Sam would do anything to be successful. He stayed late after work and never claimed overtime. He allowed his boss Catherine to add stories of fictitious satisfied customers into his sales presentation. He tweaked survey results on the benefits and efficiency of the company’s product for her articles to tech magazines. And once, when she asked him to, he even told the chairman’s wife that her husband was meeting a client with him when the old man was actually with his mistress.
However, he was not going to make Mrs Hawthorne fall in love with him.
“Come on, Sam,” Catherine said. “This is your chance to make it big. She is a very rich widow.”
“But she is old enough to be my mother.”
“Are you against younger men going after older women?”
“No, I am not. But there is no attraction between us.”
“Of course there is. She couldn’t keep her eyes off you when you did your presentation.”
Sam stammered, “I…I don’t need the money.”
“But we do.” A pause. “Think about it, Sam. If we don’t get more investment soon, we will have to start letting go of more people. You were here last year. You saw how devastated some of our colleagues were when they got their pink slips. You want to see more people get hurt? Is that it?”
“No. No, I don’t. But we could always try to persuade her to invest because of our market potential and our technology.”
Catherine threw her hands in the air then leaned back and said, “Sam, she is a pampered woman. What in the world makes you think that she understands all that?”
Sam cleared his throat. “But you are a woman, Catherine.”
She leaned forward. “Exactly, and I can tell you without a doubt that she is not intelligent. All her kind is interested in are housekeeping and baking.”
“But…”
Catherine lifted a warning finger. “This conversation is not open for argument. If you won’t do it, your name will stay on top of the termination list.”
Sam swallowed and bowed his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned back and visibly relaxed. “Good. I have set a two o’clock appointment for you to go to her place tomorrow. Put on your sexiest underwear and dab some cologne in your special places.”
Sam’s stomach turned and he could feel bile creeping up his throat. Barely audibly he said, “Ma’am?”
Catherine again leaned forward. “You will go far, Sam. I promise you, you will,” and with that, she dismissed him.
Sam kept his head bowed throughout the walk back to his cubicle. He would not even break for lunch. Instead he spent the whole time staring at his computer screen. What was he to do? Who could he talk to?
“Hey, Sports. What’s up?” the janitor Joseph said as he stooped down to pick up a half-filled wastepaper basket and dumped the contents into a large bin.
“Hi.” A nervous pause. “How’s the family, Joe?”
“Kids are doing great, wife is happy. Susan is going to the same college you went to. Her study loan has just been approved.” He gazed down at Sam. “But I know you’re not interested to know about them. Anything you want to talk about?”
Sam swallowed. “If someone were to ask you to do something you won’t, would you?”
Joseph stretched his arm and leaned against the cubicle wall. “Well, I didn’t want to clean up after people when I was young, but when I gave the job a go, I find it okay.”
“What if you’ve got to do something to someone?”
“You mean, do something bad to them?”
Sam shook his head once, twice. “I don’t know.”
“Then find out some more. Like I always tell my kids, you gotta find out till you know. Then only can you decide if it is good or bad. Things usually are different from what we think at first.”
“Yeh, you’re right, Joe. Mom tells me the same thing, but I forget.”
Joe gripped the handle of the bin. “It’s because of all this planning and strategizing that you people do. The rules always work because you deal with so many people at one time that some of them will act as you predict all of the time. But when you are dealing with one single person, those rules don’t work, because people’s needs don’t stay the same all the time.” He winked. “Your dad taught me that.”
Sam grinned. “Thanks Joe.”
“You alright now?”
“Yeh.”
“Give my love to your mom,” Joe said and pushed the bin to the next cubicle. Sam turned back to his computer screen, his confidence restored. Both Joe and his dad had been friends for as long as he could remember, and after his dad had died of lung cancer five years ago Joe had watched out for him.
Bits and pieces of memory and fantasy of his father, all jumbled up and mixed together, went through Sam’s mind as he navigated his way into the shared folder of Investor Relations. He clicked open a file which yielded a 2-page bio of Mrs Hawthorne. He learned that she had been widowed for nine years, had three sons and was an active member of two charity organizations. Sam heaved a sigh of relief. Joe was right. She might be a decent person after all.
When his colleagues returned from lunch, they found him hunkered over sheets of marketing plans, product proposals and financial projections. He added as much basic information as he could, and simplified anything he felt was too complicated for the potential investor to understand.
The next morning also found him hard at work as he again went through his presentation. When Catherine walked past his cubicle and saw him shifting through the papers he had just printed, she said, “You don’t have to waste your time doing all this. Just wow her with your presence.”
“I just think it best to be prepared.”
Catherine shrugged. “Suit yourself,” and walked away.
Sam was out the door after a quick lunch and took the subway to Irving Park. From there he got into a cab and arrived in front of a three-storey house covered in pale stonework and lined with dark arched windows ten minutes early. The butler showed him into a study filled with mahogany furniture and a set of leather sofas.
Mrs Hawthorne looked up from her desk with a friendly smile and indicated for him to sit as she got up and walk towards an armchair. Sam was relieved to see her wearing a pair of loose black pants and a grey turtleneck shirt.
She asked. “Did you have trouble finding the place?”
“No, ma’am, I used a cab,” he said and zipped open his briefcase to fish out his presentation materials.
She turned her head to the side. “Pembroke, could you bring us some tea please?” The butler nodded and walked out.
On turning her attention back to Sam, she said, “There is no need for you to do a presentation for me today, Samuel. I have already made my decision.”
“Ma’am?”
“I noticed some implausibility in your technical projections.”
“But our engineers said….”
She raised a hand to stop him. “They will say whatever they have to say, to get money. But the fact of the matter is, the process technology the new product needs is not immediately available. I’ve asked a technical lawyer to check all current related patents that had been filed in court and none of them looked viable, not even the ones from your company.”
Sam blushed then paled and a chill ran down his spine, cramping his stomach so hard he had to bow his back to ease off the pain. Pembroke walked in with a tray of tea and biscuits and after setting it down on the coffee table, he left them, closing the door behind him.
Mrs Hawthorn poured tea into two cups and asked if he would like sugar and cream. He shook his head to both offers. The cup rattled in its saucer as he received it from her hands.
She looked away. “What is your mother’s name, Samuel?”
“Judith Tyler, ma’am”
“What is her maiden name?”
“Judith Angelo.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Fresh out of college?”
“About a year now.”
“Was your father Paul Tyler?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said, and sat up straight.
“That is good. They were very much in love.”
Sam blurted, “You know my parents?”
She turned to look at him and to his horror he saw her eyes fast brimming with tears. She turned away and stared at a portrait of her husband. “Judith worked for my husband about 26, 27 years ago.”
Sam swallowed. “She never told me.”
She smiled and the pool of tears overflowed down her cheeks. “I can understand why.”
Sam was petrified into silence. He wanted to get out; he needed to get out. She said, “What was your life like, Samuel, while you were growing up.”
“It was hard, but okay. I mean, my parents had a hard time getting permanent jobs until dad found a good paying one at the chemical plant. Life was alright after that. They paid for my dad’s medical bills and even part of my education.”
She stared into his face, with the kind of loving countenance that he had only seen from his mother. “You look so much like Paul. I was so amazed when I saw you.”
Unconsciously Sam jiggled his leg. “My mom says that a lot too.”
A thrush warbled outside the window and through the clear panes, Sam could make out clumps of perennial shrubs blooming golden Indian Summer and fiery Zinnias.
She followed his gaze. “You know those flowers?”
“Yes, they are some of my mom’s favourites.”
“I had them planted close to my window after my husband died.” She rose and stood in front of the portrait. “I loved him so much. I loved him more than anything you can ever imagine. I adored him, I worshipped him. But when he died, my reasons to protect him became dusts.”
Sam squeezed the handle of his briefcase until his knuckles showed white. She continued, “I would do anything for him, even lie.”
He stared. “I don’t understand.”
Sobs began to wreak her body and she crossed her arms over her chest so tight, it seemed as though there was nothing left in her life to comfort her. Then she said, “He raped your mother. I walked in on him,” her hand went to her throat, “and he was choking her with a necktie.” A long silence. “I called an ambulance. She could have died.” She struggled to get the words out between sobs. “When she came to, she told the police. But I couldn’t let them put my husband in jail. I couldn’t. I told them he was with me, and that it was Paul who did it to her.” She turned to look at him, her eyes pleading, begging for understanding. “You see, I witnessed her being attacked. I called the ambulance. When she insisted that I was wrong, my husband threatened to sue them for blackmail.” She fell down on her knees. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”
Sam stood up, his mind reeling, his heart pounding. Automatically he picked up the papers and knocked the cup off the table, spilling its contents onto the carpet. Without stuffing the papers back into his briefcase, he ran to the front door and dashed out onto the streets. He couldn’t remember how long he walked, or how many corners he turned before he found himself standing in front of the Harlem subway sign. He was so distraught during the ride back he missed his transit at Clinton Station.
It was late by the time he reached his apartment. When he stuck his key into the lock the door opened.
“Sam, why are you so late?” his mother asked, her face furrowed with worry.
“I had to go to the north side to meet with an investor, mama.”
“Are you hungry? I have kept dinner warm for you.”
A strange kind of relief washed over Sam. The kind that suddenly opened his eyes to the good things he still had in his life.
“Yes, mama. I am hungry.”
He locked the door behind him, and after dinner that night, he wrote his resignation letter. He was going to leave the city and go to a place where they could live in a house with a garden, which he knew his mother would fill with yellow flowers.
Read more short stories.
