CHAPTER 8

Leon waved good-bye from the street corner where he dropped me off.

“Do you want to come over?” I asked through the open window. “I could use the moral support.”

“No, that’s not a good idea,” he replied, putting on his sunglasses. “I better get some kip.” He yawned. “I haven’t slept properly in a few nights.”

“Okay.”

“Text me and let me know how it goes,” Leon said. “Whoops, I better get out of town, mon. Sun’s setting.”

“Don’t joke about that,” I countered. “I bet Pleasantville is a sundown town.”

“Life is sweet here, though.” He looked up at my house in awe.

“Not as sweet as in Jamaica, though.”

“For some,” he said, and waved, driving away.

I pulled out my key and walked into the front hallway. Several doors lead off in various directions opening into other rooms. A large circular staircase stood down the center of the hallway and ascended up two flights to other portions of the house. Quickly I raced up the stairs to the second floor to my bedroom, changed into a pink dress, touched up my makeup and bounded down the steps.

Voices were drifting from the library.

“Mom?” I called out, opening the second door on the left that connected to the library.


Hunt was admiring our antique piano.

“Laura, here you are. Come in.” My mother’s voice beckoned me forward and reluctantly I entered what was my favorite room in the house.

Mr. Hunt was standing near our white antique piano seeming to appraise its worth with his greedy eyes. He walked over to my mother and faced me.

“Sammy, this is Laura, my daughter. Laura, here is the famous Mr. Hunt I’ve been telling you all about.” She batted her eyelids trying to flirt.

He looked me up and down and then put out his hand.

“Your mother says you are quite a student, Laura,” he said with a distinct upper class Bostonian accent.

“I do well in school,” I replied. “Nice to meet you.” In my mind I was thinking there was definitely a reason my mother liked him. Even though Hunt’s manner was quite serious and severe, he was well dressed in an expensive suit and his demeanor screamed New England snobbery and wealth.

I suppose he had relatives that came over to the USA from England on the Mayflower. My dad had come over on a ship as a young refugee from Naples. The dichotomy made me laugh but I caught myself.

“I didn’t see any of your four cars in the driveway,” I said trying to change the subject.

Mr. Hunt sat down on the sofa next to my mother. "I never drive when I go out on the town in the evenings. I like to be able to imbibe with abandon."


"Sammy is going to give us good financial advice," said my mother.

“Sammy’s limousine driver dropped him off and will be taking us to the restaurant in an hour ,” my mother explained, filling his glass with one of the expensive beverages she kept in my father’s prized wine cellar.

Wine he had shipped over from his native Italy once he had been successful enough to afford this luxury. It was his one personal indulgence—so my mother had told me—and he had treasured each bottle.

My mother barely touched wine in the years after his death. Now she was doling it out to this man to snare him and his many dollars.

“Nice vintage,” he remarked, looking at the liquid. “I haven’t had Falletto di Bruno Giacosa in quite some time. Probably not since my meeting with the Italian PM in 2010.”

“Sammy, you know everyone,” my mother gushed. “Isn’t he amazing, Laura? Imagine hobnobbing with Malcolm Landgrab.”

“Yes, he is quite a character,” agreed Mr. Hunt, “but President Trumf is who I really admire.”

I smiled weakly, trying to be polite. I preferred Barney Landers and when he lost the election I was deflated for weeks. I didn't really like to discuss politics, especially with extremely narrow minded and Conservative people.

“Your mother tells me you plan on attending The University of Pleasantville this autumn.” Mr. Hunt turned his eyes from his glass to me. “What will be your major?”

“Education, early childhood education. I’m going to be a teacher.”

He raised his eyebrows and looked to my mother who nodded.


Mr. Hunt and Mom seemed to think I was clueless because I wanted to become a teacher.

“Indeed? And, how will you be funding this folly?”

“Folly?” I repeated quizzically. “How is being a teacher a folly? Besides, my father left me a trust fund for my education.”

“Laura, I’m sure your late father had good intentions but an early education teacher?” Sammy laughed shortly. “That is almost as useless in life as being an English major. These subjects never pan out to real lucrative careers.”

I frowned as he went on.

“You’ll be lucky to obtain a position at a department store with minimum wage after you graduate.”

“I told you she was stubborn,” said my mother as I began to interrupt. “It’s not like she’s going find a decent husband in those classes. Most of them are full of desperate, liberal women and a few idealistic, touch feely men."

“Yes, true. Real men major in finance or business or medicine.” Sammy enunciated slowly. “I think you have the makings of a socialist here, Philppa.”

“Now wait one minute,” I sputtered. “Is that why you wanted me to meet him? So you could both gang up on me?”


Two people ganging up on me was too much!

“You volunteer at a homeless shelter so you obviously have time on your hands,” Mr. Hunt set his empty glass down on the table. “I believe you need real life work experience and to start to learn how to pay your own way. Your mother has been more than generous—a car, private school, a lovely home, meals, clothes.”

When he said “clothes” my mother gave a short laugh.

“Sammy understands finance, Laura. He’s going to help me double my savings and get you started on the right financial road. If you want to pursue this sort of education, you need life skills.”

“I have been employed since I was 15,” he announced proudly. “I was a pageboy at my father’s law firm on holidays from prep-school. While at college, I worked there as well. I spent a year abroad in England in my uncle’s banking establishment before graduate school.”

“That’s fantastic,” I replied. “I’m not interested in law or finance so I guess that sort of “work experience” is not for me. I work with kids at the shelter.”

Sammy chortled when I said, “work.” I guess he only considered pay for work valuable.


I needed my trust fund money for my tuition to become a teacher.

I pointed to my mother, “Mom, I’ve told you before, I have to get the tuition in soon or I won’t get into the Education Program or the classes I need. Now can we please discuss this tomorrow in private and get the check to the college?”

“Oh, no, no,” replied my mother. “Sammy thinks-“

“I don’t give a darn what Sammy thinks,” I retorted. “He’s no one, just someone you met a few times and because he has a load of money you’re letting him ruin my plans. Well, it's not going to happen."

I turned to leave the room.

My mother apologized to Mr. Hunt. “I’m so sorry. I told you she was ungrateful!”


They were planning my future!

“This is far from over,” she called to me. “Sammy is going to find you-“

I slammed the door. I didn’t want to hear what she or C. Arthur Samuel Hunt thought they had planned for my future.