“The Dollhouse? That’s funny. You’d probably adjust just fine at one of those places on Deer Island.”
“What about you? What kind of digs does the island’s most eligible bachelor live in?” Kenny let slip.
Ugh. Did I just go there? Tell the pale ale to leave the Wine after Nine girls out of this!
“What?” J.P. almost spewed out his beer. “Are you talking about me?”
“Oh yes. You were the talk among a group of golfers at beach yoga this morning. But I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Kenny quickly retracted.
“Whatever you do, don’t get caught up with that crew.” J.P. laughed. “The Wine after Nine ladies? They’re nothing but trouble. I run as fast as I can when they step off Wisteria Lane and into the clubhouse every Tuesday.
“They seem a bit . . . high maintenance? I guess you should accept their come-ons and attention as flattery.” Kenny smiled, though on the inside she kicked herself for bringing up the aggressive golfers and their gossip. Trying to change the subject, she asked, “Is it a busy week at the clubhouse?”
“Yes and no. As far as activity on the course is concerned, it’s about the same as this week last year. Numbers, clinics, and tee times are steadily climbing to where they stood pre-COVID. But the workload for anyone employed by Mr. C is abundant. He’s constantly growing and expanding his empire,” J.P. explained with admiration and a bit of hesitation.
“That’s great for job security. It seems that everyone who works for him really enjoys what they do. But you sound a bit apprehensive. Do you think Mr. Cunningham is setting expectations too high?” Kenny inquired.
“No, that’s not it, necessarily. Mr. C is the smartest businessman I’ve ever met; and I met a lot of successful people while I was on tour. Everything he touches turns to gold. He leads by example and people work hard for him. He’d never dabble in something he wasn’t confident was going to be prosperous.”
“What’s the hesitation about then? Are you not satisfied in your role in all of it? You have a job a million guys would kill for.” Kenny didn’t want to put J.P. on the spot, again, but the journalist in her couldn’t help but ask follow-up questions.
“I love my job. If you can call it that. It sounds cliché, but it never seems like work.” He laughed before taking a more serious tone. “For a while now, Mr. C has been talking a lot about succession plans and setting up his corporation for a seamless transition in the event he ever walks away, which I never see happening. He wants me to take on a larger role, much larger role in the organization. And I guess that’s an overwhelming thought for me,” J.P. said while glancing toward the sky.
“Like, second in command type of role?”
J.P. drew his attention back to Kenny. “He hasn’t come out and said it in so many words, but yes, that’s what he has in mind.”
“Congratulations, J.P.! I understand why that’s intimidating but what an opportunity. For someone you have so much admiration and respect for, to have such faith in you that he wants you to carry on his legacy, that’s huge!”
Kenny hoped these words didn’t come out insincere or rehearsed. She believed what she said but wondered if J.P. perceived it that way. The conversations she had with interview subjects were always deep and intimate and she truly cared about their emotions, thoughts, and feelings; but it had been some time since she had a heart to heart with someone who she wasn’t going to put on national television. Someone that, whether she wanted to or not, she was developing a personal connection with. There was a line between personal and professional, work and play. But she had lost all sense of how to navigate the line when it came to him.
“It’s a funny thing, Kenny. I’ve thought that. I’m not afraid of the hard work that comes with his success. I was born a competitor. I’m a boot on the ground, all-hands-on-deck kind of guy. The fear is disappointing him. Or failing his legacy,” he said somberly. “The guy is like a freaking unicorn. This is all off the record, right? Or whatever the phrase is that people invoke like the Fifth Amendment when they say something to a reporter but instantly regret it?” He laughed as if trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve never said any of that out loud. And I’venevercalled another man a unicorn.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” She swept her right pointer finger and thumb across her lips and flexed her wrist toward the yacht basin like she was tossing away the key that zipped up J.P.’ s secret into the water; that would be washed into Calibogue Sound and eventually make its way into the Atlantic Ocean. “But maybe you should give it a try and see what happens.”
Kenny coyly smiled, imparting the same words of wisdom on J.P. that he shared with her when she disclosed her book debacle.
“I see what you just did there. You don’t miss much, Kennedy, do you?”
“Did you just call me by myrealname?”
“It seemed like a good opportunity to call you by your firstandlast name, butI don’t know your last name. So, your full first name had to suffice. Anyway, how are things going with your romantic comedy? I don’t think I should be the only one on the hot seat tonight.”
“I’ve decided to give it a valiant effort.” She straightened her back and firmly planted her feet on the ground.
She imagined she looked like the Speaker of the House sitting behind the president of the opposition party at a State of the Union address, who wanted to believe everything the leader of the free world said but wasn’t fully on board.
“Good for you. I admire people who can go outside of their comfort zone,” J.P. asserted. “Can you tell me what it’s about? Or do authors keep those details private until the swanky launch party?”
“A swanky launch party isn’t quite on my radar. I’m not a household name like Carrie Bradshaw,” Kenny quipped. “I’m at the stage in my publishing career that I’ll be canvassing independent bookstores begging them to stock their shelves with a copy or two.”
“Even smart girls like you compare themselves to fictional characters like Carrie Bradshaw? Guys get a bad rap in the commonsense department but at least we aspire to be real men—like Matthew McConaughey or a Manning brother,” J.P. shot back.
“Touché. I do have a few thoughts swirling around up here.” She lifted her hands to the sides of her head and started making circles. “But I haven’t settled on one, yet.”
“Let’s hear these ideas that are ‘swirling around up there.’ I was never much of a writer. Term papers were the bane of my existence in school, but books always fascinated me. How people take simple thoughts and create stories about people and places . . . it’s pretty cool if you think about it.”
“Are you saying that I’m cool and fascinating?” Kenny blurted out, knowing that it was the additional sips of beer that were talking.
