I really knew Morty Abel for just a short time. He joined a running group that I coached. I am a corporate trainer and as a result spend an inordinate amount of time traveling. So, I run where I can and coach for a local running store on weekends.
Morty showed up one day in an old sweat shirt, baggy sweat pants and "sneakers". He said he wanted to learn how to run to lose weight and "get in shape". He needed it. He was in his mid-fifties, maybe five foot nine and way overweight.
"Morty," I said, with my arm around his shoulder, "I do not want you to die on the roads. At least not on my watch. So, here are some of the things that have to happen if you are serious about this."
I explained to him that he should get a complete physical first. I told him he had to make the investment in running shoes - good ones. I gave him a diet that was right from Runner's World Magazine. I gave him some tips on cross training, like swimming, stretching and weights.
Morty came back the next Sunday with some bright red running Asics running shoes. He assured me his doctor had given him clearance - kind of. I found out Morty was an accountant and married to a high powered defense attorney about whom I had heard. He took the training regime seriously and orderly. Like I said, Morty was an accountant, so, orderliness was in his DNA.
After about four weeks on the roads, Morty was looking better. He liked his red Asics shoes, he began wearing a tighter long sleeved shirt that still showed some progress needed on his abdomen. He had finally moved to running shorts. One Sunday, after our weekly group run, he came up to me.
"Harris?" Morty had a way of looking down as he talked instead of keeping eye contact. Had he been a client of mine, I would have cured him of that in ten minutes.
"Morty," I replied. "Good run today, man. You are really getting into it."
"Um, thanks, Harris. My wife Grace and I are having a few folks over for barbeque next Friday night and, well, I'd love for you to meet her. Could you and your wife maybe come?"
"Morty, I'd love to. But Adrian is overseas for her company. Matter of fact she accepted a post in London for the next year."
Morty's eyes were still on his red shoes. "Wow, Harris, that's tough."
"Well yeah, but Adrian Jacobs is a high powered talented executive and she is on the fast track. Anyway, I'll make it if I can, okay?"
Morty broke into that crinkly smile of his. "Great. I'll e-mail you directions."
So, the following Friday evening I had a goodnight call with Adrian in London, saying all is going great and yeah, we miss each other. Adrian and I had been trying to bring some of the magic back. It didn't seem to be working too well, especially since the two girls left for college. Maybe it was never there in the first place.
Anyway, about two months ago we took a long walk on one of the Florida beaches within an hour of home and talked. "Maybe we should take a sabbatical," Adrian suggested, and told me about the opportunity in London. "Six months? You think we should?" She asked.
But I know her. Her mind was made up. Well, turned out it was a year, not six months, but a deal is a deal so there she is and here I am. I won't say she's not coming back and neither will she, but we'll see.
I hung up and headed to Morty and Grace's. The Abel home was on almost a half-acre of ground on a large lake. In front of the house was a long drive bordered by pines and palm trees. There was subtle lighting on the ground pointed at the trees that gave a very quiet dignity to the entrance. The doors were wide open to the front. I heard the murmur of conversation and occasional laughter as I parked the car and walked into a stunning front hall with a black and white square marble tile floor.
You looked right through a large living room to a huge patio around an hourglass shaped swimming pool. I had no idea how well Morty did in his accounting practice, but I did know that Grace Abel was a shining star in the firmament of defense lawyers in our town.
I walked towards the noise and out to the pool. There were about a half dozen people gathered around the bar where a bartender in a white jacket was serving drinks. I saw two large smokers in the backyard behind the pool where two more white jacketed guys were watching what looked like large briskets cooking.
When I got through the doors to the pool, Morty dislodged himself from another small group and came forward to shake my hand. "Harris, I am so glad you could make it. Come, I want you to meet Grace. I think you know some of these folks."
Well, mostly I didn't. But like I said, I travel a lot. Morty had me by the elbow and steered me half way around the pool. There, sitting comfortably in a chair at a patio table, was a rather tall, blonde, somewhat overweight woman with a gorgeous face and sparkling blue eyes. She was wearing a long sleeved white blouse up to her neck, white slacks and a blue scarf thrown carelessly around her neck.
Coach that I am, both in business and on the roads, I immediately thought, give me six months with that woman and she is Vanity Fair material. I knew it was Grace Abel from various TV interviews and numerous newspaper interviews.
"Grace," Morty said loudly. Here's my coach, Harris Jacobs. I don't think you guys ever met."
Grace Abel turned those large blue eyes on me. I was wearing a short sleeved button down light blue sport shirt and a blue blazer with white slacks. We matched. "Nice to meet you Grace. Morty has told me a lot about you, more than I learned from sound bites." She gave me a really cool stare.
She reached out one long nailed hand and I shook it. She had a firm grip. "Yes, Harris. I understand you are the man who is saving my husband's life."
I continued to hold her hand. "Well, really all I'm doing is giving him a regimen that might help him live a happier, healthier life."
She gently pulled her hand away. "Well, Harris, whatever it is, I thank you. Morty is actually looking much better. Final word will come at the end of the month when he sees his cardiologist."
I looked over at Morty. "Everything okay? Morty, you have to let me know these things."
Morty shrugged. He looked at his shoes. "No big deal. Grace wants me to have a checkup. She says I snore too much."
Well, that stopped the conversation. I moved on to a couple I had met before and was able to strike up some other conversations while nursing a single white wine. Finally, Grace called out. I looked over and she was standing in the back yard by the smokers.
"Folks, dinner is served. If you will grab a plate and some silverware down here and move through a line, then just find a seat at one of the tables. Waiters will be by to serve some drinks and give you refills."
I moved through the line, had a couple of large slabs of brisket put on my plate, took some vegetables and a little salad and looked for a place to sit. I saw Morty waving at me from the table where I met Grace. She was beside him.
"Sit, Harris. Grace? Harris' wife works for Donnelly Sparks - the multi-national plastics outfit? Harris tells me she is on a one year assignment in London. That's how come he's alone, right Harris?"
I nodded. Grace gave me a long look. "So, you are like a bachelor for a year, Mr. Jacobs?"
"Well, yeah. But please call me Harris. I travel a lot myself, so this is just a larger extension of the same."
"Well, that is a shame. Will you get a chance to visit?"
"Probably. We'll have to see what works out."
The conversation drifted to some local politics and the usual arguments between Florida State and Florida alums. I graduated from Williams College in Williamstown Massachusetts, so I did not have a dog in that fight. Apparantley neither did Grace. She was sitting next to me. She put a cool hand on top of mine.
"Not a big fan, Harris?"
"Well, no, not in this league. I'm out of my depth here."
"Me too. I'm University of Pennsylvania law, myself."
