Read Character Witness for Free Online

tango. He tilted his head to confide in her but spoke to her shoulder. Kathleen was so much taller.
    '' Vile food she eats, but you'll find her just the ticket when you need work done. You two girls will get along just fine.'' He patted Kathleen's hand and sent a glorious smile Becky's way.
    Kathleen looked over her shoulder to see the last bit of egg stuffed tortilla disappear into Becky's mouth even as she looked fondly upon Gerry O'Doul. Kathleen could swear there was a tear drop in the corner of the secretary's eye. Thankfully, Kathleen wasn't as given to high emotion. All she had was a lump in her throat.

    Kathleen inched across the room, deftly stepping over the small tear in the carpet as she looked at the wall of pictures. Hanging there, caught in the years of his long prime, was the Gerry O'Doul she remembered. Her Uncle Gerry was dapper with his well styled silver hair and perpetual tan. He looked ageless then just as he did in these pictures. There he was with Sam Yorty, the diminutive mayor who ran Los Angeles before the San Diego Freeway ran through it. Gerry with Cardinal McIntyre. Gerry with Ronald Reagan. Gerry with. . .hair!
    '' Here you are my girl.''
    Kathleen blinked and looked away from the pictures. The wavy silver hair was gone leaving only a meticulously slicked down fringe of white and a few long strands that lay across his otherwise bald dome. Gerry smiled, underscoring the fact that his narrow face was no longer cut and clipped, but gently cradled by his fine bone structure. His translucent skin was barely wrinkled but it was lightly spotted with age. His ears were bigger than she remembered.
    '' Kathleen?''
    She shook her head and focused on his eyes. They still sparkled but she thought they had been a deeper blue, not faded like well-washed denim. He held a champagne flute of exquisitely cut crystal toward her, a bottle of champagne sat sweating in an equally impressive silver bucket on his exquisitely carved desk. Here, in his inner sanctum, were the last trappings of his heyday. She looked away. She couldn't bear to be surrounded by reminders of what had been, if she were Gerry O'Doul. She couldn't bear to look at these reminders that she was too late. This wasn't the opportunity she had imagined, not the chance she had counted on.
    '' Thank you Uncle Gerry,'' she said quietly.
    Gerry laid the edge of his flute against hers. The ting made Kathleen think of the final drink on New Years Eve. Kathleen never cared for New Years Eve. It always meant the end of another uneventful year, rather than the beginning of an exciting new one. Kathleen sipped. The glass stem was heavy between her fingers, the lip fragile beneath her own; as heavy as her heart, as frail as her emotions.
    '' Oh, but I can't believe how you've grown,'' Gerry said.
    '' Tall,'' Kathleen muttered. Both hands were now grasping the flute.
    '' And beautiful. How you ever became so glamorous is beyond me. Your mother never was one for fashion.''
    '' Mom was sick for a long time. She watched television; I looked at fashion magazines.''
    Kathleen stiffened, embarrassed that she had shared even that much with him. Magazines had been her inspiration, her training ground for the real world when she was finally free to step into it. She'd learned her lesson well but the world was disappointing her now. She wanted Gerry to understand it had been hard and lonely in those rooms; she wanted him to know how much she longed for the life he had. She wanted him to see her disappointment in his reality. Gerry didn't seem to notice, his joy was so great. Kathleen couldn't bring herself to tell him exactly how she felt.
    '' Look at you, Kathleen. Sure, didn't I think Jean Harlow was waiting for me when I came in? A tall Jean Harlow to be sure, but then even I'm not old enough to remember her. I usually don't like a woman's hair short like that, but on you it's wonderful. So tall and shapely, and dressing like a woman should. Feminine. A brain, too. Ah,