than Jack's. "Uncle Mickey, there can't be no money. He signed a legal contract with no escape clause. What do you mean there is no money? This can't be happening."
"Jack, Jennifer, let me finish. There is some money, just not five millions dollars."
Jack sighed, "Well we can live with the fact that there are some legal expenses to come out of it. Just how much do you guys charge these days?"
"It's not my fee I'm talking about here Jack. Hawk did not have five million dollars to sign away to you."
"WHAT?" Jack retorted. "What do you mean exactly Uncle Mickey?" said Jennifer.
Mickey was getting frustrated with their double talk. "Just let me finish, please." They both sat back but their faces showed their disappointment and frustration. Mickey continued. "This is what happened. Apparently Hawk never had the five million dollars. It disa....."
Once again Jack interrupted. "Oh yes he did. I gave it to him or at least I gave it to his phony broker in New York."
"Jack for the last time, let me finish. Yes you did 'invest' the money with Hawk's phony broker in New York but Hawk himself didn't get his hands on the money. You see it disappeared from the office after you ran out. It was never deposited into Hawk's account. I have spent the last two hours going over the possible trail that the money could have taken and so far I have turned up nothing."
Jennifer voice shook as she spoke. "There really is no money, no money at all." Jack just sat back and closed his eyes.
Mickey reached across and placed his hand over Jennifer's. "It's not quite that bad Jen. Hawk did have some money. There is just under a million dollars available to you."
Now it was Jack's turn. "Just under a million. Is that a lawyer's term for a a few hundred?"
"No Jack, it's exactly what it says. The check is for $987,246 and ah.... 68 cents."
"Nine hundred and...." Jack's voice trailed off as he wallowed in abject disappointment. "The paper, I've lost the paper." Jennifer just sat staring straight ahead.
Mickey tried hard to pick up the mood at the table. "It's not that bad Jack. You can save The Spectator. Part of what I've been doing is working out a strategic financial plan that will enable you and Jen to keep the paper and live a good life albeit a little.... well maybe more than a little.... less affluent than you had planned. I've made a list of suggestions that, if followed, will allow you to maintain ownership of the paper. Here Jack, take a look at this."
Jack took the list from Mickey but didn't look at it. "Mickey, what I want to know is exactly what happened to my money. We are talking over four million dollars. It must be in the hands of that broker. If we find the broker, we find our money. Simple!"
"Jack, that's the first thing I did. The broker was arrested not long after you saw him, for conning somebody else. He didn't have any of your money Jack. I don't know what happened to it or your stocks but it's all gone and I can tell you that the FBI and various other authorities would love to get their hands on the culprit."
As Mickey spoke Jennifer looked up to see Lawrence approaching the table. "Good evening gentlemen and.... lady. Jack you seem to be in a very low mood. Perhaps a little financial trouble.... again." Jack bounced to his feet, always ready to do battle with Lawrence.
"And you are wrong.... again, Mr. Alamain. Actually Jennifer and myself are here to celebrate the recovery of some.... assets that were.... mislaid. Isn't that right Mickey?" While Jack attempted to hide the list Mickey had handed him, Mickey turned around and looked up at Lawrence. "Very true, Jack, very true. We have business to discuss Alamain, if you don't mind." Mickey turned away from Lawrence in disgust.
Lawrence leaned over towards Jennifer. "And once again I see you continue to associate yourself with your less than polite family and your less than controlled.... husband."
For an instant Jack's rage rose to the surface and Jennifer saw him clench his fists by his side. She caught his eye and with a single glance was able to show him that Lawrence couldn't hurt her anymore. Jack sighed and sat down. "I guess it's time you left Lawrence. Once again, you failed to disrupt our lives. I suggest you try and find your own life and see if you can disrupt it."
Lawrence walked slowly away but not before giving Jennifer one of his slimy smiles. Jennifer was furious. "He never lets up, does he? I can't believe he has the gall to continue hanging around us after what he did. Jack you were so good with him."
She looked across to see Jack totally absorbed in Mickey's list. He hadn't heard a word she said and by the look on his face the list was not good news.
Jack didn't even acknowledge Mickey when he said goodbye. He was still going over Mickey's proposals. Mickey whispered to Jennifer, "I better go." He glanced at Jack. "It's a comprehensive list Jennifer but it will save the paper and I think that's the most important thing at the moment." He smiled and left.
It had been almost fifteen minutes since Mickey left and still Jack had not looked up. He kept reading and reading, sighing heavily as he leafed through the pages.
"Jack, you know Lawrence doesn't upset me," she continued, "It's only money Jack. It doesn't really matter that much if we get all or some of it back. I'm not that disappointed. What does Uncle Mickey suggest?"
Jack raised his hand to stop her talking and continued to read. As time went on Jennifer could see Jack closing in on himself. He always became self absorbed and introverted when he thought about losing his money. "Jack? Can I have a look? Surely with nearly a million dollars we will be fine. Uncle Mickey said it would save the paper and that's all that matters. Jack?"
Jack grunted in recognition of her words but still didn't speak. "Jack what is it? What's so bad about a little bit of cutting back?" Jack looked up. "Cutting back, she says, cutting back. Jennifer we are talking about a chainsaw massacre, not a spring prune."
"Oh come on Jack, it can't be that bad. Uncle Mickey is conservative but we have so much that we can live without. I mean I can do without a new spring wardrobe. Come to think of it, I might need a few new things. Everything feels a bit tight. Jack what are you looking at?"
Jack was leaning back in his chair watching her to and fro over clothes. How was he going to tell this woman he loved so much and wanted to give so much to that it was all gone. Everything. In order to save the paper, they would have to lose everything else in their lives.
"Jennifer, we have to do more than just cut back on our wardrobes. As much as I find Mickey a real pedant, his suggestions do make sense. It's just that I don't think we can do it all."
"Don't be silly Jack, of course we can. Tell me Jack, what do we have to do?" Reluctantly Jack handed her the list which she scanned immediately. "Well we can live without a lot of things..... OH!" Her eyes were glued to the first thing on the list. Sell the penthouse. Sensing Jack's depression growing deeper and deeper by the minute she quickly moved down the list to try and find something positive. "Well.... that's not so bad.... I mean we never really needed.... oh look Jack, you get to keep the Jag. Isn't that wonderful?"
Jack smirked. "Jennifer I was given that Jag in 1986. Six years ago. It's resale value is zilch and when you consider the drive shafts need replacing on both sides and the electrical system is suspect, it's a wonder it's running at all. Let's face it Jennifer, our lives are about to change drastically."
"Jack they're just things. We don't need a lot of things. We have each other. Our love will get us through anything." Jack remained silent and Jennifer attempted to lift the mood. "Um.... hey you know all those time you checked the phone on the pier? Well now those pennies will really count."
Jack's face remained stoic. "It's a joke, Jack. You know. What you do all the time when things are bad. Ha ha and all that."
Jack is not convinced. "Love, Jennifer, love. You know that old saying? When money flies out the front door, love flies out the back." She laughed. "That's an old wives' tale Jack. It has no meaning at all. Anyway we get to keep the paper if we do all this."
"And how long will that last if I'm seen in rags driving a beat-up old car and my wife is shopping at discount stores? This is only the beginning Jennifer. I know you think we can survive this but there will be things that we have to sacrifice thatyou like too. I know it seems like it's going to be rosy but Jennifer there will come a time when we have to face losing things that are more to us than just possessions. We might have to sacrifice part of ourselves."
Jennifer is trying hard to be unconvinced. "I think you're being melodramatic as usual Jack. I'm sure we'll get through this just fine. All we need is love Jack. That's all we need."
Jennifer sat back and placed the list on the table between them. Jack stretched out his legs and leaned back too. Both of them were silent as they stared at the paper which held the end of their life so far and the beginning of a whole new experience.