He acquitted himself unevenly in this dicey
process, with his early choices in these
matters of personal character and integrity
inevitably leaning toward the females with
that special twinkle one finds at the dark
end of the bar a little later in the evening
than one cares to admit. To his credit he
maintained a healthy respect for seniority,
allowing me to cast the dissenting and ultimately,
deciding votes. Bullets dodged, a suitable
roommate was still beyond our reach with
prospects dwindling when Gretchen from Ohio
showed up. Ivy League educated, Gretchen
was a stunning young woman of twenty-three
and well spoken on a wide range of subjects,
the least of which was what her intentions
were for a job. Having a passion for older
men with a passion for sailing, she herself
was an accomplished sailor with experience
in competition. It seems Gretchen was looking
for a crash pad, which suited Kenneth just
fine. It suited me less so. Gretchen didn't
have a job. There is a brazen self-confidence
that comes with well-accomplished women of
this age, that is matched only by the self-absorption
that comes with the conviction that nothing
that is happening to them, all evidence to
the contrary notwithstanding, has ever happened
to anyone before. Sensing my discomfort,
she offered to pay three months rent in advance
and to visit the temp agency right away,
presumably to keep from interrupting her
sailing itinerary. Upon Kenneth's persistent
reminders that young women of means are never
a burden, never without prospects and that
we were running out of viable options, I
agreed to take her on. This pleased Kenneth
very much. I was less pleased.
They got along famously. I think Ken admired
her limitless possibilities, her fierce independence,
and her fearlessness of the future. I think
I was jealous that she liked him better than
she liked me. They were kindred spirits in
that they were each absolutely certain that
everything would always be OK, regardless
of what the circumstances might be. I never
felt that way, not even once. Predictably,
she went on to graduate school hoping to
find the purpose in teaching that she found
in the purposelessness of sailing. They remained
in contact long after she moved back east,
which was shortly after the summer season's
last warm September wind.
The roommates to follow also gave me glimpses
into Kenneth's worldview. Jim was something
of a stray that Kenneth had befriended at
the Exchange. Jim apparently had been a successful
retail broker in London and his purpose for
coming here was to learn the mechanics of
how financial markets worked. However he
was a mess on Ken's watch, and there weren't
too many things that Jim needed to learn
for himself that Kenneth didn't take care
of for him. He was always sad, always slow,
and always apologizing, consuming many bottles
of vodka in the privacy of his room, not
all of which were his. His only item of furniture
was an un-sheeted bed, all other personal
effects strewn about in a manner similar
to a rock star's hotel room at check out
time. He had the smell of an early stage-alcoholic
about him, an aroma not unlike the rest of
us have at four in the morning after an evening
of over-consumption, except that he smelled
like that all the time. His room smelled
like that, too.
I never knew what happened to him in London
that brought him to a town where he knew
almost no one, to a profession so ruthless,
of which he was so ill suited, but broken
employment promises made to him were mentioned.
There among his mumbling and ongoing state
of apology, not unlike the elegant but empty
manners of the British upper classes, were
a litany of ambiguities, second starts and
broken resolves that kept our dealings terse
and distant. My Midwestern upbringing made
a cordial relationship with him impossible,
because no matter what he said, his actions
demonstrated no regard for my home or for
me. Kenneth's wingspan spread far and wide
in Jim's case, and they too stayed friends
long after Jim returned to his successful
and happy life in London, remaining I suspect,
in Kenneth's debt. Click here to continue "My Freind "
Written By Michael Woyan