Chapter 28: Eviction

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 

28

      Meanwhile, Clayton Clamp had observed what became known as “the Wedding Event,” an innocuous term with deep significance to insiders. He tracked Stephen Slade and Bill racing up the slope and saw the chauffeur assaulting the male and the CEO kissing the unresponsive female. He photographed the loading into the limo and the odd seating arrangement: two in back, one in the trunk. Another investigator captured the sequence on video.
     Concerned for the company’s reputation, Clamp lingered close by the valets, affecting an air of nonchalance. In turn, they looked to him as someone in the know and seemed to conclude that if he’s not interested, neither are they. Satisfied, he went back to the other side of the mansion where his eye cast a wide net to discern three major groups: one occupied with the bride and groom; a diffuse one seeking the next sensation; and one drawn to Chairman Graham Slade who approached trailing two wives. They huddled on the green lawn until the chairman said, “Let’s do it.”

     Then he gathered up the other investigator, Jon Acres, a CPA grown tired of working behind a desk. Vegetarian-thin and exceedingly cautious, he worried about the woman and suggested calling the police. Clamp convinced him private intervention was best. The valet brought the car and they climbed in.

     Driving toward the estate gates, his mind worked through lists of those involved, those who saw and those who might tell. The CEO had his own special category. Then came the woman, the salesman and chauffeur. Lola McIntyre, who he had spotted earlier, was a nexus and gossip. Of other staff and managers, he expected to conference with the chairman before interviews assessing knowledge and allegiance. Identification of tendencies was tricky business, but private enterprise could exploit every advantage that didn’t leave traces.

     Then to his left, on the short lawn in advance of a copse of trees, he was surprised to see Lola and two men cutting across. They were smiling and laughing, and the man with stringy brown hair had a bottle of champagne tucked to his side. He slowed the vehicle and gazed, unable to place them until he recognized her buddies from the company break room. He had not considered them before, but his list, as yet mental, had plenty of room.

     An hour later they clustered outside the condo door: Chairman Slade, tall and grave, his wife Rhea whose short hair shone like a pewter helmet, and mournful Delfina in toga-like dress. Clamp and Acres stood by, the latter clasping a laptop computer. The chairman rapped on the door, and a minute later Stephen Slade opened it. He did not express surprise and coolly stepped aside to admit them.  

     “I’ve called the board to an emergency meeting. They’re at corporate. Where’s the woman?”

     Stephen gestured to the back. Delfina squeaked and Rhea pulled the taller woman into a hug. Acres went back to confirm the statement. When he returned the chairman said, “There’s something you need to see.” Acres opened the laptop and played the video as Stephen leaned against the wall, acting like it had nothing to do with him. When he closed the laptop, the assembly looked toward the CEO who stood upright with arms crossed. 

     “The board has already seen the video,” the chairman said. “It will ask for your resignation.” Stephen twitched an acknowledgement. “While we’re next door, someone needs to take the young woman home.”

     “She lives here,” mumbled Stephen, then said more clearly, “There’s nowhere to take her.” Delfina stifled a cry.

      “Maybe not tonight, but she’s going to have to leave, and you can’t be here. Someone should stay to make sure she’s alright.”

     Rhea spoke. “We’ll stay until you get back.”

     They left the two women sitting by the panoramic window. Outside, night had fallen and Los Angeles became a show of twinkling lights, some stationary, some moving and some about to go dark.

       

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

Chapter 22: Now You See

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 


 

                                                                      22

     Chairman Graham Slade sat hunched behind the desk in his home office, phone to his ear, listening to the man he engaged to infiltrate the company.

     Due to a marathon runner's physique, the spy had seemed younger than graying hair and experience should allow, though thick glasses spoke to years of parsing contractual fine print, determining intent and crafting solutions. The chairman had not warmed to his impish grin, which no doubt served to invite intimate conversation from strangers. Clayton Clamp had the requisite skills, and now was delivering the goods. He reported that the CEO had amassed a bloc of new investors, which he’d spring on the board of directors and then demand its expansion. With new allies in place, he’d pursue a unitary leadership.
     The chairman couldn’t blame a CEO for wanting what he himself had for thirty years, but could fault him for treating employees like fungible items on a spreadsheet to shuffle or fire at will. The intelligence, though, was stale.

     “I need something to derail him.” As Graham listened to the response, Rhea came through the door carrying a silver tray with coffee and toast and a red rose in a pewter vessel. “Make it concrete.”  He hung up and ran a hand over his crew cut hair, then joined her at the table beside the window that overlooked a lagoon.

     “Are we getting a new patio?”

     “Board business.”

     “Stephen?”

     “The company and CEO are board business.”

     “He’s your son.”

       He bit into the toast and sipped his coffee, gazing at his companion who looked smart in a ribbed white turtleneck sweater that contrasted with steely gray hair. She made him feel young. Her hazel eyes met his blue ones.

     “Don’t harm his future.”

     “He can float away under a golden parachute, and take his contacts and pedigree—my contribution—elsewhere. Or, he can find a dark corner and suck his thumb.”

     “If it’s hard on him, it will affect Delfina and the boys.”

     “He’ll land on his feet.”

    “We might lose them forever.” As she looked out the window on the sunny Southern California day, he searched for the right words.

     “There’s a woman fairly new to the company, his assistant who works very closely. I can guess at her game.”

      She stiffened. “Delfina complains he doesn’t spend enough time with them. I pray it’s not true.”

     “Now you see.”

     “I can’t bear them knowing.” She reached her hand across the table to touch his.

     “Tell her not to bring them to the wedding.”

     “What a shame. I remember Stephen watching you address an audience. It captured his complete attention, and made him wonder how his father, who bothers to tell him to stand up straight, could hold the attention of hundreds of people. A ceremony demonstrates the reality of being CEO.”

     He drew back his hand. She held on. “What are we going to do?”

     “He needs to be made so toxic the board has to let him go. He could be in violation of SEC rules, but that lacks punch. Sex, on the other hand, captures the imagination.”

      She pleaded. “Graham, the family.”

      “There are ways to keep things quiet, depending on what he does. His direction will suggest the remedy.”

     She released him and her eyes expanded as if to encompass their lives. “I used to be so proud, too, watching you speak and everyone together and their growing families. I don’t understand why it’s different now.”

     “We were all on the same page. Nowadays, we’re presented with a slew of options and are scattershot pursing them. Stephen’s mistake is to want it all for himself, to make himself the big man. He acts like a guy on the street big-talking his way into the confidence of others, the kind of guy who boasts about his gambling wins and hides his losses. 'Huge,' he says, but subtract his losers and I guarantee they’re much smaller.”

      “That’s not Stephen! You’re talking about someone else.”

      “Sometimes a salesman starts believing his pitch, and does anything to close the deal. He thinks he’s coming out ahead but bleeds red. In time, he'll realize the image he projects.”

      She went over to hug him from behind. “I hope you're right.”

The next chapter will be posted by July 17..

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

            

Chapter 12: Compassion

     

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

 and the woman important to each 

12 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “What’s it doing here?”

      “Mrs. Slade was telling me about compassion.”

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

      Slade was dismissive. “Ten.”

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

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

    

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

Chapter 11: Pools

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 

                                                                             11

 

      Rhea Slade lay on turquoise water and gazed into the deep azure sky. In the surrounding distance, the sun burned summer grasses brown between trees that offered sacred shade. The sandstone mansion that was the Slade vacation estate blended columned porticos into the austere landscape, and the poolside luxury put her on top of the world, far from working-class Kansas whose memories lingered despite living three-quarters of a life as corporate spouse. Petite and pewter-haired in a modest one-piece bathing suit, she splashed about the water.
     “What you doing, Grandma?” shouted Gerald.
     “Cooling off,” answered his matter-of-fact brother, Malcolm.

     Paddling the air mattress around, she brought them into view.  The thirteen-year-old hung onto the rim, blond hair flat across his head, looking down after his older sibling who sank to the bottom then propelled himself upwards to breach the surface. Hovering nearby, Delfina sighed, grateful for another tragedy-averting experience. Graham sheltered under an umbrella reading the paper. The monotonous disembodied voice coming from the terrace belonged to Stephen, whose telecom link encroached on the family retreat.
     Drifting to the rim, she splashed a volley that splattered against Graham’s paper. “Ha, ha,” he deadpanned. “Ever a girl at heart.”
     “A girl!” mocked Gerald.

     “Your grandfather’s silly.”
     “She called you silly!”
     Malcolm pounced on his brother and pushed him under. Delfina cried out. When they resurfaced, she cried again on her own behalf as they blitzed her and dragged her in. Rhea paddled to center pool but to no avail; the underwater boys pursued. Water sloshed, the air mattress slipped away and they held her down. Delfina shouted without effect. Graham’s stern “Stop it now!” rescued her. Reaching for his hand, Rhea forgave the boys for not knowing how fragile a grandmother could be, and Delfina for being ineffectual, but not Stephen, who should have been there.
     Inside, the boys donned t-shirts and flip-flops while the women changed into white robes that skirted marble floors, transforming them into temple priestesses. All bore traces of water, except the men. Graham’s gray crew cut was spiky sharp and the imprint of a fine comb lined Stephen’s dark hair. They wore khaki shorts, collared shirts and loafers without socks.
     Around the table they helped themselves to sandwiches, cold pasta and lemonade. Delfina and the boys sat at one end, Rhea at the other with Graham to her right. When Stephen entered, he paused a moment before sliding into the vacant seat beside his father.
     “Stephen, I wish you’d get into the vacation spirit.”

     “You shoulda seen, Dad. We dunked mom, then grandma!”

     “THAT was not a highlight, Gerald,” said his mother. “You should know better. Both of you.”

     “You’re still breathing,” retorted Malcolm.

     “Your attitude, young man,” said Graham. “You don’t roughhouse with them like you do your friends.”
     “Different pools,” said Stephen, surprising them, “would keep the sharks apart.”

     “I’m a shark!” gloated Gerald.

     Rhea shook her head. “Separation?”

    “If you can take it, get in. Everyone should know what to expect.”

    The boys raised hands like dorsal fins, then clashed. “Not at the table, “ Delfina pleaded.
Graham whispered into his son’s ear. “You don’t hide it well, you know. Your game of ‘Keep away, it’s mine’. Quite a performance before the board. They might be intimidated, but I’m not. Devour everything in your pool, then you’ll want to jump into another. Beware bigger and meaner sharks!”

     Stephen’s eyes glazed over. Aware that the table had gone quiet, he pointed at his sons. “Respect your elders. Someday you’ll demand the same.” He grabbed a sandwich and spooned some pasta onto his plate.
     “I think,” said Rhea, “we should be happy together as one like at the wedding which is a celebration of coming together for two people and, in the larger sense, everybody. All of us, together, at Dave Forester’s.”
     “Were you counting on going?”

     “If it concerns Slade Insurance, we are,” Graham said.

     “It’ll be sales and the management team.”

     “And other interests?”

     “Possibly.”

      Delfina cleared her throat. “The Palisades mansion must be beautiful.”

      “I bet there’s a pool!”

      “Sharks!”

      Stephen set down his fork. “It’s primarily business, but as long as everyone knows what to expect.”
     Back outside, the boys splashed as their mother watched. Graham and Rhea sat beneath the umbrella and Stephen was back on the telephone. “Childhood is so simple,” she thought gazing into the gem-like water and then into the infinite sky. She closed her eyes.

                      

     

              

The next chapter will be posted by December 28. 
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.

Chapter Four: Pull the Cord

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 

4

     Her heart in mouth, Rhea Slade tried spotting the plane at 10,000 feet. Grandsons, Malcolm and Gerald, shared the watch and directed barbs at their mother, Delfina, who was content watching only them.
     The sky in the high desert was windless and clear, and bright sun glinted off windows, mirrors and the outsized sunglasses dominating Rhea's face. On hearing the intermittent buzz of a single engine craft, she pointed to the pinprick holding her life, husband Graham. “There they are!”
     The sighting prompted another round of sulk. “Aw, I wanted to go,” moaned Malcolm. “Me, too,” said Gerald who, at thirteen, was two years the younger. His mother tugged at the collar of his jacket without fueling the argument. “Put on your jacket, Malcolm.”
     “Aw, mom. It’s warm!”  They were an obvious family, wearing dark blue jeans and red jackets. The sons had already sprouted taller than their mother. The elder was dark and serious, the younger, blond and carefree.  A wave of hair crested each brow, which demanded regular flicks of the head to clear the eyes.
     The family matriarch appeared elfish old beside them: petite with helmet of pewter-colored hair and dressed in stylish woolen slacks and puffy blue jacket.  Glancing at them, she bemoaned her son’s absence. Despite her pleas, Stephen wouldn’t budge. “I’ve got a company to run,” he told her. The attitude displeased her because it diminished the family and supported Graham’s belief he was running things into the ground.
     “Have you decided what to wear to the wedding?”
     The question surprised Delfina out of her thoughts. “Wedding? Oh, Dave Forester’s.” Her mouth fell open in advance of a trickle of rote words.  “It’s just business; company people, investors, his family. I'm not going.”
     “Stephen's family! We’re going, and I’d like to see you there too. Tell him.”
     Her daughter-in-law's meekness infuriated her. When Graham was CEO, she’d stood beside him at routine and not-so-routine occasions at the company: birthdays, anniversaries, commemorations, promotions and deaths, which were milestones in her love and devotion. She feared for Stephen and Delfina. Sources had informed on his time spent at the condo, the parties and the young woman too. She had hoped she would assert herself; instead she established a defensive barrier around her sons. She would have to intervene. “I’ll talk to him.”
     Gerald screamed, “They’re falling!” Rhea nearly fainted, but on observing an orderly extraction, corrected him. “Jumping, Gerald. They’re jumping.”
     Mere dots to the eye but to imagination daredevils spilling from the platform plane, free fall was the most disturbing time. At that distance, she’d no way of knowing which was her husband; presumably, the first. He had always been first.
     They’d met in New York City after the Second War. He went to Yale and she was working retail. The match was improbable but provident, and after getting past being “the poor girl from Kansas” she married into a family that had sired a line of corporate CEOs, who started in manufacturing then progressed into finance, changing as the country changed. Graham trained in family businesses before starting Slade Insurance in the 60's. Meanwhile, they had Stephen, Diana and Gerald, and lived a happy, prosperous life. In the past year, he retained the role of chairman of the board, while Stephen became the CEO.
     Today, she was angry-proud at his throwing seventy-year old bones from a plane on his birthday. Stuff happens, but daring it to was pure Graham. She clutched Malcolm and squeezed, expressing her fears till one…two…three…then four white parachutes blossomed in the sky. “Hurray!”
    They watched their languid descent, ending in landfall about a mile away. A pickup went to gather them for the reunion, sending up a dust trail. When it returned, Graham wheeled his legs over the truck bed and jumped out to stride toward them in green jump suit and boots. Lean and leathery, he had a gray crew cut over electric blue eyes. The boys surrounded and praised him as he continued his progress to Rhea who stood like an attractive magnet.
     On contact they locked into an embrace. Then she hit him with the heel of her palm on his chest, on his hip and on his thigh, testing for fatigue and releasing her anxiety. She clutched him tightly.
     "I had an insight," he said. "Up there so high, beyond the mountains are blue horizons, and farms are crazy geometric patterns, and the desert a moonscape of peaks and depressions. Spinning like a seed and carried by the wind, gravity pulls you down. Between life and being splat on the desert floor are the pull cord and the parachute. Fail to execute and you’re a goner. I can pull the company out of its free fall. I’m the parachute, the chairman of the board.”
     The unexpected burble of words delivered from on high gave her pause. “He doesn’t see that private elevators, chauffeurs and parties are distractions. He’s forgetting about the cord. I’ve got to save him.”
     She led him to their car for the drive to a restaurant for a celebratory meal. She understood that the ascendant CEO had to create things anew and develop loyalty within subordinates, but clear-cutting old-line managers wasn’t going down well, and his apparent goal of disassociating Graham from the company was an affront to him, to her and to the family. Graham was right: someone had to pull the cord.

The next chapter will be posted by February 16. Already posted. Navigate to Chapter Five.

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