Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

by Lisa Ann Porter

  Slowly winding her arms more securely around his neck, gently stroking his head, he relaxed it a little more. She was still trembling, not from passion, but from fear.

  He needed to be reassured she knew, and there was only one way to prove it, the only way she knew how to with Nick. They were in the middle of her office floor, both naked and moving against each other with no thought to the outside world. It was good Nick thought to lock the door when he came in.

  Sable had just opened the door to her office when she heard Julia’s hurried steps. “Sable, thank goodness you are back.” Julia was definitely a find, she thought with a smile. “Your father’s yelling the roof down saying, ‘where in the hell is she?’ Your accountant called twice and Mr. Hart called; he says he wants to talk to you about the Chadwick contract.”

  Giving her the written message, Julia waited expectantly for instructions. “Julia, call my father, tell him I’ll be there with an explanation in two minutes.” She continued, “Tell my accountant for his sake I hope he’s not planning on giving me bad news, I’m not in the mood, as for Mr. Hart,” she sat down and closed her eyes, her words quieted. “Forget it, Julia. I’ll deal with him later. Please close the door behind you.” Her eyes were still closed.

  Julia wondered briefly what was going on with her; it was not like her to ignore a meeting with Mr. Hart. As she was closing the door, “Julia? Please get me an aspirin; I had too much coffee this morning.”

  “Sure, I’ll take care of it. Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly.

  Sable slowly opened her eyes. “Late nights and early mornings, not always a good combination.” She smiled; Julia treated her like a daughter. She liked that. Sometimes she missed not having a mother. Seeing the smile on her face, Julia closed the office door.

  Sitting behind her desk in deep thought, she wondered why Stephen wanted to talk to her, especially about the Chadwick project; it had nothing to do with her. Swiveling in her chair, inhaling deeply for a few more minutes, she got up and walked over to the oval mirror on her wall.

  Staring at her image, “Well, guess I will find out soon enough, might as well be now.” Touching up her makeup, Sable fluffed her hair, stuck her tongue out at herself and thought, darn I look good, smiled and left her office.

  Chapter 5

  George Van Cleef stood looking down at the busy intersection; he saw nothing of the congested traffic below because his thoughts were occupied with plans of revenge against the man he hated with a fury, which gripped his attention for many years.

  George, a proud man, some say too proud, started his own business in his early twenties using muscle, careful planning, and shrewd cunningness that left many veteran businessmen wondering if he had some kind of magic formula that they too could use.

  He had a formula, but it wasn’t magic. It was pure and raw hatred for one man. A consuming love for a woman he could never have. And a venomous desire to protect at any cost the one person he felt truly loved him despite his many faults. He had waited many long years for his revenge and he would have it. He had a formula. It was not magic.

  To look at George, a person would think he was younger than his actual age. A man fifty-five years of age and looking none of it, George aged gracefully; women years younger still made it known that they would jump through hoops if he asked them to.

  Standing at six feet and seven inches tall, when he walked into a room, his presence demanded attention whether he wanted it or not, and in most cases he did not. Powerfully built, he maintained the same athletic discipline as in his younger age, believing age is not what makes a man old, only his mind. George Van Cleef’s mind was far from it.

  His mother died when he was seventeen; as far as he knew, he had no other relatives. He gave no thought of who his father might be. He did not care. He had survived by doing odd jobs around town when his mother was alive. Then after she died…no, was murdered…his thoughts were back in Pineboro; where he was born. Pineboro, if he never saw the place again, it would be too soon.

  His eyes turned black cold at the thought, though his face held no expression at all. He was remembering. Remembering a time in his life where scorn, humiliation, and pain clung to him like the clothes he used to wear. They held together by bits of thread, which his mother lovingly tried using with safety pins, in hopes that no one would notice, but they did.

  People treated him badly after his mother died, not that they treated her any better. A maid at times and a whore at others. A disgrace to the town some would say loud enough for her to hear at times, too many times, he thought, with controlled anger. He rolled his head from side to side to release the tension in his neck. It did not help.

  George understood that his mother, in her mind, was doing whatever it took to care for him. But he could never bear the sadness in her eyes after one of the many liaisons with the men of the town. They visited their home too often. The women in the town treated her like dirt, even in his presence. The excruciating hurt she vainly tried hiding from him, when they spoke to her as if she were the worst form of life.

  He tried defending her on many occasions, but his mother’s gentle hands on his shoulders and the pleading look in her eyes always held him back. The anger, he wanted to let loose on those who were hurting her, turned inward where it grew into an inferno of hatred, and a raging obsession for revenge.

  When women have a child out of wedlock, small towns are not forgiving, and Pineboro wasn’t. He remembered reliving the pain, as fury took hold causing both hands at his side to ball into tight fists. His body, humming because of the violent rage within him, was still as granite; only his eyes and fists gave evidence of the rage inside.

  George remembered vividly his entire childhood, and venomously vowed that the people responsible for what happened to his mother would pay dearly. Grief joined arms with rage and revenge, operating as a deadly trio, fueled his internal inferno against the horrible things done to his mother and Jennie.

  Jennie. Screaming her name in his mind, snapping his eyes tightly closed, he fought for control over his emotions. He had tried not to think about her too often. But it was hard, especially since Sable looked so much like her. To his misfortune at times, shaking his head from side to side in resignation, in many ways Sable was too much like him. Smiling, George opened his eyes.

  His daughter, he thought with parental pride, as love for her calmed his turbulent emotions, was excessively headstrong, just downright stubborn, he decided with fatherly certainty. What was he going to do with her? Sometimes he was sure; he loved her way too much.

  George, mentally shaking his head as he focused on the scene before him, said in a soft whisper, “All things in its own time,” he vowed with determined finality, gazing at the traffic below, seeing it for the first time.

  Fifteen minutes had passed when he heard the soft clicking of his daughter’s heels as she approached his office door. Turning toward the door as it opened, George’s breath hitched slightly at the sight of her; she looked so very much like her mother, he thought, while watching her close his office door for privacy behind her.

  “Hi Daddy.” Sable, walking toward him with all the assurance of a cat, pressed her palms to each side of his face. Looking at him with Jennie’s eyes, “And before you ball me out for being late, I’m sorry.” Lightly kissing George on both cheeks, just as she had always done since she was a little girl, “I think once you’ve heard what I found out today, you’ll love me again,” she smiled brightly.

  George, gazing upon his daughter, shook his head dispelling the idea that he could not protect her from his enemy. Hugging her tightly, forcing the thought from his mind, he pitied anyone that would try to hurt her.

  “What’s wrong, Daddy?” She saw the look on his face before he was able to hide it.

  Concerned eyes stared at him now. He had to be extremely careful; his little girl’s protection at any cost was crucial. Kissing her cheek, turning away from her too keen eyes, he gained control over his emotions.


  Facing her with arms folded over his chest, legs slightly apart in a stance that clearly stated that he was in control, he smiled brightly at her. “Nothing, little girl,” he said gently. He’d called her ‘little girl’ for as long as she could remember; she didn’t mind; she knew he used the phrase out of love. Putting his hand up to halt her questioning, “What did you find out?”

  Sitting on the edge of his desk, with interlaced fingers cupping her shapely crossed legs, her head tilted slightly to one side observing him. Looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world, she was not fooled, and she knew when not to push; her father could be stubborn when he wanted to be. And unfortunately for him, so could she. She would take care of him with or without his permission.

  Smiling, “I tracked down Leo today,” her voice had a teasing ring in it. Smacking her lips together as if she’d just tasted a satisfying flavor, “The little weasel didn’t want to talk to me.” Pointing a dainty finger at herself, and raising one eyebrow in mock snubantry, “But I convinced him,” smiling sweetly with wide-eyed innocence, then began batting her eyelashes in a Betty Boop manner.

  George rolled his eyes upward trying hard not to laugh at her antics because Leo, though he was a weasel, was a sneaky weasel, and sneaky weasels were deadly; sometimes she took way too many changes. Seeing her father’s eyes rolled, she burst out laughing. He worried about her too much, she thought.

  “Sable…” saying her name as calmly as he could, he wanted to shake some sense into her. After all the warning he had given her, repeatedly told her to use caution at all times, she still thought she could take care of herself. Perhaps she could in some areas of life, but not this, he would not allow it.

  Leo and the people he associated with were dangerous. George wanted to kick himself many times over for allowing her to manipulate him into overseeing some aspects of the Chadwick Project, especially when she did not know most of the facts.

  She had no idea about his other reasons for wanting the Chadwicks to suffer. None. Because she did not, it could place her in possible danger that scared him; no one will harm his little girl, he thought.

  Seeing the look that came across his daughter’s face as she watched him, he decided to wait until later to chastise her for her carelessness. “Tell me what you’ve found out,” he said softly.

  Briefly hesitating, she said more seriously, “Leo said that Joseph Chadwick paid a friend of his an extra fifty grand to see that they got the bid for the new mall.”

  It was a few minutes before her father responded. Why was he behaving so strangely, she thought. It’s certainly not the first time the Chadwicks used their money to get what they wanted; it’s just that no one ever does anything about it, because they have so many political and high-powered people in their back pockets, pulling them out like tissues when needed to clean their dirty noses, no one dared, until now.

  Poised as if ready for battle, “Is his friend willing to say so to all the right people?” asking quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. The tension in his office thickened as George weighed her every word. His plan was coming to life. He would not rush it. No mistake could be made. He had waited too long. Focus, he told himself, control and focus.

  Sable saw every nuisance of his battle with himself, and cautiously continued. “I’m not sure, but I believe so since Leo was so very cooperative.” Giving him a pointed look, “He said he’s not going back to prison for anyone; he would die first.”

  Lowering her feet to the floor, she walked over to the window, looking over the beautiful view of the city. Quietly she said, “I gave him some hiding-out money, if they find him…he’s dead,” saying with soft finality. There was no need to beat around the bush. They both knew whom they were up against; no one challenged the Chadwicks, ever.

  Inhaling deeply, allowing his breath to exhale very slowly as his mind chanted control and focus, his body relaxed. “Hiding out money…smart move, we can’t afford any mistakes,” his voice full of confidence, control and focus as he moved to stand behind her.

  Placing his arms lovingly and protectively around her shoulders, he smiled into her hair. “I will handle it from here, little girl,” gently rocking from side to side. Kissing the top of her head, “Thanks to you, and you’re right, I do love you again…and always.”

  George tenderly held his daughter tightly, remembering how much she looked so very much like her mother, his beloved Jennie. He loved his one and only child just as much as he loved her mother. Sable could never do anything to kill that love; he was so very proud of her.

  Sensing the vulnerability her father sometimes tried to hide from her, “What do you intend to do Daddy?” she asked softly, sometimes fearing for his safety. He had many enemies, she knew.

  She let him hold her for as long as he wanted to; she needed it too. Then turning to face him, because she felt the tension leaving his arms, the smile he had on his face was almost sinister.

  Studying his face, saying suspiciously, “I’m not sure I like that smile on your face.” As a smile spread across her lips, she saw a gleam in his eyes. He was up to something. She was sure of it. Then his smile widened into pure secrecy mixed with something she couldn’t quite put her fingers on.

  “What smile is that?” his voice dripped with something lethal.

  She arched an eyebrow; oh yeah he was definitely up to something. “Daddy…” she said cautiously, trying to read whatever was well hidden behind his now laughing eyes.

  George, smiling, kissed the tip of her nose effectively cutting off her inquisition. “Everything in its own time, little girl…everything in its own time.”

  Sable stood, looking up at her father knowing he would not answer her now. She knew when not to push, and then she smiled at him. He frowned.

  “Sable…I want to talk to you about…” He did not finish. Everything happened at once—Sable jumping up into his arms as she did as a child, his phone ringing with urgency, and his secretary apologizing.

  With both arms around his neck, “Gotta run Daddy…late for a meeting.” Kissing him on the cheek, she was out the door before he could recover.

  All she heard while closing his office door was his secretary apologizing for putting a very important call through, as his phone was ringing like a crying infant, and he yelling at her not to move, which she did and fast. She had to find out what her father was up to.

  Chapter 6

  To the outside observer, Stephen appeared calm, controlled, and passive. But inside, Stephen Hart was a man filled with bitter rage, anguish and a simmering desire for revenge. His body, so fueled with constrained pressure, had reached its boiling point, and was now ready to explode with the violence of an active volcano.

  Sitting behind his massive desk, he lightly tapped a pencil absently against his smooth forehead in deep thought. His face showed nothing of the volcano within. It appeared as though he was so entrenched in his thoughts that he was unaware of his movement or environment, which was far from the truth.

  Like everything in his life, since the death of his parents, he fought hard to stay in control. Vowing to an unusual extent that often alienated and angered fellow associates, Stephen was determined that he would never, he clenched his jaw painfully at the thought, ever, be out of control again. Relaxing slightly, his face still an unreadable mask, he whispered the words through unsmiling lips, “…allow circumstances or people to control me.”

  The pencil, once tapping against his forehead, snapped, without glancing he tossed the two pieces in his wastebasket and reached into his desk drawer to withdraw another. Allowing it to play through his fingers, his mind drifted to the painful memories of adolescent years.

  When his father died, a small part of Stephen died with him. When his mother, two years later, took her own life, shattering into many pieces the remaining parts of him, Stephen wanted to die as well.

  The other fragmented residues of the young cocky, self-assured teenager, for whom the realities of life had forced to grow up much qu
icker than he had planned, stumbled through the agony of his reality in different directions looking for answers, a place to belong, meaning and wholeness.

  He was angry, in excruciating pain, afraid and alone. Very alone. His parents had always been there for him. Losing them if he was married with children was one thing. Losing them when he was so young, and they themselves had not reached a ripe old age was unforgivable.

  His life had spiraled out of control after his mother’s funeral. He could not focus on his studies in college. He lost so much weight; he was almost kicked off the football team. Ultimately, he caught the one girl he loved and was going to marry in bed with his roommate, the very day that he bought the ring.

  He remembered standing at the door, seeing various shades of red, barely listening as Mac jumped out of bed apologizing, while searching frantically for his pants. Anna clutched the blanket to herself, as if he had never seen her naked.

  Rage, as he had never felt, shaded his vision. Seeing the color red so vividly sent excruciating pain behind his eyes. Swaying from side to side, he failed to register their voices. His hand, gripping the doorknob so tightly, that warm blood oozed from his fingernail onto the knob, silently dropping to the tile-covered floor as if it was tears.

  He remembered wanting to kill them both with his bare hands; the desire so strong, it was strangling him. Stephen remembered taking a careful step backward, pulling the bloodstained doorknob gently with him, hearing Mac saying he was sorry, and hearing Anna pleading for him to let her explain, while hysterically searching for her clothes.

  Hearing the click of the lock, looking up at the closed door, Stephan turned around slowly seeing nothing in front of him as the red haze slowly dissipated from his eyes. He began walking as if in a trance.

  The box, which held the diamond engagement ring for Anna, dropped to the hall floor with the sound of a thunderous clap through his atrophied fingers. The air was full with hopelessness, as he walked out of his college dorm into the chill of the drizzling night rain.