This is the story of a young man and the journey he undertakes in order to help his dying uncle fulfill his bucket list.
Prologue
It was a cloudy, cool, and windy morning. John and MaryAnn stood grieving, as the coffin of Joe Taylor was lowered into the ground. John was going to miss his demanding, strong willed, adventurous and loveable Uncle. For more than a year he had lived with and worked for Uncle Joe. It had been part of the deal he had accepted. In return for being named his sole heir, John would have to help him complete the ten items listed on Uncle Joe's, 'Things to do before I die', list. Or as Uncle Joe put it, "before I kick the bucket." There had been one further stipulation that he had to agree to; John would have to complete the bucket list with him.
Chapter 1
At the age of 28, John Baker was a loner. He went to work every day in the accounting department of a small manufacturing company. His primary responsibility was to enter invoices received into the computer and pay them when they were due. It was a dead end job with almost no possibility for advancement, but for John that didn't matter. He had no ambition, no drive to climb the corporate ladder. As long as they paid him, provided a couple of weeks of vacation and a few other benefits, he would be loyal to the company and do his job the best that he could. Every day at five o'clock, he would get into his six-year-old Chevy and drive home to his apartment. He would make himself a can of soup or a sandwich and settle onto the couch for a night of watching TV. After the ten o'clock news he would shut the TV and get ready for bed. In a word, John's life was boring.
John wasn't a bad looking guy. He was 5'7", 135 pounds, with a rather slim almost petite build. He had brown hair and brown eyes. He dressed conservatively, as was his nature. His clothes were always cleaned and pressed. He was the kind of guy that never stood out in a crowd. The guy that always got overlooked or ignored. He was shy around women, primarily because growing up no girls were ever interested in him, so he never developed the skills or the confidence to interact with the opposite sex. Naturally, he was a virgin.
His parents had died in a car accident five years ago. He had no brothers or sisters and knew of only one living relative, his Uncle Joe. He had never met Uncle Joe. His mother had once told him that Joe was her only brother, that he had left home at eighteen to join the Navy and see the world. She had told him that they hadn't seen each other since he had left home and that the only contact they had with each other was their annual exchange of Christmas cards, in which she would update him on the family news.
She had no idea where he was living. His mailing address was a PO Box in Los Angeles; but she had been told that the mail was always forwarded elsewhere. That's why it was such a shock when John came home one day to find an envelope sent certified mail from Joseph Taylor, Los Angeles, California. In the envelope were a one-page letter and a one-way first class airplane ticket to Los Angeles. The letter was short and to the point:
Dear John,
I require your presence at my beachfront estate in Malibu. Enclosed you will find an airplane ticket. A car will be waiting for you when you arrive. I have a proposal for you that I believe will be to our mutual benefit.
Sincerely,
Uncle Joe
The next day John went into work as always. When his supervisor arrived, John asked to take a week of vacation. He apologized for the short notice, but he had to fly to Los Angeles the following Monday because of a family emergency. Although annoyed, his supervisor granted his request because John never caused any trouble and was a hard worker.
John made arrangements to stop his mail and newspaper, let his neighbor know he would be gone for a week, and arranged for a ride to Newark Airport on Monday morning.
Chapter 2
The flight to LA was wonderful. John had only flown one other time. He had been stuck between two fat men, who both reeked of smoke and booze, and had talked to one another as though he wasn't even there. In first class he had been served a real breakfast, consisting of a cheese omelet, fresh fruit, toast, and coffee. He even had a real knife and fork. After breakfast he had watched a movie and was able to take a nap before his arrival.
After his departure from the plane, on his way to claim his bag, he saw a uniformed man holding a sign with his name on it.
"I'm John Baker."
"Very good, Mr. Baker; I'm Bart, Mr. Taylor's personal driver. Let me have your claim ticket and I'll retrieve your bag."
John followed him to baggage, and upon identifying his suitcase, Bart reached in and took it off the belt.
"Follow me; Mr. Taylor doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Bart led him to a black stretch limousine, held opened the back door, and he got in. After placing his bag in the trunk, Bart got in the driver's seat, leaned back and said,
"Help yourself to anything from the bar."
They drove in silence for about an hour. John felt the car slow down and then turn into a driveway, wait for the security gate to open, and proceed up the driveway to the front of a magnificent house. He was dropped off at the front door, which was opened before John had a chance to search for the bell.
"Hello Mr. Baker. Please follow me, Mr. Taylor is expecting you."
He followed the butler to the back of the house and out onto a large patio. The view of the Pacific Ocean was spectacular.
"Hello John, I hope you had a pleasant journey."
A man dressed in only a bathing suit, rose from a lounge chair and walked over his hand extended. He appeared to be about fifty years old, with brown hair, graying at the temples, about 6' tall with an athletic build and a deep tan.
"I'm your Uncle Joe; I'm so glad you decided to come."
"Hello Uncle Joe. I've heard my Mom talk about you; it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Yes, well, it's entirely my fault that I never met you before. I'm afraid in my younger days I was a workaholic and could never tear myself away from my business. Later, I felt that I no longer had the right to enjoy the company of my family."
"I'm sure you would have been more than welcome."
Uncle Joe replied with a water-under-the-bridge wave of his hand, and said, "Please come with me, we can talk in the library. Can I have James get you anything?"
"No thank you, I'm fine."
They entered the house and walked down a hall to a grand circular room with bookshelves lining the walls and large windows facing the ocean. A massive desk stood in the center of the room with two guest chairs in front of the desk. Joe seated himself in one chair and John took the other.
"John, I never beat around the bush; I have a proposition for you. I have cancer and the doctors say I'm dying. I have to get my affairs in order quickly. As you can see, I've made a lot of money in my life and I would like to rewrite my will before I die. I also have a list of things I'd like to do before I die. I've spent too much time making money as opposed to living my life to the fullest. So here's my proposition to you; if you will stay here with me and help me do all the things on my list, I will make you my sole heir. All that I have will be turned over to you -- the houses, the cars, the stocks and bonds -- everything. The only stipulation will be that you join me and do everything that I do."
I just sat there, too stunned to speak.
"I know this is a big decision for you; why don't you think about it tonight and let me know your decision tomorrow. I'm sorry that I can't stay with you today; I have to fly out to a meeting, but I'll be back to join you for breakfast tomorrow. In the mean time, make yourself at home; after all, this may be all yours soon. James will show you to your room. I've left instructions for the cook; your dinner will be served at 8 o'clock."
We stood, shook hands, and I left the room. James was there and led me up the sweeping spiral staircase to the second floor and to my room. The room was bigger than my apartment; the furniture majestic, especially the four-poster king sized bed. James then excused himself, saying that he had to attend to Mr. Taylor.
