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 carryover? 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, the blow to the head 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.

     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

    

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 mirror 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. 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 Bill 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 or her again. 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.

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. In 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 a thing tribal and elemental that stretched for and was framed by 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 stared 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. The scheduled starting time came and went and the impatient crowd seemed to urge the ceremony on, and then something like a group exhalation sounded as a procession of about a dozen 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 beautiful face.

     The group settled in the front row. Slade mounted the dais to stand beside the perplexed priest and gaze over the assembly. “Begin,” he said then 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 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 felt vulnerable crossing the wide expanse. He 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 swayed limply, and 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.

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.     

Chapter 23: Outside Looking In

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

                                      

                                                                       23

            

     Atom Green glared at the phone then dropped onto the sofa of his Manhattan Beach condo. Since resigning from Slade, he had not tried for another position and was consumed by thoughts of Helen. Her unwillingness or inability to respond -- he wasn’t sure which-- created a kind of panic, forcing him to confront the fear of being on the outside looking in. His time working in the background at the restaurant compelled him now to seek the main event and the greatest prize. At Slade he enjoyed the status of top salesman, the competitive camaraderie of the agents and the out-sized bonuses. The meta of Helen encompassed them all; she was the greatest prize.

       He changed into slacks, white shirt and blue blazer, then inspected himself in the mirror. He brushed back his quill-like black hair and flashed a smile that competed with the shirt and conveyed the electric exuberance that charmed others. Confidence recharged, he left for the drive downtown.

     After parking his Mercedes coupe in a lot a block from the Wayfare, he walked quickly to the hotel and through the lobby to the elevator where he keyed in the code.

     The smell of smoke should have been a warning, as well the dark figure propped at the end of the corridor. Intent on his mission he continued to the door and pressed the buzzer, and the figure approached. “You’re not allowed,” it said and grabbed him by the collar just as the door opened. Helen peeked out. “Bill! What are you doing?” The chauffeur stunned Atom with a rap to the back of the head and dragged him to the elevator. Helen followed, pulling at his black tunic. “Stop!”

      Momentary pleasure at seeing Helen vied with the distress of being manhandled. He was six feet and toned, but the other man was larger and apparently used to hauling heavy loads. He twisted and flailed as Bill pressed the button and blocked out Helen. When the elevator opened, he threw him in. “You’re not allowed.” The doors closed.                                                     

      Later, back in the car, his phone lit up and HELEN flashed on the screen. She apologized, and said she didn’t know why Bill was in the hall. He insisted that they meet. 

     “There’s something I need to finish first.”

     “The wedding?”

     “Partly. Don’t try to see me until I call. Promise." 

     The call was as brief as the encounter in the hallway. Thoughts of the wedding filled him with dread. He and Dave Forester traded places at the top of the sales chart and a friendly rivalry had developed, so much so that he was to be in the wedding party. Slade’s hostility quashed that. Dave was embarrassed, but his family was friends with Slade’s family and had the closer bond.

      Having the CEO of the company host your wedding would seem to confer a guarantee of success and he had dreamt of such a benediction. Now all he could think of was Helen with Slade at the wedding. Slade, who had the power to damn and bless, held Helen in his thrall. His mind contorted to deny converging associations. He needed to be present to prevent the unimaginable, and would have to sneak into the Palisades mansion.

     He searched his phone for the number of someone who was possibly more excited about the wedding than even the bride or groom. Lola McIntyre picked up on the first ring, and he explained the situation. She was on board enthusiastically. He cautioned, “Don’t tell Slade or anyone close to him. You know who I’m talking about.” She agreed and promised to get back to him. It was a risk he had to take. Lola had helped him connect with Helen the first time. The hitch was her workplace boyfriend: Bill.

                       

 The next chapter will be posted by August 21.

 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 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 Nine: Conquest

       

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 

                                                        

                                                          9

      Basking in the glow of conquest, Atom walked arm in arm with Helen down the Manhattan Beach pier. The day was bright, and the air rich with the delighted cries of sun worshippers and volleyball players, which overlay their quiet satisfaction as between them smoldered the passion of the night before. After much persistence she had yielded fully, so much so his intuition gave pause to consider who was the winner and whom the won over before sinking into lovemaking’s sensory overload. On waking they fell onto each other before dozing to wake again to growling stomachs. They dressed quickly: he in shorts, polo shirt and sneakers, while she was compelled to re-wear her sleeveless burgundy dress with sandals and his oversized windbreaker.

     Once hunger was satisfied, Atom played the guide, pointing out the stately pier with globe lights atop concrete stanchions every 12 paces, and the Spanish tile roof of the bulky Aquarium & Café near the end, and the hill that hunched like a wrong-way wave where the main street and overbuilt neighborhoods ran laterally. “The town’s a mix of older homeowners and younger condo-dwellers,” he said. “None of whom I have time to meet.”

     He turned to kiss her and a strand of hair flicked his eyelash, causing him to draw back. She brushed it away then he tried again, eliciting her deep-throated laugh. Believing Helen had greater meaning than just the physical, he wanted to possess her completely, and had no doubt he would since he had overcome her resistance to a date.
     With Lola’s help, he happened on her in break room, at lunch in nearby restaurants and in the underground garage, where always she declined his invitations, until the last one. Their date was Saturday, when at twilight they met at her apartment in Palms and then drove to a restaurant for dinner and, after, dancing.

     Wearing ivory-colored slacks, azure blue shirt and tan sports coat, his gestures had crackled with intensity of wooing. Her auburn hair fell onto the shoulders of the burgundy dress, which matched her high heels. A delicate gold chain accentuated her thin wrists.  Throughout the evening, each echoed the other’s appreciation of venue, food and entertainment, as their wariness gave way to heightened anticipation. He noted that a new gravity weighed on her youthful enthusiasm to pleasing effect.

     He did not know about the break up with her boyfriend, or the investor parties that had made her the center of attention in men’s eyes, exciting Slade’s possessive nature. She would have had difficulty describing the experience since her role seemed more to do with what she was instead of who.

     Rolling waves beneath the pier rocked the pilings, gusts delivered salty spray and the high sun whitewashed their features. Going round the Café, they were for the moment separate and alone, where westward was the open sea, and to the north and south the purple hills stretched out. A tanker crossed their view cruising to the refinery with the orange-striped smokestack. They leaned against the railing.

      “Slade’s lucky he’s got you.”
     “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
     “I’d hate to think he is a barrier, for us.”

     "Hoo, hoo! Ha, ha!” The girlish laughter pierced him and he twisted a painful smile, and then from nowhere a sense-defying fog blanked out the sun, the sea and every sound except her laughter. He snaked an arm around her waist, but she pulled away, and they stood silent and apart until he felt compelled to fill in the white nothingness.
     “You know, I envy Slade’s relationship with his father; things passing from father to son. It’s like someone saving your place in line, giving a foothold in life. Things are different then.”
     “What about yours?”

     “Divorced before I was five. I have some pictures, and don’t miss him, because how could I when I never had it? Only when I see others with theirs do I wonder.”

     “Mine is big on sports and fishing. When I think of him I think of fishing. Sorry.”
     “Sorry for laughing?”

     “Don’t take it personal, but men always make more of something than it is.”

      “Slade?”

     “I’m not talking about him--”

     “I’ll protect you, if you let me.” His resolute face was blurred in the mist.
     “You just proved my point and I’m trying not to laugh. He doesn’t affect what I do. I wouldn’t want to cross him, though. He likes fresh starts, clean sweeps and loyalty, and has a different take on the father thing. The condo’s about sweeping him away.”
     He pulled at her again and she relented. He nuzzled her marble cheek and held her as if clutching a world he would scale and occupy.

                                                                           * * *

      The idea of Helen and Slade festered in Atom's mind. She wouldn't admit him to the condo saying, "Stephen wouldn't like it," the first name familiarity salting the wound. Meanwhile, the CEO's arrangement had repercussions within and without the company.

  
The next chapter will be posted by August 17. 
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.