The Enigmatic Mr. Dawsley Read online

  “What do you suppose he is doing here?”

  “Perhaps he is a celebrity, disguising himself to remain free of the paparazzi.”

  “Perhaps. Maybe they have found him and it is causing his disappointment.”

  “That very well could be. Shall we ask him?”

  “I do not think it wise to do so.”

  “Why not? We have made nothing but friends today by asking questions.”

  “That is hardly true and you know it.”

  “Oh, nonsense! Stay here if you are too afraid.”

  Dawsley rose from the table and approached the plain-clothes man. I looked around and felt awkward sitting at the table alone, especially since my own clothing was not as luxurious as the restaurant seemed to require. I was given several strange looks by the other people dining and I rose up, joining the two men at the other table. Dawsley had taken the seat across from the man and I carried a chair over from our table. It was an awkward process which drew more strange looks.

  “Who is this?” asked the man.

  “Thurgood Truman.” I replied. We shook hands.

  “I guess you two know each other?”

  “He is paid to accompany me.” said Dawsley.

  “I see. Accompany you where?”

  “Wherever life takes me!”

  “Interesting.”

  “Very much so! But we have not come here to bother you with the details of our contract. We have noticed a sadness in you and were wondering if there was any way we could help.”

  “Just like that? You’re an interesting man, Mr. Dawsley.”

  “Thank you, dear Gainsburg. You are interesting yourself.”

  “You flatter me. I was to be an interesting man, but that’s over now.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “I was running for governor. My financial backing just, well, backed out on me. Some man named Finlow ruined my campaign. He bought my backers and gave them to DuChamp, my opponent.”

  “Finlow!” cried Dawsley. “The fiend!”

  “You know the man?”

  “Unfortunately so.”

  “Yeah, well, that fiend has ruined me. He’s ruined any chance of fixing the problems of Atlantia.”

  “Perhaps not!” exclaimed Dawsley.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if I was to back you financially?”

  “Do you know how expensive that would be?”

  “I have money. Plenty of it.”

  “And you would give it to me, just like that?”

  “I can tell that you are the man for the job.”

  “How exactly?”

  “You are dressed casually. Clearly you are a man of the people. Who knows what they need more than they themselves?”

  Gainsburg smiled and nodded.

  “I have to ask, though.” said Gainsburg. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch.” replied Dawsley.

  “Well in that case, let me implement one myself. Come work for me as an advisor and if I win, stay as a part of my cabinet.”

  “It is a deal!”

  “Your quiet friend here can come too.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gainsburg.” I said.

  “Thank you gentlemen.” he replied.

  We shook hands with him and returned to our own table. Dawsley was restored to his old self once more and even I felt a sensation of having done a righteous thing. Dawsley kept ordering drinks to celebrate and at the end of the meal, we were both good and drunk. Dawsley paid the bill and left a very generous tip for the waiter and we left the restaurant.

  “We’ll show that Finlowle!” exclaimed Dawsley quite sloppily.

  “Finlowle?! You’re drunk!” I replied.

  “Did I say Finlowle? Hah! What would I do without your corrections, Truman?”

  “I resent that!”

  “Resent what?”

  “The idea that all I do is correct you!”

  “Dear Truman, you do much and more!”

  “I know! Now I’m going to run a campaign! Just yesterday I was eating alone in my apartment. Isn’t that weird? That’s so weird.”

  “It is so weird!”

  “I’m pretty hungry.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Truman, we just ate!”

  “Fine, I shall starve then!”

  “I will not dignify your drama with a response.”

  “So be it! Where are we off to then?”

  We had been staggering down the sidewalk, illuminated with the orange glow of the street lamps, with no exact destination in mind.

  “How about the bar?” suggested Dawsley.

  “I have had enough of bars for one day, thank you!” I responded.

  “Then perhaps we should return to the estate to sober up.”

  “That may be a good idea.”

  “It is a plan then! Now where the devil is my car?”

  “Oh no!” I exclaimed as I remembered our earlier misfortune. “It is still impounded!”

  Dawsley doubled over laughing and rolled on the sidewalk, holding his sides. I began to laugh as well and had to lean against the wall to maintain what balance I could. When we finished laughing about nothing comical in the least, I helped Dawsley up and hailed a cab.

  The cab brought us to the estate and deposited us at the gate. Dawsley paid the cabbie and would not leave until the cabbie had given him a high-five, something he had observed earlier in the day and was anxious to try out. We staggered up the driveway, singing and swaying. Sandra greeted us at the door in a motherly fashion. She was speaking rapidly in another language with her hands placed firmly on her hips. Dawsley staggered up to her and placed a finger over her mouth to quiet her. He chuckled and walked a few feet into the house before collapsing on the floor. Snoring followed a few moments later. Sandra dragged him by his arms into the room with the piano and managed to get him onto a couch. I carefully walked up the stairs to the guest bedroom and fell down on the bed, sleep coming quickly.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning was a painful one. It wasn’t even technically the morning, as we had both slept well past noon. I descended the stairs and found Dawsley sitting at the table in the dining room with his head in his hands.

  “Good afternoon.” I said as I entered.

  “To you as well.” he replied, not looking up.

  “What a night.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Are we to go out again today?”

  “Absolutely not. I’ve sent a man to pick the car up from the impound lot. Today, we rest.”

  “That is fine by me. It’s been so long since I’ve had such an eventful day as yesterday.”

  “Do not become comfortable with days such as this one, we have much more ahead of us.”

  “The campaign!” I cried out. “I had almost forgotten!”

  “Please lower your voice!”

  “Sorry about that. I just remembered about the campaign and became excited.”

  “It is fine. The campaign will, indeed, consume a large part of our time.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something about the campaign actually.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How will this affect your relationship with Finlow?”

  Dawsley sat quietly for a moment.

  “I had not considered it.” he replied. “I suppose things will not improve between us.”

  I nodded and began to butter a bagel that had been sitting in front of me on the table. Dawsley moaned quietly and Sandra entered the room. She uttered something in her language and placed two glasses, one for each of us, on the table.

  “Drink!” she demanded.

  We did as we were told. The liquid tasted sweet and syrupy, but had a bitter aftertaste. We drank them quickly and I returned to my bagel, while Dawsley returned to silently resting his head in his hands. About an hour later, we found ourselves sitting in the piano room quietly. The drink we had been given had eased the pain in our heads slightly, but we had drank too much t
he previous night to be completely healed by Sandra’s remedy. Dawsley rose up after sitting on the couch for awhile and approached the piano. He lazily dragged his hand along all the keys and sat down on the stool. He began to play a sad song, which was actually quite beautiful. His face displayed the same saddened look I had seen when he discovered that Ellie was seeing someone. I felt sorry for the man.

  When the song was completed, Dawsley walked over to the bookcase along the wall and selected a book of poems.

  “What is that book about?” I asked.

  “It is full of old poems.” he replied.

  “Who wrote them?”

  “I am not quite sure. I have been told that the author was a distant relative of mine. The name is worn off the book, however, and I can not recall his or her name.”

  “Are the poems decent?”

  “They are quite good. I consider myself a romantic of sorts and therefore anything poetic draws me in.”

  “That is quite interesting.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. It just is.”

  “You can be quite a peculiar man, Truman.”

  I chuckled and laid my head against the arm of the couch. This was a strange side of Mr. Dawsley. For such an eccentric, he quickly turned into a recluse for seemingly no reason. Perhaps going out was the cure for him.

  “May I ask you a question, Truman?” he said suddenly as he looked up from his book.

  “Yes, of course.” I replied.

  “What is it that you like about the burning bush?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean what I have asked. You admire something about the bush. What is it?”

  “Well, I suppose I admire the juxtaposition of it.”

  “What do you mean exactly?”

  “Well, I like how it is rare and exotic, yet it appears in common places, as you so accurately stated before.”

  Dawsley nodded understandingly and returned to reading his book. I noticed that he did not turn the page for several minutes and that his eyes appeared fixed in one position as if he had been overtaken by intense thought. I soon found myself overcome with thoughts, though they were of no particular importance to anything.

  He read quietly for several hours while I napped on the couch. The ringing of the phone awoke me during the evening and Sandra brought the phone into the room for Mr. Dawsley. He placed his book down and answered the phone. A sly grin emerged on his face and he listened attentively before hanging up.

  “Who was it?” I asked.

  “That was Finlow.” he replied. “He is none too happy with our campaign endorsement.”

  Dawsley seemed restored by this news and quickly hopped up from the couch.

  “Come along, Truman! It is time we ate.” he said

  I stood up, still slightly in pain from the previous night’s drinking. We walked into the dining room where Sandra had placed a cooked chicken on a tray upon the table. Dawsley cut the bird and distributed the meat to both of our plates. We ate and conversed. Dawsley’s spirits had risen to such heights since the call from Finlow and it was as if he had never been hungover at all. The mysterious rivalry between the men was still an absolute puzzle to me, but with patience I was sure that it would come out eventually in one way or another.

  We sat by the fireplace in the piano room after dinner. This room was to become our usual place of relaxation when occupying the mansion. Dawsley watched the flames dance around and I admired the paintings on the walls. They all seemed to be portraits of members of the Dawsley family.

  “Are those members of your family?” I asked.

  “Yes.” he replied. “One day my portrait may join them on the wall.”

  We sat quietly for a little while longer before my curiosity got the better of me.

  “Where has your father been?” I asked. Dawsley continued to stare into the fireplace.

  “He is in the European estate.” replied Dawsley. “The old man stays there.”

  “So you are the only one who lives here?”

  “You say that as if I am a child. I am a grown man, Truman. I do not care who thinks otherwise.”

  “I did not mean to imply anything.”

  “That is quite all right. I do, indeed, occupy the house myself. Actually, Sandra has a room of her own and has taken up residence here as of late.” he said. He sat quietly for a few more moments. “Regarding my father, let us not, however, speak any more about him.”

  I nodded understandingly. The dejected look returned to Dawsley’s face and I felt bad for bringing it up. Another call interrupted our thoughts and Sandra rushed into the room with the phone. Dawsley took it from her and answered. He spoke quietly for a few minutes before hanging up and returning the phone to Sandra, who quickly shuffled out of the room.

  “That was Gainsburg.” he said. “He wants to meet tomorrow morning about the campaign.” Dawsley began to grin. “What do you say, dear Truman? Are you ready to change the world for the better?”

  Chapter 8

  I was awoken the following morning by the sound of Dawsley playing the piano. The tune was more upbeat than the last one I had heard him play, which gave me the sense that his mood would be a cheerful one. Descending the stairs, the music grew louder and more beautiful. I entered the piano room and took a seat on the couch. Dawsley was swaying in a lively fashion to match the music. He finally finished and swung himself around to face me.

  “Good morning, Truman!” he exclaimed joyfully.

  “Good morning, Mr. Dawsley.” I replied with a yawn.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did, indeed.”

  “Very good. You’ll need a lot of energy for today. There is coffee in the dining room.”

  With that, he spun back around and began playing another lively song. It sounded like ragtime, but I could not be certain. I entered the dining room and poured myself a cup of coffee, which I drank black. It was bitter and room temperature, which caused it to be quite unpleasant, but Dawsley had deemed it a necessity. It seemed as if I was to become a coffee drinker officially.

  A short while later, Dawsley entered the room and prepared himself a coffee. I had another as well and we chatted about coffee flavors and the best ways to prepare morning coffee. When we had finished drinking, Dawsley and I left the house. Luckily, a driver was waiting for us today. We entered a limousine that was parked in the driveway and Dawsley let out a dissatisfied sigh.

  “I really do not care for cars of this length.” he said.

  “They are so elegant, though.” I replied.

  “They are tacky at best. We might as well be sat in a school bus.”

  Dawsley opened a thermos that was sitting in a holder inside the limousine. He poured the contents into two different cups, handing one to me.

  “Drink up!” he said.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Coffee.”

  “I’ve already had two cups this morning.”

  “You’ll need three at least!”

  “I think you are overestimating how strenuous this day is going to be.”

  “Nonsense! If you will not drink your coffee, then hand it over here.”

  I handed the cup back to him and he began drinking from both. By the time we reached the campaign office, Dawsley was energetic beyond reason. He hopped out of the car excitedly and I did my best to keep up with him. We entered the office and saw that it was empty except for Mr. Gainsburg.

  “Morning.” said Gainsburg.

  “A good morning to you!” exclaimed Dawsley.

  “Are you okay? You seem a little off.”

  “I am properly fueled for a grueling day of saving the world, dear Gainsburg!”

  “Is he okay, Truman?”

  “He’s had quite a bit of coffee.” I replied.

  “As long as he can work like a normal person, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

  “I can work like six normal people and three oxen!” exclaimed Dawsley.
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br />   “Those are some oddly specific numbers.”

  “And yet they are accurate!”

  Gainsburg stared at him for a few moments before shifting his gaze to me.

  “I need you two to help me recruit today.”

  “Recruit?” I asked.

  “Yeah, as you can see the office is a tad empty. We need people or we’ll never get this thing off the ground.”

  “What happened to the original workers?”

  “Finlow happened.”

  “Oh, Finlow! Thou art a blasted devil!” proclaimed Dawsley.

  Gainsburg stared at him once more and returned to speaking with me.

  “Is he going to be able to do this?”

  “He’ll be fine.” I promised.

  Gainsburg nodded and handed us a stack of forms to pass out to whoever wished to help with the campaign. Dawsley was shaking from the caffeine and perhaps from the excitement of “saving the world” as well. He took off out the door, leaving Gainsburg and I in the office.

  “Please control him.” he said.

  “I will do the absolute best that I can. He tends to be a handful without the energy overload.” I replied.

  “That’s reassuring.”

  I apologized quickly and ran out of the office in the direction of Dawsley who was accosting a young couple half way down the street. I approached them, panting from running and presumably looking like a complete lunatic. The couple were terrified by the energetic man speaking rapidly about saving the world and his gasping companion. They ran off quickly, leaving the two of us standing on the sidewalk.

  “Nice people!” said Dawsley.

  “Horrified people!” I responded. “What are you doing?!”

  “I am recruiting!”

  “You just scared away two perfectly fine people with your energy!”

  “Oh nonsense! They were a fine couple, but not right for the job!”

  Dawsley went to run off again, but I kept up with him this time to ensure that a repeat performance would not break out. We approached a man in sunglasses sitting on a bench and Dawsley extended his hand immediately, introducing himself. The man looked around suspiciously and returned the greeting.

  “Would you like to help save the world?” asked Dawsley.

  “What my associate means,” I began, “is to ask if you would be interested in helping to run candidate Gainsburg’s campaign.”

  “He’s the fellow running against DuChamp?” asked the man.

  “The very same.” said Dawsley.

  “No thanks. I’m voting for DuChamp. He dresses nicer.”

  “Surely that can not be your reasoning for casting a vote.”