Page 4 of Finding Parker

“That’s it? Taking women on dates and attempting to find my perfect woman. Nothing freaky or crazy?” I asked as I swallowed again.

“There are a few additional conditions and requirements, but no. Nothing freaky or crazy. Finding the right woman, that is all. Yes or no, Parker Bale?” his voice was soft yet stern.

I picked up the pen, removed the lid, and placed the tip onto the page of the contract in the location marked employee. I studied the pen.

Mont Blanc.

I looked up at Mr. Ward, “May I ask what interest you have in this?”

“You may. I have not always been a good man, Mr. Bale. In fact, I was quite the opposite. Additionally, I have not always been able, financially speaking, to do such things. Today, I believe I am a good man, and I am quite wealthy. This experiment, if you will, should benefit you, the lady of your choosing, and satisfy me in that I have assisted two people find what it is we all seek,” he paused and raised his eyebrows.

“Love,” he smiled and pointed to the pen.

“Yes or no?”

I looked down at the page. The greatest rewards in life are provided to those who take the greatest risks.

I signed my name, placed the pen on the sheet of paper, and slid it to my right. Mr. Ward smiled as he scribbled his name beside mine in the location marked witness.

“When do I start?” I asked nervously.

“You already have,” Mr. Astur responded as he slid a set of car keys across the table.

The blue and white logo in the center of the key was a dead giveaway.

BMW.

“And, now that you’re hired, here’s the first rule. I am Kenton,” Mr. Ward paused and motioned to Mr. Astur.

“He is Hec, short for Hector. We’ll address you as Parker. No more Mister this or that. Any questions?” he asked.

I thought about what I may want to ask as I gripped the bottle of water sitting between my legs. As it came to me, I smiled.

“I do have a question,” I paused as I raised the bottle of water from my lap and placed it onto the table.

Both men looked at me intently.

“May I have a glass? The thought of drinking from this bottle is repulsive.”

PARKER. Simple things please simple minds. I have often wondered if the complexity of my thoughts prevented me from maintaining a higher level of consistent pleasure. I am never particularly sad, but I am rarely overly happy either. Living a simple life full of simple thoughts, according to Kenton, was the key to happiness. Having a mind with the capacity of complex thoughts was sufficient to get me in or out of any situation life presented, in his opinion. If my mind was nothing else, it was complex.

I sat at the window, sipped my coffee, and looked out into the courtyard. My first month’s wages allowed me to obtain a condominium in San Diego’s Old Town. Although portions of southern California were far too hot to allow for a well-manicured lawn, San Diego’s climate was perfect for the growth of grass and plant life. I found pleasure sitting at the table and peering through the window at the well sculpted shrubbery which adorned the landscape.

Kenton was a very interesting man, and I found tremendous value in having him as an employer. He had promised over time we would become great friends. To date, he had proven to be handsome, genuine, passionate, unpredictable, and extremely wealthy. He reminded me of a younger version of George Clooney. From what I understood, his home in La Jolla overlooked the ocean; a view everyone wanted and a select few could actually afford.

I had yet to learn much about the background of Kenton Ward, but it was high on my agenda list. I suspected as time passed, Kenton would offer as much detail as he was comfortable allowing me to know. He was a very intriguing man, and having a better understanding of his life’s journey interested me greatly.

My schedule for the day was to consist of traveling into San Diego’s Gas Lamp District, sit at Barnes and Noble book store, and observe the female patrons for a prospective date. As long as I didn’t look beyond the surface of what it was that I was doing for Kenton, everything seemed simple and uncluttered. If I spent time thinking about the intricacies of the contract and his involvement in my life regarding potential relationships, it seemed simply weird.

I walked into the kitchen, rinsed my coffee cup, and grabbed my car keys. I smiled at the thought of spending the day drinking coffee while I observed college aged women – and being paid over eight thousand dollars a month for doing so. In short, I was a player in an odd exercise of human nature development at the expense of Mr. Kenton Ward. My life, for the first time, was going to potentially become interesting.

As I drove to the Barnes and Noble bookstore Kenton recommended, I considered what I would say to any women who may strike my interest. My focus in recent years had not been women, but education; completing my college so as to begin my career amongst the masses in the workforce. My imagination would have never directed me to a career of courting women in a bookstore at the direction of a wealthy gentleman driven by an undisclosed sordid past.

The vehicle Kenton had selected for me was modest by BMW standards, but far from modest by mine. The 3 series coupe with an automatic transmission and leather interior was as nice of a car as I had ever driven. Something about owning and driving it caused me to take extra measures to ensure my actions were in line with one’s anticipation of what would be expected of a BMW owner. I was quite certain Kenton had considered this when choosing the car for my use.

After parking the car, I removed my gum wrapper from the console and placed my gum in the wrapper, folded it, and dropped it into my pocket. Chewing gum, for me, was a necessity. Chewing my gum in public, especially while trying to attract a woman, was contrary to what I believed to be in my best gentlemanly interest. I picked up my tablet from the passenger seat, got out of the car, and locked the doors. After a moment of admiring the car, I walked up the sidewalk toward the two-story bookstore which sat on the corner of the block.

The first floor produced not one single available seat. While walking up the wide staircase to the second floor, I noticed several seats open. One was a small table beside what appeared to be a very attractive young lady with what my grandmother would call dishwater blonde hair – and an affection for cooking – or at least reading of it.