MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influenceand the woman important to each
Lola McIntyre sat at the usual table waiting on the others as workers took their spots in the break room to empty paper bags and unseal plastic containers. She had observed the night-before preparation ritual in advance of a long morning commute, but the ham-and-cheese-on-white stayed in her oversized purse despite her growling stomach.
Once, at the point of reaching in, Bill had stepped inside the door and stood there in the black broad-shouldered tunic that sent a charge through her. He jerked his head and she excused herself to follow him. Though lunch turned out to be fast food eaten in the limo, it was the most romantic noontime she could remember since high school. In hope of prompting another lunchtime summons, she waited as long as possible.
Mailroom Joe dropped a wrinkled brown bag on the table and took a seat. His white ear buds were in place under stringy brown hair that touched his shoulders. Then Stockroom Bob came in, looking neat in checkered short-sleeved shirt that showed off his muscles. A Tupperware man, he placed a rectangular container and two small round ones before him, then nudged one into alignment. “Aren’t you eating?” he teased. She nodded, eyes fixed on the door. Then Bill entered and went over to sit.
“Driving Slade to the Palisades. Not much time.” He pulled an apple from his pocket and bit in. The statement from the tight-lipped chauffeur triggered questions and conversation about the CEO who was going to tour the mansion owned by an ally, where Dave Forester’s wedding would take place the following month. Joe mentioned the fancy hand-lettered envelopes that had passed through the mailroom. Lola averred they were the invitations then expressed excitement over who’d receive them, followed by depression for being excluded. “It’s a big event in the company. It's not right we don’t get to go.” She tossed her head and the charms on her bracelet jingled, though the blonde wave plastered to her face did not move.
“I’m going,” said the chauffeur who wasn’t the kind of guy to boast of such things. Lola blinked rapidly then began to plead. Joe seemed to wake from a slumber to watch something happen. Even Bob, who liked things and people in their proper place, displayed a kind of expectation. “You want to go? You’ll have to work.” He looked around the table. They were unanimous. “I’ll tell the caterer.” Lola shouted “Hooray!” to smiles all around.
Bill headed for the door, and she hurried after to push him into the hallway. She whispered, “I want to tell you: I’ve been to the condo.” She paused for effect but the face beneath the shaved head did not crack. “Helen asked me. It’s lovely! The view! The furniture! You should have taken me. Listen. Let’s go together. What do you say?”
“Helen lives there.” Before she could object, he added, “After work she doesn’t go to an apartment or anyplace else. She stays. When she goes out, she comes back.”
“You followed her?”
“I got to go.” He left her staring with mouth wide open like a dummy. She had thought to zing him; instead her mind raced to catch up: Slade buys the condo, transfers Helen. She must be---. She dates Atom, then he leaves because---. Bill is following so---.
As a storyteller, Lola strived for certain effects but right then wasn’t sure of the gist. Delighted to deliver pithy comments to elicit laughs, her subjects often were the same as on TV comedies. She favored stories that ended happy after frustrated desire, but wasn’t good at drama. With something of graver import, her voice croaked to a halt mid-sentence, forcing her audience to complete the thought. They believed she knew more than she was willing to say and she encouraged that belief.
Her mind drifted. A zero-minute commute, nice! Helen dreaded transferring to the condo, and now lives there. Funny, yes? Wanting to laugh, she felt something crawling up her back that she couldn’t quite scratch. She headed to her workstation. Good stories start as first drafts. She was wont to try hers out on Mimosa Liang, the co-worker in the next cubicle. Her recommendations were that they didn’t share the same friends, she tended to hone in on the consequences of things and had an easy-to-read face.
Petite with long black hair and dark eyes, Mimosa liked living on the happy side, so seeing Lola approach evoked a frown, and then as she listened her face expressed a holy sorrow. “The poor wife!” She wrung her hands as Lola hovered above her chair.
“At home with the kids, while he spends time with the other woman. That’s humiliating! No wonder we never see her, or else he keeps her away so she doesn’t find out. What would she do? The kids have priority, sure. I liked Helen but didn’t think she was that way. She’s too naïve, but he isn’t so sure about her if he’s having her followed. I could see her liking Atom. He must have been a threat. I don’t like this. It’s not pleasant. Somebody’s going to pay. Why are you telling me this?”
Signaling confidentiality with a finger to the lips, Lola retreated into her own cubicle with a better sense of inevitable crash and injury. She blushed thinking about workplace romances and her flirtation with Bill, but was thrilled more than cautioned, certain of being beyond the flack zone where she could watch harm-free.
The next chapter will be posted by September 4..
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.