Love is Patient...Love is Kind--Part One

"Congratulations, Mr. Hart!" Deanne beamed at her boss.

Jonathan raised his eyebrow and smiled. "For what, Deanne?"

She loved when he was unsuspecting – like the time when the entire clerical staff sent him a rainbow of balloons to celebrate Hart Industries’ twentieth anniversary. The expression on his face was priceless: he was genuinely touched.

Jonathan Hart was everyone’s dream boss, and Deanne considered herself fortunate to be his executive secretary. Today, she was especially excited to be a part of Hart Industries.

"On being named ‘Businessman of the Year’ by Debonair magazine!" she exclaimed, barely able to contain herself. Earlier that morning, the editor of the magazine had called with the good news and wanted to interview Deanne.

Jonathan grimaced. "Is that a good thing?" he asked.

"Oh yes, Mr. Hart. It’s only given to businessmen who are very successful…and very handsome," she added, blushing.

Jonathan chuckled. "I see."

"Mr. Hart, they want to come by later this afternoon to take some pictures. You didn’t have any meetings planned. Can I tell them it’s okay?"

"I suppose so," he said, straightening his tie. "Do I look all right, Deanne?"

Deanne smiled. "Of course, Mr. Hart. You always look great."

Jonathan quietly entered the Hart home, being careful not to make any noise. Entering the study, he spotted Jennifer busily working at her desk. He could tell by the expression on her face that she was engrossed in whatever she was writing. Tiptoeing, he made his way up behind her and sprung a surprise kiss on her cheek.

"Ah!" Jennifer gasped, jumping in her seat. "You scared me half to death!"

"What are you doing?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Writing a letter to an old friend. Do you remember Tom Landers? He wrote to me the other day – he’s living in London now, but he’s planning a trip to California and would like to visit."

"Tom Landers?" Jonathan paused, trying to remember the name. "An old boyfriend?"

"No," Jennifer said, dismissing the thought. "I met him at NYU. We were just good friends, especially after we entered the working world. Both of us were struggling journalists."

"You? Struggle?" he teased.

"Very funny," she said, looking at him sharply. "I didn’t take my father’s money. I worked my way up."

"I know," he said, kissing her lightly.

"Anyhow, he’d like to come at the beginning of next month and spend a week or two."

"Any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

Jennifer smiled and kissed him back. "You’re wonderful," she gushed.

"You’re not the only one who thinks so," he said, straightening up.

"Oh?"

"Guess whose been voted the ‘Businessman of the Year’ for Debonair magazine?"

Jennifer smiled proudly. "Jonathan, that’s wonderful. Does that mean you’re going to be on the cover?"

"Yes. They came to the office this afternoon, did the interview, and took pictures."

"How come you don’t look that thrilled?" she asked, running her hand up his chest.

Jonathan shrugged. "I don’t know. I don’t like all that primping and posturing."

"I’ll bet it came out great," she said smirking. She loved when Jonathan was bashful about things like this.

Jonathan groaned and looked away

"Come a little closer," Jennifer said, grinning mischievously.

He moved closer, while she brought her arms around his neck.

"You know, you’re my business man of the year," she whispered.

Jonathan wrapped his arms around her waist. "I’m glad to hear that."

A few weeks passed quickly, and Jennifer found herself waiting impatiently at gate forty-two for Tom’s plane to arrive. She remembered how fond she had been of Tom back in their post-college days. He was always there to listen whenever she needed him. Slowly over the years, they had drifted apart; at first talking on the phone weekly, then sporadically, and finally the occasional letter. Jennifer remembered the last time she had seen him. They had met for dinner when she was in London three years ago – he seemed despondent, mostly due to a recent failed relationship.

Finally, the gate door opened and a flow of passengers began trickling out. Jennifer looked from face to face, trying to recognize her old friend. After several minutes passed, Tom finally appeared, looking tired and pale. He smiled when he saw Jennifer.

"Tom!" Jennifer called out, smiling back and waving.

Tom rushed to her and gave her a warm hug. Standing back to admire her, he said, "Jennifer, you look absolutely beautiful. I don’t know how you do it – you get better looking every time I see you."

She blushed. "Tom, you’re still a smooth talker…You look great yourself," she lied.

Tom had obviously lost weight since she had seen him last. His clothes hung on his tall frame, and his dark hair was thinning. Still, she could see the twinkle in his eye and remembered what a great sense of humor he had.

"You don’t have to lie," he said. "I haven’t aged as well as you."

Jennifer gave him a scolding look. "Come on, let’s get you into the warm, California sunshine," she said, hooking her arm through his.

"Max?" Jennifer called out, as they entered the door.

Max came sauntering out of the kitchen, a magazine in his hand.

"Hi Mrs. H…you must be Tom," he said, shaking his hand.

Tom smiled. "Yes, and you must be Max. I’ve heard a lot about you."

"Yeah?" Max said, smiling and chewing on the end of his cigar.

"Max, is the guest room made up?" Jennifer asked.

"Yeah…oh, by the way, Mrs. H, this month’s issue of Debonair magazine came out today," he said, holding up the magazine. Jonathan’s handsome face filled the front cover.

"Let me see," she said, taking the magazine from him.

"I gotta warn ya though, Mrs. H," Max said, picking up Tom’s luggage and making his way up the stairs, "you might not like the way it’s written."

"What do you mean?" Jennifer asked.

"Well, let’s just say," Max said, choosing his words carefully, "the article portrays Mr. H as a bit of a playboy."

Jennifer’s face grew dim. Raising an eyebrow, she said, "A playboy? Don’t they know he’s a married man?"

"Ah…they sorta didn’t mention he was married," Max said.

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. She turned to Tom and said, "So much for journalistic integrity, huh?"

Tom shook his head. "They don’t make journalists like us anymore."

Jennifer sat on the sofa reading Debonair magazine while Max worked on dinner. She looked up suspiciously, when Jonathan came through the door and made his way over to the sofa.

"You read the article?" he asked, wincing.

"Yes, it’s very interesting. I’m learning all kinds of new things about you," she said matter-of-factly.

"I didn’t say most of those things, you know. Everything I said was taken out of context," he said seriously.

Jennifer pretended to be miffed. "Is that right," she said, shaking her head. "Actually, I find it quite entertaining. Here’s my favorite part: Jonathan Hart, a self-made millionaire, really knows how to spend his money on the finer things in life. He is known to throw lavishly wild parties and entertain the ladies well past midnight."

She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for a reply.

"Darling, there’s only one lady that I entertain past midnight," he said, coming close to kiss her.

"Ah ha," she mused. "Funny how they forgot to mention that you were married."

Jonathan smiled sheepishly. "How can I make it up to you?"

"I’ll think of something," she smiled, and kissed him tenderly.

"Did Tom get here?"

"Yes. He’s upstairs sleeping. He seemed very tired – jet lag, I suppose."

"Oh…then I guess we have a little time to ourselves," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Jonathan, you weren’t thinking about entertaining me this early in the evening, were you?"

"Just think of it as an early bird special," he said, sweeping her into his arms.

Jonathan came to work the next day, whistling as he came through the doors. People in the corridors were talking in hushed tones and seemed to disburse quickly when they saw him coming. Deanne sat at her desk, looking impatient.

"Good morning, Deanne," he said, smiling broadly.

"Hello, Mr. Hart," she said grimacing. "Gee, what did you think of the article?"

Jonathan chuckled. "Didn’t quite capture the real me, wouldn’t you say?" he said, dismissing it.

"No, I was shocked. I mean, to call you a playboy!" she exclaimed, her cheeks suddenly turning red.

Jonathan shrugged. "Don’t worry about it, Deanne. No harm done."

"Well, it’s just that…" she paused.

"What is it?"

"Well, you’ve had a number of calls this morning…from other magazines wanting to do stories on you…and all the morning talk shows," she said, sinking down in her seat.

"Oh," he frowned. "Well, just tell them I’m not interested."

"Okay, Mr. Hart…but you also have a visitor – a Simone Caswell from the Midnight Star. She insisted upon seeing you in person today."

"The Midnight Star? Isn’t that one of those tabloids?"

"I’m afraid so. I told her you had a full schedule today, but she insisted on getting five minutes with you."

"Where is she?"

"In the other room."

"All right. Send her in. I’ll get rid of her."

"Mr. Hart – do you mind if I call you Jonathan?" Simone Caswell said nonchalantly. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back severely, making her face appear tight. A fresh coat of ruby red lipstick shone on her lips.

"What can I do for you, Simone?" Jonathan said, sitting down in his executive chair.

"I understand you’re a very busy man, so I’ll cut to the chase," she said, walking around the office.

"Please do."

"I would love to do a photo layout of you – an exclusive – for our magazine. You’ve received quite a lot of attention after the story in Debonair and, frankly, I’d like to cash in on that. I’m prepared to pay you a quarter-million dollars for an interview and pictures," she said, standing next to his desk.

Jonathan stood up. "I appreciate your candor, and so, I think you’ll appreciate mine: I’m not interested in your money and I’m not interested in being a subject of your magazine."

"Half million?"

"I’m not interested…now, if you don’t mind, I am a very busy man," he said, ushering her to the door.

Simone glared at him. "Very well. You may regret this decision later," she said cryptically.

Jonathan gave her a scolding look. Turning on her heel, Simone marched defiantly out of the building.

Jennifer was sitting on the sofa reading, when Tom came into the living room. He appeared rested, but Jennifer could not miss the sadness in the corner of his eyes.

"Well, how do you feel?" she said, patting the sofa for him to sit.

"Better, thanks," he smiled. "Is Jonathan working?"

"Yes, he’s sorry he missed you. You must’ve been pretty tired to have slept right through dinner."

"Oh, yes, well…" Tom said, looking uncomfortable.

"Is something wrong, Tom?" Jennifer said, concerned.

He sighed heavily. "Jennifer, there’s something I need to tell you…It’s rather difficult."

She put her book down and sat up. He loved the way Jennifer was so attentive – she had always been acutely sensitive to people’s needs.

"There’s really no easy way to say this…I have cancer," he said finally, watching her eyes widen.

"Oh, Tom, that’s awful," she cried, placing her hand on his knee.

Tom looked down. "Colon cancer… It’s terminal."

Jennifer could not hide the gasp that escaped from her lips. She was not unaccustomed to hearing about people with cancer, but it was usually treatable with today’s medicines and technology. The fact that Tom, who was so young and otherwise healthy, was dying from it seemed unthinkable.

"What about radiation? Chemotherapy?" she barely whispered, the words getting caught in the lump in her throat.

Tom shook his head. "I’ve had it, but nothing’s worked. The cancer has spread."

Jennifer reached over and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Oh, God, I don’t know what to say."

Tom felt a rush of emotion come toward him like a steam train. He thought he had cried all the tears he had, but somehow holding Jennifer made him suddenly aware of the life that he was leaving behind.

"Tom, what about experimental drugs? If you need the money, Jonathan and I would be happy…"

Tom shook his head slowly. "I just need your friendship."

"That, you will always have," she said, squeezing his hand.

"Hey, Max, where’s Mrs. H?" Jonathan said, coming home early. He had been tired of all the nagging calls today at the office and just wanted some peace and quiet. Even Hart Industry employees were abuzz with the press coverage their leader was getting.

"She and Tom went to the beach," he said, shutting off his favorite soap opera.

"Oh," Jonathan replied glumly. A trip to the beach sounded good.

"What’s the matter?"

"Oh, that damn magazine, Max. You’d think I was Hugh Hefner or something," he said, plunking himself down on the sofa.

"People are talking, eh?" Max said, mulling over the situation.

"Yes. I don’t think they believe it, but still, it’s not good for the staff to be focused on this."

"It’ll pass, Mr. H…just give it time."

"I hope so."

Simone Caswell stood in her office, looking out over the city. Today’s meeting with Jonathan Hart did not go as she had hoped. However, she was not ready to admit defeat so soon. In her twenty years in the business, she was known for her "creative" stories. Certainly, Jonathan Hart’s lifestyle would lend itself to some creativity, she mused. But, what angle would she use?

She knew that he was a happily married man – that kind of story was best left to Ladies Home Journal, she chuckled to herself. No, Simone wanted something juicy, something that would sell a lot of copy. There must be something that she could dig up about Jonathan Hart’s past that would make a splashy headline. Yes, she would surely find what she was looking for.