Little White Lies by Paul Watkins Page B

Although he is the main security concern, he is the least concerned and the least considerate. In short, he’s a pain in the ass, but everyone just smiles when it comes to A.J. It’s difficult not to like him.
    As time passes, operations here at the estate are slowly falling into a routine. When A.J. is away the place is quiet and serene… even when the kids are acting up. But when he’s here, a cyclone-like wind seems to blow through the house. The air sort of crackles with electricity, as though there is a large transformer in the basement. Since A.J. has become his own manager the phone never stops ringing. During the last several weeks I have been fielding a lot of his calls. Actually it’s a good way to spend my time as more and more of the daily chores around the estate go on autopilot.
    I don’t know much about A.J.’s former business manager other than his name, Monte James, and the fact that he was fired a day or two before I was hired. I suppose it might have had something to do in some way with my getting the job in the first place. Having dipped into the money pot without telling the boss, A.J. found him out and told him to hit the road.
    Since I’m here all the time, many of the people trying to reach A.J. simply call me when looking for answers. The nature of the problem is usually far more organizational than technical. I have to admit, however, as I learn about A.J.’s various activities, it does get more and more interesting.
    Basically, A.J. has two main enterprises: music and restaurants. The restaurant business is easily explained. A couple of years ago he opened a restaurant on a lark. Apparently it was something he had always wanted to do. He serves very good food at modest prices. Cleanliness is an absolute fetish. Good food and his hot name became another hit and a business was born. Since the first restaurant opened a little over two years ago, he has opened four more, each as successful as the first. So far he has been able to keep all this going by himself, but he’s running out of hours in the day. It really hits the fan when he’s onthe road because his mind is elsewhere and he’s virtually out of touch with his managers for extended periods of time. Not a good thing.
    A.J. has been traveling about the country on a series of what he calls mini-tours. He packages a group of his fellow entertainers into a full show. They take it on the road and do two or three cities in ten days to two weeks and then head home. The process tends to feed on itself since the financial success of these tours has created tremendous pressure for him to spend more and more time on the road. CD sales go through the roof after every concert.
    One night, not long ago, I talked with A.J. about his touring company and he revealed a deep-seated concern over what every entertainer must fear… that tomorrow or the next day it might all be over… his fifteen minutes of fame would have passed. He feels he has to make the money while it’s there. He said he knows he’s a bit paranoid on the subject, but he’s seen too many of yesterday’s ‘stars’ reduced to working in small clubs. basically back to their beginnings. or worse than small clubs… not working at all. He told me he has been good with his money and if things ended tomorrow he would be all right, but in the meantime, he intends to make all the hay he can. A.J.’s no dummy. He’s got his head on tight and right.
    A.J. is leaving this afternoon on another one of his tours. We have been trying to have a meeting for the last two days, but something always gets in the way. Now, thirty minutes before he is due to leave, it looks like we are finally going to get it done. I’m sitting in the library when he comes sailing in ten minutes late. He looks a little pissed. It’s his meeting, so I’ll let him start.
    He has a bunch of stuff on the house and grounds and the big party on the fifteenth of next month. There’s always a lot of work to having a