Authors: Meredith Greene
“Thank you for lunch, William,” Michelle said, nudging him back lightly.
“Anytime, Michelle,” he answered. “I will see you later.”
“Bye.”
Michelle forced herself to turn around and walk away; even her feet seemed to be saying: ‘Stay! Stay with the gorgeous man with blue eyes!’ Shivering with a whole host of foreign emotions, Michelle slowly made her way down the packed sidewalk in a sort of blissful trance. William wanted her to go with him to Vermont! He was flirting with her. Not too much, but definitely flirting. Warmed by these thoughts, Michelle walked on, enjoying the moment tremendously.
William watched her go; her face seemed alight with some purely innocent joy.
“If you only knew what I was thinking half the time, you’d run,” he thought, wryly. Would she? He wondered about her. Michelle flirted like a timid, little sparrow and seemed painfully naive to some of his suggestive remarks. Then again, he had been making her blush almost constantly. He silently admitted he liked doing that, most of all. Passing through the building’s revolving door, William walked to the familiar corporate elevators. Alone in the lift, he meditated on his date with Michelle; she was not far from his mind at any time of the day or night lately.
As he stood in the elevator, William wondered of Michelle’s serene exterior harbored an entire, inward bottle of passion hidden away for later use; he longed to find out. Even being near her sometimes made it necessary to clench his jaw and think of something unpleasant to avoid certain discomforts... especially when she smiled.
“Dammed unprofessional,” William muttered; he missed Michelle already. “Room 203,” he said. Just knowing her room number brought him comfort.
The doors of the elevator swept open, revealing the receptionist’s desk. The middle-aged woman behind it was a rather irritable sort, with stiff, bleached hair and a matching personality.
“Mr. Peters and Mr. Johnson want all the department heads in the main conference room,” she snapped. From her sour attitude, William guessed the woman had missed lunch. Nodding, he changed direction towards the executive hall.
“Ah... William,” Mr. Johnson called out to him as he entered the large room. “Take a seat.” William did and fixed his employer with an unemotional stare.
Though large, the main conference room was little more than a box with a table in it. Besides the whimsical, antique windows, whoever decorated this place had no imagination whatsoever. The short, portly man before him sat at the head of a long, polished table that had been painted black; it always made William wince when he saw it. What a waste of perfectly good wood to simply paint over it.
“Peters will be a minute.” Mr. Johnson was speaking again; he drummed his fleshy fingers on the table in a bored fashion. “I hear you’ve been finishing up the Morton-Viece thing.”
“I have, sir,” William responded. Mr. Johnson attempted a smile; the result was a lopsided sneer. William wished the man could see himself; he looked like a clown that had suffered a stroke.
“Great, great... I hadn’t heard about it for awhile until today; some junior associate said you were handling it,” the man droned on. “So, been on vacation lately?” William resisted rolling his eyes. He detested small talk, especially before meetings, but this obvious, vague drivel was intolerable. Honestly, how did the man become a lawyer? William kept his thoughts to himself as the man rambled on about going fishing in Virginia. It occurred to William that he didn’t really know what Mr. Johnson did at the firm.
“Sir?” William interrupted. “I will be taking next weekend off; I’ll bear fishing in mind. I do have a few hundred pages of the Morton-Viece merger to go through today.”
Mr. Johnson nodded.
“Oh... yeah. How’s it going?” he inquired said.
“Well, right now... it’s not,” William responded, managing to keep his face straight. “I am sitting here.”
“Oh, right... uh... great,” Mr. Johnson said, with little effort. “Here’s Peters.”
William turned to see the senior partner walk through the door, followed by several of the junior partners. Despite his poor choice in part choice in business partners, William had some respect for Mr. Peters. The man was a brilliant litigator who’d used his turn-the-screws-on-witnesses approach towards merger deals, ending up with a few devoted clients and an international company. The man’s original partner, the respected A. M. Brownstone had died some years ago; heart attacks were common among lawyers. It was rumored Peters took on Johnson as a silent partner merely for some additional capital.
“Alright, sit,” Peters boomed out, his forehead lined in a permanent scowl. “As you know the rumors are true about the upcoming Warthall-Poller venture; they want us to negotiate the same deal as Morton-Viece but they want 2/3 of the staff gone. Montgomery...”
“Sir,” William looked his boss square in the eye, over the long expanse of the table.
“Hammer out the final details on Morton-Viece and courier it over before end of business today. Copies on my desk by four,” the man barked.
“Yes, sir,” William said, his face blank. Mr. Peters was not angry; he snapped at everyone, even on good days. The firm’s senior partner doled out a few more jobs and was about to adjourn the meeting when the newest junior partner spoke up. William couldn’t remember his name.
“What about the rumors of Felix Maclane...” the young man said, nervously; he hushed up as he encountered Mr. Peters’ expression. The boss gave the man such an icy glare that William wondered if his boss was going to leap over the table and throttle the inquirer.
“That son-of-a-bitch won’t trouble us,” Peters said, stiffly. “Sometimes rumors are just rumors. Brownstone built this company; I’ve worked here since I was twenty. It’s mine now and no one’s taking it from me.”
William sat forward, interested; he looked over at Johnson. The man shuffled papers aimlessly, looking at the table. Mr. Peters promptly ended the meeting and the partners scattered.
Catching up with the man who’d spoken up in the meeting, William introduced himself.
“Caleb Grenell,” the man said, shaking William’s hand.
“What was all that business about Felix Maclane?” William asked as they passed a water cooler. “Is he a new client?” The junior partner’s eyes bulged a little.
“You don’t know?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “Felix-Maclane Inc. is a legal firm, like this one, only bigger, with more offices and more clients...”
“I get the idea,” William interrupted. “I’ve been buried in my office the last six years with my nose in one contract after another. Sometimes I miss the news.”
“I guess...” Grenell said, getting a cup of water. “They’ve made a name for themselves lately by taking over legal firms and firing nearly everyone. Three already, just this year; they hostilely takeover corporate takeover specialists.”
“Sounds like poetic justice,” William mused aloud, looking at the nearby window. “Peters seemed unnerved at the mere mention of them.”
“He should be,” Grenell said, with conviction. William looked back at him, interested. Grenell continued; “My brother works for our accounting firm and he says our revenue has dropped dramatically since Brownstone kicked the bucket. If Felix-Maclane takes over, they’ll downsize to bare-bones… we’ll all
need new jobs.” Grenell nodded at William and hurried off down the hall. William walked to his own office, deep in thought.
Reaching his corridor, he glanced at Mabel, his middle-aged secretary; she nodded at him over her typing.
“Two courier deliveries for you, Mr. Montgomery,” she quipped, inclining her head slightly towards the IN box.
“Thank you Mabel,” William said, picking them up; he scrutinized the labels and grimaced. More changes to the merger contract. “I’ll need the courier service in the lobby by three o’clock; the final contract will be ready to send over by then, if I can just get it done. See that I’m not disturbed.”
“Yes sir,” Mabel answered automatically, still typing. Pushing open his office door, William closed it swiftly behind him. Walking over to the windows, he opened the blinds and watched the rain drizzle down for a moment; he puts his hands in his pockets.
A bit of sharply-folded paper poked his finger; he drew out the little origami bird Michelle had made. It looked a little crinkled but still graceful. Smiling, William turned it over; just thinking about Michelle brightened his mood. Walking to his desk, William moved a stack of papers and placed the bird down right where he could see it. Filling his coffee cup, he sat down resolutely to work, pausing now and then to look at the little bird and smile.
MICHELLE WALKED happily down the dirty sidewalk, not noticing the trash or the people who bumped into her with rude remarks. If cloud nine existed, she felt close to stepping on its surface. As she headed in the direction of her hotel, Michelle didn’t know quite what to do with herself. For the first time in years, she had not gone out to sell her drawings; here she was, ambling down the street like anyone else, but with nowhere to go. It did not matter; wings seemed attached to her heels and she floated despite gravity, despite the grim faces around her and in spite of all the moody feelings that hovered in the dark skies above.
A trip; it had been far too long since Michelle’s last journey out of the city. Walking slowly, she spied the side street leading towards the Good Will Pausing, she looked down at her clothes; it was the one nice, unstained outfit she possessed besides the pink gown. Biting her bottom lip, Michelle hovered by a bus stop sign, wondering if she could part with more of her precious dollars for ‘trip’ clothes. It seemed a bit extravagant but Michelle wanted to look nice for William and for Margaret; she did not want to bring shame to them or to herself by the want of a few items of clothing.
A dozen or so other people browsed through the Good Will aisles. Having decided to ‘shop’ Michelle put aside her frugal reservations. Her last date had been at senior prom; her ‘escort’ that night was as shy as she and they barely exchanged six words all night. Instead, they danced… a lot, and had a considerable amount of fun doing so. There was no need for speaking at a dance. He’d given her a chaste peck on the cheek; the boy certainly never inspired the emotions in her that William did and yet, she felt safe with her new-found interest. Soon, she’d get to go on a trip with him, to get to know his family better. The feelings accompanying such thoughts felt mildly exhilarating, as if she was about to dive out of a plane… but with a sturdy, trusty parachute.
Not in any hurry, Michelle dreamily perused the racks of used things; it looked a rainbow array of wealth to her. She was not looking for anything in particular, but hoped a wonderful outfit would jump out at her... figuratively speaking. A dark-red housecoat caught her eye; she felt it. Silk. Michelle was almost afraid to look at the tag.
“Six dollars,” she murmured. “Not bad.” For six dollars she could have a robe to be ‘suitable’ in. Margret’s home, Michelle knew, was sure to be a place where one should look proper, at the very least. The robe went into her basket. Michelle found some other useful items, including a pair of leather walking boots, garnet-red velvet jeans, a creamy pullover fleece and a long, deep green dinner dress and a gray woolen suit-dress. These, she felt would prove useful even after the trip.
Lingering in the used book section Michelle suddenly felt like someone was watching her. Pretending to ignore it, she looked for the nearest exit; spying a door nearby, she stole a glance toward the offender. A man in his late fifties stood about fifteen feet away from her, scrutinizing her face intently; his face struck Michet. She stared at him, her mouth open.
“Michelle.”
The man said her name but she didn’t move. Tears began to form in Michelle’s eyes but she blinked them away.
“Uncle Oscar?”
The man stepped closer and clasped her hand in a secure hold. It was not a threatening action, but one of relief. Still a little stunned, Michelle studied his face; she knew it well even after all this time. He towered over her much like William did, but the man’s face was aged, tanned and stocky; his hair seemed grayer than she remembered but his eyes were unchanged, a keen, warm gray. Her uncle smiled and stepped forward. Michelle let him hug her briefly.
“I’ve been trying to find you,” her uncle stated. His voice sounded stiff, but the sincerity in his face jabbed at Michelle’s heart; her brows drew together and she felt perilously close to crying.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Dad and Mom...”
“I know,” her uncle said, putting a hand on Michelle’s shoulder. “I was out of the country for several years... um... why don’t we get some coffee? This isn’t a great place to sit and talk.” Managing a weak smile, Michelle nodded.
“Just let me get these paid for and we’ll go,” she said, quietly; she paid for her items as her uncle stood nearby.
A few minutes later they sat in a nearby coffee shop. Michelle ordered cocoa; her uncle asked the man behind the counter for black coffee.
“You’ve really changed,” Oscar said, after they sat down. “I know that’s obvious but it was so strange to see you all grown up, standing in a Manhattan store.” Michelle laughed.
“The Good Will is hardly haute couture shopping,” she said, smiling. Her uncle returned her smile.
“I figured you’d be at one of them,” he explained. “I remember your mom used to go there. I kind of staked out the stores around your previous address. It was my last resort to find you.”
Michelle sat forward and looked him in the eye.
“If I may, sir... where have you been?” she began. “My father said you two had a fight but he wouldn’t say what about or why. Mom just figured it would work out between you. She said you were very busy.” Oscar’s expression sobered at her words.
“It was a bit more than just ‘busy’,” he said, seriously. “Your dad and I... well, we just stopped speaking for awhile. Back then, my work was easy to lose myself in. I had government contracts overseas, rebuilding bombed buildings, remodeling embassy compounds... that sort of thing. One country’s government where we were working kind of, well… imploded. All westerners and Americans were evacuated, but not all of us made it out in time. My crew and I were hid for weeks by a few brave families until we could make the border and fly out.”