CHAPTER 5: BOTHERED AND BEWILDERED
As he strode away from her door, he made sure he did his best to walk with confidence, though he was far from it. Bewildered would be a better description of his
mental state. He actually stopped in the hallway, mid-stride, turned around in the direction of Grace's quarters, paused and rubbed his forehead. Shaking his head, he
turned back around and walked the rest of the way back to his office. Once there, he sat in front of the dying fire. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest. He was
sure that he had heard her correctly. He was sure that he had heard her say it. She had said: "Oliver, I love you so." He mused about it, brooded about it, doubted his
own 'lying ears' and mind about it, all the while wanting it to be true, all the while, deep down inside, knowing that it was. He thought about it in so many ways,
trying to rationalize her words: "Maybe she was having a dream, and she meant someone else…." He chuckled dryly to himself as he added "Yes, I guess there is
another 'Oliver' out there I did not know about, such a common name. . .…" he continued his thought process, trying to make sense of the whole evening. He was so
tired, he was beginning to feel delirious.
"Maybe she was just lost in a dream. It was innocent. She did not mean it for me. No. Not a chance." He lied to himself. He sighed as he closed the glass screen to
the fireplace and turned off his office lights. As he was leaving, he paused and thought about her falling asleep in his wingback chair. He was smiling from ear to ear
and did not realize it. Once back in his own quarters, he quickly showered, retrieved a book he was half-way through, and was promptly wide-awake. He found himself
distracted by thoughts of her, staring at the ceiling. His mind would not turn off the thoughts of her, and he found himself very aware of just how alone he was in the
vast expense of his large, well-appointed rooms. Even worse was the realization that he was very much isolated and alone in his large well-appointed and hard-to-
warm-up bed, in his silk pajamas. All of the silk sheets and down comforters did not make his bed any less solitary or any more cozy. He lost sleep that night, even
though he was spent from their day. He was wide awake, thinking about her.
As she leaned against her door as he left her, she could hear his purposeful stride as he walked away from her rooms. She held her breath as she heard them stop
suddenly, she heard the sound of his shoes as he turned back in her direction. There was a pause. She heard his steps resume in the direction of his office. After that,
she heard the faint sound of his office door closing. She breathed out and made her way to her own bathroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was still a little
confused and sleepy. She felt that the 'air' between them had changed. She looked at herself and said aloud: "You are fooling yourself. There is no way that man
actually loves you. He would never . . . love…you." Her eyes burned as she indulged her insecurities in her self-talk. Her mind was soon distracted as she replayed a
part of their night together in his office. As she got her things for bed sorted, she thought: "he lingered by my door, he held both of my hands for a good thirty
seconds, he stared at me the entire time." She paused as she ran her shower and brushed her teeth. "Had he called me 'Grace, DEAR'? She was almost certain she
had heard that, or, was it her dreaming? She had always had dreams about him. She looked forward to dreaming each night because every now and then, he would
show up and it was marvelous." Stepping out of the shower, she said to herself: "Oh, I don't know anything about anything right now. My mind is scrambled from
exhaustion; today was a whirlwind of meetings, negotiations, deadlines, and now, delirium. I am delirious, she thought. "I'm tired. There is no way that man loves
me." And yet. She was as bewildered as he was. She turned on a lone reading lamp by her bedside and picked up a book she was into. She expected that she would
last about two pages. She did last two pages. The same two pages over and over as she ignored the written words and found herself back to a familiar, comforting
and inescapable habit: musing about him. He made her weak, his scent she craved, his energy she lit up from, his mind and heart she was learning. Her first meeting
with him scant years ago put down a blue print of how she viewed him: a powerful, empowered, beautiful and gallant man. As she got to know more about him
through working with him day after day, she found out this: For all of his world travels and worldly ways, his cut-throat business reputation, his seemingly eccentric
veneer, his trademark way of dressing, his shaven head and face – all of these things made up a character that was presented to the world. That 'character' was not
who the real man was. He had an endearing innocence about him in regard to domestic things, or what it was like to have child's play. She knew that his hurt was a
reflection of his capability of loving. He was afraid to love because loving someone had hurt him so badly, so young. His heart was huge and made of gold, and for the
most part, she was one of the very few people who saw that in him. His façade was to be intimidating. As a human being, Oliver Warbucks had been on 'high alert'
since he was aware of being alive. He had grown up in abject poverty. His heart had been broken at age nine by the death of his little brother from pneumonia. His
brother was six at the time. The tiny boat on his dressing table that had belonged to Albie, he carried with him during his years on ships. He carried his love for his
brother with him his entire life. And the hurt. And loss. Oliver and Albie's childhood was bleak. Their father was a switch operator for the railway in Liverpool, they
lived in tiny quarters in the switch house. It was noisy, it was dirty, it was dark. His mother was hard working and kind, she did her best working with very little. They
had barely enough to eat, and when Oliver's brother Albert got ill, they had to rely on the help of neighbors to help their sick boy. They could not afford a doctor, or
any medicines. There were no antibiotics, but many 'medicines' that contained opium, or heroin or cocaine could certainly help with the cough and the pain, but the
family was simply too poor. They had compounds and tinctures and plasters from mid-wives and matriarchs, but nothing helped. Albert, already frail from poor
nutrition, died after weeks of suffering. Oliver felt powerless and was in shock for months. When the shock finally let him go so that he could acknowledge the loss, he
was so angry and traumatized by his Albert's death, he decided then and there that he would make sure he was never, ever poor. The grief stayed within him for
years, because he was never able to fully process the loss. He carried it in him, locked away, but rattling to get out of the cage. He was as driven to succeed as he
was sad, and his sadness was profound. He was going to be wealthy, come hell or high water. He was also going to change his name when he achieved that goal. He
had to let that Liverpool horror of a childhood go, and along with it, the surname: "Havens". Oliver had been born "Oliver Edward Havens". He had become a newly-
minted, twenty-two-year-old millionaire in 1910, having invested wisely in a shipping company he was employed by, his stock investment paying him handsomely. He
had made sure that his parents shared in his wealth, buying them a small country estate. His father and mother never had to worry about money again. His diligence
and drive toward money and power made him a 100-fold millionaire by the time he was thirty-one. He had chosen "Warbucks" for a surname, started using it in
business records and even had it as the name of his L.L.C. However, all of his personal documents: passport, drivers license, insurance policies and bank records all
had his surname as "Havens". In 1922, having made a vast amount of his fortune in the manufacture and sale of weapons of war: tanks, planes, ammunition, ships,
and other military supplies, he decided to move to New York City, buying his mansion on 5th Avenue in the heart of Manhattan. He had factories all over the world, he
had mining contracts, he had oil wells and he had the ear of every major world power. He did not take this lightly. All of this power weighed upon him, and he was
committed to using it for the power of good. He had no evil inclinations and yet he was very much aware of how evil his weaponry was, and how it could be used as a
duel-edged sword, so to speak. He knew that he equipped emerging nations to defend themselves against fascist aggressors, but he also knew that if his weapons
were in the wrong hands, it could empower authoritarian regimes. He was explicit about this caveat with all of his distributors and management. They did not just sell
to the highest bidder – they sold to those in need or those who would be in need. Oliver also had trove of intelligence about which world leaders, governments, or
countries that he would NEVER sell a weapon to under any circumstances. One didn't need a crystal ball post-WW1 to focus on world events with awareness that
conflicts were far from over on the global stage, and that conflicts would arise again. Oliver did his best to represent the interest of those who were aligned with his
own personal code of democracy and ethics. He was interested in defending democracy – globally. She was interested in keeping him well-equipped with factual data,
top-notch administrative management – she managed to do this despite her feelings for him. There were times that she had to tell herself to stop it. Stop thinking
about him and get to work. When she had those hard talks with herself, she got the most done. The detachment was a hard discipline but necessary. Her detachment
facilitated his drive and ability to navigate the intricacies of his empire. She was the consummate 'behind the scenes' professional, and she knew exactly what her job
was: to manage his office. Her heart was his, though, and she kept it only for him. She had compassion and because of her keen interest in who he was as a man,
she surmised that he felt very responsible for his weapons being used only by democracies. He felt a lot of guilt about the outcome of WW1. He had personally met
with war veterans. He was shocked and horrified by their numerous and devastating injuries, not to mention the thousands killed. He personally made sure that
veterans' organizations and hospitals were generously funded by trust funds set up for their use, year after year. There were a lot of organizations, celebrities,
politicians, and soap operas that clambered for his endorsement, asked him for money, or both. These types of solicitors were rapidly dismissed. However, veterans,
widows of veterans, and children of veterans were a completely different story. He gave freely and often to them. He generously funded boys and girls clubs, college
scholarships in veterans names, and was very eager to fund medical research and medical facilities, He built hospital wings for children, making sure that hospitals
had more than adequate updates on infrastructure, technology and surgical suites. His funding made it possible for hospitals to hire the best surgeons and to be
cutting edge.
Oliver's tragic childhood was the reason he was a champion for people who could not advocate for themselves. As he barked at other wealthy 'captains of industry'
during his regular work day, there was certainly some child receiving life-saving medication or needed surgery all funded with no strings attached by Oliver Warbucks.
He did so anonymously. He told Grace: "I want no credit, nor do I want my name attached. I want the kids to get the help they need but keep my name out of it." He
held these meetings about charitable work with her, two of his attorneys, and his tax law accountant. Behind closed doors. In the last year, he had funded everything
from tonsil removals to setting broken limbs. He had a strong interest in the situation with the way orphanages were funded and being run. He decided to reach out to
the director of the NY Board of Orphans, Mr. Joseph Donatelli. Oliver was immediately seated on their board and was invited, along with Grace Farrell, to attend
meetings and generate input. Grace attended strictly as his personal secretary, offering no input, but soaking up like a sponge everything that was planned. She took
detailed notes with names, quotes, deliberations, and articles for discussion. After reading one of her 'minutes of _ meeting', he was honestly amazed at the detail,
the verbatim quotes, the bulleted items of discussion, attendees with context and contact information – it was a wealth of data and information. He would look at her
work, read through it, and toss it lightly on his desk – smiling. He said aloud after perusing her meeting minutes: "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner."
Her mind ran through all she knew about him as a man. She knew he had trouble with friendships because of his money. He had very little trust for people. After his
last broken romance six years earlier, he had remained solitary. He had isolated himself from anyone who might hurt him or take advantage of him. Some would call
him 'eccentric'. She would call him lonely. Isolated. Depressed. Sad sometimes. She thought about all of this as she closed her book, snapped the light off, and stared
at the ceiling.
She – who was so exhausted that she fell asleep in his office – was now wide awake. She was unable to sleep because of thoughts of him.