Chapter 21: Even After

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 


 

                                                                      21

 

     Helen Roy sat gazing at dusk through the panoramic windows while waiting on Stephen. He stopped off at home and was someplace in the city whose lights were flickering on, a view she had appreciated when starting work there. Then when she moved in --and tried to hide the fact-- she stayed mostly in the bedroom. Now that he knew and seemed all right with it, she spent lots of time looking out. No longer did she go to auditions, the gym, or meet friends. The condo had become her refuge, Stephen her benefactor, investor parties her society and window gazing an occupation.
     The condo was hers in a way, for having planned the redecoration and she was content amid her creation: stark black-and-white color scheme; leather armchairs of opposing colors with corresponding banquettes and stools; aquarium angelfish her allies now, and the painting of a peaceful beach under threat of a wave.
     Hearing Stephen at the door, she scrambled to meet him and display her tight yellow dress with V-neckline and silky white hose. Her auburn hair was tugged back into a squirrel tail exposing golden oval earrings. A lightly powdered face, carmine red lipstick, and seductive jasmine scent completed her presentation.

     Though his jaw remained set within an angular face, his eyes softened which was encouragement enough. Eyebrows arching with delight, she reached up to peck his cheek then pull him into the front and the black leather armchair. She rushed to bring his drink, ice cubes chiming in the glass a contrast to his silence. Attired in gray suit and red tie, he stared straight ahead.

     She sat at his knees, and he stroked her cheek with his right hand. “That damn woman. She doesn’t even want to go, I can tell, but he puts her up to it. I can hear him saying, ‘When I was CEO my wife was beside me.’ She’ll be at the wedding, but I want you at my side.” He lifted her face and looked her in the eyes. “You represent the company: fresh, sleek, agile.”
     She rocked back on her heels. “She’ll know, and hate me.”
     “She knows what I want her to know. This is business and you’re my assistant.”
     “Your father will hate me, and your mother, and everybody else. What won’t they think?” Her voice trailed away, and then she jumped up. “Let’s have a reception here! I can stay and prepare like I always do.”

     He shook his head. “The mansion’s huge and overlooks a lawn that goes down to the ocean. It has two wings: one designated for investors, the other for everyone else. The ceremony takes place outside and the reception’s split, outside and in. Before the priest conducts the wedding, I’ll approve the union with a speech. They’ll see I command on a grand scale and that he’s irrelevant. You’ll be near me for the ceremony, and then spend the rest of the time with the investors. Don’t worry about anyone else.”
     She paced to the window, then spun around, head lowered and hands at her sides. “I won’t damage something whole.”
     He approached and took her hands. “We’re building something. Slade is on the verge of greatness and soon, very soon, we’re going to make the investors very happy.” 

     “You set a date!”
     A grin etched his lips. “Soon. No one else needs to know. My advisers are getting ready.”

     “After the launch, our work is done.”
     “Only just beginning. Value shouldn’t vanish. We need to build on this and grow.”

     She pulled away to sit on the banquette beneath the painting and spoke slowly, as if trying to maintain her balance. “I’m afraid of going out, and afraid that if I don’t… I’ll fade away. I always thought that afterwards I could restore meaning to my life.” 

     “You’re meaningful here.”

     “You want me here, even after?”
     “Even after.”
     He pointed to the painting. “I accept that because I see myself as that rising wave ready to slam onshore and wash the old out to sea. Then the new can thrive. You represent the new.”
     “Outside, maybe I can feel again.”

     His eyes flashed. “What’s this then?”  He gestured, indicating the condo, them and all. “It’s that salesman, isn’t it?”
     “No.”
     “Admit it! I forbid you to have anything to do with him.”
     His anger rebuked her and, as if resetting a slipped mask, Helen endeavored to please. She stroked his arms to calm him, reinforced his thoughts by nodding assent, shielded his emotions with hugs and agreed that the course he charted was best; the while, her shadow mind contrived how to proceed, knowledge of the impending IPO having marked out a stage of her life when she could leave guilt-free and confront or outdistance whatever threat was out there.

The next chapter will be posted by October 25..

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

Chapter 20: Lunchtime

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 


 

                                                                      20

          Lola McIntyre sat at the usual table, waiting, as others 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 followed 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 so, in hope of 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, nudging one into alignment. “Aren’t you eating?” he teased. She nodded, eyes fixed on the door. Then Bill entered.

          “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 next 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. The blonde wave plastered to her face did not move.

          “I’m going.” The chauffeur wasn’t the kind of guy to boast of such things. Lola blinked rapidly and began to plead. Joe seemed to wake from a slumber. Even Bob, who liked things in their proper place, displayed a kind of expectation. “You want to go? You 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?”

          “She 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. I got to go.” He left her staring with mouth wide open. She had thought to zing him; instead her mind was racing to catch up: Slade buys the condo, transfers Helen. She must be (blank). She dates Atom, then he leaves because (blank). Bill is following so (blank).

          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. She 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 so they'd believe she knew more than she was willing to say.

          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. 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 qualifications were that they didn’t share the same friends, she tended to hone in on consequences 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. As she listened her face expressed a holy sorrow. “The poor wife! 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 didn't think Helen was that way, 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, 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.

Chapter 19: Take Down

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 


 

                                                                      19

      Atom watched her car until it vanished around the corner, and then recovered awareness of his own circumstance: standing alone before a clothing boutique that had long since closed. The street that was busy during the day slumbered after Friday rush hour. Half a block back was the Dedalus Bar and Restaurant, distinguished by bright lights that splashed onto the pavement. His car was parked a few blocks away on a residential street. While walking, he thought about the evening with Helen and his frustrated effort to get a commitment. Then she sprang that stalker stuff without giving him the chance to frame himself as part of the solution. Nothing was going as he had hoped. 

     He turned the corner onto the street and felt the full effect of night. House fronts, lawns and cars were bland and colorless, and the air cool with the exhalation of plants and grasses. His footsteps scraped the sidewalk as he approached his Mercedes coupe. As he reached into his pocket something wrapped around him and pushed him to the ground.

     With the imprint of asphalt on his cheek, he smelled oil, gasoline and worn rubber. A considerable weight held him down as his arms were wrenched behind him. A knee pinned the small of his back and his head took a hard punch. A voice growled. “Head down.” His attacker grabbed his wallet and phone. Something skittered across the pavement. “Count to a hundred. Don’t look up.”

     The pressure let up but he sensed the presence was waiting to smack him. He began to count and cursed his helplessness. He turned on his side then sprang to a crouch to peek around a car. When he stood up he was the only one on the street. “So much for going to the gym,” he muttered, feeling ridiculous about wanting to protect Helen when a mugger could so easily take him down.

     He had no phone to report the assault and no access to his car just a few feet away. He recalled the skittering sound and stooped to search the area and covered the same ground again and again, growing self-conscious about how it looked. Finally he found the key fob under a bush and then ventured to the end of the block to search for his cell and wallet.

     With the aid of GPS, he found the local police substation, a sedate affair with an open counter and small bank of cubicles to one side. The sole attending officer listened skeptically before posing a few questions. Atom answered that he didn’t see a weapon and that he couldn’t describe his attacker. He admitted to drinking a little. The officer pointed to one of the cubicles and told him to use the computer to file a report. He advised him to cancel his credit cards and lock down his phone. “You were lucky.”
     Atom drove home not feeling lucky at all.                   

 

   The next chapter will be posted by August 23.

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

  

                                                     

                                                        

Chapter 18: Over My Shoulder

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 

                                                                          18

                        

          Outside the bar, Helen spilled her story, taking Atom by surprise and leaving him speechless.

          “I’m not a girl who’s afraid of odd noises or tricks of light, but lately I can’t help looking over my shoulder. Which came first, the looking or the note, I can’t remember. I’d driven to Melrose for some shopping, and was going back to the car. It was getting dark, and my yellow Beetle stood out like a highlighter. I was swinging my arms like a little girl, when I see something on my windshield. A ticket! The blood rushes to my head. I paid the meter and wasn’t gone that long. So unjust! Walking faster, I focus on the windshield, but when I get there it’s a piece of paper folded in half. Relieved, I set down my bags and open it. Written in block letters: I’M WATCHING YOU.

          “Such a sick joke! My stupid friends, I think, and look around, but I don’t see anyone I know, just strangers passing and wondering what’s going on. My anger turns to fear and my body goes rigid. I drop the note and rush inside. I lock the doors and stare through the windshield, the rear view and side mirrors. No one seems to be paying attention. I drive away and watch for anyone following. I’m not sure there was, and not certain there wasn’t.

          “Ever since, I’ve been trying to come up with who. A stranger, someone I know, an enemy? I’m sorry to say I thought of you but struck you off. You’ve always been straightforward, even if your advances were ahead of my timetable. I thought of Kelly but he’s the one that drifted from me, and we’ve known each other too long. Then there are the investors. Stephen has always warned me not to get too close. I thought it was jealousy, and cute. Dress up, smile and be pleasant, he says. If one tries to be too intimate, excuse yourself to go make drinks or something. Unnecessary, I thought, but he was right. They have more in mind than investing in Slade.

          “I put them into categories and worked from that. Strike off the young to begin. Not many and more likely to spend time with someone willing. Next came the sophisticates who size up the scenario right away. In public, they’re pleasant and engaging then retreat into private space to scratch their itch. They saw I wasn’t going to follow. Strike them off.

          “That left the super-rationalists who think that because they have money they can buy anything. It’s the largest category, and Stephen’s target: men with disposable cash who want to leverage it into more wealth. I can’t remember all the things they offered: weekend trips, vacations, cars, jewelry, clothes. My problem was how to decline without saying no. Stephen taught me about getting the client to nod yes when closing the deal. So he’s trying to get them to yes-nod and I’m trying to avoid shaking my head. Sometimes I was afraid to breathe and feel partially to blame if someone got the wrong impression.

          “One guy stood out. Stephen was making introductions and I shook hands with everyone. His were dry and bony and a shock to feel. I went to get the drinks and didn’t think more about it. Later, I feel my skin crawl. He’s nearby and watching. He wasn’t typical of the others. He’s stick thin with gray hair crawling around his neck and ears. His skin’s red, like he’s outside a lot. His clothes are out-of-fashion: a too-large green plaid sports coat and brown slacks. His glasses are thick like bottle bottoms and his crazy green eyes are rimmed with red. He’s frightful, and I didn’t understand why Stephen would allow him there. I excuse myself but feel his eyes as I escape to the bedroom. I stayed so long Stephen came looking, and when he knocked I imagine those bony hands scraping the door. I can’t forget him so he’s on the list even though there’s no proof.

          “I tried talking to Lola about things and had her up, but she was so excited about being at the condo, she didn’t pay much attention. You can see I’m going a bit crazy. I’m flattered you want me to go with you, but I don’t want to make any big decisions right now, not until I get my head straight. Then there’s Stephen’s project. I want to see it to its conclusion. Things might be clearer then.

          “I need to get back. Sorry I can’t invite you over. Can I drive you to your car? No? Good night then.” 

          Helen climbed into her car, started the motor and drove away, leaving Atom alone and confounded about whether to leave Slade as planned, or wait until more certain of her affections. 

         

The next chapter will be posted by July 26.

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

Chapter 17: The Matter

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 

                                                                  17

                        

     Seated side by side in a booth, Atom and Helen observed the crowd celebrating Friday at the Dedalus Bar and Restaurant. Though glad she agreed to meet, he had hoped for someplace better for what he had to say. She seemed distracted. The lights at the bar were high but darkness enclosed them, save for the candle in a rose-colored globe that flickered when they spoke. It was steady now under heavy silence.
     The flame reflected off the gold studs in her ears and exaggerated her brow, making her appear to brood. Auburn hair flowed past the nape of her neck where she had cinched it with a purple ribbon. Atom was hyper-vigilant, continually turning to gauge her mood.  His quill-like black hair, parted down the middle, vibrated with every motion. He reached a hand to cover hers on her knee. She offered a yielding smile and he kissed her, and then they watched the scene playing out before them.        

     A well-traveled aisle lay between them and the mahogany bar with a center mirror behind and customers seated before. The waiter’s stand was on one end, through which the bartender –a trim gray-haired man all in black—sometimes passed to return with bottles of liquor. At the other end near the entrance, a big man sat with his back against the wall. He had dark wiry hair cut short above a fleshy face with deep furrows across the brow.

     Beside him, a dark haired man in a tie-less dress shirt had rolled-up sleeves that exposed a constellation of tattoos. He said something to the big man who let loose a percussive laugh. Next to them sat a goateed younger man minus a suit coat, who watched the bartender fill three shot glasses with amber liquid before allocating them. The trio raised a toast and downed the shots. Others sat like a row of uneven teeth, men and women whose conversation buzzed from unseen faces that sometimes turned in profile. An inoffensive blend of rock, pop and blues pulsed from a hidden source.
     “Is this where you used to come?”
     “The crowd’s older than we were but it was close by. Now it reminds me of when Kelly and I came to LA. So much has happened since.”

     “We can go if it makes you sad.”
     She inhaled, drawing the flame towards her. “I want to stay.”

     Just then the big man erupted in a surprisingly high voice. “That’s not right! How can you even think that?” The tattooed man bent over in laughter and the third man grinned. The room absorbed the good-natured interruption then returned to their conversation, but Helen banged her knee beneath the table.
     “You act like you’re afraid!” He stared into her face.
     “It’s nothing.”
     “I’m not so sure, but I have something to say.  I’m leaving the company. I don’t like the changes they’re making.”

     “To do what?”
     “Sales jobs are everywhere. That doesn’t worry me. I want us to continue. Do you know what I mean?”

     She patted his hand. “Why not?”

     "Because when routines change, people do too. I’d like to hear you say why we’ll be together, or if there’s any reason not.”
     “Then you wouldn’t go?”
     “I wouldn’t want to.” They kissed. He still wasn’t convinced but let the matter rest.  He flagged down the waiter for another round.          

     At the bar, a spot cleared and a couple arrived to take it.  They were in their thirties. She, a blonde with short hair and round face in a clingy red dress and shoes that strapped at the ankles. He was tall with sandy brown hair and dark eyebrows. He wore a blue blazer and crisp white shirt with high collar. She chatted away, touching his shoulder to punctuate her remarks, while he sat square to the bar and signaled the bartender. After getting their order, he sipped his drink while she slipped off and on her seat and twirled around. He gave her sidelong glances until she slapped his shoulder. “Hey! I’m over here.” She settled back onto her chair as he canted his towards hers and adjusted his drink to watch them both.
     “They’re not really a couple,” Helen said. “Not yet.” And then, “I could talk to Stephen. I’m certain he doesn’t want to lose someone with your talent. He could talk to you and maybe then it’ll make sense.”
     “Mention me, and he’ll get right on it? That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
     Her eyes flashed. “Don’t throw away a good thing. Maybe there are opportunities you just don’t see. Stephen could—“
     “Enough!”

     “People don’t like that he’s got the will to get things done. ”

     “Do you love him?” Her blush increased his displeasure.
     “Can’t we be happy with what we have?”
     He gazed at her, aware of the distance between them. He wanted to embrace her and never let her go, but another someone or something would beckon so no one could claim possession. She was beside him for now.
     The bar began to clear, the crowd moving to the next phase of the rest of the night, some into the dining room. They decided to leave. He stood and took her hand as she slid from the booth. Headed out the door she confided, “I think I’m being stalked.”

          

    

           

                       

 The next chapter will be posted by June 28.

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

    

           

                            

Chapter 16: Gold

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 

                                                                         16

                       

                  

     Atom Green was on the cusp of sleep but something kept pulling him back, and he lay searching the dark ceiling when eventually it peeked through the fog: the time to move had come. He shut his eyes; they blinked open again. Reflection did not come easily. He would set a course, devote his energies in pursuit and when the body shut down to re-energize, sleep would come. 

     He did know the value of planning, which after all had brought him from restaurant management to sales, and then from sales job to sales job selling A to Z before settling on financial products. At Slade Insurance he soared to the top and believed he'd realize his potential, but circumstances were telling him otherwise.

     Earlier, he had his first look at his new sales territory: mostly light industrial with pockets of trendy boutiques in gentrifying areas, small businesses that had to be courted individually for premiums a single bad claim might dwarf. The wax on his wings was melting.

     A confounding image twisted his mind. Flying in blue sky toward the sun weighty mountains around him spring and on the peaks the sales staff are smiling and waving. He fills in the thought bubble: “We’re equal.”  He tried to shake it off, unwilling to accept the idea, not with the work he’d put in, not with his talent and aspirations.

     True, the changes affected everyone, who now had to think about improving productivity of the new sales teams. Though he’d be near the top, the challenge was to be prominent individually. Elimination of the Top Ten chart worked against that.
     The nagging image flashed again. This time he feels the quaking rumble of mountains growing and the pull of gravity sucking him down. What if the rules changed again? A company might effect change to align goals to overall objectives, but if the objectives were coming unhinged the goals might keep changing too. His energies would be sapped pursuing someone else’s concept of gold.

     Stephen Slade wanted to take the company public for a cash infusion. Then the company might grow by expanding lines of coverage or buying other companies, or the cash could be a boon for investors looking for a payoff. Through Helen Roy he knew that the CEO had been aggressively enlisting short-term investors, holding before them the prospect of the golden IPO. The condo figured into that scheme.

     His pulse quickened thinking about Helen. Her fresh face and unaffected manner charmed him, and her optimism was an inspiration. The idea of increasing the distance between them was painful, but it didn’t have to be. He reached for his cell phone and texted a message, “Get together later?” So late at night, he didn’t expect a quick reply but the clock was ticking for that and more. If he left, he wanted to take her with him. Resolved, the sleep overtook him.

         

          

The next chapter will be posted by May 24. 
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.

Chapter 15: Angle of Ascent

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 

                                                                          15

     As Jeremy Port stepped to the podium conversations tailed off and eyes shifted to the man with the white hair and the sunny smile stamped on a tanned face. That morning, his smile was less bright for his task. Before him, the sales force was attractive, dressed in expensive suits and smelling of aftershave, hair oil and perfume. Always intense, they looked annoyed at being called to a meeting that likely wouldn’t help them close the next deal, and that made him proud to be their sales manager and sensitive to what he asked of them.

     The company had rented the conference room in a city of Carson hotel to avoid time wasted driving to downtown headquarters. Twenty rows of cushioned chairs radiated from the front. On a long table in back were two large coffee urns, a set-up of cups and saucers and ice water sweating in silver pitchers.

     He linked faces to names and performance. A few climbed at steep angles and exceeded their personal best each quarter, like Dave Forester and Atom Green. They sat toward the front: one, his high forehead capped by sandy brown hair, had the boyish charm. The other had olive skin, black hair parted down the middle and electric vitality. Their camaraderie fascinated him. In the old days competition precluded friendship. Most of the others were still climbing, though their leveling off point had already been prefigured by the angle of ascent: somewhere in the middle. The rest, hunger diminished, were circling as if to land. He put the percentages at five, sixty-five and thirty.

     “I appreciate you being here on such short notice.” Someone hooted, setting off a wave of disgruntled laughter and then a reaction. “Get on with it.” “Shhhh!” “Come on!”

     “For a long time Slade Insurance has operated on the principle that high performers lead the way, and others succeed by emulating them, and then everybody’s fortune rises. Certainly, we have the high flyers…” He nodded toward Forester and Green who affected not to notice. “And we’ve been giving some thought on how to help others break out. To that end, we’re making some changes.” 

     The gathering leaned forward, and he raised his left hand. “What hasn’t changed is that commissions will still be paid according to your annual contracts. These changes are focused more on intangible incentives.” He raised a finger to count off. “One. We’re eliminating the Top Ten Sales Chart for individuals. From now on, the Top Ten will track the top ten sales teams.

     “Two. Teams will be a mix of high and low performers.
     “Three. The company is contracting for team-building services to help those teams succeed.

     “Four. The format of the annual sales conference will now emphasize the teams. Those are the changes. Any questions?” He grasped the podium with both hands, beaming as the sales force paused to take it in.  The hardest part was over no matter what they asked, since he didn’t know much more than what the CEO had scratched on a cocktail napkin. Slade had ordered change, and change there would be.

     A groan came from the back. “Teams, Jeremy. Really?” Laughter precluded the need for response, but the next question was dear to every salesperson’s heart. “Will this affect our territory?” He was careful. “I can’t say it won’t. We’ll have to see how it plays out.” His answer unsettled them, and they looked around as for someone who would know.

     A man he recognized as Patrick Hamel stood up. He wore green-tinged designer glasses and held a smart phone before him like evidence. “Why is this happening now? Sales have been up every quarter against the previous year’s result, and horizontally too.” Someone laughed.
     “You’re right, Pat. Overall, sales are up. With these changes, we hope to mine untapped potential."
     “How will the teams be selected?”

     He improvised an answer. “Randomly…by computer.” More grumbling. Conversations buzzed throughout the room, and then a voice boomed, “Will there be sleepovers?” Laughter ruffled them and Port picked up the vibe. “If it means more sales, we’re for it!”

     “What about SOQ parking?” At the mention of the tangible intangible only the top salesperson possessed, the room became quiet, which served to underscore his words.  “Effective immediately SOQ parking does not exist. Sorry, Atom.” The salesman flinched at the mention of his name, and waved to dismiss the perk. Eyes shifted back to the manager. 

     “We’ll keep you posted on the particulars.” He stepped from the podium to encounter a crush of people who demanded more answers but diminished on learning he had none. Already he had said too much, because from his perspective sales was an individual sport. He wondered what the chairman thought and considered placing a call, but that could wait. When he reached his convertible, he steered toward the flying club near LAX. He had some friends there and could blow off steam.

The next chapter will be posted by April 26. 
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.

Chapter 14: Paralyzed

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 

  
 

                                                                           14

                         

     After securing the checks in the safe, Helen showered and dressed in black designer jeans, white cotton blouse and trim suede jacket with matching boots. Her auburn hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her sole cosmetic was gloss to the lips. She looked like a college coed going around the corner to Starbucks, but on her return she would record and prepare the checks for deposit. Out of mind was the lover she chased away two hours before. 

     The long carpeted hallway always made her feel isolated because she’d hardly ever encountered other occupants, though the leasing company asserted all the condos had been sold. At the door she punched in the code and waited for the click. When it didn’t come, she entered the code again. Still the lock did not release. She entered every digit deliberately and then stood dumbfounded when it wouldn’t open. Her cell phone held the number for Client Services, but feeling vulnerable she took the elevator down.

     Off the opulent lobby, a constricted hallway with bare floors led to the small, bright office; unoccupied. A pair of steel-frame chairs was set before a desk and phone. With practiced motion, she extracted the cell phone from her hip pocket.  After pressing send a shrill ring filled the room, making her feel the fool. But after three rings the line hiccupped and the call was forwarded to someone with a pleasant female voice that said, “Client Services.”
     She learned that Stephen Slade had ordered the code changed during the short while she was away, and only he could convey the new one. She thought it strange he would do so without letting her know. She called his cell and got voicemail. She tried his office and reached his secretary who said he was in but unavailable. Helen told her she’d be right up.

     She waited nearly thirty minutes in executive reception, aware of Betsy Murray’s scrutiny and tormented by speculative questions that set her heart racing. Why did he change it? What did he know? Though lacking any certainty, she regretted bringing Atom over, while at the same time hoping for another, less personal explanation. When told she could go up, she resolved to be strong. 

     The elevator doors opened into his office, and she saw Slade seated behind his desk. Thin-lipped and grim beneath trim dark hair, his hooded eyes tracked her advance. An involuntary shiver rattled her forced smile and words stumbled from her mouth. “Stephen, I can’t get in.” He motioned to a chair and waited for her to settle in.

     “The condo’s where we do the company’s work. Only people I authorize are allowed.”
     “Of course, but---”
     “No exceptions.”
     “But---“

     “None.”

     He was the rational manager with the business plan and list of workplace dos and don’ts to corral the wayward instincts of employees. He fixed his eyes on her and walked around the desk. She looked straight ahead. Circling, he came from behind to wrap his fingers around her head, thumbs behind the ears. He drummed her cheeks and she tried slipping away, but feared her neck would tear. “Stephen!”

     He readjusted his grip. She was paralyzed and whimpering. He touched his head to hers and spoke low and slow. “You’ve made yourself at home, and I like having you near. For me, and no one else.” His right hand clutched her throat. The other cupped her chin then wandered to caress her face. “For me and no one else,” he repeated, like words murmured in a dream. “Understood?”

     Tears streamed down her face. She nodded. He released her and wrote the code on a slip of paper. Sobbing, she flew into the elevator and stabbed at the buttons. Falling back against the wall, she gasped: the doors weren’t closing. Beyond in the office, he was watching.
     He pointed with the index finger of his right hand. “Compose yourself. What goes on between you and me stays between us. Understood?” She wiped her face with the back of her hand and struggled for calm. After some long moments, he made a motion under the desk. The doors closed.

     Her agitation being so obvious to her, she didn’t know how anyone else could miss it as she made her way back, trembling and flushed, to the condo. The unfamiliar numbers seemed like a violation yet they granted access, to a new horror: the bed was undone, the bedspread spilling onto the floor. Dresser drawers lay open, revealing her personal things and lending meaning to his words. The feeling of being violated resurfaced, as did the sense memory of his fingers gripping her head. She pushed in the drawers, trying to restore some semblance of order.
     “Take it all and haul it to my car,” is what she thought she should do, but a small dissenting voice questioned whether she was being too precipitous. “Think of what you have.” 

     She liked the flexibility an abundance of free time and money lent, and being close to the CEO made her feel important. If she walked out, she’d have to start all over. Then her mind gamboled over to thoughts of Atom Green. He hadn’t mentioned him by name, and not bringing him to the condo would be an easy condition to meet.

     After straightening the sheets, she lifted the bedspread back onto the bed and pulled on one end and then the other. Done with physical tasks, she had also concluded her deliberation. She would not throw it all away. She’d draw a line and call him out if he transgressed, and meanwhile restore herself in his eyes by doing her job well.

     Resolved, she went to her workstation in a corner of the bedroom. Below the table that held the computer, she reached down to twirl the dial of the safe: a couple of spins right, and then stop on the first number, then left for the second, and right again. Something felt off though and when she pulled down on the handle, it wouldn’t open. When the reality hit, she lowered her head and cried.

      

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

Chapter 13: Stay

                                                                

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

 

                                                                      13

                        

     Helen felt cold and said to his back, “Stay.” Atom twisted around to train on her his brown eyes and smiled. He fell back into bed where she wrapped arms around him and pressed against his heat.

     She had made the condo her home, though much was in storage, and squirreled personal items into drawers and closets. Maid service helped maintain a tidy, unlived-in look. On her increased salary, she could afford her own place but hated the idea of paying rent when the condo was free. Atom was unaware because he never saw her “at home”. Usually, they made love at his place, but that Sunday night the condo was closer, so he parked his Mercedes coupe in the SOQ spot of the underground garage. The absence of the limousine signaled the all clear.

     Another thing he didn’t know was her intimate relationship with the CEO. Their liaisons often took place after investor parties. Then, Stephen always had someplace to be and left first, which suited her. Even before moving in, she made it clear she’d rather leave in her own car than be dropped off. Now he never offered and she’d sit on the settee in the expansive bathroom, wearing a green silk robe and brushing her auburn hair until he departed. Only then did she prepare for the next day, and sleep.

     But that morning with Atom beside her, she panicked. Monday meant Bill coming over with investor checks. She shook him by the shoulder but he wouldn’t rouse so, bringing knees to her chest, she pressed her soles against his back and thrust. He tumbled to the floor. His head popped up with a look of sleepy astonishment. “You’ve got to go. Hurry!”

     He grabbed his underwear on the way to the bathroom, where he splashed water on his face. He returned to the bedroom to finish dressing as Helen smoothed the zebra-motif bedspread. He tucked a white cotton shirt into pre-faded designer jeans then approached from behind to buss her neck. She pulled away. “Go!”

     Departing with an amused smile and aglow, he thought it just as well: he had calls to make if he were to repeat as Salesman of the Quarter. He ran a hand over his dark hair with the part in the middle. His clean-cut good looks were such that he could have stepped into a business meeting right then but for the clothes. In the garage, he passed the limousine and noticed a thin thread of smoke coming from the window.

     Bill waited for him to drive away before exiting the limo. His eyes winced at the unfamiliar sight of Atom Green leaving early on a workday morning. “From where?” He had an idea and dropped the butt to the ground, adjusted his black tunic, then reached inside the cab for the manila envelope.

     He had gotten used to Helen being in the condo on Mondays, so instead of going in and putting the envelope in the safe, he simply handed it over. The difference was less effort on his part and of no consequence. When she opened the door, he scrutinized her less-than-neat hair, bulging eyes and sweatshirt and jeans.  She took the envelope and shut the door. He thought of the salesman and made the connection. How would Slade take that news, when pilfering a valuable statue didn’t faze him?

     Stephen Slade, seated in a high-backed leather chair, displayed a sneer on his pale angular face. Others did not intrude on his routine. He didn’t offer a chair and gestured with his hand to get on with it. Bill didn’t like what he was feeling so served it raw: “That salesman, Atom Green, is screwing Helen in the condo.”

     “How do you know?”     

     Bill’s black-and-white worldview and the desire to make him squirm erased any doubts he had in the telling. Slade leveled opaque eyes on the chauffeur. His sneer became sinister. “What else?” Bill shook his head and left.

     The CEO in expensive gray suit and burgundy loafers ran his finger on the back wall wainscoting, as though checking for dust. A button triggered the release that revealed the hidden door through which he passed into the corridor leading to the skywalk and the Wayfare Hotel.

     Bearing the confidence of ownership, he punched in the code to enter the condo where the panoramic window admitted a city view. His nose twitched at vapor in the air, which he followed into the bedroom and then the bathroom. Steam still coated the shower walls, but she wasn’t there. He returned to the bedroom and stared at the bed. His mind sketched in the pair of them and he reached to strip away the bedspread. Wrinkled sheets and the thought of another man infected his thoughts. He exploded. “Not on my dime!”

     In a frenzy, he searched for proof of what he didn’t want to believe. What he found was more proof of Helen: silky panties, assorted socks and neatly folded jeans. In the closet hung the dresses she wore to the parties. Though logical her things would be there, the quantity surprised him. To his way of thinking the condo was a workplace but these indicated a private dwelling space --where unwanted people might visit. He had to set her straight.

                    

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

Chapter 12: Compassion

     

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 

12 

     Bill drove the limo up the curving drive to the mansion with the rose-tinted facade. Two columns framed heavy double doors of the front entrance that did not appear to get much use. He was already pissed that Slade had interrupted his week off to demand a pick-up, now the mansion reminded him of those above-ground shrines in New Orleans cemeteries. His brother recently passed and the family was caught short of money for the burial. That pissed him off too.

     Aching bones he had lain into a tub never rose on their own. Police and EMT arrived and then the coroner to haul dead weight to the mortuary. The ringing in his ears was the register scoring another profit and Bill, who lived on a cash basis without much to pawn, fell back on what he knew. He called in a favor and took possession of a brick. He cut it, dealt it and was in and out before anyone could respond, which was a good thing: the streets were vicious now.

     He switched off the engine and stepped outside where the King County heat swamped him. The sun reflected off his shaved head and his dark suit clung like a winding cloth. At the door, he leaned on the bell but the oversized tomb did not respond. About to blast the bell again, he heard soles slapping hard surfaces. The door swung open to reveal a small gray-haired woman in floor-length white robe: Slade’s mother, Rhea. “Can I help you?” He explained and she invited him in. Two adolescent boys peeked around a corner to scrutinize him before disappearing. “Have a seat in the library. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

     Shelves of books filled the walls around leather armchairs beneath a high ceiling, and on a small round table he spotted a small statue about six inches tall, jade green and female, apparently though not certainly.  Vertical creases in the gown conveyed motion. Two hands held an upturned vessel.

     “That’s Kuan Jin,” said Rhea, handing him a glass of lemonade. “The Bodhisattva of Compassion. Bodhisattvas vow not to enter nirvana until all the other beings of the world do.” She gave him a what-do-you-think-of-that look.
     “I don’t know nothing about bootyfatwas or nervyana.” He sipped the cool beverage. An indulgent smile crossed her face. “Being compassionate is the point. I’ll see what’s keeping Stephen.”
     Alone again, Bill stared at the statue and thought of his other job as bouncer: “Crowds behind the rope line don’t wait to be last. ‘Me first. Damn the rest.’” His stubby finger tapped its head. “Toys for rich people.”

     Heavy footsteps approached as he slipped it into his pocket. He turned to see Stephen Slade dressed in tan slacks and an striped shirt. With blue blazer draped over one arm, he carried a briefcase and Blackberry in the other. “Let’s get going.”

     Down the drive and through the gate that closed remotely behind them, Slade focused his attention on his mobile device until a pothole rocked the limo. He shot a look at Bill who was unapologetic and thinking, “Go to the sticks and this is what you get.” Thirty minutes later they reached the highway leading to the interstate. Bill held up the statue. “Look familiar?”

     Annoyance then mocking scorn flashed on Slade’s face. “Don’t tell me you want to stick it to the dash.”

     “You don’t know everything you own. This was in the library.”

     “What’s it doing here?”

      “Mrs. Slade was telling me about compassion.”

      “Keep it.”
     “What’s it worth?”

      Slade was dismissive. “Ten.”

     Bill slid the base across the dash until the head bumped the windshield. “It don't fit. I don’t want it.” Slade’s eyes narrowed.

     The CEO entered the lobby holding the figurine like a soda bottle. “Worth enough,” Bill thought, “to bury someone but they wouldn’t suffer if it broke.”  Thinking how Mrs. Slade would alert her son to the theft, a laugh rumbled inside him. “Been blamed for worse.”      

    

The next chapter will be posted by February 8. 
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.