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 27: In His Name

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

    and the woman important to each 

27

    As the limo sped from the mansion, Bill observed in the mirror valets who seemed to lean into the frame and think, “Did I see that?” In the back, he saw Slade hunched and looking forward, an angry knot on his brow. He pressed the accelerator and the CEO fell back against the seat. In the opposite corner Helen lay upright with the vacant eyes of a forgotten doll. He was driving them to the downtown condo; that much was clear. What to do with the elephant in the rear, less so.

     He stopped at the gates and after they swung open, turned onto the two-lane road that would connect to the freeway. On a weekend afternoon people were around, which told him he’d be working late. He let off the pedal. All those people eating and drinking at the wedding and he could only manage a nip.

     “Why are you slowing down?” Slade’s eyes met his in the mirror. He pressed on the pedal, swerved across the dashed white line to pass a car then returned to the lane. They reached a small business district where he tailgated a white SUV and honked until it pulled over. Racing to the next stop sign, he let off then sped through the intersection. The houses were crowded close and after navigating a lateral arc, they went onto the freeway.

     The entitled had their ways. From bouncing at the clubs he saw them carry expectations easily and in the open, which convinced others of their status. But stand in the way, and they let loose holy hell. That worked when the other guy was afraid of being embarrassed. He liked waiting for somebody to cross the line, then pop! a bloody nose. Their feelings were what really stung. He saw it in their eyes.

     Slade had his way, and he was boss. Follow orders or else, though Bill considered “else” an option to pursue another occupation. The world had plenty of bosses. He’d do whatever he had to in his name, but didn’t want anything sticking to him. “What about him, Mister Slade.”

      “Use your imagination.”

      “My mind goes into dark places. Tell me.”

     “I don’t want him bothering me or her again. Tell him then dump him. What’s wrong with you?”

     “This is the third time.”

     “Be more persuasive.”

      “Maybe if he didn’t have a reason to come around.”

      “This is business.” He glared out the window.

      A thump like a shifting load came from the trunk, followed by punching and kicking sounds. “He finds the release and everybody will see.”  He moved behind cars headed for the off-ramp, which fed into an intersection. He made a right then jerked the limo forward. The pounding stopped for several moments before starting again as they passed fast food restaurants and gas stations. He turned into a small road, pulled into a drive to change direction then pressed a button below the dash.

     The trunk sprung open and Atom Green popped out. He did a frantic 360 before rushing the cab and pounding the fender. The limo screeched away. Slade was watching the chauffeur. “What are you so satisfied about?”

      “The way he self-deported didn’t cost me a thing.”

       “It will if he bothers me again.”

       “What about her?”

        Helen had slipped to the floor and was reaching out blindly. Slade pulled her up and resettled her on the seat. She brought her hands to her face, seeming to pull something away. “When we get to the condo, use the underground garage. I’ll take her from there. ‘Too much champagne, poor girl.’”

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

Chapter 26: Arbor

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

                                                and the woman important to each 

26

    

     Atom Green sketched a circle around the lawn filling with wedding guests. In blazer, expensive grass-wet shoes and baseball cap, he looked like a hybrid worker-guest, which allowed him to stroll without challenge about the dais and arbor. All the while thoughts of Helen and Slade quickened his pulse and caused his teeth to clench.

     He became fixated on the arbor that stood eight feet high. He had watched as workers laced its bare metal skeleton with willow limbs then festooned the arch with purple and white hyacinth, creating a thing tribal and elemental that stretched for and was framed by sky. When positioned to the east, he could see the surging marine-green ocean through the portal; looking uphill from the west, the earth clad in bladed green. It was unity of sky, sea, earth and -- fire, the human spirit represented by bride and groom. But the nightmare was Slade pulling Helen through to lock her in a future dominated by him. Real, symbolic or just imagined, he had to save her.

     As two p.m. approached, ushers helped the celebrants to their seats in the semi-circle of chairs, behind which two tents on either side of an inlaid wooden path served as staging points for the wedding party. When the groom entered, Atom stared at his erstwhile peer and competitor, Dave Forester.

     Anticipation grew, reflected in rising chatter. A priest in purple vestments stood waiting to begin. Atom crept closer, pinballing behind scattered people watching from the lawn. He recognized some in the audience, like his former sales manager Jeremy Port, the chairman and others. The scheduled starting time came and went and the impatient crowd seemed to urge the ceremony on, and then something like a group exhalation sounded as a procession of about a dozen led by the CEO descended from the mansion. His straining eyes looked for Helen then spotted her, hidden behind Slade. Only on their passing did he get a clear view. She looked straight ahead and did not see him, affording him an intimate peek at her beautiful face.

     The group settled in the front row. Slade mounted the dais to stand beside the perplexed priest and gaze over the assembly. “Begin,” he said then took the seat beside Helen.

     Wanting to be in her line of vision, Atom positioned himself beyond and to the left of the arbor. He removed his cap and ran his fingers through his dark hair and stood defiantly revealed. She looked forward though not far enough, it seemed.

     The bridal parties entered and deployed to their positions and the bride and groom completed the set. Under the brilliant sun --gleaming white dresses, crisp suits, sharp creases and beaming smiles all around.

     Finally, the groom kissed the bride to loud applause and then led her through the arbor and back onto the dais. They posed for pictures while the assembly disbanded, some lingering and others heading toward the mansion. Atom moved swiftly to where she was standing, and reached out to take her hand. “Helen,” he implored.

     Her eyes seemed to acknowledge him though her face showed no affect. He pulled her hand and she followed him up the sloping lawn. Looking over his shoulder once and then again, he felt vulnerable crossing the wide expanse. He headed for the side of the building near the service entrance. When they turned the corner, he stopped and looked squarely at her open yet unseeing eyes. “Say something! What’s wrong?”

     Without warning, Slade pushed him aside and lifted her like a doll. Her arms swayed limply, and he kissed her full on the mouth. “She wants to be with me,” he sneered. Atom rushed him, but felt a tug on the collar and then pain in the back of the head—

I'll be taking a break to participate in National Novel Writing Month, so the next chapter will be posted by December 31.. 

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

Chapter 25: Two Camps

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 

25

                                                                      

      “Come down, Delfina. He can’t interpret away your presence.”

      “Must I be humiliated? She’ll be there.”

                       

                                                               -ii-

     Downstairs in the mansion a grand staircase spreads like a bridal veil, on whose marble steps family and friends gather for smiles and pictures, while upstairs smiles are sequestered into two camps. In the south side room, the chief executive officer Stephen Slade assembles his corps of young managers and recruited investors. In the north side chamber, the chairman Graham Slade confers with members of the board, his loyalists and his wife. Standing by the window, Delfina, the CEO’s spouse, gazes over the sloping lawn.

     Clayton Clamp felt the tension, though he was loose and ready for the task of getting closer to his target. He greeted the chairman and the claims manager, who vouched for his cover as freelance investigator, and observed waiters and other staff shuttling in and out and between the rooms. The principals were rooted to the spot, except for the director Mark Storts, the most youthful member of the board.  After watching him leave then return, Clamp approached him.

     “Is it any more lively over there?”

     “Quite a bit more,” he answered then introduced himself.  “I’ve designated myself as go-between for the chairman and the CEO, but it doesn’t seem to be appreciated.”

     “I’m glad someone’s thinking about the company.” Eyes lighting up, Storts brought his head closer. Clamp stooped to listen.

     “The father-son dispute aggravates at different levels. Employees pick sides then get into arguments that end in silent stares. They’re afraid their guy will lose and in any case would rather not worry about things they can’t control.” He paused then said, “When the baton passes, the hand off should be clean. Don’t hold on.”

     “You just revealed your bias.”

     “Stephen and I were college buddies.”

     “Then maybe you can introduce me.”

      They skirted the staircase, passing through rays of sun beneath a skylight. Storts nodded to a man outside the door who admitted them, and the difference was jarring. An excited chatter filled the room as men and some women clustered throughout, attired in business wear not particular to a wedding ritual. The crowd would at some point spill outside, Clamp thought, whereas on the other side the walls defined the occupants who were as rigid as marble chess pieces.

      Stephen Slade was by the farthest wall, standing slightly apart. Slender, polished and dressed for the occasion in rich gray suit, wide silk tie and pinned with a pale rose boutonniere, he trained his attention on Storts. “This is Clayton Clamp, a claims investigator.”

     “Claims?” He grimaced and raked him with a severe look before walking away. Storts apologized but Clamp waved it off. They watched him join a young woman who was looking out the window and were amazed when he erupted. “Snap out of it, Helen, will you!”  His face was in hers before stalking away. She daubed her eyes with a handkerchief. Few paid the outburst any attention, though for Clamp the exchange was charged with meaning. He went to her.

      She wore a dress a subtle shade of violet, and had auburn hair that fell to her shoulders with a slender braid crowning the brow. He strode a step beyond then turned to see her face, which was pale and delicate and stained by tears. “If you’re the bride then you better get changed.”

     “I’m not,” she coughed, “the bride.”

     “Then it can’t be so bad.”

      “No, not so---“

       Her eyes grew large and then were eclipsed by Slade’s back. He pushed her, hand at elbow, toward a nearby door, her legs stumbling to keep pace. Nearby, Storts wilted.

     Clamp left the room then went down the stairs and through the foyer where he spied Lola McIntyre at the champagne table. He made a mental note to add her to the list, then once outside breathed in fresh air and heard the strains of a violin quartet from one of the tents. He turned toward the mansion, which should have been cleaved in two, if reality were reflected in what is seen. The window where Helen stood was vacant, and on the other side, Delfina was gone. He pondered whether she too had cried, and whether tears can bring a mountain down. None benefit when the magnificent fall; those who don’t know have nothing to tell, those that do might be struck dumb. 

The next chapter will be posted by October 30..

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

Chapter 21: Even After

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

                                              and the woman important to each 


 

                                                                      21

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “You’re meaningful here.”

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

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

The next chapter will be posted by October 25..

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

Chapter 14: Paralyzed

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

                                               and the woman important to each 

  
 

                                                                           14

                         

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “None.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      

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

Chapter 13: Stay

                                                                

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

                                            and the woman important to each

 

                                                                      13

                        

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “How do you know?”     

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

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

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

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

                    

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

Chapter 12: Compassion

     

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

 and the woman important to each 

12 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “What’s it doing here?”

      “Mrs. Slade was telling me about compassion.”

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

      Slade was dismissive. “Ten.”

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

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

    

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

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 10: Hands Up

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 

                                                        

                                                          10

At just past the hour, the board of directors sat around the oblong table waiting for the chairman to call the meeting to order. The CEO was not present despite their invitation, and his absence made them uneasy. Graham Slade, chairman, company founder and former CEO, had dominated for nearly thirty years when no differences separated guiding and operating principles. The board rubber-stamped his wishes and the company prospered. But when Stephen Slade became CEO, it faced a new reality –conflict-- and found trying to satisfy both like bending backwards till shoulders touched the ground then springing into forward somersaults.

Jeff Simmons, managing partner of a law firm, had boyish charm which had encouraged strangers to ruffle his hair and, later, colleagues to beam favorably. Now his hair was lacquered black but that charm still showed through. He avoided declaring the absence a slight without further evidence and tried to mollify the chairman with conversation about his grand kids.

Peter Morgan, owner of a string of banks, was the oldest member and started life with a different name. His manner suggested an Old World background, often alluded to but without details. “Past is past,” he liked to say, which was a nod to the prosperous present that afforded rich suits to clothe his expansive figure. His mane of silvery hair and self-satisfied demeanor suggested everything would work out.     

Life insurance was Joseph Parker’s business and his faith in actuarial tables the foundation of a backslapping nature: the tables delivered the hard news, allowing him to focus on the sunny side. Height and weight corresponding to recommended guidelines, he believed he’d age the prescribed 82.57 years. Only infrequently did worry fret a chevron between his brows.

Mark Storts, the newest member, was the younger Slade’s college buddy and an ally in wanting to take the company public, which he sought to underwrite. Stephen’s failure at communication concerned him, as he believed perfect information best served the marketplace.  He checked his watch and at fifteen after punched a number on his cell --voice mail. When he stood, his dark, curly hair was a statement in the room. “I’ll see what’s keeping him.”

He made his way through the C-suite hallway to executive reception, where Betsy Murray greeted him professionally then frowned at his request. “He went up this morning and hasn’t been down since.”  She pantomimed summoning the elevator: the button refused to light. She pushed the intercom button on the phone, which did light and flash until pushed again. He returned to the meeting where they listened to his report. Simmons said, “I don’t like the idea of locking it from upstairs. What if he’s injured?”

“The code requires another exit.” piped up Parker who, on considering the CEO’s age and good health, reasoned it wasn’t time. “He must have gone another way.”

“Of course, he’s okay,” said Morgan, waving a sagacious hand.

Irritation tweaked the chairman’s granite face. “Let’s get started. Mark Pointer is the company’s long-time claims manager, and I’m advised that his impending retirement is not entirely voluntary. Assertions have been made of unsatisfactory performance, and the inability of adjusters to handle the volume of claims. At the same time, his requests to expand staffing have been denied. I’ve known Mark a long time. He gets the job done, if allowed to. Slade Insurance will suffer for losing him.”

The room lapsed into silence, until Storts spoke up. “According to the numbers, Slade would be better off.”

“Numbers?” The chairman glared.

“Mister chairman, certainly the claims manager is worthy of your support, and I don’t argue against him as a person but as a kind: a high-salaried manager. Through retirement and other means we can reduce expenses and increase our profit margin.”

“Have you talked to him about Mark Pointer?”

                 “Not in particular, but he endorses the strategy.”         

 “Strategy requires vision, and I don’t see it. Mark is a leader who has nurtured many fine claims adjusters who interface with our customers and contribute to a robust company. Financial statements don’t capture the whole picture.”

“Wall Street doesn’t care about that.”

“Good reason, then, to avoid it.”

Around the table gasps and body language urged restraint.

“If you’re not in the market, you’re not anywhere. It’s just the way things are. Slade’s value will increase on the exchange, which we can maximize by getting our financials into shape.”

The chairman looked ahead at no one in particular.  “Thank you for your insight. I only wish Stephen had the grace to argue for himself. His absence, I think, supports my position that figures on a page are well and good, but don’t compel like a flesh-and-blood leader. I’m not convinced about ending Mark’s career.”

“That’s not on us. He can go someplace else!”

The chairman raised his hand. “Enough. I move that we re-issue our request to the CEO.”

“I second that,” said Simmons.

“In favor?” Hands shot up as the door opened. “The motion is carried--“

“Unanimously.” Stephen Slade stood within the door frame and watched the raised hands fall. He took a seat at the farthest end from the chairman. His dark gray suit enveloped him neatly and the satin blue of his tie reflected off a pale neck. Smooth dark hair and narrow-set eyes contrasted with the chairman’s crew cut and visionary gaze. “Here I am.”

At one end, Simmons sat to the right of the chairman who had Morgan on his left, and then Parker. Storts was on the other side between Simmons and the CEO. They waited for someone to reset the meeting. 

“Thank you for attending,” said Simmons. “We had just finished discussing Mark Pointer’s situation. The chairman expressed that he contributes necessary leadership, which would be missed and impact customer service. Director Storts pointed out that high-salaried managers inflate expenses and reduce profits. The board desires your input.”

“That’s a fair recap,” said the banker with a salute to the attorney.

“Thank you,” said the CEO.  “Mark Pointer has served Slade long and well, but salaries like his are a burden. Human Resources has identified areas of high cost where the company can seek advantage through attrition.”

“Mark Pointer doesn’t want to retire,” growled the chairman.

“At my direction, HR has presented available options to certain managers. Retirement would be their choice. If enough accept, we won’t have to take other measures.”

“If this is about expenses,” the chairman said, “I don’t see how it squares with those in other areas, such as the private elevator, the limousine and the chauffeur.” The chairman leaned forward. The CEO did not blink.

“I hope you will grant that the company is well run and profitable. Pay attention to the numbers that matter, and you will see the proof. It’s easy and tempting to grasp at the odd figure or expense and make of it something more than it is. Easy and hurtful. I am hurt at the lack of trust. I seek to make of Slade something more. The chairman founded and made a success of the company that provides for his retirement. If Slade is to grow and provide for others, changes must be made.

“Since the company’s founding, jet travel for business and pleasure became the norm, the Concorde came and went, and hijacked jets brought down the Twin Towers. Does it make sense that Slade should remain static while the world shifts?

“If I aim higher and step quicker, it’s because I want Slade to succeed. Everything I do benefits the company. See it in the results.

“The board owes me the same trust and support it gave my predecessor. Don’t fracture or snipe. Stand united. If you do, the sky’s the limit.”

 Without awaiting a response, he stood and vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, having silenced them though the chairman still glowered and the directors still yearned for consensus. Once again, the meeting needed resetting.

“He did show up,” said Simmons. Parker added, “I knew he was okay.”

“A flesh-and-blood statement,” chuckled Morgan.

“Leading where?” asked the chairman.
                  Nothing remained but to schedule the next meeting and close. The board went through the motions, the while aware of the quirk in its DNA: impotence against an aggressive CEO.  

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

Chapter Five: Snake

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

 and the woman important to each 
 

5

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

                                                                          -ii-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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