Blue Bloods of Bois D’Arc

by Brown,Dick

  “Shut up and take your hands off me. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I wanted you, the big stud on campus, and I got you. I actually thought you were going to be somebody, make something of yourself. You swept me off my feet with all your drug money. And you haven’t changed a bit. Except you drink more and chase anything in a skirt. So let’s just get it all out in the open. I know about your dirty little meet-ups with the waitress and barmaid whores on all those nights you were working late. So you like tattoos and fake boobs. Well, don’t come home drunk or high and expect me to hop in bed and fuck your brains out any more. Not going to happen.”

  Stunned by her outburst, Roger released his grip on her shoulders and stepped back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I’m under a lot of pressure and sometimes that’s the only way to relieve the stress. I don’t expect you to understand. You’ve always had things your way, whatever you wanted. I apologize for what I said. I don’t want us to fight. I really need your support.” Roger stretched his arms out toward her. “Truce?”

  Cass paused for a moment, shaking her head as her libido kicked in. “You always do that and I fall for it every time.” She sighed, leaned in against his chest, and nestled her head against his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her gently, pulling her tightly against him. Warm emotions flowed through their bodies and Cass pressed herself against him. They stood silent for several moments, swaying to music that wasn’t there, rubbing their lower bodies against each other, just like at their wedding reception.

  “Let’s skip dinner and go on up to bed,” Roger said softly. Without waiting for a response, he scooped her up into his arms and headed toward the stairs to their bedroom suite that looked like it came right out of the Playboy mansion.

  She offered no resistance, snuggled up in his arms, then slipped her hand down the front of his slacks and stroked his growing erection as he ascended the grand spiral staircase like Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind.

  Chapter 35

  Business lunch

  Cass stretched out comfortably on a lounge chair, enjoying the shaded screened porch facing the manicured garden in the backyard. She’d spent many happy hours here as a child playing with the special dollhouse mansion her grandfather had built for her. He always told her she could have a real one like that one day. She had one like that now, but was miserable in her pretend world of Dallas’s elite society. She longed for those carefree days while waiting for Gramps to come home for lunch as he did every day. The ceiling fan stirred the early spring air just enough to cool her skin as she drank fresh mint-flavored ice tea.

  “How is that handsome husband of yours doing?” Margaret asked, coming from the kitchen with a fresh batch of brownies right out of the oven. “When Essie heard you were coming she said, ‘That girl needs some of my special brownies to put some meat on her bones.’”

  “Tell Essie thanks for the brownies, but I don’t want to spoil my appetite. Gramps will be home soon. I’ll save them for dessert. And that handsome husband of mine is doing just fine, thank you,” she lied with a straight face.

  “Is that fresh brownies I smell?” a voice coming in the front door called out.

  “Oh, that must be Gramps now.” Cass jumped up from the lounge and ran to greet him. “Hi, Gramps, how are you feeling?”

  “Tolerably well for an old man,” he said, and gave his favorite person in the world a hug and kiss on her cheek. “Well, Essie, what have you fixed for us today besides Cass’s brownies?”

  Essie was their longtime cook and Cass’s nanny who had raised her from infancy.

  He tilted his head upward and sniffed the delicious aroma as he led the way back out to the porch with Cass on his arm.

  Margaret Worthington, Cass, and patriarch Randolph C. Worthington III seated themselves around the glass table on the breezy screened porch. It had been their summer luncheon ritual for years. John C. Worthington was usually there, but he had a business lunch that day.

  Essie served a sumptuous vegetable salad of chopped broccoli and cauliflower, grated carrots, cored and diced apple, chopped green onions, and unsalted peanuts stirred lightly in vanilla yogurt. Essie had also made Cass’s favorite, black-bean and sweet-potato chili. Mint-flavored iced tea was served to everyone except Margaret, who opted for hot-spiced green tea. Not that she liked hot tea that much in warm weather, but she felt it was a status symbol befitting their position in Bois D’Arc’s social circle.

  The conversation was casual, centered on Cass’s life in Dallas. As usual there were overtones from her mother about how she should help Cass redecorate the mansion swallowing up the two youngest and newest members of Dallas society. And she wanted to know when they were going to need a nursery for some grandchildren. After dessert of Essie’s fresh baked brownies with vanilla Bluebell ice cream, Margaret had a Bois D’Arc Women’s Historical Society meeting to attend. That left Cass to visit with her grandfather before he took his afternoon nap before going back to his office.

  “Gramps, I have a favor to ask,” Cass said as they settled in the Victorian sitting room. The mesmerizing sound of the ceiling fan gently moved the spring air, making air conditioning unnecessary in the high-ceilinged room.

  “Certainly, what can I do for you, my dear?”

  “Well, you know how the economy has slowed down and how it’s affected everyone, even your bank. People just aren’t spending like they were this time last year. Not eating out as much, putting Roger’s company in a bind. He’s extended his credit as far as he can to keep the business in the black, but the recession has lasted longer than the capital he raised to start the business—”

  “He’s broke, is that what you’re saying?” Gramps interrupted coldly.

  Cass lowered her eyes. “Yes.”

  “I warned him about his risky business plan. He refused to listen to my advice on how to change it and make it a working concept, so now he wants me to bail him out.”

  “He’s really put in lot of time and effort to get the business up and running. He just needs a loan to tide him over this slow spell,” Cass pleaded. “The economy will turn around soon and he’ll be on his feet again.”

  “Is that what he told you? This recession could go on for another year or more. I don’t see it ending any time soon. And I don’t like him using you like this. He should have come to me himself. How much money does he think he needs?”

  “He said . . .” Cass took a deep breath. “He said six or seven million would probably get him through this rough patch.”

  “Six or seven million. He can’t be serious.” Randolph rose from the couch and paced back and forth in front of Cass with his hands clasped behind his back. “That’s a huge amount of money for the properties he purchased, and he has no equity,” Randolph said. He turned to take Cass’s hands in his.

  “He is an ambitious young man, I’ll give him that, but he needs proper guidance if he is to survive in the business world. This is what I can offer him. My bank will invest only four million in a project that is on the verge of bankruptcy. He will have to sign over the properties to me. I insist on having controlling interest to protect our investment. When the economy improves, which I will determine, he can start repayment at seven percent. When the loan is paid off, he can have his property back.

  “That’s a very generous offer he won’t get anywhere else. Have him and his lawyer meet me at the bank with all the property deeds and financial records next Monday morning at nine o’clock. I will review his assets and financial statements to determine how much money will actually be needed to keep the company solvent. Those are my terms. I hope he will respond sensibly. I’m only doing this for you because you are the most precious thing in my life and I won’t let him drag you down because of his recklessness.”

  Cass wrapped her arms around her grandfather. “Thank you so much, Gramps. I love you. You
won’t be sorry, you’ll see. I know he will agree to your terms. His pride will be hurt, but he really doesn’t have any other choice.”

  The following Monday morning

  “It’s ten o’clock, where the hell is that boy?” Randolph swore as he waited in the bank’s conference room.

  A soft knock on the door got his attention. “Well, finally! Come in,” he called in a frustrated tone.

  “Mr. Worthington, it’s Elizabeth,” his secretary said cautiously before she entered the room.

  “Yes, Elizabeth, what is it?” he asked, annoyed by Roger’s tardiness.

  “Mr. Helms called and said he won’t be able to meet with you today. There was a fire at his restaurant and it was a total loss. He said it will be some time before he can reschedule.”

  “Did he ask to speak to me?”

  “No, sir, I’m sorry. It was actually Mr. Helms’s lawyer who called.”

  “Thank you. That coward doesn’t seem to be able to face me. Elizabeth, get my granddaughter on the phone in my office please.”

  “Yes, sir, right away.”

  “A fire destroyed his restaurant. Huh,” he said aloud. “I wondered how much it was insured for, if he even had the good sense to have insurance. I hope he hasn’t done something stupid.”

  “Hello, Cass. Are you all right my dear? I heard the terrible news. What happened? Has the fire department determined how it started?”

  “Oh, Gramps, it’s awful,” she said, breaking into tears. “We just came back from the scene and it’s totally destroyed. Roger is beside himself,” she said haltingly. “It had burned for hours, spreading through the heat and ventilation ducts before a policeman on patrol called it in.”

  “Was anyone injured?”

  “No, it was closed. It wasn’t reported until four o’clock Saturday morning. Neither one of us got much sleep this weekend. Roger went down to the station Sunday to give his statement. We don’t know anything yet. They said many restaurant fires are caused by the grease traps overheating in the kitchen that can burn for hours before spreading. The fire marshal is investigating and we should hear something in a few days, he said. I just can’t believe this happened. What else can go wrong?” Cass said, sobbing.

  “Why don’t you come stay with us a few days until things calm down? I think you need to get away from all the turmoil; let Roger and his lawyer handle things.”

  “Let me think about it and call you back. Here comes Roger now.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Randolph insisted.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea right now. Gramps, I’ll call you. I love you. Goodbye.”

  Weeks passed before Cass called back. The fire investigation had turned into an arson investigation. Cass and Roger were questioned by the arson investigator who had also looked into Roger’s financial condition and was curious about the insurance payoff being more than the property’s valuation.

  “Gramps,” Cass said, “they are accusing Roger of burning down his own restaurant. That’s crazy. Why do they think he would do that?”

  “I’m sure they are just investigating all aspects of the situation,” Randolph said. “It’s not uncommon for fires to happen in rough financial times. Some criminals make an art of buying properties cheap and then burning them down for the inflated insurance value.”

  “Roger would never do that! He loved that place and spent long hours there. It was small but in a good location. As soon as the economy improved, he was going to do a full redecoration and upgrade it to a four-star rating. If he was going to do that, why would he burn it down?”

  “He’s having financial problems and the insurance money could help his company get well quickly. And he wouldn’t have to deal with me, which he seems unwilling to do. I’m afraid it has been done before. I had an investigator do some checking, and Roger’s finances are in shambles. That alone would make the investigator suspicious. And he doesn’t keep the best of company. His lawyer, Woodson, I believe is his name, is nothing short of a shyster. He has been put on probation twice by the Texas Bar Association. Once more and he will be disbarred. I’m sorry to be bearer of bad news, my dear, but you have to face the possibility that he may have had the club burned down for the insurance money to save his business.”

  There was silence from the other end of the phone until Cass began sobbing.

  “Gramps, what can I do? He’s my husband.” The tears came streaming down.

  “I’m not very good with matters of the heart. You will have to figure that out yourself. Just know that we are here for you and you are always welcome to come home.”

  Randolph blinked when he heard the loud click coming from Cass’s phone. It was the first time she had ever hung up on him without saying she loved him.

  Chapter 36

  New venture for RJ Systems

  Rod was busy finishing last-minute security details for the visit of a Saudi Arabia delegation. They would inspect the facility for a multi-million-dollar contract to custom equip a fleet of four Boeing 747 aircraft for King Faisal’s personal and royal family use. It was a major branching out from their normal military surveillance and combat aircraft modifications. No expense had been spared for the visit of the royal entourage. If successful, it would open a whole new market for RJ Systems in the Middle East, which was timely since the Vietnam War had ground to an embarrassing conclusion for the United States.

  The Saudi Arabian diplomatic mission in Dallas laid out the red carpet for the delegation upon arrival. The entire fifth floor of The Ritz Carlton hotel was reserved with a designated prayer room facing Mecca for their five daily prayers, complete with footbaths for the royal entourage. Rod’s knack for learning languages served him well in the negotiation process that got the delegation to come to Texas. He conversed in Arabic and translated for Jack and their marketing team with the delegation of Arab guests. Their visit lasted five days, including a day for shopping at Neiman Marcus, which was closed to the public for the entire day.

  “Well, partner, I think we aced it,” Jack congratulated Rod in their office. They had just arrived from boarding their departing guests on their private jet at the newly opened Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, the second largest in the United States. “Those guys really liked our presentation. They want what they want, and I doubt if they will even blink when we present the firm contract price. Imagine, each aircraft with gold toilet fixtures, accessories and doorknobs, padded silk walls, custom furniture and upholstery, and teak panels and trim just for starters. Not even counting the state-of-the-art communications, modification for in-flight refueling, and throwing in a refueling tanker. This will run into hundreds of millions of dollars and will put us on easy street for many years to come if we land it. Man, I was sweating bullets right up until they issued the request for a proposal, the RFP. And you get most of the credit.”

  “Ah, come on Jack, I was just a translator. You and our engineering team did all the work in the trenches. All we have to do now is come up with the best contract at the best price. Nothing to it.”

  “Are you kidding? They were so impressed with your smooth translations and explanation of everything we proposed to do for them. You swung the deal, my man. You nailed it. And you will be our conduit to the palace in Saudi Arabia throughout the contract when we get the award. You may even have to take a trip or two over there. That’s how much they liked you. And adding the prayer room and footbaths was a really nice touch. They expressed appreciation of our respect for their religious practices. That was very important to them. Listen, I’m dog-tired. Why don’t we go out to the club and have a beer and call it a day?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Rod said. “Give me a minute to shut down everything.” Rod made sure everything was off and secure. “Okay, let’s get out of here. I’ll drive and bring you back by for your car after we’re chased
out of the club at closing time.”

  Rod had garaged his Mustang in favor of a Mercedes-Benz 45 ragtop at Jack’s insistence to impress the Saudis. That was their car of choice and the huge royal family owned them by the dozens.

  It was a warm summer night, perfect for putting the top down to catch the evening breeze and beat the heat. He had to park the Mercedes behind a cluster of BMWs, Lexuses, Jaguars, and Cadillacs.

  “Is there something going on out here tonight?” Rod asked Jack as they walked toward the entrance.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but we’ve been too busy to check the club’s calendar.”

  The two elated, but weary, men strode into the dining room and looked for an empty table. That’s when Rod saw her. His first impulse was to leave before she saw him. Too late. Cass caught their entry in the corner of her eye, left the guests at her table, and walked directly up to Rod.

  “Hi, Rod, it’s good to see you. Mr. Workman.” She nodded to Jack. “How are you?”

  “Fine . . . I’m fine,” Rod responded.

  Jack just tipped the brim of his Stetson. “Good evening, Cass, you’re looking well.”

  There was an awkward silence before Jack said, “I see an empty table over there. I’ll order us a beer. Good evening, Cass.” He left the two standing in the middle of the dining room in uneasy silence.

  “I would like for us to talk some time. I want to hear all about your imprisonment and the successful company that I hear so much about.”

  “Uh, that would be great,” Rod stammered and countered with, “What are you doing back in Bois D’Arc? I thought you lived in Dallas now.”