Sunday, May 7, 2017

Chapter 30: The Plank

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
                                            and the woman important to each 


 
30


     Despite the warm and sunny day, Atom Green trod the Manhattan Beach pier like a man walking the plank. He passed other solitary souls and skirted the Aquarium & Café to reach the end, which seemed a reflection of the episode at Slade, where a forced resignation killed something that began with such promise. He gazed over the water with questions unmatched to answers, when a dark figure spotted the corner of his eye and became a seagull which hovered until webbed feet see-sawed onto the railing. The bird had an abdomen of pure white, lead gray wings and slender yellow bill with a blood-red splotch near the tip. It turned toward him as though to start a conversation, then looked out to sea.
     Was he working for a condo, a car and entertainment --available as long as he stayed on the treadmill?  The prestige of being top salesman?  The respect of his peers, though not of the boss, which proved the limits of hard work? He could land another position and work until his final breath, but what would be the carry over? Waves rocked the pier and the glaring sun obscured the horizon, and only the fresh breeze soothed and caressed until teasing forth the image of Helen Roy.
     His brow wrinkled as he recalled the wedding where she acted strangely and he was leading her away before the blow to the head and the suffocating darkness and then being stranded by the side of the road. Since then silence was another kind of darkness when he couldn’t reach her and no one at the company would speak to him, as if the past had been declared off-limits. Worst of all was the thought she was actively avoiding him.
      Then he got the letter from CO Associates citing, though not defining, certain events and asking him to call. He did and they recorded the conversation in which they asked about his intentions and offered a settlement in exchange for silence. Stubbornly, they demanded his answer while ignoring his questions. He refused without thought of the going price of freedom of speech for madmen shouting in obscurity. The gull squawked. He looked over to the bird that had nothing further.
      Was there a secret for forgetting, for allowing the future to crowd out the present that the past would subsume? The look, the scent and the taste of Helen were a reality he was unwilling to let go. Though their time together was short her influence was like a musical note softly struck that lingered, a memory that pleased and tormented. Jumping over the railing would end it, or off a cliff in mockery of flight, but his imagination could envision a reconciliation, and then he could move forward. The gull squawked and stretched wings to catch the wind and soar until it was a speck in the sky. Atom twisted to keep it in sight before walking the only path available to him: back to the beginning to start anew.




The next chapter will be posted by June 4.
  
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event
    

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Chapter 29: Anonymous

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
                                            and the woman important to each 





29 


     Helen Roy, atop the covers in a thick white robe that bears the hotel crest, crooks her head on a pillow as she works the remote control in vain. Nothing is as vivid as what plays on her mind where she sails head over heels in a nonsensical world and miraculously lands on her feet, or so six-figures in her checking would indicate.
     “’CO Associates’ doesn’t even sound real, but they gave the money for the settlement, the non-disclosure and my job, and that I never associate with anybody from Slade, never speak about what happened there or about the wedding. They needn’t have bothered about that last: sun, tears, nausea then suffocation, nothing I want to talk about or could. But the two years since moving from Wisconsin, and Stephen and Atom, erase them all? If I could learn to forget, then I wouldn’t talk, yet the settlement supporting my new life is a reminder. Lots of girls in L.A. run around like they own it, but no one knows how. I’ll be just another, flashing mysterious smiles in the face of too many questions.
     “I’ll know without being able to say ---not to Kelly even, who knows I was working there when we drifted apart. If I said I’m not there anymore, and found another job that would be half a lie, and he knows enough to be suspicious. Money doesn’t fall from the sky, like we might have believed back in Madison. We weren’t naïve, just thought the future would be better on the coast and now I have the settlement, weren’t we right? But Melissa wouldn’t know. I’ll say it’s severance pay and fly us to Hawaii and feed her belief in fleecy greenbacks. Little sister trusts what I say.”
     The thought inspires her to sit up against the headrest. She looks toward the open window where a light breeze carries the sounds of outdoor activity.
     “I want a walk, a bite to eat, and to call Melissa, yet struggle to go because the shame I bear has settled and weighs me down.  Better to carry a sign with my crime written boldly, and suffer hoots and hollers from blowhards and quiet contemptuous stares, and so share half the burden. Alone, I am accuser and accused both.
    “But of what crime? The settlement specifies nothing in particular of the past, and cautions against the future so that I can’t say goodbye to Stephen or to Atom. That cuts deep.  ‘Anything pertaining to or about the individual named Atom Green…’ If he finds me and were outside the door, would I let him in when gaps in conversation would be obligatory? But if he signed too, he wouldn’t come looking and something inside me hopes he didn’t.
     “I’ll make myself small like a little ball, and suck my thumb and cry onto these sheets instead of going into the light where it might show, where even Melissa might see and know.”
     She falls asleep and wakes after dusk has fallen. Rising from bed, she changes into denim jeans and jacket, brushes her hair then leaves to step into the evening air that’s cool, refreshing and anonymous.





The next chapter will be posted by April 30.
  
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event


Sunday, February 5, 2017

Chapter 28: Eviction


MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
                                            and the woman important to each 



28


      Meanwhile, Clayton Clamp had observed what became known as “the Wedding Event,” an innocuous term with deep significance to insiders. He tracked Stephen Slade and Bill racing up the slope and saw the chauffeur assaulting the male and the CEO kissing the unresponsive female. He photographed the loading into the limo and the odd seating arrangement: two in back, one in the trunk. Another investigator captured the sequence on video.
           Concerned for the company’s reputation, Clamp lingered close by the valets, affecting an air of nonchalance. In turn, they looked to him as someone in the know and seemed to conclude that if he’s not interested, neither are they. Satisfied, he went back to the other side of the mansion where his eye cast a wide net to discern three major groups: one occupied with the bride and groom; a diffuse one seeking the next sensation; and one drawn to Chairman Graham Slade who approached trailing two wives, his and the CEO’s. They huddled on the green lawn until the chairman said, “Let’s do it.”
     Then he gathered up the other investigator, Jon Acres, a CPA grown tired of working behind a desk. Vegetarian-thin and exceedingly cautious, he worried about the woman and suggested calling the police, but Clamp convinced him private intervention was best. The valet brought his car and they climbed in.
     Driving toward the estate gates, his mind worked through lists of those involved, those who saw, those who knew and those who might tell. The CEO had his own special category. Then came the woman, the salesman and chauffeur. Lola McIntyre, who he had spotted earlier, was a nexus and gossip. Of other staff and managers, he expected to conference with the chairman before interviews assessing knowledge and allegiance. Identification of tendencies was tricky business, but private enterprise could exploit every advantage that didn’t leave traces.
     Then to his left, on the short lawn in advance of a copse of trees, he was surprised to see Lola and two men cutting across. They were smiling and laughing, and the man with stringy brown hair had a bottle of champagne tucked to his side. He slowed the vehicle and gazed, unable to place them until he recognized her buddies from the company break room. He had not considered them before, but his list, as yet mental, had plenty of room.
     An hour later they clustered outside the condo door: Chairman Slade, tall and grave, his wife Rhea whose short hair shone like a pewter helmet, and mournful Delfina in toga-like dress. Clamp and Acres stood by, the latter clasping a laptop computer. The chairman rapped on the door, and a minute later Stephen Slade opened it. He did not express surprise and coolly stepped aside to admit them.  
     “I’ve called the board to an emergency meeting. They’re at corporate. Where’s the woman?”
     Stephen gestured to the back. “Asleep.” Delfina squeaked and Rhea pulled the taller woman into a hug as Acres went back to confirm the statement. When he returned the chairman said, “There’s something you need to see.” Acres opened the laptop and played the video as Stephen leaned against the wall, acting like it had nothing to do with him. When he closed the laptop, the assembly looked toward the CEO who stood upright with arms crossed. 
     “The board has already seen the video,” the chairman said. “It will ask for your resignation.” Stephen twitched an acknowledgement. “While we’re next door, someone needs to take the young woman home.”
     “She lives here,” mumbled Stephen, then said more clearly, “There’s nowhere to take her.” Delfina stifled a cry.
      “Maybe not tonight, but she’s going to have to leave, and you can’t be here. Someone should stay to make sure she’s alright.”
     Rhea spoke. “We’ll stay until you get back.”
     They left the two women sitting by the panoramic window. Outside, night had fallen and Los Angeles became a show of twinkling lights, some stationary, some moving and some about to go dark.
       


The next chapter will be posted by March 19.
  
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Chapter 27: In His Name


MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
    and the woman important to each 

27

    As the limo sped from the mansion, Bill observed in the side view mirror the valets who seemed to lean into the frame and think, “Did I see that?” In the back, he saw Slade hunched and looking forward, an angry knot on his brow. He pressed the accelerator and the CEO fell back against the seat. In the opposite corner Helen lay upright with the vacant eyes of a forgotten doll. He was driving them to the downtown condo; that much was clear. What to do with the elephant in the rear, less so.
     He stopped at the gates and after they swung open, turned onto the two-lane road that would connect to the freeway. On a weekend afternoon people were around, which told him he’d be working late. He let off the pedal. All those people eating and drinking at the wedding and he could only manage a nip.
     “Why are you slowing down?” Slade’s eyes met his in the mirror. He pressed on the pedal, swerved across the dashed white line to pass a car then returned to the lane. They reached a small business district where he tailgated a white SUV and honked until it pulled over. Racing to the next stop sign, he let off then sped through the intersection. The houses were crowded close and after navigating a lateral arc, they went onto the freeway.
     The entitled had their ways, he thought. From bouncing at the clubs he saw them carry expectations easily and in the open, which convinced others of their status. But stand in the way, and they let loose holy hell. That worked when the other guy was afraid of being embarrassed. He liked waiting for somebody to cross the line, then pop! a bloody nose. Their feelings were what really stung. He saw it in their eyes.
     Slade had his way, and he was boss. Follow orders or else, though he considered “else” an option to pursue another occupation. The world had plenty of bosses. He’d do whatever he had to in his name, but didn’t want anything sticking to him. “What about him, Mister Slade.”
      “Use your imagination.”
      “My mind goes into dark places. Tell me.”
     “I don’t want him bothering me again or annoying her. Tell him then dump him. What’s wrong with you?”
     “This is the third time.”
     “Be more persuasive.”
      “Maybe if he didn’t have a reason to come around.”
      “This is business.” He glared out the window.
      A thump like a shifting load came from the trunk, followed by punching and kicking sounds. “He finds the release and everybody will see.”  He moved behind cars headed for the off-ramp, which fed into an intersection. He made a right then jerked the limo forward. The pounding stopped for several moments before starting again as they passed fast food restaurants and gas stations. He turned into a small road, pulled into a drive to change direction then pressed a button below the dash.
     The trunk sprung open and Atom Green popped out. He did a frantic 360 before rushing the cab and pounding the fender. The limo screeched away. Slade was watching the chauffeur. “What are you so satisfied about?”
      “The way he self-deported didn’t cost me a thing.”
       “It will if he bothers me again.”
       “What about her?”
        Helen had slipped to the floor and was reaching out blindly. Slade pulled her up and resettled her on the seat. She brought her hands to her face, seeming to pull something away. “When we get to the condo, use the underground garage. I’ll take her from there. ‘Too much champagne, poor girl.’”



The next chapter will be posted by January 22.  
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.

Monday, October 31, 2016

Chapter 26: Arbor

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
                                                and the woman important to each 

26

    
     Atom Green sketched a circle around the lawn filling with wedding guests. With blazer, expensive grass-wet shoes and baseball cap, he looked like a hybrid worker-guest, which allowed him to stroll without challenge about the dais and arbor. All the while thoughts of Helen and Slade quickened his pulse and caused his teeth to clench.
     He became fixated on the arbor that stood eight feet high. He had watched as workers laced its bare metal skeleton with willow limbs then festooned the arch with purple and white hyacinth, creating something tribal and elemental that stretched for and was framed by the sky. When positioned to the east, he could see the surging marine-green ocean through the portal; looking uphill from the west, the earth clad in bladed green. It was unity of sky, sea, earth and -- fire, the human spirit represented by bride and groom. But the nightmare was Slade pulling Helen through to lock her in a future dominated by him. Real, symbolic or just imagined, he had to save her.
     As two p.m. approached, ushers helped the celebrants to their seats in the semi-circle of chairs, behind which two tents on either side of an inlaid wooden path served as staging points for the wedding party. When the groom entered, Atom had to restrain himself from staring at his erstwhile peer and competitor, Dave Forester.
     Anticipation grew, reflected in rising chatter. A priest in purple vestments stood waiting to begin. Atom crept closer, pinballing behind scattered people watching from the lawn. He recognized some in the audience, like his former sales manager Jeremy Port, the chairman and others, and was ready to flinch if recognized. Meanwhile, the scheduled starting time came and went and the impatient crowd seemed to urge the ceremony on. Then he heard something like a group exhalation as a procession of about a dozen followers led by the CEO descended from the mansion. His straining eyes looked for Helen then spotted her, hidden behind Slade. Only on their passing did he get a clear view. She looked straight ahead and did not see him, affording him an intimate peek at her absorbed, beautiful face.
     The group settled in the front row, as Slade mounted the dais to stand beside the perplexed priest. He gazed over the assembly like a conqueror, then said “Begin,” and took the seat beside Helen.
     Wanting to be in her line of vision, Atom positioned himself beyond and to the left of the arbor. He removed his cap and ran his fingers through his dark hair and stood defiantly revealed. She looked forward though not far enough, it seemed.
     The bridal parties entered and deployed to their positions and then the bride and groom completed the set. Under the brilliant sun --gleaming white dresses, crisp suits, sharp creases and beaming smiles all around.
     Finally, the groom kissed the bride to loud applause and then led her through the arbor and back onto the dais. They posed for pictures while the assembly disbanded, some lingering and others heading toward the mansion. Atom moved swiftly to where she was standing, and reached out to take her hand. “Helen,” he implored.
     Her eyes seemed to acknowledge him though her face showed no affect. He pulled her hand and she followed him up the sloping lawn. Looking over his shoulder once and then again he could not see a pursuit, though felt vulnerable crossing the wide expanse. He thought of ducking indoors, but didn’t want to see anybody, so headed for the side of the building near the service entrance. When they turned the corner, he stopped and looked squarely at her open yet unseeing eyes. “Say something! What’s wrong?”
     Without warning, Slade pushed him aside and lifted her like a doll, her arms swaying limply. He kissed her full on the mouth. “She wants to be with me,” he sneered. Atom rushed him, but felt a tug on the collar and then pain in the back of the head—


I'll be taking a break to participate in National Novel Writing Month, so the next chapter will be posted by December 31.. 
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.



Saturday, October 1, 2016

Chapter 25: Two Camps


MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
                                                and the woman important to each 


25


                                                                      


      “Come down, Delfina. He can’t interpret away your presence.”
      “Must I be humiliated? She’ll be there.”
                       
                                                               -ii-

     Downstairs in the mansion a grand staircase spreads like a bridal veil, on whose marble steps family and friends gather for smiles and pictures, while upstairs smiles are sequestered into two camps. In the south side room, the chief executive officer Stephen Slade assembles his corps of young managers and recruited investors. In the north side chamber, the chairman Graham Slade confers with members of the board, his loyalists and his wife. Standing by the window, Delfina, the CEO’s spouse, gazes over the sloping lawn.
     Clayton Clamp felt the tension, though he was loose and ready for the task of getting closer to his target. He greeted the chairman and the claims manager, who vouched for his cover as freelance investigator, and observed waiters and other staff shuttling in and out and between the rooms. The principals were rooted to the spot, except for the director Mark Storts, the most youthful member of the board.  After watching him leave then return, Clamp approached him.
     “Is it any more lively over there?”
     “Quite a bit more,” he answered then introduced himself.  “I’ve designated myself as go-between for the chairman and the CEO, but it doesn’t seem to be appreciated.”
     “I’m glad someone’s thinking about the company.” Eyes lighting up, Storts brought his head closer. Clamp stooped to listen.
     “The father-son dispute aggravates at different levels. Employees pick sides then get into arguments that end in silent stares. They’re afraid their guy will lose and in any case would rather not worry about things they can’t control.” He paused then said, “When the baton passes, the hand off should be clean. Don’t hold on.”
     “You just revealed your bias.”
     “Stephen and I were college buddies.”
     “Then maybe you can introduce me.”
      They skirted the staircase, passing through rays of sun beneath a skylight. Storts nodded to a man outside the door who admitted them, and the difference was jarring. An excited chatter filled the room as men and some women clustered throughout, attired in business wear not particular to a wedding ritual. The crowd would at some point spill outside, Clamp thought, whereas on the other side the walls defined the occupants who were as rigid as marble chess pieces.
      Stephen Slade was by the farthest wall, standing slightly apart. Slender, polished and dressed for the occasion in rich gray suit, wide silk tie and pinned with a pale rose boutonniere, he trained his attention on Storts. “This is Clayton Clamp, a claims investigator.”
     “Claims?” He grimaced and raked him with a severe look before walking away. Storts apologized but Clamp waved it off. They watched him join a young woman who was looking out the window and were amazed when he erupted. “Snap out of it, Helen, will you!”  His face was in hers before stalking away. She daubed her eyes with a handkerchief. Few paid the outburst any attention, though for Clamp the exchange was charged with meaning. He went to her.
      She wore a dress a subtle shade of violet, and had auburn hair that fell to her shoulders with a slender braid crowning the brow. He strode a step beyond then turned to see her face, which was pale and delicate and stained by tears. “If you’re the bride then you better get changed.”
     “I’m not,” she coughed, “the bride.”
     “Then it can’t be so bad.”
      “No, not so---“
       Her eyes grew large and then were eclipsed by Slade’s back. He pushed her, hand at elbow, toward a nearby door, her legs stumbling to keep pace. Nearby, Storts wilted.
     Clamp left the room then went down the stairs and through the foyer where he spied Lola McIntyre at the champagne table. He made a mental note to add her to the list, then once outside breathed in fresh air and heard the strains of a violin quartet from one of the tents. He turned toward the mansion, which should have been cleaved in two, if reality were reflected in what is seen. The window where Helen stood was vacant, and on the other side, Delfina was gone. He pondered whether she too had cried, and whether tears can bring a mountain down. None benefit when the magnificent fall; those who don’t know have nothing to tell, those that do might be struck dumb. 





The next chapter will be posted by October 30..
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.     

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Chapter 24: Quitting Time


MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
                                                and the woman important to each
                                      
                                                                       24


 
     It was quitting time the Friday before the wedding, and Lola McIntyre haunted the Billing Department doorway. “Got any plans for the weekend?” Mimosa Liang, the co-worker with the long black hair, stopped to point a finger. “You’re going to the wedding, you had your hair done and you’ve been telling me all week.” She stalked past. “I can’t wait till it’s over!”
     Lola patted her hair and the charms on her bracelet jingled. “Everybody knows,” she thought and went looking for Mailroom Joe and Stockroom Bob, but their workplaces were empty.  Determined to savor the last hours of anticipation, she journeyed up to Executive Reception and found Betsy Murray who was behind the curved counter at C-suite gathering her belongings.
     “See you at the wedding tomorrow!” Lola chortled.  The petite secretary eyed the gossip warily and opened her purse. “I have an invitation…” She waved an ivory envelope. “I probably won’t go.”
     Rocked back on her heels, Lola reached out. “Let me have it!”  Betsy pulled it back. “Then again, I might. Surely you have one, since you’re going.”
     “I was thinking of a friend.”
     “It’s plus one. You can bring your friend.”
     “I was thinking of another one.”
     “Too bad.” Lola retreated from the know-it-all smile, thinking “Plan B.”

-ii-

     Early the next day, Joe and Bob approached the gates of the Pacific Palisades mansion, where a line of modest cars queued before a uniformed guard. A lingering marine layer kept the gray morning cool before the forecast warm summer day.
     They had awoken no earlier than any other workday and were silent during the hour-long drive. Joe, with white ear buds plugged in beneath stringy black hair, had closed his eyes, while Bob was lively, tapping the steering wheel to the beat of classic rock, his aqua Corolla as neat as his stockroom.
     They passed through the gates, then followed the road to the designated parking lot, catching a glimpse of the peach-colored mansion that glowed like neon under the soft light. Behind a copse of trees adjacent to the tennis courts were the lot and a van waiting to carry them the rest of the way.
      The mansion’s central two-story structure rose like a cresting wave and then descended into single-story wings on either side. Arched double doors between marble columns and beneath a bas-relief frieze depicting leaping dolphins formed the portico, and conveyed a sense of noble completion; which contrasted with the scene on the ocean side: on the green sloping lawn assorted metal rods, tent pegs, rope and white canvas were scattered like an obstacle course. Farthest from the mansion, a ten-foot metal arbor stood like a denuded tree behind a wooden dais that fronted an area where stacks of folding chairs were ready to be deployed. 
     A lean man with leathery skin called them. “Gather round. There’s plenty of work for you all.” Wearing jeans, boots and an untucked shirt that fluttered in the breeze, he surveyed the crew from beneath bushy white eyebrows: men, large and small, in work clothes of various description. He counted off five and pointed to his left. “Over to that tent. Go!” They jogged away to where a supervisor waited. He counted another group and sent them to their work. He was in rhythm, about thirty laborers in, when he reached Joe and Bob. He scrutinized their neat jeans and t-shirts unstained by toil then gestured behind him. “Help set up the chairs, and don’t get hurt.” A chorus of laughter pursued them down the slope.
         
-iii-

     Lola’s jaw dropped when Atom Green strode out of his condo. “You look too good! You’re supposed to look like me.”  She indicated her black pants, and matching long-sleeved shirt and comfortable shoes. “There’s no way you’ll pass. You’d know if you’d been in service.” His lips formed a silent retort.
     “No blazer. No tie. Don’t you have a light jacket to wear, a black one? The slacks are okay, but those shoes. Too expensive! Here, put this on, and wear it low.” He found a suitable jacket in his wardrobe and carried the blazer like a parcel with tie in pocket, but kept the shoes. The ball cap emblazoned with “LA,” fit snuggly over his personality.
     They made it through the mansion gates and boarded the van. No one paid them any mind as their group was shepherded inside through a service entrance. Atom managed to slip away. 
     Lola was satisfied that she’d done her part and now could relish the luxurious setting that had sparkled in her imagination for so long. They stood in a large foyer with a floor-to-ceiling window facing the Pacific. The headman, an Englishman named Gerard, was making assignments and directed her to set up the champagne.
     Unable to contain herself, she ran to the window and saw tents like white mushrooms populating the green lawn. She imagined a big red ball rolling past them and splashing into the blue sea. “Hoy! Set up these tables!” She hustled to her station, the golden charms on her bracelet jingling, then lost herself in the romance of sun-rimmed flutes and sparkly bubbles.

    
              


The next chapter will be posted by September 25..
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.