Chapter Five: Snake

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 
 

5

     “Snake,” hissed Helen, pausing at the condo window to look westward to the proximate location of the apartment she shared until that very morning with her boyfriend.
     They made the trip to Los Angeles on a vision Kelly had painted: “Your face could be famous, and I could broker some deals and make loads of money.” Though she would have been content in the Midwest, he was thinking on a larger canvas, with fame the tempting apple. She bit freely, and they set out. He landed a job at a bank, and she the one at Slade Insurance. While she settled into a routine, he wouldn’t, his entrepreneurial sense excited by lines of people leading to pots of gold, he was convinced. He struck out to sample each one, and their schedules drifted apart.
     His manner and appearance changed from clean-cut business student to long-haired hipster contemptuous of her success. He abetted her distrust of Stephen, but when she grew to admire him, the while broadcasting a litany of perks, he needled her. “You’ll pay in the end.”
     She had had enough and was stuffing her carry on when he walked in. “Laundry? Now? We’re going to brunch.”
     “Do what you want. I’m leaving.”
     He grabbed the handle and flung it into the wall.  “We have a lease.” She retrieved the carry on and continued to pack. He pushed her clothes onto the floor. “Did you hear me?”
     “Leave me alone!” He was taken aback and stared sullenly until she finished. “So the bill’s come due.” She wheeled the bag through the door. “I’ll come for the rest later.”
     She would stay at the condo. Stephen had never said one way or the other, but she felt she could burrow neatly within the clean lines without attracting attention. Moving from the window, she went into the bedroom to unpack and afterwards called the cleaning service to schedule three days instead of one.
     Next morning, she heard the knob rattle and the sound of a fist slamming the front door. Serenely, she rose from the bedroom computer to disengage the bolt and find Bill the chauffeur.
     He was a large man, over six feet, whose bulk was barely contained within the black outfit with Gothic flying shoulders and button-up tunic. A black cap was pushed back on his shaved head where bushy eyebrows sheltered lethal narrow set eyes. Frustration contorted his face.  “What are you doing here so early?”
     “Computer work. Do you have something for me?” Reminded of the manila envelope he carried, he gave it up reluctantly. “I usually put it in the safe.” She deadpanned, “And I usually take it out.”
     Her humor seemed to take the edge off, though his eyes still flitted suspiciously beyond her. She pushed open the door. “Want to come in?”  He peered inside. “No. That’s alright.”
     Back in the bedroom she knelt beside the floor safe, twirling the dial then swinging open its door. She extracted the passbook and the tally and then unfastened the clip on the envelope. Fanning five checks like a poker hand, she calculated their worth: short of a million. A shadow of disappointment crossed her brow, which vanished with a giggle. Once, they totaled over a million, and ever since she played the expectations game. It thrilled her to be so close to streaming capital –Stephen’s phrase. Surely this was where she should be. Every addition told her so, bringing his dream closer to realization. She would aid his effort, and the proof of success would tell in his attitude.

                                                                          -ii-

      He couldn’t have known, though he acted as if he did. After the party, instead of going with the investors to the club, Stephen had Bill ferry them away, leaving them alone. Rustling in stiff silk and bare shoulders, Helen peered out the window at the twinkling lights. If he meant to stay, she had no choice but to nestle in the warmth of the successful night and out-wait him.

     “I’m calling for something to eat,” he said. “What do you want?”

     They sat on a banquette with the lights low and cool Brazilian playing on the sound system. Still corporate in suit jacket, he obsessed over plans. “At Forester’s wedding, I’ll hold the greatest-of-the-great investor parties with the Palisades mansion as loan and leverage, in rooms away from the ceremonies where they won’t interfere. I’ll show the old man. I treat my people well, though he complains about his favorites. He can’t see reality: the capital flowing in to flush him out. He has no idea.”

     “Can you keep him from knowing?”
     “When it happens he’ll know.”

     “At the wedding, I mean.”
     "The fool’s so intent on harmony, he’ll lap it up. The mansion has two wings and a central area. The investors will be in the east wing. I’ll say a few words to get things started then come back. Funny really. He takes pride in overseeing things, but doesn’t see it’s passed him by."
     Room service was a white-coated waiter, whom Helen directed in unloading a cart bearing plates beneath silver domes. When with servile bows the waiter retreated, Stephen took his place at the table while she went to freshen up. When she returned her auburn hair was fluffed and her eyes glistened. Strategic applications of perfume competed with aromas rising from the plates. They chewed with mouths but devoured with their eyes, until he breached the silence.
     “I depend on your loyalty. Every man tries to corner and win you over. I see them talking, some of it I hear and the rest I can imagine. Don’t believe them. They want someone inside feeding them information. Don’t let them steer you wrong.”
     Her words were lighter than air. “Rely on me.” He tossed down his napkin and extended his hand. Later, she begged modesty allow her leave last, and so he left her in place.

  The next chapter will be posted by March 9th.. Already posted.

The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.