Chapter 20: Strange Demand
…husbands and wives, together and apart…
Under the watch of her parents, Mary Aguilar struggled to heal. Ever since she saw the pictures and sought refuge in her childhood home, she had trouble thinking of Peres without crying. Even the joy of caring for Phoebe was a reminder of what had been lost.
Her parents didn’t know what to think. Years before her quiet presence playing with dolls was a comfort; now she had a baby and an injury they couldn’t salve because she wouldn’t confide in them.
Esther Holquin was in her late sixties with chalk white hair and thick glasses. Used to being babysitter, she enjoyed embracing the restless bundle with the wide curious eyes, which now had become the prize in a competition against her daughter.
“I can feed her,” she’d offer.
“No, me! What else do I have to do?”
The situation wasn’t doing anyone any good, so she went straight to the point.
“Confront him.”
“Not now.”
“When?”
Mary couldn’t answer. Belief in a bright future for her family was the rock of her strength and if he appealed to that, he’d win. She needed to be stronger and the ragged, painful wound had to mend. So she waited.
Peres had kept calling. She refused him through her father. Once though, she took a call but when he started speaking she collapsed in tears, thinking of deception behind the warm voice. She hadn’t been ready and so she waited longer.
Then one day, the pictures of Peres and the other woman occupied her mind. They were commonplace: a man and a woman seated in a restaurant, then standing before an apartment building, and later going in. Smiles, imagined laughter and thoughts, and then the unthinkable. The stolen moments haunted her.
As if sharing the pain, Phoebe wailed and wouldn’t be consoled. Finally, without resistance, Esther took the baby away. The young mother dragged herself into her room, dropped onto the bed and fell asleep, exhausted.
She slept deeply the remainder of the day and into the evening. Then she tossed about, getting tangled in the sheets until caught in an unforgiving knot.
Her eyes fluttered awake and into her mind appeared the image of a flame: whole, yellow, and upward pointing. It danced and pulsated, then leaned away as bent by a breath. Then the pictures came to mind. Before she could fret, the flame resurfaced and set them ablaze, the edges curling up until consumed.
She jumped up and rushed in where the others had been passing a quiet evening before the TV. Taking the phone, she punched the single digit on the speed dial. When she started talking, Esther sheltered the baby’s ears.
“Don’t say a word. Those pictures, burn them! Do you hear? Don’t toss them in the trash. Don’t shred them. Burn them! Or it’ll be the house and you inside!”
She hung up, then presented herself before her mother who handed over the infant. After she left, Esther looked to her husband and gave a cautious, approving nod.
*
He hadn’t expected the call or her strange demand. Certainly, he’d burn them. He went into the spare bedroom and found the old file where he’d stuffed them without thought of ever needing them, unless to cram down Joyce’s throat.
As he spread the pictures across his desk, they ignited a spark of desire, and he wondered what had become of her. Taking a pair of scissors, he cut out her best pose and slipped it back into the file. Then he went to the backyard to put a match to the rest.
* * * *
“You’re in my bed.”
“He insisted.”
“I’m sure.”
But Penny’s certainty had been slipping lately. And it pained her that Helen made such a pretty picture in the bed she inherited from a great-grandmother.
That was progress, at least. When Ulysses brought her the night before, fear made her face small and pale. Now, with graceful lines restored, lashes long, hair shiny and abundant and brown eyes set ablaze by the dark wood frame, she could leave.
The thought didn’t buy her peace, though. She sensed a growing distance from things she wanted, one of which was a suitable setting for that bed. Hewn of oak with thick panels, two posts at the foot and a half moon headboard, it was too grand for the current house, crowding the room and leaving space only for nightstands on either side. In a larger house, she’d add compliments, like a dresser and a vanity. They’d been on track, but her husband’s actions gave her pause: were they still headed in the same direction?
Last night, she’d been astonished and didn’t fully vet his explanation. Her medical training kicking in, she checked blood, breath and consciousness and prescribed food, a hot bath and rest. While he went to run the water, she asked the sensitive questions and was relieved: worn hard by the experience but not broken. Then she’d climbed back into bed as the other woman soaked in the bath.
In the morning, she realized he’d never joined her. Going into the front, she saw Helen sleeping on the couch, propped by pillows and beneath a smooth mound of blankets. He lay on the carpet, a thin blanket revealing the angles of his body.
She shook him awake. He was calling in, he told her. She’d thought as much, but she didn’t have the option. No work, no money and a day full of appointments. Then after work, Helen was in her bed.
Still dressed in blue scrubs and with hair flipped into a ponytail, she sat on the edge to relieve her back and throw a question.
“Do men rule your life?”
“What?”
“Do you just let them sweep you away?”
Her lips blossomed into a pout as a cloud of consternation descended.
“Was there something you did---?”
“I didn’t ask to be kidnapped, if that’s what you mean. I should go.”
“I’ll take you,” said Ulysses, striding in. Scrutinizing him, Penny noticed the purple discoloration on his jaw.
“What’s that?”
“From last night.”
She inspected further and with her fingers felt through his hair for lumps. Then, she removed his glasses to check his eyes. Not convinced there wasn’t more, she led him out of the room and they settled on the couch.
“What’s this about?”
“She needed help.”
“Will you be doing this a lot?”
He didn’t answer, giving the question some thought. That bothered her. The answer should be obvious: no, I won’t break into houses, get into fights or bring women into your bed.
“What’s got into you?”
He shook his head, his eyes sad and pleading.
Things, she was aware, hadn’t been as he would hope. Years before, having been turned away by the big accounting firms, he improvised and landed at Dedalus. Then there’d been roadblocks to advancement. Was this frustration?
By contrast, her path had been steady. Studious and practical, she focused on a career in dentistry. She liked working near home and dealing with people. Having met Ulysses in college, they married and bought their first house. Steady steps of progress contented her and it’d been a long time since she thought of going it alone. She searched his eyes.
“What are you asking?”
“Let me get her safely home.”
Certainly, he was blameless, heroic even, but she didn’t understand how the burden fell to him. She’d keep going and resigned herself to waiting for him to catch up; to abandon the effort would be worse.
“Are you going back to work?”
“If I have a job.”
*
After stopping at her apartment, he drove her to the airport for a flight to Chicago and then on to Madison. He’d gone as far as the head of the security check-in line when she turned to him.
“Please don’t tell where I am. I need time. I’ll call when I get back.”
She bussed his cheek, then stepped up to the TSA counter. After passing through the scanner, she made her way down the corridor to the departure gate.
When he lost sight of her, his thoughts turned to the next day. It’d be hard to settle behind a desk; that was certain. Less so was his reception. Who else knew about the kidnapping or the rescue?
Chapter 21: Telltale
…Joyce pursues a thread of information…
Bill arrived at the mansion, feeling instinctive wariness about approaching the man against whose interests he had worked the night before. But, unless Oswald had eyes in the back of his head, he was sure he couldn’t be identified. All bets were off, if people talked.
When Stephen Joyce came out, he got in the front.
“Oswald says Helen’s gone. Someone dressed like a chauffeur came to the door. He was hit from behind and knocked unconscious.”
Bill struggled to act surprised. His nature was to meet adversity with few words and a hard face.
“Chauffeur?”
“With a limo. He was short, medium build, brown hair and glasses; and took a good one on the jaw.”
“Didn’t do much good.”
“Strange, to go to that much trouble.”
Bill shrugged.
“Take me to her apartment.”
When she didn’t answer the buzzer, Bill forced open the security door and then her apartment. Joyce searched through her papers.
“The office.”
*
Ulysses got to work early and made a point of looking people straight in the face to reveal his bruise and test their knowledge. They expressed surprise and voiced their sympathies without attaching any meaning beyond his story: that he tripped and fell against a door.
After the others peeled away, Lola McIntyre rushed up. She asked about Helen and he told her she was fine. Then, in response to the next question, said he drove her home. He didn’t mention the trip to the airport. None-too-subtly, she scanned his face before going away.
Later, Mimosa Liang found him in his cubicle. Her dark eyes narrowed with concern over the purple blemish. Unhappily, he repeated the fabrication. She was a trusty subordinate and sometime confidant, but he thought it prudent to leave tales of kidnapping and rescue to newspapers and novels.
Finally alone, he surveyed the reports stacked on his desk, the computer screen imploring him to press “On” and the flimsy cubicle walls. Then the phone rang.
Jeremy Port was asking if he was still interested in Sales. His jaw dropped. Out of a scramble of words, he managed to say, “Yes.” They set up a meeting later in the day.
Like a ray of light breaking through gray clouds, the call warmed and blinded. Nearly a year since he last spoke to the sales manager, he’d given up. Now, instead of his own perceived faults, he could reflect on what he’d actually said: “I’ll keep you in mind”.
Then, reality intruded: that bruise and the less than stellar suit he’d thrown on. He hurried to the men’s room to study his appearance. As he did, he thought he might have caught a break. They’d be meeting at the business center in the Agency Hotel, not the Sales department; he wouldn’t have to face new peers when he wasn’t at his best.
At the appointed time, he presented himself next door at the hotel and was greeted by the manager who had a full head of white hair and a face wrinkled by sun and frequent smiles. But his eyes flickered side to side, as if nervous. Port escorted him to an office where another man waited.
He introduced him to Clayton Clamp, attorney. Tall, lean and dressed in a corporate gray suit, Clamp had black, lacquered hair and a friendly demeanor.
They shook hands and Ulysses sat opposite them at a table. Port said they’d talk afterward then turned to the attorney who was aligning a legal pad to the table’s edge. He waited a moment, allowing anticipation to rise, then began.
“My charge is an inquiry for the Board of Directors. I have some questions. Can I count on you to answer truthfully?”
The doubts he had coming into work resurfaced. Had someone talked? Sweat beaded the top of his brow.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s a nasty bruise.”
He tried to make light of it, his hand slapping the table.
“I fell.”
Clamp observed him closely, then leaned back.
“Describe your position at Dedalus Insurance.”
The request surprised him. Either his manager or HR could tell him that. Beginning slowly, he spit out key words ---supervisor, client services, response times--- then, picking up speed, elaborated on his role. Intensely aware of the sales manager’s presence, he embellished how persuasion and “closing the deal” with his staff led to better results. They listened, without appearing overly interested. When he stopped, Clamp asked about his staff. He described them and what they did.
“And Helen Roy?”
He snapped to attention, his mind whirling with things he knew and shouldn’t reveal. The attorney’s eyes, benign till then, became sharp and flinty.
“She hired into my unit then went to work for the CEO.”
Clamp asked about her work habits and attitude. He answered with generalities.
“What does she do outside work?”
“She wants to be an actor.”
“Any luck?”
He gestured that he didn’t know.
“Did you ever meet away from work?
Ulysses recalled someone saying that attorneys ask only questions for which they know the answers. Not wanting to be caught in a lie, he cited another time.
“Once, we went to a restaurant when she was leaving. I wanted to wish her well.”
“What did she say about the new job?”
He told what he could remember.
“Did she mention handling money?”
“Nothing in particular. Just greeting investors.”
“Do you trust her?
A bead burst and sweat trailed down the side of his face.
”Absolutely.”
Clamp gazed at him, as if trying to make up his mind. Then he turned to Port, nodded and stood. He warned against talking about what they discussed, then left.
Then Port told Ulysses he was one of several candidates. There’d be interviews sometime in the future.
Coming away less assured of the sales position, the question about money held his attention. Were they using that as a pretext to chase Helen down?
*
Joyce didn’t bother saying hello to Betsy Murray as he went into the private elevator, leaving the receptionist to stew.
Troubling things were on his mind: Helen Roy, the missing account numbers and the thought of unknown forces conspiring against him.
Wealth, power and prestige had been within easy reach his entire life and, by virtue of his lineage, expected. Things flowed in the direction he wanted to go, always. Then, emerging from his father’s shadow, where quaint beliefs like shared wealth lingered, he refined his own vision: all for one ---himself. And, no one contradicted the CEO.
Who would dare? Peres Aguilar? Even when he forbade it, Helen met him. It made sense: with nothing to lose and millions to gain, they had to plan.
He called Bill. Get ready, he told him, then descended from his office. On his way out, he ran into Jeremy Port.
*
When the Chairman called, the sales manager agreed to set up a meeting, of course. Ingrained obedience had not diminished in the two years since he handed over operational control. Subterfuge displeased him, though.
But the Chairman had taught that loyalty was given and received. That lesson helped Jeremy Port untangle his emotions as he aided his effort to gather information. Whatever the CEO’s motive, taking investor money without declaring it wasn’t right and put the company in legal peril. He hoped it was just a misunderstanding.
After meeting with Ulysses, he headed back to his office. Turning a corner, he bumped into the CEO and his eyes began to blink wildly, as if erasing thoughts.
“Who’s replacing Aguilar?”
“I’m setting up interviews.”
“Who?”
Most were from outside the company and he wouldn’t know them. To his horror, he let slip a name.
“Ulysses Mann.”
“From Billing?”
“He’s not a top candidate.”
Leaving Port standing in the hallway, Joyce changed direction. He’d been her supervisor. Two took her away, one seen. He rehashed the description then, once in Billing, observed a short man of medium build, with brown hair, glasses and a telltale bruise.
Chapter 22: Testing
...in which knowledge and attitudes are tested...
Chapter 23: Spin
...the Chairman shapes a story...
When Ulysses bolted from the elevator, he left the building and drove home, certain never to be welcome at Dedalus again. Surprised, then, he was to get a call from Clayton Clamp. The attorney had seen him run and wanted to hear his story.
“My attorney will draft the articles of incorporation, and take care of any fees.”
Chapter 24: The Chair
Alone
again, he tried to reconcile what was with what had been, when the
chair caught his eye. Despite being fractured and dismembered, its
prominence was greater than ever before. A deeper, perhaps
superstitious, thinker might have tried to assign meaning. Instead, he
pushed it out of sight into the hall.
Chapter 25: Lifeline
Chapter 26: Consequence
…husbands and wives, together and apart…
Under the watch of her parents, Mary Aguilar struggled to heal. Ever since she saw the pictures and sought refuge in her childhood home, she had trouble thinking of Peres without crying. Even the joy of caring for Phoebe was a reminder of what had been lost.
Her parents didn’t know what to think. Years before her quiet presence playing with dolls was a comfort; now she had a baby and an injury they couldn’t salve because she wouldn’t confide in them.
Esther Holquin was in her late sixties with chalk white hair and thick glasses. Used to being babysitter, she enjoyed embracing the restless bundle with the wide curious eyes, which now had become the prize in a competition against her daughter.
“I can feed her,” she’d offer.
“No, me! What else do I have to do?”
The situation wasn’t doing anyone any good, so she went straight to the point.
“Confront him.”
“Not now.”
“When?”
Mary couldn’t answer. Belief in a bright future for her family was the rock of her strength and if he appealed to that, he’d win. She needed to be stronger and the ragged, painful wound had to mend. So she waited.
Peres had kept calling. She refused him through her father. Once though, she took a call but when he started speaking she collapsed in tears, thinking of deception behind the warm voice. She hadn’t been ready and so she waited longer.
Then one day, the pictures of Peres and the other woman occupied her mind. They were commonplace: a man and a woman seated in a restaurant, then standing before an apartment building, and later going in. Smiles, imagined laughter and thoughts, and then the unthinkable. The stolen moments haunted her.
As if sharing the pain, Phoebe wailed and wouldn’t be consoled. Finally, without resistance, Esther took the baby away. The young mother dragged herself into her room, dropped onto the bed and fell asleep, exhausted.
She slept deeply the remainder of the day and into the evening. Then she tossed about, getting tangled in the sheets until caught in an unforgiving knot.
Her eyes fluttered awake and into her mind appeared the image of a flame: whole, yellow, and upward pointing. It danced and pulsated, then leaned away as bent by a breath. Then the pictures came to mind. Before she could fret, the flame resurfaced and set them ablaze, the edges curling up until consumed.
She jumped up and rushed in where the others had been passing a quiet evening before the TV. Taking the phone, she punched the single digit on the speed dial. When she started talking, Esther sheltered the baby’s ears.
“Don’t say a word. Those pictures, burn them! Do you hear? Don’t toss them in the trash. Don’t shred them. Burn them! Or it’ll be the house and you inside!”
She hung up, then presented herself before her mother who handed over the infant. After she left, Esther looked to her husband and gave a cautious, approving nod.
*
He hadn’t expected the call or her strange demand. Certainly, he’d burn them. He went into the spare bedroom and found the old file where he’d stuffed them without thought of ever needing them, unless to cram down Joyce’s throat.
As he spread the pictures across his desk, they ignited a spark of desire, and he wondered what had become of her. Taking a pair of scissors, he cut out her best pose and slipped it back into the file. Then he went to the backyard to put a match to the rest.
* * * *
“You’re in my bed.”
“He insisted.”
“I’m sure.”
But Penny’s certainty had been slipping lately. And it pained her that Helen made such a pretty picture in the bed she inherited from a great-grandmother.
That was progress, at least. When Ulysses brought her the night before, fear made her face small and pale. Now, with graceful lines restored, lashes long, hair shiny and abundant and brown eyes set ablaze by the dark wood frame, she could leave.
The thought didn’t buy her peace, though. She sensed a growing distance from things she wanted, one of which was a suitable setting for that bed. Hewn of oak with thick panels, two posts at the foot and a half moon headboard, it was too grand for the current house, crowding the room and leaving space only for nightstands on either side. In a larger house, she’d add compliments, like a dresser and a vanity. They’d been on track, but her husband’s actions gave her pause: were they still headed in the same direction?
Last night, she’d been astonished and didn’t fully vet his explanation. Her medical training kicking in, she checked blood, breath and consciousness and prescribed food, a hot bath and rest. While he went to run the water, she asked the sensitive questions and was relieved: worn hard by the experience but not broken. Then she’d climbed back into bed as the other woman soaked in the bath.
In the morning, she realized he’d never joined her. Going into the front, she saw Helen sleeping on the couch, propped by pillows and beneath a smooth mound of blankets. He lay on the carpet, a thin blanket revealing the angles of his body.
She shook him awake. He was calling in, he told her. She’d thought as much, but she didn’t have the option. No work, no money and a day full of appointments. Then after work, Helen was in her bed.
Still dressed in blue scrubs and with hair flipped into a ponytail, she sat on the edge to relieve her back and throw a question.
“Do men rule your life?”
“What?”
“Do you just let them sweep you away?”
Her lips blossomed into a pout as a cloud of consternation descended.
“Was there something you did---?”
“I didn’t ask to be kidnapped, if that’s what you mean. I should go.”
“I’ll take you,” said Ulysses, striding in. Scrutinizing him, Penny noticed the purple discoloration on his jaw.
“What’s that?”
“From last night.”
She inspected further and with her fingers felt through his hair for lumps. Then, she removed his glasses to check his eyes. Not convinced there wasn’t more, she led him out of the room and they settled on the couch.
“What’s this about?”
“She needed help.”
“Will you be doing this a lot?”
He didn’t answer, giving the question some thought. That bothered her. The answer should be obvious: no, I won’t break into houses, get into fights or bring women into your bed.
“What’s got into you?”
He shook his head, his eyes sad and pleading.
Things, she was aware, hadn’t been as he would hope. Years before, having been turned away by the big accounting firms, he improvised and landed at Dedalus. Then there’d been roadblocks to advancement. Was this frustration?
By contrast, her path had been steady. Studious and practical, she focused on a career in dentistry. She liked working near home and dealing with people. Having met Ulysses in college, they married and bought their first house. Steady steps of progress contented her and it’d been a long time since she thought of going it alone. She searched his eyes.
“What are you asking?”
“Let me get her safely home.”
Certainly, he was blameless, heroic even, but she didn’t understand how the burden fell to him. She’d keep going and resigned herself to waiting for him to catch up; to abandon the effort would be worse.
“Are you going back to work?”
“If I have a job.”
*
After stopping at her apartment, he drove her to the airport for a flight to Chicago and then on to Madison. He’d gone as far as the head of the security check-in line when she turned to him.
“Please don’t tell where I am. I need time. I’ll call when I get back.”
She bussed his cheek, then stepped up to the TSA counter. After passing through the scanner, she made her way down the corridor to the departure gate.
When he lost sight of her, his thoughts turned to the next day. It’d be hard to settle behind a desk; that was certain. Less so was his reception. Who else knew about the kidnapping or the rescue?
Chapter 21: Telltale
…Joyce pursues a thread of information…
Bill arrived at the mansion, feeling instinctive wariness about approaching the man against whose interests he had worked the night before. But, unless Oswald had eyes in the back of his head, he was sure he couldn’t be identified. All bets were off, if people talked.
When Stephen Joyce came out, he got in the front.
“Oswald says Helen’s gone. Someone dressed like a chauffeur came to the door. He was hit from behind and knocked unconscious.”
Bill struggled to act surprised. His nature was to meet adversity with few words and a hard face.
“Chauffeur?”
“With a limo. He was short, medium build, brown hair and glasses; and took a good one on the jaw.”
“Didn’t do much good.”
“Strange, to go to that much trouble.”
Bill shrugged.
“Take me to her apartment.”
When she didn’t answer the buzzer, Bill forced open the security door and then her apartment. Joyce searched through her papers.
“The office.”
*
Ulysses got to work early and made a point of looking people straight in the face to reveal his bruise and test their knowledge. They expressed surprise and voiced their sympathies without attaching any meaning beyond his story: that he tripped and fell against a door.
After the others peeled away, Lola McIntyre rushed up. She asked about Helen and he told her she was fine. Then, in response to the next question, said he drove her home. He didn’t mention the trip to the airport. None-too-subtly, she scanned his face before going away.
Later, Mimosa Liang found him in his cubicle. Her dark eyes narrowed with concern over the purple blemish. Unhappily, he repeated the fabrication. She was a trusty subordinate and sometime confidant, but he thought it prudent to leave tales of kidnapping and rescue to newspapers and novels.
Finally alone, he surveyed the reports stacked on his desk, the computer screen imploring him to press “On” and the flimsy cubicle walls. Then the phone rang.
Jeremy Port was asking if he was still interested in Sales. His jaw dropped. Out of a scramble of words, he managed to say, “Yes.” They set up a meeting later in the day.
Like a ray of light breaking through gray clouds, the call warmed and blinded. Nearly a year since he last spoke to the sales manager, he’d given up. Now, instead of his own perceived faults, he could reflect on what he’d actually said: “I’ll keep you in mind”.
Then, reality intruded: that bruise and the less than stellar suit he’d thrown on. He hurried to the men’s room to study his appearance. As he did, he thought he might have caught a break. They’d be meeting at the business center in the Agency Hotel, not the Sales department; he wouldn’t have to face new peers when he wasn’t at his best.
At the appointed time, he presented himself next door at the hotel and was greeted by the manager who had a full head of white hair and a face wrinkled by sun and frequent smiles. But his eyes flickered side to side, as if nervous. Port escorted him to an office where another man waited.
He introduced him to Clayton Clamp, attorney. Tall, lean and dressed in a corporate gray suit, Clamp had black, lacquered hair and a friendly demeanor.
They shook hands and Ulysses sat opposite them at a table. Port said they’d talk afterward then turned to the attorney who was aligning a legal pad to the table’s edge. He waited a moment, allowing anticipation to rise, then began.
“My charge is an inquiry for the Board of Directors. I have some questions. Can I count on you to answer truthfully?”
The doubts he had coming into work resurfaced. Had someone talked? Sweat beaded the top of his brow.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s a nasty bruise.”
He tried to make light of it, his hand slapping the table.
“I fell.”
Clamp observed him closely, then leaned back.
“Describe your position at Dedalus Insurance.”
The request surprised him. Either his manager or HR could tell him that. Beginning slowly, he spit out key words ---supervisor, client services, response times--- then, picking up speed, elaborated on his role. Intensely aware of the sales manager’s presence, he embellished how persuasion and “closing the deal” with his staff led to better results. They listened, without appearing overly interested. When he stopped, Clamp asked about his staff. He described them and what they did.
“And Helen Roy?”
He snapped to attention, his mind whirling with things he knew and shouldn’t reveal. The attorney’s eyes, benign till then, became sharp and flinty.
“She hired into my unit then went to work for the CEO.”
Clamp asked about her work habits and attitude. He answered with generalities.
“What does she do outside work?”
“She wants to be an actor.”
“Any luck?”
He gestured that he didn’t know.
“Did you ever meet away from work?
Ulysses recalled someone saying that attorneys ask only questions for which they know the answers. Not wanting to be caught in a lie, he cited another time.
“Once, we went to a restaurant when she was leaving. I wanted to wish her well.”
“What did she say about the new job?”
He told what he could remember.
“Did she mention handling money?”
“Nothing in particular. Just greeting investors.”
“Do you trust her?
A bead burst and sweat trailed down the side of his face.
”Absolutely.”
Clamp gazed at him, as if trying to make up his mind. Then he turned to Port, nodded and stood. He warned against talking about what they discussed, then left.
Then Port told Ulysses he was one of several candidates. There’d be interviews sometime in the future.
Coming away less assured of the sales position, the question about money held his attention. Were they using that as a pretext to chase Helen down?
*
Joyce didn’t bother saying hello to Betsy Murray as he went into the private elevator, leaving the receptionist to stew.
Troubling things were on his mind: Helen Roy, the missing account numbers and the thought of unknown forces conspiring against him.
Wealth, power and prestige had been within easy reach his entire life and, by virtue of his lineage, expected. Things flowed in the direction he wanted to go, always. Then, emerging from his father’s shadow, where quaint beliefs like shared wealth lingered, he refined his own vision: all for one ---himself. And, no one contradicted the CEO.
Who would dare? Peres Aguilar? Even when he forbade it, Helen met him. It made sense: with nothing to lose and millions to gain, they had to plan.
He called Bill. Get ready, he told him, then descended from his office. On his way out, he ran into Jeremy Port.
*
When the Chairman called, the sales manager agreed to set up a meeting, of course. Ingrained obedience had not diminished in the two years since he handed over operational control. Subterfuge displeased him, though.
But the Chairman had taught that loyalty was given and received. That lesson helped Jeremy Port untangle his emotions as he aided his effort to gather information. Whatever the CEO’s motive, taking investor money without declaring it wasn’t right and put the company in legal peril. He hoped it was just a misunderstanding.
After meeting with Ulysses, he headed back to his office. Turning a corner, he bumped into the CEO and his eyes began to blink wildly, as if erasing thoughts.
“Who’s replacing Aguilar?”
“I’m setting up interviews.”
“Who?”
Most were from outside the company and he wouldn’t know them. To his horror, he let slip a name.
“Ulysses Mann.”
“From Billing?”
“He’s not a top candidate.”
Leaving Port standing in the hallway, Joyce changed direction. He’d been her supervisor. Two took her away, one seen. He rehashed the description then, once in Billing, observed a short man of medium build, with brown hair, glasses and a telltale bruise.
Chapter 22: Testing
...in which knowledge and attitudes are tested...
Without
acknowledgment, Stephen Joyce reached over to inspect the injury.
“Come with me.”
Ulysses obeyed, though
common sense suggested escaping through the front door. The crew-cut CEO led
the way, taller by half a foot and with ears burning red. Then, inside the
private elevator, he looked grimly down on the subordinate.
Once in the office, Joyce flipped the switch behind the desk,
locking the elevator. As he crouched to sit, he saw that Ulysses had already taken
a seat and was watching.
That same afternoon, Lola
was getting ready to leave work. Having heard from Bill that Joyce knew about
the rescue, she was tormented by the lack of more news and hoped to touch base
with her supervisor. She couldn’t find him and stopped by Mimosa Liang’s
station.
Long dark hair obscured her
face as fingers worked frantically re-arranging her desk. Aware of another
presence, she jumped then peeked through her hair at the office gossip.
“Mo, what’s wrong?”
“Ulysses is with the CEO.”
“Since when?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes.”
A racing heartbeat signaled
her own alarm, but she was puzzled over Mimosa’s agitation.
“What’s bothering you?”
In response she did, for
her, the inconceivable. Standing then taking the other woman’s chin within her
thumb and forefinger, she forced her head to the side.
Lola blanched and hurried
away.
“That’s what!”
*
His voice rumbled.
“That bruise tells me what
I need to know about you and Helen. What you don’t know is she’s with Peres
Aguilar splitting the money. They left you alone with the blame.”
Ulysses sat motionless, as
if lashed to the chair. He wanted to understand the nature of this man who
thought nothing of ordering people like pieces on a chessboard.
“No future here or anywhere
for you, unless you tell me where she is.”
He carped.
“If you love her, then your
love is dead. She seduced Peres; I fired him. You thought you had her; she
slipped away.”
He’d heard enough.
“You’re lucky we found her
alive.”
“You and Peres?”
“Don’t you know?”
“She stole.”
“Liar!”
Joyce leapt to his feet and
circled the room, his gaze fixed on Ulysses whose skin crawled when he went out
of sight. Then, he stood before him again.
"Look, take the sales job.
Get me the account numbers and I’ll take care of you.”
He looked the CEO straight
in the eye.
“Not a chance.”
*
Lola found the chauffeur in
the garage. She told him about Ulysses, but he wasn’t fazed.
“Will he tell?”
“Probably.”
She pounded her fists on
her knees.
“What are we going to do?”
“He can’t leave till Joyce
is ready to let him go.”
“Why did he even go up?”
“When I see his face, I’ll
know what’s what.”
He stepped out of the limo.
“Where you going?”
“Reception.”
Her desire to know what was
happening trumped her fear of the CEO. She followed Bill back inside.
* * *
As the time to reclaim
operational control neared, the ringing of phones increased and the light of
day appeared to intrude more and more on the cool shade of retirement. The
Chairman and Rhea continued the on-going conversation about the fate of their son.
“Don’t harm him permanently.”
“He’ll never lead Dedalus again.”
“But maybe something else.”
“If only he were trustworthy.”
“When you take over, the spotlight will be
on you. Let him slip away in the shadows.”
“I’ll need a rationale.”
“Nothing hard. Don’t make me hide my face
in shame.”
“Not your pretty face. I’ll think of
something.”
*
“Show me the ashes.”
“I tossed them.”
“You burned the pictures,
didn’t you?”
Having returned home, Mary
struggled to repair their marriage. Testing, she searched eyes, voice and
pleading palms for someplace to re-fix unconditional love.
With it, Peres believed he
could conquer the world. But neither smiles nor the winning gleam in his eyes
could convince her, and the burden of the single remaining image weighed on
him. Maybe he could burn it before her, he thought. But the cost would be
admitting, yet again, to being a liar and a cheat.
Rising to leave the room,
she thought, “Not yet”.
* * *
After meeting Ulysses and the Sales
Manager, the attorney took the opportunity to interview other managers the
Chairman knew as allies to get their impressions of the company and the CEO.
Later, after steps had been taken, he’d interview the rest. If questioned, he'd say
he was an independent attorney handling a difficult claim for the company.
Stalking the halls to gauge
the temper of the staff, he came into the Executive Reception area. The
receptionist’s blonde head barely topped the counter as she spoke to an
agitated woman and a large shaven-headed man. An intense air of expectancy
surrounded them and caused him to linger and blend into the background.
*
Standing face to face,
Ulysses chided Joyce.
“You had no right to take
her.”
Incredulous, Joyce shouted.
“My right is this company
and everything in it. Tell me where she is or I’ll have you arrested.”
“I’ll tell about the kidnap.”
“The proof? You let her
go.”
“I’ll testify.”
“They won’t believe a
thief.”
Softly, Ulysses observed.
“You own everything, yet
you worry only about money.”
Joyce erupted. Reaching for
the supervisor’s neck, he was thwarted by the desk. He skirted around, but
Ulysses kept pace, going in the same direction.
Happily, he thought, he’d
destroy the man chasing him. For now, he had to get out. The elevator doors
were wide open; would they close before Joyce was on top of him? He had to gain
enough time, but something was bothering him.
Joyce lurched. He dodged
him and found himself on the CEO’s side of the desk. Looking underneath, he saw
a toggle and two round indicator lights; the red was lit. Immediately, he
understood and flipped the switch. Green flashed on.
He ran into the farthest
corner; Joyce chased him. Then, swerving, he did an abrupt about-face. As
Joyce’s momentum carried him past, he pushed hard and didn’t wait to see him
fall.
No time for doubt, he
leaped into the elevator and jabbed at the buttons. Heavy footsteps
advanced. He saw, as the shiny silver doors met, a flash of fingers.
The hum of the elevator stopped their
conversation. Lola’s eyes grew wide, Betsy Murray hunched over as if to dart
beneath the counter and Bill stepped back to allow whatever came to pass to go
by unimpeded.
When the doors opened, Ulysses raced out.
Hair tousled and out of breath, the unexpected audience caused him to adjust
his pace and smooth his hair. Holding up a hand to forestall questions, he
quick-walked away.
In the meantime, the elevator had gone up
and was coming down again. The doors opened and Joyce bounded out.
“Get the police. Bill, get Ulysses.”
The attorney stepped forward.
“No one is getting
anybody.”
The CEO snapped.
“Who are you?”
“Clayton Clamp. I represent the Chairman of
the Board, Stephen Joyce Senior.”
Putting through a call, the attorney held a
cell phone to his ear. Joyce snarled at the bystanders.
“What are you looking at?”
Retreating with Lola before
him, Bill knew his duplicity hadn’t been revealed, but that he’d had a glimpse
at another threat to his position: turnover at the top.
Chapter 23: Spin
...the Chairman shapes a story...
When Ulysses bolted from the elevator, he left the building and drove home, certain never to be welcome at Dedalus again. Surprised, then, he was to get a call from Clayton Clamp. The attorney had seen him run and wanted to hear his story.
Anxious to unburden
himself, he recounted learning about the kidnap, effecting Helen’s rescue and
confronting the CEO. His voice cracked when talking about the accusation of
theft. The attorney encouraged him
with comments like “Yes”, “Go on” and “I’m listening”. When he mentioned the
police, he stopped him.
“Hold off. I need more
information.”
“But---“
“The company’s reputation
is at stake. We need to pull together.”
Reluctantly, he agreed. He
was encouraged that someone was holding the CEO accountable. So much so, that
he revealed Helen had gone home to Wisconsin. Hanging up, he thought, “Justice
after all.”
*
Closing the door, the
Chairman was alone in his office. Sooner than expected, he’d be commuting to
Dedalus Insurance as the new and returning CEO. “The best-laid plans of mice
and men,” he recited, sitting down at his desk.
The foundation having been
laid and the Board under control, he’d envisioned an orderly takeover. But
Friday’s events outpaced the planning and now he had to sort out the mess. The
veteran manager smiled: it had ever been so.
More than thirty years
before, he started the company. Heady times, when one large claim could sink
them, but Dedalus grew roughly along the lines laid out, fighting for footholds
in the property & casualty market, then rising. The gains were satisfying
for having been hard won. He cherished the early years.
When the company matured,
market share was the goal, which they pursued and won. Then came the golden
years when rewards ---wealth and recognition--- multiplied, and he knew the
pleasure of sharing them with Rhea and the family.
Now, memories, reputation
and the material well-being of his grandchildren were at stake. Rhea’s words
echoed in his thoughts: “Let him slip away in the shadows”. Their son didn’t
make it easy.
Based on Attorney Clamp’s
call, he convened an emergency telephonic meeting of the Board. The startled
directors agreed to suspend the CEO immediately and scheduled a meeting
mid-week to review the facts. Meanwhile, Clamp interviewed the parties involved
in the Friday incident in order to brief him.
The Chairman was left the task of shaping a story that balanced the
truth, supported the ouster, calmed company stakeholders and did little harm to
Stephen’s future.
Casting electric blue eyes
around the walls, he saw pictures of himself at award ceremonies and with VIPs.
They seemed to hang in suspense, awaiting his words. He bowed his patrician
gray head as in prayer, then took up a favorite silver pen. Following the
ordered blue lines that segmented the sheets of his notepad, he thought,
“Between the lines. That’s what it needs to be.”
He scribbled on the pad:
(E)
Embezzlement
(URC)
Unrecorded investor capital
(K)
KIDNAPPING
Stephen
Joyce II, CEO – (E) (URC) (K)
Helen Roy –
executive assistant - (E?) (K) victim – Where?
Ulysses
Mann, supervisor - (K) rescuer
Bill,
chauffeur - (K) double-headed
Lola
McIntyre, billing tech - (K) rescuer
Embezzlement and unrecorded
investor capital were the most easily resolved, though they antagonized the
corporate captain the most. Ballpark, he figured in the tens of millions. He
needed to pin down the figure and get investor names. He’d make them whole:
return the capital (“Assign to Marketing Expense,” he jotted) or make them
shareholders in the private company (“Owner’s Equity”). Unresolved was whether
Helen stole anything, which would be a complication.
Kidnapping crossed legal
and ethical lines. The Chairman was uneasy and tapped his fingers as he thought
aloud.
“How to transform it into
something else? Sexual harassment? No. ‘Sexual’ raises eyebrows, and what would
the details be? No.
“The condo ---far from a
typical workplace; her job --- unique and ill-defined.
“If she had a business,
she’d be--- a professional greeter. Hmm. That’s more like it.
“Still, I don’t know much
about her.”
He made a final note:
“ASAP, interview Helen Roy”.
*
When the
jet was airborne and headed east, relief swept over Helen: it was behind her,
if she let it be. But as Minneapolis-St. Paul approached and with it the
prospect of a family greeting, she knew she couldn’t.
“Two week’s vacation. A surprise,” she told her folks. They
expected her to leave, and she wouldn’t tell about the past few days. So yes,
she’d go back: to the apartment and the lease and all her things.
Never again to Dedalus
though, whose mention caused her mind to reel. Never could she forgive Stephen,
but she’d let that rest. No physical harm done, she was healthy and young and
didn’t want to waste the effort to report it. No one was the wiser just by
looking at her. The disturbing memories of passing out, waking in the dark room
and not being able to leave, those would fade. She hoped.
In the small town of Birnamwood, she
settled in a summer routine: early rising to go fishing, afternoons visiting
family and evenings catching up with friends. Persistent though was the
impression of having woken from a dream, her home state being so different from
L.A. In Wisconsin, trees, rivers and lakes defined the country, and people and
highways humbly threaded through them. In Los Angeles, the freeways were
controlling, going whichever way the mind imagined, with only the ocean as
boundary. Which was Truth? Not knowing the answer, she let the soothing green
landscapes bleed into her eyes.
Before she could drift too far, Ulysses left a message on her cell
phone. She found it Sunday afternoon: “Joyce suspended – inquiry underway –
justice”. He told her to expect an attorney’s call. The news rattled her peace.
Then, Clayton Clamp jolted
it when he called and mentioned missing investor accounts. How could they be
gone? She hadn’t touched them, she insisted, and told him where to find the
numbers and the names. Feeling betrayed by the charge, she brought up the
abduction. “HE kidnapped ME!”
The attorney asked her to
tell him about it, but he already seemed to know. As she told what fragments
she could remember, the terror resurfaced from the depths and she had a good
cry.
“You see I’m the one that
was wronged.”
He didn’t argue the point,
but didn’t proceed to the logical, legal remedy either. Instead, he sought her
assurance that she wouldn’t talk to anyone until he got back to her. With
nothing to lose, she promised.
Before he did get back
though, the Chairman called. Afterwards, she blinked her eyes in disbelief.
“Did that really happen?” He began with an apology.
“What my son did was
unspeakable. I apologize on behalf of the company and for myself, personally.”
He paused for a reaction.
When she didn’t offer, he continued.
“My fondest hope is that we
can turn this unfortunate incident into something that can benefit you.”
She spoke bluntly.
“Just leave me alone.”
“Stay with me a little
longer. Instead of hiding because of what happened, why not steer in a new
profitable direction?”
“Like what?”
“Go into business, doing
what you were doing at the condo: professional greeter.”
“Why do you care?”
“My attorney will draft the articles of incorporation, and take care of any fees.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“An amount equal to your
wages earned at the condo, plus a premium, will be posted to your account. You
will have been a private contractor for all that time. In addition, a generous
settlement will help to seed the business or whatever you choose. We can
negotiate the amount, when you sign the agreement.”
“I still don’t know what
you want.”
“Silence. About anything to
do with the condo and what Stephen did.”
“I wasn’t going to say
anything.”
“But I will, through a
statement. You’ll steer any inquiries back to me, as per the settlement.”
Her head was spinning. In
lieu of justice, she’d get cash and a company. No one would believe it, but
then she couldn’t speak about it anyway. The former college stage actor
pondered. “What’s another role; one I could grow into?” Again, she marveled
over differences between her hometown and L.A. Things were settled in one; in
the other, wild opportunities fell from the air.
*
The
Chairman worked on a rough draft.
"Press
Release: Company
founder and Chairman of the Board, Stephen Joyce Sr., has reassumed the role of
Chief Executive Officer. The change was prompted by an internal investigation
into improper conduct between the departing CEO and a private contractor…”
*
Absent advice to the
contrary, Ulysses rose on Monday, showered, dressed and drove to work. There,
he encountered the blank stare of faces, walls and computer screens. Instantly,
he felt alone, with knowledge he couldn’t share. The feeling awakened a
childhood memory: a nightmare of impending doom, shapeless and advancing. He
opened his mouth to scream --- and nothing happened.
Chapter 24: The Chair
…Joyce
tests support…
Sailing
through the room, the ladder back chair crashed against the wall. The big man
then seized its spindly legs and smashed it to the floor. Stubbornly retaining
form, he grabbed the chair again. From on high he threw down, and the legs fell
from the frame.
Enraged over being suspended, Stephen Joyce
disbelieved it at first, but the Chairman told him over the phone. And, his
father’s voice stung while proving it to be true. The Board would meet mid-week
to consider making the suspension permanent. He had that long to rally support.
Early morning in his home office, with mashed
crew cut and slumping shoulders, he was tired, unwashed, and lacked focus. He’d
ignored Defina’s entreaties to go to bed. But, as sense rallied against
fatigue, his dark eyes shaped narrow bullets. There were buttons to push and
levers to pull in order to stay CEO. He’d clean up and then talk to the
directors. As he made his way to the door, he crossed the legless chair, face
down, seat up, and kicked it out of the way.
Four directors, besides the
Chairman, represented the company’s interface with the business community:
Simmons was law; Schwartz, stocks and bonds; Parker, life insurance and Morgan,
banks. They’d been beyond Joyce’s interest since they didn’t interfere with
day-to-day operations, but the cost was ceding influence to his father. Damon Schwartz
was the closest to him in age, and in the past they’d been social. He placed
the first call to him.
Schwartz greeted him with a
blast of jovial good will, trailed by silence. Attempting his own light banter,
he discovered he had lost the gift. So, he got to the point. Then the director
responded.
“Will you be there?”
“Damn straight. I want to
hear the charges in person.”
He sensed the other man
hoped he wouldn’t show: let process flow and avoid unpleasantness. Both
understood the focus of his anger.
“What did he say?”
“Money unaccounted for.”
“That all?”
“It sounds wild. I don’t
want to speak out of turn.”
“What?”
“The lady contractor."
“Lies. There’s nothing to
it. Believe me.”
“If you say so.”
Hanging up, he wasn’t
satisfied. “But at least he knows I’m going to fight.” Calls to the others
elicited similar cautious responses. When speaking, Joyce heard the usual
commanding tone in his head, but it didn’t convey the same authority. His
assertions sounded hollow and weak. Also, he recognized the odd sensation of
being held accountable. It was uncomfortable, unusual.
Like his presence in that
room, which he didn’t use much. His wife had contributed to the appearance of
occupancy: the couch with overstuffed cushions, the armchair and table, a
framed picture of Delfina and their sons, and that chair. As he wrestled with
his thoughts, his shoulders seesawed as if trying to crawl out of his skin.
Then the phone rang: his father was coming over.
Soon after, Delfina knocked
softly then opened the door to admit her father-in-law. The Chairman walked in,
and his son rose to confront him.
Standing as tall, the
father was thinner than his son, as if the years had distilled him to the
essentials. He had silver gray hair, a healthy tan and wore brown slacks and a
light blue polo shirt.
“Stephen.”
“Father.”
“You saw the press
release?”
“Saw but didn’t
comprehend.”
“It’s for the best.”
“Don’t count me out.”
“You don’t have the votes.”
“Don’t be so sure. Profits
are soaring. That’s what they want to know.”
“There’s more to running a
company than profits.”
“Quaint idea, and out of
touch.”
“God knows insurance
executives get away with lots of things; but if you press, I’ll bring up the
abduction. The Board would be compelled to act. Go along with my story and your
severance will save face and buy time. You’ll find another company.”
He shook his head, lips
tight pressed and eyes hard. The father turned to go. As he departed, he
noticed the remnants of the chair, which punctuated the fact he hadn’t been
offered a seat.
Later in the day, Delfina
knocked again. This time she opened the door for Rhea and he rose to embrace
his mother. Half his size, she had pewter-colored hair cut to the ears, brown
eyes and a face shining with wise confidence. She wore a lavender sundress and
a necklace of silver beads. She saw the broken chair.
“What happened?”
“Worthless junk.”
“What a shame.”
He waved away her interest, but she
followed a mark in the wall to the dents in the hardwood floor. Then, she sat
on the couch with her son.
“You were thirteen when you punched a hole
in the bedroom wall.”
He flushed.
“By accident, with a baseball bat.”
“You covered it up with plaster and paint.”
“You knew?”
A small smile underscored the obvious.
“So, you’re set on going?”
He nodded. She shook her head.
“He’s lying!”
“Gracefully slip away.”
“Gracefully seize my company. Nothing’s
true.”
She scrunched her face; wrinkles radiated
from her mouth.
“He doesn’t want to take from you. He supports you, but things aren’t right. He’s upset about
firing good managers and making the company a hard place to work.”
“I cut out the fat. The company’s more
efficient and profitable.”
“In the short term. The long term---”
“Is made up of many short terms. Father
doesn’t see.”
“You hid money.”
“Holding till the time was right.”
“And the kidnapping?”
“No one was kidnapped.”
“Pulling someone off the street, holding
her against her will?”
“Didn’t happen.”
“Your father’s arranged it so it didn’t.
She agreed. But if the real story gets out, we lose control. She’s a
contractor now, not an employee, and a step removed. The impropriety’s over
services and fees to a contractor. No one needs to dig deeper.”
“I won’t give up.”
She shook her head sadly.
“Ungrateful.”
He wilted under her steady stare but
wouldn’t relent. Being ungrateful suggested owing somebody. The thought made him
bitter. His self-worth depended on believing he got what he had on his own. His
mind stuck on the point: they should just get out of the way. Two years he’d been pushing
to remake the company in his image. Until a few days ago, there’d been little
resistance; now, the world had shifted. He was pushing uphill.
Rhea got up to go.
Don't ruin the future."
Chapter 25: Lifeline
…Peres
and Mary struggle…
Mary Aguilar rattled the
knob then entered.
“Why close the door?”
Sprawled on the couch in
gym shorts and t-shirt, Peres turned bleary eyes to his wife, who seemed
another character from the sit-com on the screen.
“Turn
off the TV. Go out, get another job!”
Grabbing the remote, she pointed and
pressed; the show vanished. Then she did too, out the door. He realigned
himself to the blank box, sighed then ran a hand over his eyes. He shook his
head, and shook again. The fog persisted.
She hurried into the
kitchen, feeling the burden of lifting someone who would not be moved. But then
Phoebe’s high-pitched squeal fixed her attention and her mood lightened to one
of hopeful anguish.
Confined to the highchair in pink bunny
suit, the infant’s head ballooned over her small body, with wondering black
button eyes. She stooped to plant a kiss. The one-year
old squealed and kicked. She kissed her again, then began making lunch.
Spooning pureed vegetables into a pan, she
turned on the burner then hovered over it. Dressed in loose fitting sweatshirt
and jeans, her black hair was gathered in a ponytail, and her thoughts were on
the future. Handsome husband, healthy baby and
supportive family close by, she’d been crafting the perfect life, but his
affair put things in doubt; and when he stopped working, his attitude changed.
She replayed past
decisions. Had she been wrong to believe him ready to start a family? Was his affability a ruse? She scared
herself by multiplying lovers, believing one would lure him away, and then take
Phoebe! She couldn’t breathe. A tear dropped. She brought a sleeve to her
cheek.
Phoebe had gone quiet. When
she turned, she saw her wide-awake eyes watching, as if to ask, “What next?”
Mary smiled. “Almost ready.”
She spooned the food into a
bowl then took the chair near the infant. Waiting for it to cool, her thoughts
drifted. Was he truly sorry? Ever since coming back,
she’d been waiting for a sign. He’d grown distant, and the closed door was a
bad omen. Did she have to make the next move? How was that fair?
Phoebe squawked. Returning
to the task at hand, she dipped the spoon into the bowl, guided it to the small
cave of a mouth and tipped the puree onto her tongue. They repeated the
operation. When Phoebe began to flail, Mary persisted until the bowl was empty;
satisfied her baby was nourished and thriving. She couldn’t help think, “If
only Peres…”
He got up, closed the door
and pushed the button below the brass knob. Then he turned to face the bedroom
converted to a den-and-office. Too small and crowded, he thought, like the
rest of the house.
Filled with reminders of interests past and present
---tennis racket, golf clubs, weights--- its solitary window faced the
neighbor’s stucco wall. Beneath that, a tabletop served as desk, its space
claimed by bursting accordion files and a desktop computer. To the right, a small shelf
held business books above the two-drawer metal cabinet on the floor. A brown leather couch and
armchair dominated the middle of the room, which made walking a series of
shuffles, pivots and sidesteps.
He sighed. Mary had
insisted, to be near her parents and help with the baby. He relented and now
felt trapped, in a bedroom community away from the action.
The outline of youth and
success, he had tan, athletic legs, a full head of trim black hair and a
handsome face, composed of dark eyes above a strong nose. But he couldn’t shake
his depression. It’d been over a week since
losing his job and a few days since Mary returned. She hadn’t forgiven his
affair with Helen. Unable to mend the breach between them, he avoided her
condemnation in the den, adding to his sense of isolation.
He glanced in the direction
of the file: the surviving picture lay hidden there. Sitting at the desk, he
pushed aside the keyboard then propped his elbows. Resting chin on clasped
hands, he mumbled.
“Help me.”
Maintaining the pose, his
hands tingled and arms grew heavy until he thought he knew what to do. He found
the picture and laid it on the table. Helen’s image tweaked his desire, but he
was numb. He lit a match.
“God, hear me. Make it like
before.”
He brought the picture to
the flame and her face turned to ashes. Then he would wait, for how long he
wasn’t sure. Having always had inner drive and outward charm ---making him the
star of every sales staff--- he never needed help. But now he was failing, and
the corners of his mouth pointed down.
He opened the top drawer of
the cabinet and reached in. A mental map told him what to expect, but his touch
met something unfamiliar, a purchase made and forgotten. Just then Mary tried
to enter the room.
“Peres!” She shouted. Then, in a trailing voice, she asked, “Do you want to eat?”
Without answering, he
waited for her to leave. Then he pulled out a leather case and small box. Heavy
and substantial, he set them carefully before him. On opening the case, he
marveled at how shiny new the .38-caliber revolver was, despite his neglect.
Silver and with a black grip, he’d fired it twice: once at training class, and
again in the desert.
Taking it out, he released
and spun the cylinder; its soft clicking pleased him. He grabbed the grip and
jerked; the cylinder snapped in place. Shutting one eye, he sighted an
imaginary target and pulled the trigger. The hammer landed in the empty
chamber. He laid the gun down.
He lifted the lid of the
box to reveal bullets cradled in cardboard rows and columns. Taking one, he
fingered the brass casing and lead tip, and measured it against his forefinger:
middle knuckle to the tip. After placing the bullet upright on the table, he
lined up four more. The tiny missiles looked
ready to rocket into the clouds; but when loaded in the cylinder and fired,
their trajectory would be horizontal, and lethal.
Bought in a passion to
protect his family and because “You just didn’t know”, the gun didn’t suit his
lifestyle and lay where anyone could have picked it up. He shook his head.
Then a voice infiltrated
his thoughts:
Such a small thing, a
bullet, could end a life. When penetrated the right way man ceases to exist,
and so too does grieving. Mary could go back to teaching and Phoebe stay
with her folks.
Angrily, he yelled.
“They’re my family! I won’t
let them go.”
The voice answered.
Then take them with you.
He sat upright. Was that
the answer?
Mary called out behind the door. She'd made a sandwich, which she brought with chips and a tall glass of water on a tray.
“Open the door and eat.”
She rattled the knob but
didn’t hear anything. Frustration growing, she pounded the door. As she did,
the tray tilted and the glass threatened to slide off. Resting tray against the
door, she caught the glass in her free hand. About to knock one last time, she
heard:
“Wait!”
Falling to the floor, he
began to crawl. He needed forgiveness; their lives depended on it. Wanting to
confide all, he was afraid to tell her everything, and worried she’d demand it.
He scrambled on all fours
to reach the door and turn the knob. She pushed through and was startled to see
him at her feet. The tray slipped. The glass emptied onto his head and bruised
his lip before landing unbroken on the floor.
She fell beside him and
held him, silently vowing never to let go. Wet, with throbbing lip and being
crushed in his wife’s embrace, he clung to the lifeline cast suddenly over
thoughts, words and deeds.
Chapter 26: Consequence
…Ulysses
in search of resolution…
Ulysses had
called them together. He was a hero searching for a story, Lola a gossip who
couldn’t talk and Bill a conspirator shy of words.
Morning sun
slanted through windows of the downtown restaurant as overhead fans churned
stale air. They sat amid a bank of booths lining a wall parallel to a counter.
Scattered patrons left over from the rush read papers and stared at walls.
Normally at
work, that wasn’t an option since the termination. Clothes reflected a changed
status. Instead of suit and tie, Ulysses wore khaki trousers and a long-sleeved
blue shirt open at the neck. His glasses sustained a managerial mien below
tousled brown hair. Lately, he formed the habit of touching the left side of
his jaw, where the bruise left a yellow stain.
Lola, whose
competition had been younger skirted co-workers, appeared in white pedal
pushers, gold slippers and blue-and-orange floral print blouse. Jewelry was the
constant: gold bracelet of jangling charms, dangling earrings and gold cross
necklace. Her sandy brown hair was piled above eyes eager for surprise and
trembling lips anxious for talk.
Bill
underwent the greatest alteration. The Gothic chauffeur’s outfit ---of broad
angular shoulders and narrow waist--- was gone, replaced with imitation leather
jacket, t-shirt and jeans. Shoulders round and shaved head bare of jaunty cap,
the limousine was no longer his to command. Groggy from a shift as nightclub
bouncer, his eyes were half shut.
The
waitress appeared in orange dress with paper crown pinned to her hair. They
skipped the breakfast plates to order coffee, which she quickly brought. After
she left, Ulysses rehashed his final day.
“They called
me in. The attorney said, ‘You’re no longer employed by this company.’ Then he
offered a year’s salary for signing the nondisclosure agreement.
“‘Strike kidnap
in any form from your vocabulary’ it read. ‘No way associate the company or
chief executive officer, Stephen Joyce II, with intent or conspiracy to,
execution or consequence of said word, whether in isolation or relation
to any living human being.’
“They’re
not doing anything. Now we go to the police.”
Bill
clucked his tongue. Lola blanched, then whispered.
“The
agreement said---”
“You
signed?”
“Of course.
You didn’t?”
“Can it be
right for the kidnapper to walk and you lose your job? He did wrong. You
thought so. Now, he’s getting away.”
She ducked as if to avoid a punch.
Willful silence
only stoked his determination to excite a sense of justice. His words dripped
slowly.
“Joyce
kidnapped Helen. Bill told you. You told me. Together, we freed her.”
Bill
unwound from a slouch while she plugged her ears.
“You led us
there, came through the back of the house and---“
Bill
slapped the table, causing Lola to jump and others to crane their necks.
“---took Oswald out.“
He coughed
a laugh.
“Proud?”
Ulysses
flushed red and touched where Oswald had landed the blow. The risk of telling a
story was ridicule. Some might say, “He tried to be the hero and got punched
out. Some hero”.
The
waitress reappeared, surveyed them and refreshed the coffee. She left the check
and departed, and then he continued.
“You proud,
Bill? You helped kidnap her.”
“I’m not
the one talking.”
Suddenly,
Lola sat to attention. The bells on her bracelet jangled.
“Hey! How’d
they find out about me?”
Bill
growled.
Her eyes
accused Ulysses. Bringing Helen and Peres together was her coup, which somehow
led to X. But on hearing of the abduction---her thought stumbled; was
that word okay?--- she told him. Through empathy, she got tangled in the
plot and was out a job. Right or wrong, she thought only of her loss.
“Attorney
Clamp saw Joyce chase me from the office. He called and I told him. Still, he’s
getting away.”
“Not my
problem.”
Bill, from
inclination and the agreement, was stubborn in his stance. Under orders, he’d
driven the limo when the boss pulled her in. Though not knowing the plan in advance,
he was complicit. He hedged his chances by telling Lola without anticipating
her passion.
Elevated
from the warehouse, chauffeuring paid better for an easier job. Still, it was
just a job and he did whatever to keep the money flowing. Keeping quiet was
natural, but he was pissed: he got six months for the agreement.
Ulysses
gazed at them. The ex-chauffeur, barely contained within the booth, looked ready
to punch him. The office gossip, sitting where the table cornered, looked
frightened and small. Puppets with strings attached, company bought and
controlled.
He clipped
strings he vaguely knew existed. Proud, yes; and bold if not wise. He lost a
job as they lost theirs, but he wouldn’t clear his mind: memory must be
important to the future. But something else was troubling him.
On joining
the company, he’d embraced the profit-making purpose and envisioned a glamorous
future with the big earners in Sales. Though he got stuck in a support function
---maybe through complacence or for doing a job too well--- he resigned
himself; he had a living to earn.
But Joyce
took over as CEO and things changed. He demanded profits quicker and in greater
measure. Good managers were fired and staff trembled. Having witnessed the
transition from benevolent CEO father to ruthless CEO son, he was vulnerable.
When Joyce
took an interest in his subordinate, he wrongly believed him to be working
against that interest. He hadn’t. He’d been merely, once again, witness.
The
kidnapping changed that and he decided to act. He wasn’t sure why, in the
larger sense, he took on the task, but that didn’t stop him from asking about
the motivation of others. He turned to Bill.
“Why’d he
do it?”
The
question caught him off guard and he seemed to struggle, eyes shifting left to
right then up as if reading the ceiling. In the end, he just shrugged.
Ulysses
wasn’t satisfied, needing to trust that crimes were redressed, lost jobs had
good cause and lives progressed, quick or slow, for sound reasons. Otherwise,
did anything make sense? Pushing out of the booth, he left them as he found
them, without words.
*
The
solitary figure stood at the end of the pier, and he advanced as the breeze
stroked his face, rolling swells rocked the pilings and the sun angled toward
the horizon.
Each step
took him closer and farther, and the burden of meaning weighed him down.
Already, he knew she had settled; he wouldn’t argue going to the authorities.
Nonetheless, he needed to see her. He stopped a few feet away.
“Helen?”
A smile of
recognition identified her, though sunglasses hid her eyes and a cloth hat
trapped her brown hair. She wore white dungarees, cloth jacket and running
shoes. She extended her hand, which he accepted, then turned to gaze out to
sea, propped against the railing. He adopted her pose.
The
complaints he nurtured seemed small, if she had none, and he felt foolish.
“It’s as if
the law of cause and effect doesn’t apply. There has to be a consequence, to
make sense.”
She stood
upright and removed her glasses.
Stunned and
fascinated, he couldn’t take his eyes off hers. No longer open and expressive
brown, they were hooded, scornful and red. His hand darted to his jaw, then
fell self-consciously to his side.
She hid
them again.
“You hear
things happen to people, never thinking that can be you. When it does, when it
is you, your mind goes out of whack. You blame yourself. It’s hard to trust and
people run away. You try to regain control. So stupid, so unfair. I want to
put it behind me and move on." She paused. "Look, I didn’t ask you to do what you did.”
She pushed
away from the railing. He watched her until he lost sight, then turned to see
the sun dip into the ocean. Once golden, whole and high, it grew fat and orange,
with distant clouds scoring its face, and squatted on a pedestal before
sinking.
He too had to
move forward.
* * * The End * * *
The persons and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.
The persons and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.
