Jonathots Daily Blog
(3720)
Jip, Cho, Bo, Jack and Sam were five young men from all over the world who got together, tried to learn each other’s full names, failed miserably, and so settled for shorter handles.
They shared two things in common.
Each member of the quintet was a trusted intern for an Ambassador to the United Nations.
Jip was from Japan; Cho, China; Bo, Russia; Jack, England, and Sam, the United States.
Their other commonality was a deep-rooted faith in Jesus, especially fresh since the recent awakening sweeping the world. Realizing they were just interns, they focused on what they could do to make a difference.
So every morning, a half-hour before going to work with their Ambassadors, they met in the pantry of the kitchen of the Bruxbury Hotel in Midtown Manhattan, where they lodged while in the Big Apple.
The purpose for the meeting was simple: the five young men chatted and conversed–calling it prayer and hoping their heavenly Father would give them insights on how to impact the more traditional and often vicious side of the United Nations.
They decided on kindness. Rituals were begun:
Jip walked into his boss every morning with fresh flowers.
Cho brought in an array of new teas from China to allure his superior.
Bo slipped a little vodka into the coffee, with a wink.
Jack ordered very expensive marmalade from England.
And Sam always stopped off to pick up a Nathan’s hot dog from down the street, which made his boss beam.
At the end of every session in the pantry, the gentlemen closed with a single thought:
“In kindness, beget kindness.”
They believed their purpose was to create a comfortable, gentle and merciful environment for their employer which just might cause him or her to go into the United Nations with a warmer heart.
It is difficult to know whether it was the vodka in the coffee or the ever-changing climate in the world, but matters of statehood were becoming more civil and less sectarian.
The quintet of interns took no credit for it. They just gave the glory to the Father.
*****
Matthew was dismissed from the hospital feeling a decade older and looking two. He sensed that he was becoming an old man before he had ever been an adequate young man. He felt sick. He looked sick. His skin was yellow from the liver infection and his eyes drooped, as if they were desperately preparing to leap from the perch on his face.
Matthew finally came to the conclusion that alcohol was a problem. In his crude way, he had decided that it was coming down to a choice between Jack Daniels or Jane Pussy. Knowing that he was not going to leave the latter alone, he chose to break his covenant of life-long affection for Mr. Daniels.
He sought some counseling and joined a couple of programs, and after a few weeks, he was a shaky non-drunk.
Refinement.
Yes, Matthew decided he needed some refinement to escape the smear of liquor, and also the goodness of the infernal revival.
So he went to a grand opening of an art display in one of the larger casinos. He was unaccustomed to attending such gala events and always felt lonely because it was required that he step forward and introduce himself, and he would rather frequent the darker corner.
So he found himself strolling around behind the displays when he heard a horrific sound–like a wounded animal. He followed it, turned and discovered a young woman with dark-brown hair adorned in a cocktail dress. She had her back to him and was holding some sort of horn. She was blowing into a reed.
“That was you?” he asked.
Without turning around, she responded, “I suppose you’re referring to the sound.”
Matthew stepped around so he could see her face. It was a sturdy, but beautiful one. “Are you calling ducks?”
She blew her reed again and replied, “No. Just any barnyard animal. And considering the pile of food on your plate, looks like I got me a hog.”
She looked up, her eyes twinkling. Matthew was instantly in love. He had forgotten he was carrying a plate full of food, favoring the shrimp puffs. But here was a woman with a biting sense of humor, unafraid of his advances.
She continued, “What I’m blowing is my reed, because I play the oboe. I play the oboe with a string quartet, which makes us a quintet. And you might think to yourself that being the only reed instrument in a quintet of strings, there would be a measure of alienation. And if by alienation, you mean incrimination, jealousy, anger, disdain and misery–well then, you would be right.”
Matthew eyed her for a moment, and then inquired, “You don’t like to play the oboe?”
“Uh, no,” she replied flatly. “No one likes to play the oboe. The oboe is like William the Conqueror going out to find a few innocent serfs who have not yet signed up for the clarinet. He captures them and imprisons them in double-reed bars.”
Matthew squinted. “Do you always talk this way?”
She paused as if in deep thought. “Yes, come to think of it. I do. Do you enjoy it? Or were you intending to be mean?”
Matthew held out his hand and said, “My name is Matthew Ransley.”
She reached across the short distance and shook only his fingers. “My name is Leonora Fenzi. But just go ahead and call me Leonora Fenzi.”
Matthew smirked. “But that’s your whole name.”
“No, there’s a middle one. Juniper. As a courtesy to you, I left that one out.”
“Fenzi,” said Matthew. “Is that… Well, I don’t know what to ask. What nationality is that?”
Leonora laughed. “Well, presently I’m attending a conservatory in Paris, but my nationality is Uncle Sam’s House. I grew up in Kewanee, Illinois.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” said Matthew.
“Oh, Paris? it’s right there in the middle of France,” mugged Leonora.
Matthew laughed out loud. “Paris I knew. It was the Illinois city that threw me.”
Leonora stood to her feet, blew a couple of notes on the oboe, and then said, “Do you know that I was the best oboe player in Kewanee, Illinois?”
“I know this one,” responded Matthew quickly. “You were the only player in Kewanee, Illinois, right?”
“No. There were two,” replied Leonora seriously.
“Really?” said Matthew.
“Yes,” Leonora responded. “The second player was a young girl with Down Syndrome, whose mother bought her a horn because the girl thought the keys were much shinier than on other instruments.”
“So…was she a close second?” asked Matthew, with a wry smile.
Leonora walked across the room to Matthew. “What brings you to this opening? You don’t look the type.”
“Is there a type that comes here?” asked Matthew.
“Yes,” said Leonora, reaching over and taking one of the shrimp puffs off his plate and popping it into her mouth. “Gay and rich. You’re not either one, are you?”
“Well, I’m not gay,” said Matthew. “I applied for years, but never got accepted to the club.”
He waited for her to laugh but she didn’t. “Anyway,” he continued, “I am fairly rich. Well… let me put it this way. I have money at my disposal.”
“Disposal?” questioned Leonora. “An interesting term for money.”
Matthew changed the subject. “What are you doing after you get done playing here?”
“Let me see,” she mused. “I’ll be going off with the string quartet to complain that the patrons didn’t listen to the music, and discuss how the shrimp puffs tasted like they were swimming on the bottom of the creek. And we’ll probably have a long discussion about how Wilhelm’s violin needs a new bridge. Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”
“Any of that you could avoid?” Matthew pursued.
“Only if I can get away.”
He steadied himself. “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”
Leonora looked him up and down, glanced to her right and left, and posed. “Honestly, if you look at it from my perspective, you could be a serial killer. Many of them are quite charming, at least I hear. But you know, I’m going to say yes to the invitation–mainly because you’re so goofy, I don’t think you would know how to dispose of a body.”
Matthew furrowed his brow. “That was the most unusual yes I’ve ever heard, but I’m gonna take it. I thought we would go to an actual restaurant in Vegas instead of a buffet. What do you think?”
She suddenly turned and marched across the room quickly, speaking over her shoulder. “I think that would be fine because I don’t really care right now. I have to go play more Mozart.”
“I like Mozart,” shouted Matthew to her retreating frame.
Without turning, Leonora replied, “Oh, shut up. It’s the only name you know.”
Matthew stood and laughed. He threw aside his plate in a nearby trash can and thought to himself, “This could be good. This could be really good…”
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