"Michael´s Tale: Chapter 5" by Garon E. Whited

Michael.

I looked up from the bottom of the pool.  I’d just gone into the water in a really nice dive and was pretending to do a handstand on the bottom, much to the delight of the kids.

Lord? I asked.  I exist on multiple planes of existence; talking on the higher ones without talking on the lower ones is more difficult than vice-versa.

Clarissa will require your assistance.

And that was all I got.  It was quite enough to get me moving.  There’s an old joke about a stock market analyst:  When he talks, people listen.  When He talks, you bet your immortal soul I listen.

Fifteen seconds later, I was out of the water, along with all three kids.  The boys I chivvied home; Claire I hustled inside.

“Daddy!” she protested.

“Hush, baby girl.  I forgot I was supposed to call Mommy, and you can’t be out in the pool without a grownup.”

“But Mommy is always talking on the phone!  I’ll never get to swim anymore!”

“Sure you will.  I just need to see what Mommy needs, then we’ll go right back out to the pool.”

She looked pouty, but agreed.  “Okay.”

I punched the speed dial for Clarissa’s mobile phone; Robert had never taken it out.  It rang twice, then picked up.

“This had better be damned important!” she swore at me.  It sounded like she was having a bad day.

Well, drat.  I had no idea what to say.  Starting off with “Hello, I had a divine inspiration that you needed something from me,” just wasn’t going to do it.  I wished I’d thought to ask what sort of help she needed.  That would have given me an opening, at least.  Then again, if He thought I needed anything more than that, He would have told me.

Come to think of it…

“You’re important,” I told her.  “I just wanted to see if there was anything you needed.”

There was a pause.

“You just called to check and see if I needed anything?” she asked, sounding incredulous.  I did a fast review of the previous calls between Robert and Clarissa.  I saw a pattern immediately.  Robert wasn’t exactly the most independent man I’d ever inhabited.  I think “clingy” and “needy” might be closer descriptors.  He was always calling her to ask her to do something, not offer.

“Seems fair,” I said, after a heartbeat.  “You’re always the busy one.  I thought I’d check if I could do anything to make things a little better for you this evening.”

“Not unless you’ve suddenly gotten good with cars,” she stated.

“I tinker.  What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m in a cab and headed for a meeting with a V.P. about the new account I… the new computer account,” she corrected herself.  “My car won’t start, and I don’t have time to wait around for a tow truck.”

“I’ll see what I can do.  If you’ll tell me where you’re going and leave the keys with someone, I’ll collect them and get the car looked at.”

She paused again, thinking it over.

“All right.”  She told me what office building she wsa headed for, assured me the keys would be waiting at the front desk, and reminded me to keep an eye on the tow truck guys—they always ding the paint job and claim it was already there when they got it.

“I’ll be alert,” I assured her.

Claire was not happy.

“But you said we could go swimming!” she wailed.

“I know, sweetie,” I soothed.  “But Mommy needs help.  So you’re just going to have to settle for ice cream.”

“But I want to— ice cream?”

“And chocolate sauce,” I added.

“On a cone?”

“I’m afraid so.  It’s either swim, or help Mommy and get chocolate-covered ice cream.”

Robert happened to know Claire loved French vanilla ice cream, especially when dipped in chocolate.  It was messy, but well worth it for the sheer delight factor.

“Well…” she began, thinking.  The dilemma was a terrible one for someone so young.  Then she nodded.  “Okay.”

We changed and I called a cab.  Added to my list of Things To Do was get a new vehicle.

*   *   *

The Fellman Building was originally a brownstone; later in life, it had been converted to an office building.  Rather than rent several floors of a skyscraper, the firm had decided to just buy the building outright.  Robert never knew why, and I couldn’t think of a reason.  I’m sure it made sense to the guys in charge at the time, though.

I got out of the cab with Claire; I’d already told the driver that I was picking up a package.  He left the meter running while Claire and I hurried up the steps.  Inside, there was a large counter, behind which several ladies were typing busily.  A pair of bright and cheery receptionists greeted us in unison.

“Good evening, and welcome to Fellman and Associates.  How may we help you?”

I could tell they practiced it.

“My name is Robert, and my wife, Clarissa, was supposed to leave some keys here for me.”

The two consulted each other by eye, then the designated spokesperson replied, “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any keys for you, sir.”

“Maybe I’m here first.  Is Clarissa Masters already here?”

“Yes, sir.  She went straight up to Mister Drum’s office.”

It wasn’t like Clarissa to forget, but it also wasn’t like her to rely on Robert for anything.  Then again, I was starting to get a bad feeling.  Normal humans sometimes get similar feelings, but normal humans aren’t nearly as sensitive as we are.  Something in the building was very wrong.

“All right.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to pop up there and get the keys.  Won’t take a moment.  Where is this office?”

“I’m not sure we can let you go upstairs without an appointment, sir.”

“I’m sure you’re not supposed to, but I promise to be as quiet as possible.  Car troubles, you know how it is.  Got to get it done today or it won’t get done in time.”

I saw them waver, then Nudged them very lightly.  “Please?” I added, hoisting Claire onto one hip.

“Oh, all right.  Fourth floor, last door on the right.”

“Thank you so much,” I enthused, and headed for the elevators.

While we were in the elevator, Claire whispered, “Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t like this place.”

“I don’t think I like it much, either,” I agreed.  Whatever it was that felt wrong was getting stronger.  I had a hunch that Clarissa would be in the middle of it.  After all, the Boss doesn’t usually Speak to anyone unless it’s important.  He Spoke to me regarding helping Clarissa.  Ergo, this was something I wouldn’t have noticed on my own, yet was of immense importance.

At least He didn’t part the water of the pool and appear as a pillar of smoke.

The fourth floor had one hallway extending from the elevator.  Two doors were on the right, two on the left, and one at the end.  Each was clearly labeled with a name and a title.  Sure enough, I found Vice President Drum on the last door to the right.  It wasn’t locked, so I went in.

The secretary looked up at me with a huge, false smile.

“Hello, and how can I help you?”

“Hi.  I’m Robert Masters, and I need to see Clarissa Masters for about ten seconds,” I replied.  “I’m supposed to pick up her keys.”

“I’m sorry, but she and Mister Drum are in conference are not to be disturbed.”

I didn’t like the false smile and too-bright, too-cheery voice.  I looked at her, seeing beyond mere matter, and saw that she was very worried.  About me.

I put Claire down and leaned forward, placing my knuckles on her desk.

“You have three choices,” I told her.  “You can do nothing, in which case I’ll bust down that door.  You can call security, in which case I’ll bust down that door and march in anyway.  Or you can announce me, in which case I’m your boss’ problem, not yours.  Pick one.”

She stared at me and elected to remain silent.

“Claire, wait right here.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I went over to the door to the inner office and tried it; it was unlocked.

Inside, Clarissa was seated on one of the two chairs that faced the desk.  Mister Duke was on his feet, standing behind her, leaning over her shoulder.  He was a large man and somewhat overweight; he blocked most of my view of Clarissa.  I could see her hands, however; they were white-knuckled and clutching at the arms of the chair.

He was saying something, softly.  I couldn’t make out the words.  He obviously hadn’t heard me come in, so I glided across the thick carpet to get closer.

“Of course, a woman like you has many opportunities for advancement.  With suitable persuasion, I can see to it that your position with your firm is greatly enhanced.  There are also great financial rewards possible for both of us, if a suitable… accomodation can be reached.  All you have to do, of course, is show… appreciation… for everything I do for you.”

I had a slightly better angle by then.  Clarissa was sitting very stiff and straight, her lips pressed into a thin line, her nostrils flared, her eyes fixed on the far wall.  I could see the muscle at the hinge of her jaw was tight.  Mister Duke had his head down at a level with hers, moving to breathe in her hair, nuzzle lightly at her ear, blow softly down the front of her dress.  I noticed the elastic band that Clarissa had been wearing in her hair was wrapped around three of his fingers; Clarissa’s hair was loose and flowed over her shoulders.

I listened for a moment more, then decided that a tape recorder would be a good thing to have.  I reached into a jacket pocket and, lo, there one was.  Then I spoke up, interrupting the man in mid-seduction.

“What happens when her husband finds out?” I asked, a little louder than necessary.  They both jumped as though I’d fired a gun in the room.

“Who the hell are you?” Duke demanded.  “What are you doing in here?  Get out!”

“Love to.  Along with my wife.”

His expression went through a series of changes, all very rapid, settling finally on angry bluster.  It seemed a habitual state for him.

“I don’t care who you are.  This is a private discussion in a private office, and you are eavesdropping.  We have business to discuss and you are not an interested party.  Now get out!”

I ignored him and moved in front of Clarissa to offer my hand.  She looked at me with the same expression of shock she’d worn since becoming aware of me in the room.  She glanced at my hand, then at Duke.

“Listen, Tubby,” I told him, “the deal my wife is trying to offer you is an excellent one.  I suggest taking it; it makes good business sense.”  I pulled out the recorder.  “But raising a fuss about your attempt at—what do we call it?  Seduction or rape?  Certainly sexual harrassment—would be very, very bad for you.  And your company.  How much radio air time do you want your voice to have?”

He turned an ugly shade of purple.  I worried about the blood vessels in his head.

Then Clarissa took my hand and I helped her to her feet.  Maybe the sputtering rage from Duke reminded her how close she was sitting to him.

“Fax, phone, or email,” I told him.  “Have your people call her people.”  I lowered my voice, because the door was still open and the secretary was surely listening.  “But if you back out now,” I whispered, “we won’t forget this little incident, and I’ll we’ll see if we can hit you with jail time before we hit your wallet.  Capice?”

“You’ve got nothing.  Nothing!” he declared.  “You’re both out of here immediately if you know what’s good for you, and the deal is off!”

I clicked the recorder and it started to play back the last few minutes of his proposition.  His face went white.

“Have your people call her people.  You don’t have much negotiating to do.”  I led Clarissa out of the room while Duke settled heavily in a chair.  I paused next to the secretary.

“He’s going to want someone to pour him a drink, I think.  We’ll be going, now.”  I hoisted Claire onto one hip and continued to guide the stunned Clarissa to the elevator.

Once in the elevator, she looked at me as though at a stranger.  She was correct, but she didn’t know that.

“What?” I asked.  Clarissa just shook her head and looked away.  We descended to the ground floor, walked out, and got into the cab.  I decided that the car could wait; I had the driver take us home.  Clarissa was silent for the whole ride, apparently deep in thought.  Claire looked puzzled about the whole affair, but seemed to realize something of her mother’s mood.

Once at home, I sat Claire down in the kitchen with a whispered promise of ice cream in a moment, then ushered Clarissa into the bathroom.

“Scrub up,” I suggested.  “I can smell his breath, and I don’t even want to think about the slime on his hands.”

She didn’t argue.  She just shuddered a bit and nodded.  I went back to Claire and miraculously discovered some French vanilla ice cream and a new can of chocolate syrup.

“No cone?” she asked.

“No cone.  But you can have all you want, since it’s dinnertime.”

“Ice cream for dinner?” she asked.  “Can we do that?”

“Sure.  Unless you want something else?”

“Waffles!” she declared.

“Waffles for dinner?”

“I like waffles,” she replied, matter-of-factly.

“Waffles it is.  Start on the ice cream before it melts.”

She did so, and I started working on waffle mix.

“Will Mommy eat dinner with us?”

“She’s having a bath right now, but maybe.  Depends on how long she’s in.  She was feeling very dirty.”

“Because the place we went was a dirty place?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Then I need a bath, too.”

“Okay, but after dinner.”

I cooked waffles, she ate ice cream, and Clarissa came out as I was pouring syrup on Claire’s waffle.  Milk she does with great care; syrup was just asking for trouble.

“Want one?” I asked.  Clarissa ran a finger along the countertop and examined the fingertip.  She shook her head in wonder.  “Is that a ‘no’?” I asked.

“I’ll have one,” she replied, and seated herself.  “Is that… Claire!  Are you eating ice cream?”

“Yep!” she answered, brightly, waving the messy spoon in evidence.

“I told her she could,” I interjected.  “Would you like some to go with your waffle?”

Clarissa frowned and snapped, “Ice cream is not a suitable dinner for—”

“It’s a fine dinner item,” I said, cutting her off.  “It’s my place, my rules, and it’s been a very trying day.  So, just this once, please don’t snap at me.  Eat some ice cream, unwind a little, and I’ll have a waffle for you in a minute.  All right?”

Clarissa wavered for a moment, looking rebellious and stubborn.  Claire pushed the remains of her ice cream toward her mother.

“You can have the rest of mine, Mommy.  Daddy makes good waffles.”

Clarissa’s expression softened amazingly as she looked down into a bowl of vanilla-and-chocolate mess.  My hearing on other planes caught something of the whirlwind of her emotions.  That was the first thing Claire had said or done for months that wasn’t sulky, angry, or unhappy.  In fact, it was downright cheerful, even generous and caring.

Clarissa burst into tears right there at the table.  Claire looked surprised, but it didn’t faze her long.  She hurried to the freezer and got out the box of ice cream.

“This isn’t all melty,” she said.

Clarissa reached out, pulled Claire into her lap, and cried into her hair.  Claire looked confused, but put her arms around Clarissa and hugged her.

I served waffles and put away the ice cream.  Sometimes, it’s important to know when to shut up and stay out of it.

Guardian angel: 1

Mother-daughter rift: 0

I poured syrup and sat down to eat.

*   *   *

Clarissa and I wound up on the couch while Claire had her bath.  Clarissa sat much closer than was her usual wont, and I put an arm around her.  She actually seemed to appreciate it.

“Rob?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened?”

“I was about to ask you that.  From where I was standing, it looked like fatso was trying to pressure you into playing doctor for an advertising deal.”

She shivered.  “I’ve never had… nobody has ever…”

“No, I didn’t think so.  But we were lucky, today.  If the car hadn’t broken down, if you hadn’t forgotten to leave the keys at the desk, if I weren’t stubborn about helping… but everything worked out in the end.”

“I suppose it did,” she admitted.  “It was strange…”

“Strange?”

“Seeing you face up to that man.”

Robert’s brain reflexively offered, So you’re used to me being a coward?  I ignored this as the Wrong Thing to Say.

“You’d be amazed at what I can do when something I care about is threatened.”

She seemed to think that one over for a moment, then shifted a little, snuggling closer.

“It seems so.  I’m glad you were there for me.”

“That’s what I signed on for, honey.  One of the things, anyway.”

Claire came in then, wrapped in a beach towel.  On her, it looked like a toga.  Between the three of us, we managed to dry her and brush her hair.  Then I suggested that we go to bed.  Claire was up past her bedtime anyway.

We closed out the day by all going to the same bed.  Claire on one side, me on the other, and Clarissa in the middle, all of us curled up in series.

Clarissa needed that.  Claire, too.  And that made me feel very good.

The only trouble, as far as I was concerned, was that I still didn’t know who was trying to kill me.