in Lovely, when I would come to live with them at their home on the company grounds. My parents only wished the very best for me, and so instead of summer camp they’d pack me up and send me to live with my grandparents, and that’s how I became his favorite grandchild!”
Mr. Jouglard was smiling along with her, but it was a bit forced; he was smiling for the show’s sake. “Rumor has it, Miss Lovely…”
“Yes?” she replied.
“Rumor has it that as a family member, you will be the next-in-line to the Lovely command, so to speak. Is there any truth to that?”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out when the will is read, won’t we?” And with that, she gave a little giggle at her own cleverness.
“If indeed you are the will’s benefactor, or… benefactress, would you be interested in becoming the CEO of the Lovely Chocolate Company?”
“If selected, I would serve,” said Susan Lovely, with a straight and solemn face.
Mr. Jouglard figured he’d better end the interview before it got any worse, so he turned to the camera and said, “Well, I guess that wraps up what we needed to know here; back to you, Darla.” This was not one of his better interviews, and he knew it.
The television screens then showed Miss Bell with the board of directors, all middle-aged to older white men, with one black and one Asian man, and one middle-aged female dressed in purple, in their meeting room, eating chocolate candies while standing around Miss Bell, who also had one. They were smiling and mugging to the camera, and all the wrapper labels were properly shown, in the right direction and fingers placed so the product could be read and recognized by the viewers.
“Thank you, Greg. And to the town of Lovely, it looks as though all systems are go here at the Lovely Chocolate Factory, and the transition from one leader to the next should be smooooth sailing, with no problems whatsoever to the community. And with that, this is Darla Bell, and the board of directors, saying ‘Good-bye, Lovely!’”
The cameraman pulled the lens back a little so all the board members could be seen, and they were waving to Lovely with one hand, holding chocolate bars with the other, saying, “Good-bye” in unison as the camera faded to black.
“Boy, that must be humiliating,” I said to myself, having watched the local news special. I turned off the TV and went to bed, feeling disgusted for viewing it, but like everybody else in Lovely, wanted to know the state of the company.
A Sad Childhood Story
The next week I was back in Miss Planter’s office, telling her a few stories about childhood days growing up on the southside of Lovely.
“You could say we were Americana,” I said. “Little girls wore dresses; little boys wore baseball caps and blue jeans, t-shirts, even overalls. Girls had long hair, and boys wore theirs short; there were no tattoos or body piercings then. We hosted lots of neighborhood kids in our backyard, since Mom and Dad took out all the stickers in the yard and put in some swings.”
Miss Planter gave me a look of curiosity; I needed to explain.
“A sticker was a burr in the grass; my parents had both gone out back with yard tools and gloves and pulled up all the weeds so we wouldn’t have any problems going barefoot, something common that kids did then.”
“How did you get along with your playmates, Mr. Owen?” Miss Planter asked.
“I think I got along with them rather well. I did have a run-in with one of them when I was younger, but it was just a childhood fight, nothing to be upset about.”
“Who won the fight?” asked Miss Planter.
“I did.”
“Then you didn’t have to be upset about it.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “The winner doesn’t have to be upset about that. The loser was the one who had to adjust.”
“Do you have any stories about your neighborhood playmates that did upset you?” she asked.
I stopped for a moment to recall one story that I kept buried.
“Yes,” I admitted, after the pause became awkward. “I have one. I’m still ashamed about it.”
“Would you care to share it?” she pried.
“I suppose I could. It was a long time ago, and it was another backyard episode. I was playing in our sandbox when Billy Blevins came from next door to play. He was about 18 months younger than me, and so he was always a bit of a tag-along friend.