I went to work early on Monday morning. I skipped grabbing my usual coffee, and headed straight to the office. I locked myself in and buried myself in the Colorado file, getting up to date on everything, exploring every nuance of the briefs, memos and contracts. I was going to dominate this file, and stick it to my father in the process.
I spent a good chunk of time on the phone that morning, and had Lorraine bring me a lunch, rather than leave my desk. I ate corned beef on rye while on a conference call, with a touch of spicy mustard. Onion rings on the side.
By mid-afternoon I had worked out some snarls in the zoning of our new building, through a contact at the municipal office. That meant the deal for purchasing the land we wanted could go through. I sent off a memo to Chris Geertz and my father, informing them of the relevant details. It was something the law team had expected to take weeks.
I leaned back in my chair, hands behind my head, feet on the desk. I could feel a little bit of a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.
Chris himself showed up about an hour later.
“Nice work, Diggory! Way to be on the ball.” He leaned against the doorframe, casually chic in a blue pinstripe.
“Thanks, Chris, just wanted to help out the team,” I said, exchanging clichés.
“You really hit one out of the park, there, man. You must have spent all weekend on the file!”
I shrugged humbly.
“Well, just so you know, I’ve put in a recommendation upstairs. I think you should be made a team-leader on this one. We’ll assign you a few associates, some secretaries, and really put this baby to bed.”
“I really appreciate that, Chris. I’m not looking for any special treatment. I just wanted to put my best foot forward.”
“Diggory, don’t be modest. I need somebody around here I can rely on, and there’s no one else with that kind of initiative. If I don’t have you at the head of this project, it’s something I’d probably end up doing myself. And frankly, we have a lot of other stuff to deal with. I’d like to know there’s someone I can trust and send to Denver, while I take care of things here.”
“Denver?”
“Well, sure. From time to time, someone’s going to have to fly out there for meetings, contract signings, new hires. This is a major undertaking. You’ll be getting a raise, an expense account, a company car… Unless, you don’t think you can handle it?”
I sat up straight. “I’m honoured. And grateful for the opportunity.”
Chris smiled. “Excellent. I’m already whispering in some ears upstairs. We’ll see what happens.”
“Excellent,” I agreed.
“Once it gets finalized, I’ll let the department know. We’ll all go out for dinner and drinks after work. Nothing’s set in stone yet, but, congratulations!”
Chris went on his merry way, and I leaned back in my chair again, grinning at the ceiling. Eat that, old man.
******************************************************************
I arrived home long after sunset, with a bag of groceries. I put it down on the counter and went to my cupboards. I grabbed a frying pan, tinfoil, garlic, a bowl, and some butter. I mixed garlic and butter in a bowl, and then went to the grocery bag.
I took out a loaf of fresh bread and sliced it, lathering on the garlic butter before wrapping the loaf in tinfoil. I stuck it in the oven, and then went back to the bag. I grabbed some fresh chicken, and commenced cutting it up. It went into the frying pan along with the rest of the butter, simmering on the stovetop. I added a few random spices.
I learned to cook in college. If Matt was around, we usually ate takeout. But on nights where he was home, or out with some girl, I took pleasure in preparing my own food. I would often make a big dinner on a Sunday, and then get creative with the leftovers the rest of the week. A roast would become a stew, a chicken breast would go into pasta, pork chops got cut up and put into sandwiches…
I sat down at the counter and poured a glass of wine, toasting myself and my future success. I enjoyed my homemade garlic bread and my chicken dinner, accompanied by a light salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. I loved food.
I relaxed after dinner, lounging on my couch, sipping wine. I walked over to the big windows and looked out to the city, sparkling in the darkness. I wondered what the view was like in Denver.
It wasn’t until I was getting ready for bed that I realized I had gone all day without worrying about Calla Wiley or my love life. Perhaps I was finally getting her out of my system? And, why not? She was nobody. Just a crazy girl.
Next Chapter>>
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Chapter Fifteen: Cat's Cradle
We drove back to the city in silence. I rarely even glanced in his direction. However, Matt had a smug little smile every time I did. He obviously didn’t feel the least bit sorry.
No matter. I’d find a way to make him pay. I remembered a summer at camp, when we were maybe eleven years old. Matt had soaked me in my bed with a bucket of lake water. Later, I had pulled down his pants on stage during a talent show. Payback was part of the deal in our friendship.
“You are so dead!” I promised, punching him in the arm. He swerved the car into the next lane, and then back again, laughing the whole time as we cut someone off and they honked their horn.
“Digger, you’re hilarious,” he chuckled. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s the principle of the thing. I’m not even dating Calla.”
“No, but if you do, your mother will like her. If you don’t, it buys you some time before they ask about your love life again. Either way, they’re off our backs.”
“Screw you. You enjoyed every minute of it.”
“I did.” He laughed again. “You should have seen the look on your face!”
“Jerk,” I laughed, feeling about twelve again, when we would play pranks on family members and maids. Matt made everything fun.
“We are so immature,” I chuckled.
“Hey, it’s better than turning into our fathers. I don’t think they smiled once the whole time through lunch.”
“Yeah, well, it’s always been like that. I’m still getting you back.”
“What are you talking about? I’m just claiming payment for my shoes!”
“That’s what this was about? You acted like a dick with Calla and my parents because I puked on your shoes?”
“Well, yeah. They cost three hundred dollars.” He grinned at me. “I love those shoes.”
“Oh, you are so dead…”
*******************************************************************
Matt and I acted like college frat boys the rest of the day. We stopped for a greasy dinner at a pizza place, sitting on stools at a narrow bar that went around the room. We left our sweaters in the car, discarding them and our ties in the back seat. We undid the buttons of our collars and ruffled up our hair.
In short, we tried to pretend we weren’t our parents’ children.
“Dude, what do you want to do next Friday?” I asked.
“Madison’s, man. The ladies.”
“We do that every Friday. Let’s do something new. Drive out to the coast and hang out at a new bar. Eat oysters. Find a new nightclub in town. I don’t know.”
“Digger, since when don’t you want to do the same thing? We’ve been going to Madison’s for, I dunno, eight years.”
“Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t want to end up like my father.”
“Your dad has never been to Madison’s. He’s so rich he might own it, but he’s never been there.”
“No, he doesn’t own it. I wouldn’t go there if he did.”
Matt looked at me funny. “Whatever. What are you talking about?”
“Our dads. They do the same thing every day. Surgery or a business deal, come home, ignore their families… I don’t want that routine. I want more than that.”
“I think you let the grease go to your head.” Matt chewed thoughtfully. “You like routine. You get pissed at me when I break you out of it.”
“So why are you busting my chops when I volunteer to shake things up? Come on, let’s do something different on Friday.”
He shrugged, smiling. “Okay. But you have to go wherever I want, and do whatever I say.”
“That’s a serious blank cheque.”
“You’re right, it is. You want to walk on the wild side? Fine. But you’re an amateur. Let the pro show you how it’s done.”
“You’re on.”
We shook on it, with our greasy, pizza-stained fingers.
I decided to walk home, enjoying the sunshine. I wondered how many nice days were left before the grey of autumn took over. I waved at Matt as he pulled away in his shiny sports car.
I slung my sweater over my shoulder, felt the breeze on my face, and pointed my feet for home. I wasn’t going to let my father, Calla, or my mother get me down. I was going to move past all that stuff and just loosen up, have a good time.
I smiled at strangers on the sidewalk, which was unusual for them. A few smiled back, most just stared at their feet and continued walking. I felt like a dork in a 50s television show, like Leave it to Beaver or some shit, but I didn’t care. Life was too short. I was going to enjoy it.
It wasn’t until I got home that this cheerful mood was ruined. I saw my father’s file, still spread out on the living room table.
“That jackass!” I said. I realized he hadn’t even brought up the Colorado deal during lunch. Hadn’t even mentioned the file. He had sent me to work on my Saturday off just to inconvenience me. Probably to get back at me for missing Friday. “Arrgh!”
I picked up the papers in a frenzy, stuffing them into the manila folder. They jutted out at haphazard angles, some of the edges folded and wrinkled. I threw it onto my kitchen counter and turned my back on it.
“Grumpy, self-centred old bastard!”
I turned on my television and the PS3 and commenced stealing cars, running over pedestrians, and shooting at people.
Especially old men with beards.
Next Chapter>>
No matter. I’d find a way to make him pay. I remembered a summer at camp, when we were maybe eleven years old. Matt had soaked me in my bed with a bucket of lake water. Later, I had pulled down his pants on stage during a talent show. Payback was part of the deal in our friendship.
“You are so dead!” I promised, punching him in the arm. He swerved the car into the next lane, and then back again, laughing the whole time as we cut someone off and they honked their horn.
“Digger, you’re hilarious,” he chuckled. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s the principle of the thing. I’m not even dating Calla.”
“No, but if you do, your mother will like her. If you don’t, it buys you some time before they ask about your love life again. Either way, they’re off our backs.”
“Screw you. You enjoyed every minute of it.”
“I did.” He laughed again. “You should have seen the look on your face!”
“Jerk,” I laughed, feeling about twelve again, when we would play pranks on family members and maids. Matt made everything fun.
“We are so immature,” I chuckled.
“Hey, it’s better than turning into our fathers. I don’t think they smiled once the whole time through lunch.”
“Yeah, well, it’s always been like that. I’m still getting you back.”
“What are you talking about? I’m just claiming payment for my shoes!”
“That’s what this was about? You acted like a dick with Calla and my parents because I puked on your shoes?”
“Well, yeah. They cost three hundred dollars.” He grinned at me. “I love those shoes.”
“Oh, you are so dead…”
*******************************************************************
Matt and I acted like college frat boys the rest of the day. We stopped for a greasy dinner at a pizza place, sitting on stools at a narrow bar that went around the room. We left our sweaters in the car, discarding them and our ties in the back seat. We undid the buttons of our collars and ruffled up our hair.
In short, we tried to pretend we weren’t our parents’ children.
“Dude, what do you want to do next Friday?” I asked.
“Madison’s, man. The ladies.”
“We do that every Friday. Let’s do something new. Drive out to the coast and hang out at a new bar. Eat oysters. Find a new nightclub in town. I don’t know.”
“Digger, since when don’t you want to do the same thing? We’ve been going to Madison’s for, I dunno, eight years.”
“Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t want to end up like my father.”
“Your dad has never been to Madison’s. He’s so rich he might own it, but he’s never been there.”
“No, he doesn’t own it. I wouldn’t go there if he did.”
Matt looked at me funny. “Whatever. What are you talking about?”
“Our dads. They do the same thing every day. Surgery or a business deal, come home, ignore their families… I don’t want that routine. I want more than that.”
“I think you let the grease go to your head.” Matt chewed thoughtfully. “You like routine. You get pissed at me when I break you out of it.”
“So why are you busting my chops when I volunteer to shake things up? Come on, let’s do something different on Friday.”
He shrugged, smiling. “Okay. But you have to go wherever I want, and do whatever I say.”
“That’s a serious blank cheque.”
“You’re right, it is. You want to walk on the wild side? Fine. But you’re an amateur. Let the pro show you how it’s done.”
“You’re on.”
We shook on it, with our greasy, pizza-stained fingers.
I decided to walk home, enjoying the sunshine. I wondered how many nice days were left before the grey of autumn took over. I waved at Matt as he pulled away in his shiny sports car.
I slung my sweater over my shoulder, felt the breeze on my face, and pointed my feet for home. I wasn’t going to let my father, Calla, or my mother get me down. I was going to move past all that stuff and just loosen up, have a good time.
I smiled at strangers on the sidewalk, which was unusual for them. A few smiled back, most just stared at their feet and continued walking. I felt like a dork in a 50s television show, like Leave it to Beaver or some shit, but I didn’t care. Life was too short. I was going to enjoy it.
It wasn’t until I got home that this cheerful mood was ruined. I saw my father’s file, still spread out on the living room table.
“That jackass!” I said. I realized he hadn’t even brought up the Colorado deal during lunch. Hadn’t even mentioned the file. He had sent me to work on my Saturday off just to inconvenience me. Probably to get back at me for missing Friday. “Arrgh!”
I picked up the papers in a frenzy, stuffing them into the manila folder. They jutted out at haphazard angles, some of the edges folded and wrinkled. I threw it onto my kitchen counter and turned my back on it.
“Grumpy, self-centred old bastard!”
I turned on my television and the PS3 and commenced stealing cars, running over pedestrians, and shooting at people.
Especially old men with beards.
Next Chapter>>
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Bonus Chapter: Calla Wiley
Journal Entry: September 11, 2008
The world is a very strange place.
My friend Bianca says that I am a very orderly, precise person. Too much so, perhaps. I like mathematics, and science. There is an order to the universe, and underlying patterns. For all its seeming chaos, it has to follow certain rules.
Bianca is an artist. She thinks I should embrace the chaos and stop worrying about the rules so much. Of course, she hates that I clean the apartment regularly, and I hate that she messes it up. She does not know that this is why we are friends.
She thinks she is a good influence on me. That, if she tries hard enough, she will get me to be more flexible and relaxed. I iron my clothes while she gives these lectures, and I don’t think she appreciates the irony. Nor the ironing.
I don’t know if she realizes that I think she’s funny. I do appreciate her trying. I do. But I don’t need help to understand that parties are fun, that music is liberating, that sex can be mind-blowing. I know these things already. I had a youth too. She is still in the middle of hers. I have grown up faster.
My life has been unpredictable enough. It’s time for routine, it’s time for pattern, it is time to play it safe. I have Bianca in my life for a dash of spice, to bring in random elements to the equation. That’s all I need. Otherwise, I have plans. I keep a journal only to organize my thoughts, and to track my progress.
I do the same thing every morning. I go to a coffee house, just around the corner from the library at school. I can never remember what it’s called, something silly. I get my coffee and sit until my first class, or until I have to go to the lab. I go to watch the people still in the midst of their youth. They make me smile with nostalgia.
I was like them, even just a year ago. I wonder if they know how fast it can change. For the fifteen minutes or so that I enjoy my coffee, I sit and read the paper and watch people. It’s better than television.
Today the show decided to break my illusory fourth wall.
I went in just past eight in the morning, as per usual, and stood in line to order my coffee. The owner had come out from behind the counter and picked up a coat and briefcase. She put them to one side, under a table.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, just one of our regulars left without his stuff. He’ll probably realize it in a minute, but I don’t want someone to trip over it.”
I nodded, and stepped forward to order from one of her employees. I took my coffee and my paper to a nearby table and sat down to begin my morning ritual. I started reading.
“Excuse me, can I ask what that was about?” A man asked abruptly.
I looked up at him. I saw a young man, perhaps my age or a little older. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty, anyway. His hair was neatly cut, and his face was clean-shaven. He was wearing a very expensive suit, and yet looked like he’d been running. He was quite out of place in this laidback environment.
He was also rather cute.
“Pardon?” I asked, putting down the newspaper. He blinked, and his eyes seemed full of confusion.
“When I was here, before. What was that about?”
“I imagine you purchased the coffee that you’re holding.” I smiled, wondering if he would understand the joke. I really had no idea what he was talking about. I held up my cup to demonstrate. “I bought one too.”
He looked around the shop, completely at sea. He ran his fingers over his face and looked at me again. Cute and not too bright, perhaps.
“Let me start over. I’m a little frazzled this morning. Have you seen my coat or my briefcase? I dropped them before.”
I had already forgotten the incident. I processed his question, and remembered. “The owner put them over there, said something about a regular having dropped them. She seemed certain you’d be back shortly.”
He nodded and smiled. “Thanks. I kind of need those. I wouldn’t get much done at work without my files.”
The man moved to gather his belongings. I turned back to my paper, shaking my head. I don’t know why he felt the need to disturb me over something so simple; I didn’t work there. Silly. Then, the equation solved itself. His illogical behaviour only made sense if he was trying to get my attention.
“Sorry about that,” he said, approaching again. I nodded, and continued reading. His persistent efforts proved my hypothesis, especially when he stepped closer. “This might sound silly, but you don’t have a sister, do you?”
I was convinced. He was trying to flirt with me. “Your pick-up lines suck,” I said with a grin.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s okay. I’m flattered. Not very interested, but flattered. You’ve been trying to get my attention since you got in here. You’re wasting your time, but I won’t hold it against you.”
He was cute, and seemed harmless. I just didn’t have time to waste. However, he straightened up. He seemed to gather himself.
“Why is it a waste of time?”
“I’m not interested in dating, I am too busy with my studies. However, I do appreciate the compliment.”
I was trying to be polite, but firm. He smiled.
“You’re not really saying ‘go away,’ you know. You could let me try again. I’m sure I can come up with a better pick-up line.”
I almost laughed. He was persistent. “I don’t go for lines. And I don’t date. But I wouldn’t mind knowing your name.”
“Diggory Franklin.” He put out his hand, so we shook. His hand was warm and firm.
“Calla Wiley,” I told him. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Franklin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”
“You’re a student?”
“Graduate student, in physics, yes.” I stood up and collected my belongings. I really needed to be going. My usual fifteen minutes were more than up. “Have a nice day, Mr. Franklin.”
He didn’t give up easily. “Let me give you my card. You know, in case you change your mind on the ‘no dating’ policy. Or, if you ever need a lawyer.”
“I doubt it,” I said, trying not to smile. He was charming, in a goofy sort of way. He held out his card as I moved to go past him. I looked at his open, friendly face. I took the card without a word and walked out the door.
I was done with my impulsive youth. I needed no random elements. I had my plans. I walked to school and sat down in my first class of the day, ready for my future.
But Mr. Diggory Franklin’s face kept intruding. As did the memory of his handshake.
The world is a very strange place.
My friend Bianca says that I am a very orderly, precise person. Too much so, perhaps. I like mathematics, and science. There is an order to the universe, and underlying patterns. For all its seeming chaos, it has to follow certain rules.
Bianca is an artist. She thinks I should embrace the chaos and stop worrying about the rules so much. Of course, she hates that I clean the apartment regularly, and I hate that she messes it up. She does not know that this is why we are friends.
She thinks she is a good influence on me. That, if she tries hard enough, she will get me to be more flexible and relaxed. I iron my clothes while she gives these lectures, and I don’t think she appreciates the irony. Nor the ironing.
I don’t know if she realizes that I think she’s funny. I do appreciate her trying. I do. But I don’t need help to understand that parties are fun, that music is liberating, that sex can be mind-blowing. I know these things already. I had a youth too. She is still in the middle of hers. I have grown up faster.
My life has been unpredictable enough. It’s time for routine, it’s time for pattern, it is time to play it safe. I have Bianca in my life for a dash of spice, to bring in random elements to the equation. That’s all I need. Otherwise, I have plans. I keep a journal only to organize my thoughts, and to track my progress.
I do the same thing every morning. I go to a coffee house, just around the corner from the library at school. I can never remember what it’s called, something silly. I get my coffee and sit until my first class, or until I have to go to the lab. I go to watch the people still in the midst of their youth. They make me smile with nostalgia.
I was like them, even just a year ago. I wonder if they know how fast it can change. For the fifteen minutes or so that I enjoy my coffee, I sit and read the paper and watch people. It’s better than television.
Today the show decided to break my illusory fourth wall.
I went in just past eight in the morning, as per usual, and stood in line to order my coffee. The owner had come out from behind the counter and picked up a coat and briefcase. She put them to one side, under a table.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, just one of our regulars left without his stuff. He’ll probably realize it in a minute, but I don’t want someone to trip over it.”
I nodded, and stepped forward to order from one of her employees. I took my coffee and my paper to a nearby table and sat down to begin my morning ritual. I started reading.
“Excuse me, can I ask what that was about?” A man asked abruptly.
I looked up at him. I saw a young man, perhaps my age or a little older. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty, anyway. His hair was neatly cut, and his face was clean-shaven. He was wearing a very expensive suit, and yet looked like he’d been running. He was quite out of place in this laidback environment.
He was also rather cute.
“Pardon?” I asked, putting down the newspaper. He blinked, and his eyes seemed full of confusion.
“When I was here, before. What was that about?”
“I imagine you purchased the coffee that you’re holding.” I smiled, wondering if he would understand the joke. I really had no idea what he was talking about. I held up my cup to demonstrate. “I bought one too.”
He looked around the shop, completely at sea. He ran his fingers over his face and looked at me again. Cute and not too bright, perhaps.
“Let me start over. I’m a little frazzled this morning. Have you seen my coat or my briefcase? I dropped them before.”
I had already forgotten the incident. I processed his question, and remembered. “The owner put them over there, said something about a regular having dropped them. She seemed certain you’d be back shortly.”
He nodded and smiled. “Thanks. I kind of need those. I wouldn’t get much done at work without my files.”
The man moved to gather his belongings. I turned back to my paper, shaking my head. I don’t know why he felt the need to disturb me over something so simple; I didn’t work there. Silly. Then, the equation solved itself. His illogical behaviour only made sense if he was trying to get my attention.
“Sorry about that,” he said, approaching again. I nodded, and continued reading. His persistent efforts proved my hypothesis, especially when he stepped closer. “This might sound silly, but you don’t have a sister, do you?”
I was convinced. He was trying to flirt with me. “Your pick-up lines suck,” I said with a grin.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s okay. I’m flattered. Not very interested, but flattered. You’ve been trying to get my attention since you got in here. You’re wasting your time, but I won’t hold it against you.”
He was cute, and seemed harmless. I just didn’t have time to waste. However, he straightened up. He seemed to gather himself.
“Why is it a waste of time?”
“I’m not interested in dating, I am too busy with my studies. However, I do appreciate the compliment.”
I was trying to be polite, but firm. He smiled.
“You’re not really saying ‘go away,’ you know. You could let me try again. I’m sure I can come up with a better pick-up line.”
I almost laughed. He was persistent. “I don’t go for lines. And I don’t date. But I wouldn’t mind knowing your name.”
“Diggory Franklin.” He put out his hand, so we shook. His hand was warm and firm.
“Calla Wiley,” I told him. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Franklin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”
“You’re a student?”
“Graduate student, in physics, yes.” I stood up and collected my belongings. I really needed to be going. My usual fifteen minutes were more than up. “Have a nice day, Mr. Franklin.”
He didn’t give up easily. “Let me give you my card. You know, in case you change your mind on the ‘no dating’ policy. Or, if you ever need a lawyer.”
“I doubt it,” I said, trying not to smile. He was charming, in a goofy sort of way. He held out his card as I moved to go past him. I looked at his open, friendly face. I took the card without a word and walked out the door.
I was done with my impulsive youth. I needed no random elements. I had my plans. I walked to school and sat down in my first class of the day, ready for my future.
But Mr. Diggory Franklin’s face kept intruding. As did the memory of his handshake.
Chapter Fourteen: They Sold Me Out
Matt drove his Porsche like he did everything else. Recklessly and fast, with a smile on his face. I envied him. He didn’t care about consequences, or rules, he just found life enjoyable. I wondered what it was like to feel so unconstrained.
“You’re a sociopath,” I told him with a grin.
“What, like Silence of the Lambs?”
“No, I think that’s a psychopath. Sociopaths don’t necessarily kill people. They just don’t really have an interest in their feelings, or society’s rules.”
“Why would I follow anyone else’s rules? I’m rich.”
He took us through the country club gates, and along the private road. A valet parked our car. Given the marvellous architecture, and the wealth of the place’s patrons, I could see why Matt felt above the normal world. We had been born to privilege.
We entered the elegant dining room of the country club, and, like dutiful sons, kissed our mothers on their cheeks and gave them their roses.
“What nice boys,” some other dowager enthused. Our mothers smiled for their little crowd, oohing and aahhing over the flowers.
“Thank you, Matthew.”
“Why, Diggory, thank you darling!”
My father gave me a nod, and I sat down. I had done as I was told.
Wine glasses were filled, waiters handed out menus. Sunlight streamed in through the big windows. Outside, you could see the green grass and trees of the manicured golf course. All I could smell was the perfume of old ladies. Our mothers wore fancy dresses and pearls. Our fathers showed up in well-tailored suits.
There was mild chitchat while the meal was served. Gourmet salads, tasty soups, dishes of chicken, lamb and veal. I imagined that the bill would be as much as some families spent on groceries in a month, maybe more.
The “grown-ups” discussed news and politics. My father mentioned his business trip. Matt’s dad told us about his latest feats of cardio-thoracic genius, as the head of the hospital’s surgery department. We sat there, eternal children who were merely props in their successful lives. Our role was to make them look good, and to only speak when spoken too.
“So, Matthew, are you seeing anyone special?” Mrs. Pinard asked. “I’m still waiting to hear you’ve found the love of your life.”
“I haven’t found her yet, Mom. Though I have been seeing a couple of nice girls.” Matt the Pimp winked at me. I realized he meant Petra and Daphne from the other night, and was trying to get a rise out of me.
“And you, Diggory?” My mother asked.
“Uh, no, not really…”
“Oh, come on, Digger. Tell them about that young lady at the gallery.” Matt grinned. I glared at him.
“Oh? Who’s this?” Mrs. Pinard asked, her interest piqued. She loved gossip. “Anyone we know?”
“I don’t think so… She’s just a young lady from the university…” I stammered, shooting laser beams out of my eyes towards Matt.
“Oh, don’t be so modest! She’s a graduate student in physics, studying with the top minds in her field,” Matt the Traitor started to charm the crowd. “I imagine you’ll be hearing about her in a few years, for Nobels and the like. She’s brilliant. Tell them, Digger.”
“I really don’t… She’s… Well, I don’t know her that well yet.” I shrugged, hating being on the spot like this. I promised myself some bloody revenge. “We met earlier this week, and she invited me to her friend’s gallery showing.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Matt said enthusiastically. “I almost forgot. Sheila’s gallery, Mom, you know the one. They did a student art show, and Sheila tells me that this young lady was a model for some of the artists.”
“Just her room-mate, Bianca.” I finally had something I could state for certain. “She’s very talented.”
“What’s this young lady’s name?” My mother had to ask.
“Calla. Calla Wiley.”
I could see my mother processing this. I almost laughed, it reminded me of Matt searching his mental Rolodex. She put a hand on my father’s arm, leaning in closely.
“Do we know the Wileys?” She turned to my father in a stage whisper. Which meant that she strongly questioned Calla’s upbringing, background and wealth, and wanted everyone to know it, but was pretending to be discreet.
“No, dear.” My father looked at me with his appraising stare. He stroked his steel-grey, well-trimmed beard. “Perhaps they’re West Coast people.”
“I really don’t know,” I said, “We just met this past week. It’s not the big deal that Matt is making it out to be.”
“Oh, it’s a very big deal,” Matt said. “You should have seen his excitement when she called.”
I kicked Matt under the table. He grinned at me through gritted teeth. What are you doing? I tried to mentally scream at him.
“You don’t need to worry, Mrs. Franklin, your Diggory is far more likely to settle down than I am. I’m sure there will be little Diggorys running around in no time, making you a happy grandmother. Sorry, Mom, I just haven’t found a young lady that impresses me as much as Diggory’s new romance.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. Matthew, you’re such a good friend.” Mrs. Pinard cooed over her son.
Somehow, Matt had impressed my parents as well. My mother in particular looked very pleased. The slimy snake had scored himself points with the parents, impressed my mother with Calla before having met her, and got everyone to leave us both alone about the marriage thing. Not to mention making me unbelievably uncomfortable and about three inches tall in the process. Sneaky.
I wondered what it was like to have Matt as an enemy instead of a friend.
Next Chapter>>
“You’re a sociopath,” I told him with a grin.
“What, like Silence of the Lambs?”
“No, I think that’s a psychopath. Sociopaths don’t necessarily kill people. They just don’t really have an interest in their feelings, or society’s rules.”
“Why would I follow anyone else’s rules? I’m rich.”
He took us through the country club gates, and along the private road. A valet parked our car. Given the marvellous architecture, and the wealth of the place’s patrons, I could see why Matt felt above the normal world. We had been born to privilege.
We entered the elegant dining room of the country club, and, like dutiful sons, kissed our mothers on their cheeks and gave them their roses.
“What nice boys,” some other dowager enthused. Our mothers smiled for their little crowd, oohing and aahhing over the flowers.
“Thank you, Matthew.”
“Why, Diggory, thank you darling!”
My father gave me a nod, and I sat down. I had done as I was told.
Wine glasses were filled, waiters handed out menus. Sunlight streamed in through the big windows. Outside, you could see the green grass and trees of the manicured golf course. All I could smell was the perfume of old ladies. Our mothers wore fancy dresses and pearls. Our fathers showed up in well-tailored suits.
There was mild chitchat while the meal was served. Gourmet salads, tasty soups, dishes of chicken, lamb and veal. I imagined that the bill would be as much as some families spent on groceries in a month, maybe more.
The “grown-ups” discussed news and politics. My father mentioned his business trip. Matt’s dad told us about his latest feats of cardio-thoracic genius, as the head of the hospital’s surgery department. We sat there, eternal children who were merely props in their successful lives. Our role was to make them look good, and to only speak when spoken too.
“So, Matthew, are you seeing anyone special?” Mrs. Pinard asked. “I’m still waiting to hear you’ve found the love of your life.”
“I haven’t found her yet, Mom. Though I have been seeing a couple of nice girls.” Matt the Pimp winked at me. I realized he meant Petra and Daphne from the other night, and was trying to get a rise out of me.
“And you, Diggory?” My mother asked.
“Uh, no, not really…”
“Oh, come on, Digger. Tell them about that young lady at the gallery.” Matt grinned. I glared at him.
“Oh? Who’s this?” Mrs. Pinard asked, her interest piqued. She loved gossip. “Anyone we know?”
“I don’t think so… She’s just a young lady from the university…” I stammered, shooting laser beams out of my eyes towards Matt.
“Oh, don’t be so modest! She’s a graduate student in physics, studying with the top minds in her field,” Matt the Traitor started to charm the crowd. “I imagine you’ll be hearing about her in a few years, for Nobels and the like. She’s brilliant. Tell them, Digger.”
“I really don’t… She’s… Well, I don’t know her that well yet.” I shrugged, hating being on the spot like this. I promised myself some bloody revenge. “We met earlier this week, and she invited me to her friend’s gallery showing.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Matt said enthusiastically. “I almost forgot. Sheila’s gallery, Mom, you know the one. They did a student art show, and Sheila tells me that this young lady was a model for some of the artists.”
“Just her room-mate, Bianca.” I finally had something I could state for certain. “She’s very talented.”
“What’s this young lady’s name?” My mother had to ask.
“Calla. Calla Wiley.”
I could see my mother processing this. I almost laughed, it reminded me of Matt searching his mental Rolodex. She put a hand on my father’s arm, leaning in closely.
“Do we know the Wileys?” She turned to my father in a stage whisper. Which meant that she strongly questioned Calla’s upbringing, background and wealth, and wanted everyone to know it, but was pretending to be discreet.
“No, dear.” My father looked at me with his appraising stare. He stroked his steel-grey, well-trimmed beard. “Perhaps they’re West Coast people.”
“I really don’t know,” I said, “We just met this past week. It’s not the big deal that Matt is making it out to be.”
“Oh, it’s a very big deal,” Matt said. “You should have seen his excitement when she called.”
I kicked Matt under the table. He grinned at me through gritted teeth. What are you doing? I tried to mentally scream at him.
“You don’t need to worry, Mrs. Franklin, your Diggory is far more likely to settle down than I am. I’m sure there will be little Diggorys running around in no time, making you a happy grandmother. Sorry, Mom, I just haven’t found a young lady that impresses me as much as Diggory’s new romance.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. Matthew, you’re such a good friend.” Mrs. Pinard cooed over her son.
Somehow, Matt had impressed my parents as well. My mother in particular looked very pleased. The slimy snake had scored himself points with the parents, impressed my mother with Calla before having met her, and got everyone to leave us both alone about the marriage thing. Not to mention making me unbelievably uncomfortable and about three inches tall in the process. Sneaky.
I wondered what it was like to have Matt as an enemy instead of a friend.
Next Chapter>>
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Chapter Thirteen: Jerk
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Frank, just listen. Stay away. Please. I love you too much…” Calla’s voice went soft, fading out. She hung up. I stared at the phone, trying to figure her out.
What the hell was the matter with her? Dead in a year? Was she on drugs?
I took my file and left the office, heading down the elevator and out through the lobby. I didn’t have time for this kind of bullshit. I had work to do.
I rode in the back of a cab, reading over the files my father had left. They outlined a big real estate deal in Colorado, he was expanding the company again. I suppose he wanted me to go over the legalities. Contracts, property law, terms…
The cabbie let me out and I went up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I had to get some energy out of my system. Calla had me all worked up. I ran, squeezing the folder in my hand.
My footsteps clattered in the stairwell, echoing. I pushed myself hard, working up a sweat. My thighs burned as I reached my high floor, gasping for air. I lumbered towards my apartment, unlocking the door and closing it behind me. I lurched to the fridge and grabbed some water.
“Crazy girl,” I muttered between gulps. “Crazy.”
I went into my personal gym and worked out until I was exhausted, and could fall into bed. I fell asleep immediately, happily falling into a dreamless oblivion.
****************************************************************
“Rise and shine!” A voice said, opening my curtains and letting in blaring sunlight.
“What the?” I groaned, throwing a pillow in the general direction of the voice.
“I’m so glad you gave me a key,” Matt the Pimp said, tossing the pillow back and hitting me square in the head. “Get up. We’re going to the club today, remember?”
“For lunch,” I mumbled, rolling over. “Our parents. Screw off till later.”
“Dude, it’s past ten. I called this morning, since I know you’re usually up early, and decided to come over when there was no answer.”
“So glad for your concern,” I might have said. Instead, I threw the pillow at him again, hitting him in the leg. “Bite me.”
“Wow, such language! And you’re not hung-over or anything. What is with you?”
“I’m just tired. Go away.”
“Digger, I’m your ride to the country club. Let’s go. Before our parents kill us for being late.”
“Since when are we twelve years old? I thought we were grown-ups now.”
“Says the man throwing pillows like a child.”
“Shut up.”
********************************************************************
I pulled myself together and showered quickly. I came out of my room, dressed in a “Good Son” sweater, tie and dress pants, I found that Matt had thoughtfully made breakfast.
“Pop Tarts,” he handed me the warm pastry and ushered me out the door. We rode down in the elevator, and I chewed.
“I like Toaster Strudels myself,” Matt said.
“Me too,” I agreed, “I usually put the Pop Tarts in the fridge.”
“What?”
“Trust me. It makes the fruit filling and the icing taste better. Hot, they’re just dry and gross.”
“I never would have thought of that.”
“You don’t think of a lot of things. We need to pick up flowers for our mothers.”
“Why?”
“Why, he asks. Because she’s your mom. And, my father told me I have to. I don’t want to make you look bad.”
Matt looked me up and down. “Digger, nobody makes me look bad. I always look good in comparison.”
I shoved him with a laugh.
We got into Matt the Pimp’s shiny Porsche and he whirled us around the corner and down the street. We stopped at a flower shop quickly.
Matt went straight for the roses. We usually did that, because they were really the only flowers we knew the names for. I stopped, however, looking at a display of elegant white flowers.
“What are you doing?” He said, holding up yellow roses. “Let’s go.”
“They’re called Calla Lilies.”
“Shut up!” Matt pushed me, sending me towards the roses. “Grab a bouquet and move it. She’s just some girl.”
I bought some white roses and we headed out the door. I looked back though, from the window. I wondered if Miss Wiley liked the flowers she was named after? I thought about buying her some, the look on her face, taking her to dinner…
“Dude, seriously, if you turn into a chick, I’m going to punch you,” Matt growled as he steered.
“I can’t help how I feel.”
“Yes, you can. She’s a psycho crazy chick who you met on, what, Thursday? She’s nobody. You know how you get over shit like that?”
“How?”
“After lunch, we go out, get drunk, and find some hot chicks.” Matt smiled, “That works every time.”
“I think that was your answer to failing tests in college, smashing up your dad’s car, and the time you lost that money at the track.”
“I said it works every time. It does. I always feel better after I get laid.”
I shook my head. “You’re getting predictable in your old age.”
“One thing I pride myself on is consistency. I’ve been getting laid consistently since I was fourteen. You wish you had my numbers.”
I stared out the window.
“Yeah, I used to.”
Next Chapter>>
“Frank, just listen. Stay away. Please. I love you too much…” Calla’s voice went soft, fading out. She hung up. I stared at the phone, trying to figure her out.
What the hell was the matter with her? Dead in a year? Was she on drugs?
I took my file and left the office, heading down the elevator and out through the lobby. I didn’t have time for this kind of bullshit. I had work to do.
I rode in the back of a cab, reading over the files my father had left. They outlined a big real estate deal in Colorado, he was expanding the company again. I suppose he wanted me to go over the legalities. Contracts, property law, terms…
The cabbie let me out and I went up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I had to get some energy out of my system. Calla had me all worked up. I ran, squeezing the folder in my hand.
My footsteps clattered in the stairwell, echoing. I pushed myself hard, working up a sweat. My thighs burned as I reached my high floor, gasping for air. I lumbered towards my apartment, unlocking the door and closing it behind me. I lurched to the fridge and grabbed some water.
“Crazy girl,” I muttered between gulps. “Crazy.”
I went into my personal gym and worked out until I was exhausted, and could fall into bed. I fell asleep immediately, happily falling into a dreamless oblivion.
****************************************************************
“Rise and shine!” A voice said, opening my curtains and letting in blaring sunlight.
“What the?” I groaned, throwing a pillow in the general direction of the voice.
“I’m so glad you gave me a key,” Matt the Pimp said, tossing the pillow back and hitting me square in the head. “Get up. We’re going to the club today, remember?”
“For lunch,” I mumbled, rolling over. “Our parents. Screw off till later.”
“Dude, it’s past ten. I called this morning, since I know you’re usually up early, and decided to come over when there was no answer.”
“So glad for your concern,” I might have said. Instead, I threw the pillow at him again, hitting him in the leg. “Bite me.”
“Wow, such language! And you’re not hung-over or anything. What is with you?”
“I’m just tired. Go away.”
“Digger, I’m your ride to the country club. Let’s go. Before our parents kill us for being late.”
“Since when are we twelve years old? I thought we were grown-ups now.”
“Says the man throwing pillows like a child.”
“Shut up.”
********************************************************************
I pulled myself together and showered quickly. I came out of my room, dressed in a “Good Son” sweater, tie and dress pants, I found that Matt had thoughtfully made breakfast.
“Pop Tarts,” he handed me the warm pastry and ushered me out the door. We rode down in the elevator, and I chewed.
“I like Toaster Strudels myself,” Matt said.
“Me too,” I agreed, “I usually put the Pop Tarts in the fridge.”
“What?”
“Trust me. It makes the fruit filling and the icing taste better. Hot, they’re just dry and gross.”
“I never would have thought of that.”
“You don’t think of a lot of things. We need to pick up flowers for our mothers.”
“Why?”
“Why, he asks. Because she’s your mom. And, my father told me I have to. I don’t want to make you look bad.”
Matt looked me up and down. “Digger, nobody makes me look bad. I always look good in comparison.”
I shoved him with a laugh.
We got into Matt the Pimp’s shiny Porsche and he whirled us around the corner and down the street. We stopped at a flower shop quickly.
Matt went straight for the roses. We usually did that, because they were really the only flowers we knew the names for. I stopped, however, looking at a display of elegant white flowers.
“What are you doing?” He said, holding up yellow roses. “Let’s go.”
“They’re called Calla Lilies.”
“Shut up!” Matt pushed me, sending me towards the roses. “Grab a bouquet and move it. She’s just some girl.”
I bought some white roses and we headed out the door. I looked back though, from the window. I wondered if Miss Wiley liked the flowers she was named after? I thought about buying her some, the look on her face, taking her to dinner…
“Dude, seriously, if you turn into a chick, I’m going to punch you,” Matt growled as he steered.
“I can’t help how I feel.”
“Yes, you can. She’s a psycho crazy chick who you met on, what, Thursday? She’s nobody. You know how you get over shit like that?”
“How?”
“After lunch, we go out, get drunk, and find some hot chicks.” Matt smiled, “That works every time.”
“I think that was your answer to failing tests in college, smashing up your dad’s car, and the time you lost that money at the track.”
“I said it works every time. It does. I always feel better after I get laid.”
I shook my head. “You’re getting predictable in your old age.”
“One thing I pride myself on is consistency. I’ve been getting laid consistently since I was fourteen. You wish you had my numbers.”
I stared out the window.
“Yeah, I used to.”
Next Chapter>>
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Chapter Twelve: Welcome to the Life
“Hello? Are you there? Pick up if you’re there. Pick up, pick up, pick up… You’re not there. Where are you? Come on, pick up. Okay, I’ll call back.”
It was Calla’s voice. She called my office on Friday, apparently. But why? She had reached me at home earlier, and invited me to the gallery.
The next message started. “Where are you? Are you avoiding me? I hope you’re avoiding me. I hope you’re avoiding me instead of just busy or something. I told you to avoid me. That’s good. But you might just be grabbing food or something. I hate this. I’ll call back.”
She sounded really upset. Why hadn’t she mentioned calling my office when I saw her that night?
“Frank? Are you there? Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up at all. Stay away from me. I probably sound crazy to you, but that’s the best reason to stay away, isn’t it? Whatever you do, don’t pick up if I call.” Click.
I wondered if she took medication. Maybe she was bipolar, and forgot her meds sometimes? She seemed so paranoid one minute, and so normal the next. There had been no hint of this anxiety at the gallery. We had flirted and joked…
I felt uneasy. I really didn’t want to get involved with this girl, if this was how she’d be acting. She needed help. Why did she keep calling me Frank all the time?
The fourth message started:
“Mr. Franklin, it’s Lorraine Bowden. I just got a message from your father’s secretary that he left an important folder on your desk. I tried you at home, but there was no answer. I’m trying the office just in case you’ve headed over there. I wanted to apologize for not having checked for it, I’m usually much more thorough. I left early on Friday, since you didn’t need me.”
I checked the display. Lorraine had called about ten minutes before I walked through the door. I decided to call her back. But, while I dialled, I had a thought.
As crazy as she sounded, it made sense that Calla had called my office. That was the number on the card I gave her, after all. My home number wasn’t on it. How had she called my apartment?
I dialled Lorraine.
“Hello, Bowden residence.”
“Lorraine, it’s Diggory. Just returning your call. I got that file you mentioned.”
“Oh, Mr. Franklin. Good, thank you for touching base. Your father’s office was very insistent that you get it.”
“Don’t worry about leaving early Friday. I certainly don’t expect you to sit around while I’m off sick. It’s my fault I didn’t get the file, not yours. Have a nice weekend.”
“You too, sir.” Lorraine’s voice sounded unsure.
“Is there a problem, Lorraine?”
“No, sir. Just that, well, you don’t seem yourself.”
I laughed. “How so?”
“No offence, Mr. Franklin, but you’re a slave-driver. It’s one of the reasons I like working with you, you’re as tough as I am. But lately, you’ve been, well, nice.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, sir! Just unexpected.”
“I’ll try to toughen up by Monday. It’s been an odd week.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, Lorraine? Did anyone call for me on Friday?”
“There were several messages. I updated your calendar with next week’s appointments. Oh, and you received a personal call.”
“Personal?”
“Well, I assumed as much. It wasn’t regarding business. A young lady called with an invitation to a gallery showing, but I informed her that you weren’t in the office.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk.
“You didn’t give her my home number, did you?”
“Certainly not, sir. I never share your personal information.”
“Thank you, Lorraine, I do appreciate that. It’s just that the young lady in question called at my home later on Friday, and I wondered how she got hold of the number.”
“Oh, well, you can thank Mr. Pinard for that, sir.”
“Matt?”
“Yes, sir. He dropped by the office to see if you were in.”
I laughed to myself. Matt had suggested I stay home. It was just like him to show up, feigning ignorance, to create plausible deniability for himself. And, to give me an alibi. No one would accuse me of faking sick, if my best friend showed up wondering where I was.
“What does that have to do with the young lady?”
“He took her number from me, in case you wanted it. I assume he may have called her on your behalf, since you were sick. He’s the most likely suspect for providing her with your number, sir.”
“Excellent logic, Lorraine. Thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”
That wily bastard! He had set me up, knowing full well that Calla would be at the gallery. I wondered why. Matt had tried talking me out of seeing her.
But then, he was a bit of a prankster. He probably wanted to see the drama play itself out. Matt couldn’t resist butting in on my business, ever since we were young. I bet he enjoyed every second of it.
I’d have to thank him at lunch the next day. And, start plotting my revenge.
I picked up the folder from my desk and turned for the door. As I did, the telephone started to ring. On a Saturday.
“Hello? Lorraine?”
“Frank? Oh, thank God! Frank, don’t speak, just listen. Ignore all my calls. Stay the hell away from me, okay? No matter what, just don’t answer if I call. I’m so glad I reached you. You need to listen to me about this. I know I probably sound crazy, but it’s for your own good. Stay away!”
“Calla? I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I think you need to talk to someone about it, but the next time we speak, I’m sure things will be fine.”
“No, you dumb jerk! If you pick up the phone the next time I call, there’s a good chance you’ll end up causing your own death! Exactly one year after I call you, you die! Your only hope is to never speak to me again!”
Next Chapter>>
It was Calla’s voice. She called my office on Friday, apparently. But why? She had reached me at home earlier, and invited me to the gallery.
The next message started. “Where are you? Are you avoiding me? I hope you’re avoiding me. I hope you’re avoiding me instead of just busy or something. I told you to avoid me. That’s good. But you might just be grabbing food or something. I hate this. I’ll call back.”
She sounded really upset. Why hadn’t she mentioned calling my office when I saw her that night?
“Frank? Are you there? Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up at all. Stay away from me. I probably sound crazy to you, but that’s the best reason to stay away, isn’t it? Whatever you do, don’t pick up if I call.” Click.
I wondered if she took medication. Maybe she was bipolar, and forgot her meds sometimes? She seemed so paranoid one minute, and so normal the next. There had been no hint of this anxiety at the gallery. We had flirted and joked…
I felt uneasy. I really didn’t want to get involved with this girl, if this was how she’d be acting. She needed help. Why did she keep calling me Frank all the time?
The fourth message started:
“Mr. Franklin, it’s Lorraine Bowden. I just got a message from your father’s secretary that he left an important folder on your desk. I tried you at home, but there was no answer. I’m trying the office just in case you’ve headed over there. I wanted to apologize for not having checked for it, I’m usually much more thorough. I left early on Friday, since you didn’t need me.”
I checked the display. Lorraine had called about ten minutes before I walked through the door. I decided to call her back. But, while I dialled, I had a thought.
As crazy as she sounded, it made sense that Calla had called my office. That was the number on the card I gave her, after all. My home number wasn’t on it. How had she called my apartment?
I dialled Lorraine.
“Hello, Bowden residence.”
“Lorraine, it’s Diggory. Just returning your call. I got that file you mentioned.”
“Oh, Mr. Franklin. Good, thank you for touching base. Your father’s office was very insistent that you get it.”
“Don’t worry about leaving early Friday. I certainly don’t expect you to sit around while I’m off sick. It’s my fault I didn’t get the file, not yours. Have a nice weekend.”
“You too, sir.” Lorraine’s voice sounded unsure.
“Is there a problem, Lorraine?”
“No, sir. Just that, well, you don’t seem yourself.”
I laughed. “How so?”
“No offence, Mr. Franklin, but you’re a slave-driver. It’s one of the reasons I like working with you, you’re as tough as I am. But lately, you’ve been, well, nice.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, sir! Just unexpected.”
“I’ll try to toughen up by Monday. It’s been an odd week.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, Lorraine? Did anyone call for me on Friday?”
“There were several messages. I updated your calendar with next week’s appointments. Oh, and you received a personal call.”
“Personal?”
“Well, I assumed as much. It wasn’t regarding business. A young lady called with an invitation to a gallery showing, but I informed her that you weren’t in the office.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk.
“You didn’t give her my home number, did you?”
“Certainly not, sir. I never share your personal information.”
“Thank you, Lorraine, I do appreciate that. It’s just that the young lady in question called at my home later on Friday, and I wondered how she got hold of the number.”
“Oh, well, you can thank Mr. Pinard for that, sir.”
“Matt?”
“Yes, sir. He dropped by the office to see if you were in.”
I laughed to myself. Matt had suggested I stay home. It was just like him to show up, feigning ignorance, to create plausible deniability for himself. And, to give me an alibi. No one would accuse me of faking sick, if my best friend showed up wondering where I was.
“What does that have to do with the young lady?”
“He took her number from me, in case you wanted it. I assume he may have called her on your behalf, since you were sick. He’s the most likely suspect for providing her with your number, sir.”
“Excellent logic, Lorraine. Thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”
That wily bastard! He had set me up, knowing full well that Calla would be at the gallery. I wondered why. Matt had tried talking me out of seeing her.
But then, he was a bit of a prankster. He probably wanted to see the drama play itself out. Matt couldn’t resist butting in on my business, ever since we were young. I bet he enjoyed every second of it.
I’d have to thank him at lunch the next day. And, start plotting my revenge.
I picked up the folder from my desk and turned for the door. As I did, the telephone started to ring. On a Saturday.
“Hello? Lorraine?”
“Frank? Oh, thank God! Frank, don’t speak, just listen. Ignore all my calls. Stay the hell away from me, okay? No matter what, just don’t answer if I call. I’m so glad I reached you. You need to listen to me about this. I know I probably sound crazy, but it’s for your own good. Stay away!”
“Calla? I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I think you need to talk to someone about it, but the next time we speak, I’m sure things will be fine.”
“No, you dumb jerk! If you pick up the phone the next time I call, there’s a good chance you’ll end up causing your own death! Exactly one year after I call you, you die! Your only hope is to never speak to me again!”
Next Chapter>>
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Pages Unbound
Ladies and Gentlemen:
I have submitted "The Surprising Life and Death of Diggory Franklin" to Pages Unbound. Once it is online, and five reviews are posted, I will publish the bonus chapter you are all furiously voting for. Thanks for your support, I love you guys!
Gavin
I have submitted "The Surprising Life and Death of Diggory Franklin" to Pages Unbound. Once it is online, and five reviews are posted, I will publish the bonus chapter you are all furiously voting for. Thanks for your support, I love you guys!
Gavin
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