At the age of four, I concocted a false story with the help of a cousin. That story got a schoolmate detention and licks. For 25 years I searched for that student to apologize, and when I found him, to my surprise he remembered nothing about the incident. Am I still paying for that misdeed, or am I reaping what I sowed?
I owned a popular nightclub in New York. My clients were flashy people who spent big bucks. You learned not to ask people what they did for a living-unless they volunteered. My part time security guard-a police officer handled the "leave your weapons at the door" routine. I pretty much knew who the licensed gun owners were. One of them asked me if I could pull a string for his wife to go to Hunter College in the evenings. I had signed up for a music theory class and told him about it during a casual conversation one evening.
After I got his wife registered, he asked me if I could drop his wife home for him, since he lived pretty close to my home. After a while, I would drive and sometimes he would use my car and I would ride home with his wife. I was always careful to call him on those nights in advance suggesting a drink before I continued home. Since I was not married then and he was, I changed courses to avoid even the hint of an affair or skulduggery.
Years later I opened another nightclub and my old neighbor showed up and told me that he and his wife were through. "Well," I said, "your timing couldn't be better. That night the ladies outnumbered the men by two to one." After I introduced him to my date that evening, he shifted gears. No longer was he interested in any other girl; he only had eyes-long eyes for my date.
"Why is your friend coming on to me so strong? She asked. To my surprise, when I told her to ask him, he told her "Your boyfriend and I always liked the same women." I felt ice run through my veins. "What in heavens was he talking about? I left that hanging for a while. One evening, I asked him about that comment and to my surprise he said to me: "My wife told me that she and you have had a thing going on." I almost died; nothing was farther from the truth.
On another evening, his ex-wife wondered into my nightclub alone. When she asked for me, I walked up to her and asked her bluntly: what is your game; why are you trying to get me killed? Did you tell your former husband what he told me? To my surprise she said that she had. I was so livid. I do not know how I did not have a coronary when she said: "For starters I wanted to make him jealous and the second reason I wanted it to happen." That was the last word I ever spoke to her.
Fast forward 5 years.
I returned to New York and called an old friend. She was unusually cold. The last time I called her was from my old neighbour's house. We were waiting to go to a radio station for an interview. Caller I.D's hadn't arrived in the U.S then, but they were available in Asia. My friend returned from his vacation and installed one. Unknown to me, he saw the number and apparently called it back. Whatever he told my friend, she never spoke to me again. It could not have been true. I only found out what could have transpired when another friend told me that an old neighbor delivered my gift. When I realized how far he had muddied my waters, I left New York. I packed it in.
There had been many more incidents. Some I have had to take to courts of law to resolve. I could write dozens of books on human behavior. As a result of those experiences, I guard my space, my energy, my privacy, and my reputation like a bulldog. I choose the invitations I accept; they are few, and far between. Behind many well-practiced grins, sharks lurk.
THE BULLS EYE FOLLOWS:
Years later, there I was--a confidential adviser to a head of state. It was customary for his close advisers to gather on Saturdays to enjoy the best booze--usually gifts from corporate donors and lobbyists--perks included in such job assignments. After about half a dozen drinks, the chief beckoned me to come to his private office. There I was, glass in hand. The chief did not take strong drinks. I did then: not anymore. Just then, a man who serves currently in an ambassadorial capacity came by.
To my surprise, right in front of the gentleman, the chief asked him about a specific piece of mischief he discovered. As I was about to excuse myself, the chief turned to me and said to the gentleman that I was the one who told him. I was so shocked. Then, the man, deeply embarrassed, confirmed that he was the cause of the mischief. I was livid. After the man left, I asked: "Chief, why did you tell the man that I told you so--that is not true." "Didn't you hear the man confess that he did what I accused him of? That is what soldiers are called to do--defend the chief at all times!" I swallowed hard.
The chief is now dead. However, the incident still lives in my mind. I have come to the conclusion that nothing I ever say could convince the man that I did not finger him. The Ambassador is still around. He is my friend now. He never asked me about the incident, and I never volunteered any information. I am sure that behind the curtains of National Security he has had to throw and receive many fiery darts. No wonder the wise God said there should be a separation between church and state.
Suggested readings: "The Golden Fleece Found by Basil Hill"
http://www.amazon.com/Golden-Fleece-Found-Basil-Hill/dp/1412043190
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