Naughty Little Secrets. Mary Wilbon
His holdings extended from Cape May, New Jersey, to Montauk, New York.
Owen built his home, a sixty-two-room mansion, on 30,000 acres in the sprawling Ramapo Mountains of New Jersey. It was built to resemble a Tudor castle, and because of this, he was often called “Owen the First, King of Clams.” Owen loved it not only for its business connotations, but for its sexual ones as well.
Like many successful businessmen, he was always cunning and shrewd, but not always ethical, and not always faithful. Once Owen had the taste of success, he couldn’t be held back by any restrictions. He chafed at the rules of convention.
His marriage to Laura’s mother Vanessa was loveless; they stayed together only because they were totally devoted to Laura.
Laura’s mother’s family had their own money, old money that was inherited and passed down to the next generation. It was class-conscious money, not made from fishmongering the way Owen had made his. They felt that by marrying Owen she had married beneath her. Now she was a fishwife, wasn’t she? They felt that common businesspeople like Owen were contributing to the disappearance of manners and good breeding.
After a while, Laura’s mother began to believe it, too.
She went on performing her social duties as Owen’s wife, graciously, but humorlessly. Eventually, she cared less and less about Owen’s other women. She had no delusions about it. Owen liked women. He would never be satisfied with just one. So be it!
She only cared about her daughter.
Both parents doted on her. Laura was the only thing they agreed on.
They made sure Laura had the best of everything.
Owen was especially enchanted with her. Sometimes his face ached just from smiling at her. Laura was the one person Owen truly loved unconditionally. He was determined to be a better father than he was a husband. Owen knew what the rest of the world thought of him and he really didn’t give a damn, but he wanted to see something else when he saw himself reflected in Laura’s eyes. He wanted to see love in her eyes.
Growing up, Laura had been well aware of the rumors of her father’s infidelities and unscrupulous business dealings, but she adored him.
As his fortune grew, Owen cultivated many influential friends in the world of politics and commerce. His office desk and walls proudly and conspicuously displayed dozens of photographs of himself flanked by the important people of the moment. These photographs were regularly updated or replaced with others, depending on the shifting celebrity status of those pictured.
The television industry had its infancy in New York, and Owen Charles accurately recognized the potential of this new medium early on. His company sponsored one of the first television game shows: The Charles Clams Casino Hour. Contestants would select to play blackjack, 5-card stud, or deuces wild. All games required spinning a big wheel with playing cards painted on it. Fortunes were made and lost, and audiences tuned in each week to watch the drama of winning or losing. Winners got as much as $10,000 and losers were sent to the Clam Dip Pit. But, win or lose, every contestant walked away with a three-month supply of Charles Minced Clams.
Owen was a marketing genius.
The television show and his company were becoming big successes.
Soon he had politicians, CEOs, and television and Broadway actors, directors, and producers welcoming his phone calls; they all would gladly stop what they were doing to talk to Owen Charles.
He threw lavish parties in his home, and worked his way into the better social circles.
And, of course, since he made his living from the ocean, he bought an enormous yacht and entertained there as well. He named it The Prince Caviar. It was a floating paradise with a thoroughly stocked bar and a perpetual party buffet, specializing in seafood.
The food kept coming and the bar never ran dry on The Prince Caviar.
There was continuous music, perfect for dancing and swimming and drinking, and of course, for extramarital affairs. If Owen was going to be one slippery son of a bitch, he was going to be one slippery son of a bitch in style.
He was driven.
Laura was his only child; he never wanted any others. He worked hard to amass his fortune for her.
To some, it seemed that Owen Charles wanted to leave his daughter so much money, that she would never have to depend on a man like himself to care for her.
Ironically, he needn’t have worried. Laura had never shown even the slightest romantic interest in men. She often joked, “Some of my best friends are men, but I wouldn’t want my daughter to marry one.”
When Laura’s time came to run the company, she renamed it and restructured it to make it her own. Where Owen was only concerned with how much he could take from the waters off New Jersey and New York, Laura started to harvest shellfish. She set quantity restrictions on fishing and made sure the company adhered to the set limits.
Her dedication, hard work, and talent had reinvented every aspect of her father’s company. Now Laura was the company.
She knew that if she spent her money extravagantly for three lifetimes, she would never spend all that he left her, so she set up charities and foundations in her father’s name. Laura wanted history to treat her father more kindly than he deserved.
Now that her parents were dead, there was only Judson.
In this huge castle she had inherited, only he had known Laura as a little girl. Only Judson had been there to witness her maturation into a young woman and now president of the company her father had started.
Laura still entertained the rich and powerful in her home, but her relationship with Slick had introduced a more flamboyant, colorful element that hadn’t existed before. If Judson disapproved of her life now, he didn’t show it. He maintained the house in his usual devoted, polished, genteel but firm manner. He made sure he and the staff was always available when they were needed, and invisible when they were not.
After Slick moved in, he carefully and deliberately weeded out any staff members who had even whispered about the gay union of the white socialite and the black ex-detective.
Laura hoped he did have some genuine feeling for her as she did for him. She hoped that his loyalty to her came from something more than his sense of duty. She would have welcomed a more casual interaction with him but knew his code of conduct would not permit it.
So, her affection for him went unspoken. But she truly loved this faithful old gentleman who seemed to have removed all traces of the needs of his own life and dedicated himself to the needs of others.
And now Judson watched from below as the white lesbian socialite mermaid and her black ex-cop Sherlock Holmes lover descended the stairs.
He watched as they approached with the same everyday blasé expression one would watch the Weather Channel.
Slick helped Laura off the seat, then she looked up at the ceiling as if she were outside and pretended to study the atmospheric conditions.
“My senses are tingling. Yes…yes…It feels like it’s going to martini.”
Then turning to Judson and feigning surprise, she said, “Look I was right!” She took the martinis from the tray.
“Wonderful, Judson,” she said. “Thank you.” She took a long sip from one of the martinis, and handed the other to Laura.
“You’re quite welcome, Miss Slick. I thought you might enjoy a quick one to catch up to your guests.”
Slick never tired of hearing Judson’s proper and efficient British accent.
Slick had a soft spot in her heart for Judson.
From the first day she met him, he had made her feel comfortable and welcome, like she belonged here.
He had worked for Laura’s family for almost all her life, and when it was clear that Laura had chosen Slick for her life companion, Judson