His Name is John Barron and This is My Story
His name is John Barron and he is well known to many people; you may have heard of him. He’s a wealthy celebrity who also dabbles in real estate and non-profits. My name is Marla Daniels. I’m a forty-two year-old soccer mom of two, happily married to Oliver, an orthodontist, and we live in Atlanta, Georgia. One evening, about two years ago, my husband and I went to a party at a friend’s house where the guest of honor was John Barron. This is my story.
As we stepped across the threshold into our friends’ home, we were not greeted by our friends, as one would expect. We were instead met by a member of Mr. Barron’s entourage, who then escorted us past several small to medium-sized knots of other invited guests, all holding an alcoholic drink in one hand and hors d’oeuvres in the other.
Winding our way through the living room and kitchen, we found ourselves in the great room that was packed wall to wall with people I’d never seen before. Out of the crowd we heard someone say “Marla! Oliver!” and then our friends were standing next to us offering hugs and big smiles. “Isn’t this great?” they both said in unison. “Can you believe how lucky we are that he agreed to come to our house?” My husband had never heard of John Barron, so he stood silent waiting for the greatness to reveal itself. I knew of the man, and from the stories I’d heard, I wasn’t impressed.
John Barron stood about 5’ 11,” much smaller and wider than he looked in the celebrity magazines and The National Enquirer. He had a yellow tint to his skin that made me think “jaundice,” and his hair sported a white comb-over. I remember thinking, “Why is he so loud?” as he stood in the middle of the room yelling “YOU! MOVE OVER THERE!” “YOU GUYS IN THE BACK; MOVE UP!” “HEY! YOU! THE ELDERLY LADY IN THE MIDDLE…JOIN THE OTHER ELDERLY FOLK IN THE BACK!” “HEY! I’M TALKING HERE! LISTEN OR LEAVE, YOU! SHUT UP!” Everyone did exactly as they were told. I cringed at the manner in which he was speaking. I looked up at my husband, and he was smiling.
John Barron had been invited to our friends’ home because he wanted support from our community for his plans to build a 400-acre mall surrounded by up-scale condos called Barron Estates. If our community supported him, he would in turn support our community. If a member of our community had specific needs to make their life better, he said he would make it happen. Whatever grievance someone had, no matter how big or small, he could fix it. John Barron had come to us to make our lives better. All we had to do was say “yes” to Barron Estates.
“So let’s begin,” Mr. Barron said. “What can I do to make your lives better?” One by one the people in the room raised their hands, identified themselves and then announced their issues and concerns. There was a wealthy neighbor, a local business owner, two waitresses who were catering the party, a teacher, the janitor from our children’s school, and a roofer who just happened to be at the house!
The neighbor wanted stricter rules on who could move into “his” neighborhood, as if he personally owned it. The business owner was concerned about high taxes and government regulations. Of the seven people, five said health care concerned them the most. But why were they saying all of this to John Barron? He was here to make a name for himself. Barron Estates would increase his wealth and make “Barron” a household name. I could see this. Why couldn’t the other people in the room see it as well? I looked up at my husband and he seemed excited. His dental business could use some tax breaks, and less regulations would be a plus.
While John Barron was making promises to all of the seven people who had raised their hands, a man in the back of the room said exactly what I was thinking. “You can’t fix all of these people’s problems. You are here to make a name for yourself and get richer than you already are. Why would you make promises you can’t keep?” Out of nowhere the man was surrounded, lifted off the floor, and removed from the room. While he was being removed, I looked at John Barron who was standing on the bench to our friends’ grand piano. It seemed as if everyone but me had turned to look at the man who had the nerve to speak up being evicted. Barron’s face went from jaundice yellow to blood red. The veins in his neck were bulging. “GET THAT F**KING SON OF A BITCH OUTTA HERE!” he yelled. Shocked by the outburst, the crowd turned around and stared at the man standing on the grand piano bench. “I’d like to meet that guy in a dark alley some day; I’d make mincemeat of that idiot.” I felt sick to my stomach. Where did that charismatic real estate developer and celebrity go? I looked up at my husband and he had a huge grin on his face.
I wanted to leave the party, but Oliver wanted to stay so he could meet John Barron. He liked him; Barron was a man’s man, Oliver said. Barron won’t take crap off of anyone, and he’ll get things done for our community. So I moved from knot to knot, standing with a glass of ginger ale in one hand and sweat in the other while people talked incessantly about themselves and every awesome thing they had accomplished in life. To say I was unimpressed and bored would be an understatement. And then there he was, my rescuer, my husband, standing by the front door; thank you, Jesus.
I didn’t need to excuse myself from the knot I was in because they never knew I was there in the first place. As I walked up to Oliver, I noticed he was not alone. Just out of sight was Oliver’s new best friend, John Barron. They were deeply involved in conversation, so I thought I would just slip by them quietly and go directly to our car, but Oliver grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
“Oliver has said so many wonderful things about you.” John Barron said. “He is so lucky to have you. You are stunningly beautiful, too. Fortunate guy, your husband.” I managed to squeak out a “Nice to meet you,” before nudging Oliver’s foot with my foot, which means, “LET’S GO!”
To my surprise, John Barron walked out of the door with us. He said his town car was parked next to our car, so out into the darkness the three of us go: Oliver, his new BFF John Barron and stunningly beautiful me. There was no moon that night; it was pitch black. Because of all the cars at our friends’ house, we had parked down the street and around the corner. When we got to our car, there was no other car in sight. John Barron had lied about his car being next to ours. How would he have even known what car we drive? “This man is a big fat liar,” I thought to myself.
Oliver clicked the key fob to unlock our doors, then walked to the driver side of our car. I headed to the passenger door. Soon this night would be over and hopefully, if I’m lucky, my brain will erase this night from my memory bank…or not.
“Here, let me get the door for you,” John Barron said. What? Why is John Barron still here? Why is he opening my car door? It wouldn’t take long before I’d have the answer to that question. As I leaned over to put my purse on the floor, I felt something touch my calf and then move up my inner thigh, stopping just short of that place where Oliver and I do the nasty-nasty. Quickly, without thinking, I sat down in the seat, grabbed the handle and slammed the door shut. Too stunned to process what just happened, I sat silent while Oliver started the car, pulled away from the curb, and proceeded to drive home.
“You’re awfully quiet.” Oliver said.
"I have to tell you something.” I said.
“Okay, but before you do, let me tell you what an incredible man John Barron is.”
I interrupted. “Yeah, he’s incredible alright.”
“He is just what our community needs,” Oliver continued. “Can he be mean, disrespectful, crass, rude, uncivil and dishonest? Yes, but we don’t need a preacher to fix what’s wrong with our community. He’ll get things done, Sweetheart. There will be times when we have to shield our eyes, cover our ears, and suspend our religious beliefs.
"He touched me in that place where we do the nasty-nasty.”
“Did you say something, Sweetheart? It’s my hearing, you know. Not so good these days.”
