It Had Been Years

by Malflic, Michael

  “I pick up a few nights and the occasional day here and there for extra party money.” Tiffany says casting her line “The boys can’t always buy all the drinks.”

  “What do you do you do when you’re not here picking up party money?”

  “Waitress, hostess, nothing too serious.” Tiffany replied.

  “So where do you party?”

  Tiffany began shuffling through her mind a list of cool yet socially acceptable answers, after all this is a patron at one of her places of employment. “Mostly at dance clubs, techno, bass and drum, the occasional dub step concert, anywhere there’s a decent groove and a group of my friends,” a safe not too incriminating answer. The idle prattle continued on about friends and origins. In truth Tiffany was a waitress, now in certain cultures, particularly a few European ones where being a waiter was considered a respectable and dignified profession. Here with rare exception of the very best four and five star establishments it was considered a job, often over looked and under appreciated by the very people they serve. It was usually a source of income until other things could be found, or a way to help a struggling working class family pay the bills. Rarely except in the top establishments was it considered even by those working there anything more than a job. At the end the conversation turned to a simple invite to stop back by the restaurant on Wednesday night. Nadrea explained “I have a few tables in the private section reserved for special friends, and the blatant invite that Friday night there is a wonderful theme party at an exclusive club, tempting her with “if you happen to stop by I’ll have your name on the list.”

  “Ok, what info do you need?”

  “None, I’ll tell them Tiffany, cute brunette with bright green eyes and friends” Tiffany took one last lingering glimpse at Nadrea, her bright green youthful eyes swimming aimlessly in the deep dark brown of her counterpart.

  “Or you could give them this.” Nadrea handed her a business card sized piece of paper with an invite to the Friday night outing inscribed on the one side, but it was no ordinary piece of paper, a dull matte black linen, that had frayed and soft wavy edges and a raised shiny dark grey embossed “N”.” With that Nadrea stood up finished her water placed her napkin in a heap on the table and moved toward the door, her hair flowing gently behind her as she opened the door and the warm breeze flowed in, she stepped out into the sunshine her body clad in a boring brooks brothers lady’s suit and shoes that had just a little bit of an edgy look to them, not so much so as to be out of place but not at all the school marm type. As the door shut behind her you could sense something subtle about her scent still lingering in the otherwise benign air.

  Vincent still found himself in the valley, scouring reports, dissecting statements, market share data, and projections. It was about that the time when he began asking questions. Soft and gentle subtler variations on questions previously ask, looking for new information, a slip of the tongue, a hidden inconstancy. For those he was there to see it appeared that all was going well, nothing too strenuous, or terrible, nothing unexpected by them as he continued making his inquiries, making notes, referring to documents and occasionally following up for additional detail or clarification. He would soon excuse himself to prepare for his next meeting not in the private office they had provided him but in the secluded privacy of his own hotel suite, one could not be too careful, the phone could be tapped, there could be listening devices or pin sized camera hidden in the office, watching his movements, trying to decipher his notes and document he would linger over. So they correct or prepare responses for any areas he might have objection to. After he arrived back at his hotel his hosts busied themselves with preparing for the next meeting, one between Vincent and their investors, a small first stage venture fund. Back in his room his eyes moved from one spec sheet to the next, from a few pages of printed out source code to another set of printed out source code, code that perhaps looked all too familiar, from the schematics of a specialized chip set and custom green board and back to the pages of code.

  No Rest for the Wicked

  Vincent wraps his meetings with the venture cap firm that had done the first round of funding. Dinner invitations are exchanged and he declines, stating that he has enjoyed the day but needed some time to collect his thoughts and prepare. He headed toward the car and climbs into the backseat, the driver doesn’t even try to get out and get the door. “Where to sir?”, the driver Chris asked.

  “No where until you stop calling me sir and start calling me Vince.”

  Chris his 20 something driver now a bit flustered “OK where to Vince?”

  Vincent laughing heartily responds heartily “Well it’s been a suck ass day. Do you have a bed time?” Vincent asked with out pausing long enough for anyone to actually form a response let alone a slightly befuddled kid. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”, he said in his best Jack Nicholson impression that sounded nothing like him.

  “To the hotel I need to change.” So Chris points the black Lincoln toward Mission College Boulevard, sure the hotel was a chain but it had a real gym, after a day like the one he just had he needed to head to the gym.

  “Look man, I need to be at the office by 9:00am and at the airport by 10:00, I’m not going to need to go out to night.”

  The car comes to a stop in front of the long covered walkway.

  “Ok Vince I’ll be here by 8:15”

  “Thanks” and with that Vincent faded into the distance of the long walkway into the hotel. A quick workout and a few calls back east for status and input from the team there on the deal. Around 6:45 Deb arrives, she is an old familiar friend. They go back more than a few years to the very first week of college, meeting at a Terps football game in the student section. They were never officially a couple but over the years they had spent more than their fair share of time together. He was a geek and she was a free spirit who ekes out a meager living on the fringe of the main stream San Francisco Art world. Deb is wearing a flowing purple crushed velvet skirt, crinkled white blouse. “Nice look Hippie” as he hugs her

  “Thanks, I’ve got some tofu in my purse for you” she responded continuing on “Noodles in Palo work?”

  Pausing “ I was thinking drinks at the Fault Line and then maybe noodles in Palo. OK?” As the two old friends headed towards her tired old white Toyota Corrola. Vincent in a black pin stripe suit and white checked shirt. Debs naturally dark red hair has a few purple and light blue highlights adorning the sides and back. Maybe, as most children will tell you usually means no, unless the issue continues to be raised, but 7 minutes later the couple finds themselves being seated at the overly crowded noisy micro brew. California in general, in particular Northern California, is a bit of an anomaly, the kind of place where a good micro brew can have a high end eclectic menu and an absolutely amazing wine list. Vincent orders one glass of Pale Ale and then moves on to his standard cola to accompany his Tie Chicken Skewers and Vegan Garlic Mushroom Caps. Deb orders a Sauvignon Blanc and a Caesar Salad. It’s funny how people come to know each other, without it ever being spoken the two had lost any fleeting intention of wondering up to Palo for Soba Noodles.

  When they met, Deb was more the all American Girl, more of a preppy and a cheerleader than anything, her fashion sense at the time was more towards the Country Club set. Her legs while thin had always had enough not only tone but strength in them to have an alluring athletic shape, they hadn’t changed. Her face still soft and smooth and round, hair despite the odd color additions still soft and flowing, her look as fresh as it was the day they met. She had however evolved from young and preppy to sensuous and stylish. Vincent on the other hand had changed his body. He was no longer the odd lanky kid but a man of power and strength. Other than that he hadn’t changed much, sure his suits cost a lot more but his jeans were always still Levi’s he had gone from boat shoes, to loafers to Steve Maddens for his casual footwear. If there was a past he thought of them as nothing more than just very close friends, not ever stopping to think that she
may or may not view their past in the same way. Vincent on his third diet coke and Deb on her second bottle of water as the meal was ending. While they had caught up on work, and art and fashion they hadn’t yet taken the time to catch up on life. “I’m Tom-less now”, she began. Tom was a jerk in his mind, Deb was sweet and soft, Tom didn’t appreciate that. Tom was rigid and structured, she was flowing and free.

  “I’m sorry to hear that” he replied.

  “No, it’s ok. It’s been a while now”, she said confidently then she started reminiscing about both of their pasts, remembering fondly one person or another. He just listened, for him they were in the past but she seemed so happy recalling other times they had had together. As time wore on, “So are you seeing anyone Vince?” Looking for the right answer deciding that she knew him far too well, “Always looking for Miss last night.” Neither of them was surprised by the answer. It came to a point beyond annoying for the waiter they kept holding his table during the entire evening and drinking water and Soda but it was now far too late and time for the establishment to close. They headed to the parking lot where she stepped through a maze of open spots wandering and swaying. While her serendipitous route was more meandering than efficient Deb talked with her hands and ever present over exaggerated gestures. All the while he’s leaning back onto the hood of her car just listening, she still seemed so hopeful, like her dreams hadn’t slipped beyond her grasp, and thinking all the while how beautiful she was. As the door of the Fault Line was locked and the last of the staff wondered out to leave, the cool evening air finally convinced them to get in the car and head back toward the hotel. Where she continued to talk, and he continued to listen, they sat there by the valet. “It’s late why don’t you stay?” he offered.

  “Why so I can be Miss last night?”

  He was smiling a tired worried smile “Yes of course, oh the indecent things I could convince you to do.” “Would I like it?” she asked playfully

  “In ways you can’t even imagine my dear”, turning the car off.

  “So how could I refuse? I’ll have strawberry sauce on the side” she said pulling a gym back out of the trunk while Vince gave the Valet his room number and a few dollars tip for tolerating them being parked there. Vincent handed her a room key and he picked up the house phone on the way in and ordered their dessert… two pieces of cheese cake and as many quarts of strawberry sauce as they could spare. Walking down the hall with two bottles of water in hand toward the elevator as she let herself in to see a two bedroom suite with a living room filled with fresh flowers. She thought they were standard fare for such a room, but he in fact had the room filled with flowers just for her. Vincent followed moments after finding her in a pair of gray sweat pants, a tank top and in the process of taking her makeup off. They had been friends for too long to worry about such things as make up. Shortly after the cheesecake arrived and despite being accused of being a pervert since two quarts of strawberry sauce showed up she continued to talk. Vincent continued to listen falling asleep on the couch, she threw a blanket over him and headed off to one of the bedrooms. He stirred slightly, she kissed him on the forehead and he told her he loved her. In truth he always had, it just was never meant to be, he couldn’t be like that with her.

  Whispers and the Specter of Doom

  Life is often what you make of it and this Wednesday morning finds the Husker talking quietly on his new phone speaking so cryptically that you would have thought it was a conversation with a CIA subcommittee, but the only security issue being addressed was the simple act of determining, the movie, the time and the theater. Popcorn was brought up but and the secret speak ended.

  “Get some if you want, but I hate that stuff. Good bye.” Donna had asked how big of a popcorn she should buy, knowing damn well that he hated popcorn, Junior Mints were his guilty indulgence when seeing a movie.

  When it is morning on the East Coast it is of course still night on the West. Today was a serious one and dozing off at midnight and waking at 3:30am to start his day left even the rarely rested Vincent a little jet lagged, but today was a serious one and he was on the phone at 3:40 sharp back East. It was the kind of day when he had to put on his big boy clothes, black suit, English Blue made to measure shirt with parallel double stitching on the cuff, and a big fat Windsor knot perfectly tied hanging between the wide spread collar.

  Vincent takes a moment to collect his final thoughts, gently sets a note on the center of an otherwise empty floor where it could not be missed

  Deb,

  Make sure the bellman takes the flowers down for you to take home.

  The accounts still open, order breakfast!!!

  Tips are taken care of (so don’t give them any more money) and your fee’s on the dresser

  Had a great time, talk soon,

  V

  All of it was true except for the fee on the dresser part, there was always a little part of him that was a jerk, he thought it was funny, at times others did not, he didn’t fucking care what others thought. Deb would laugh and later accuse him of not actually leaving her “fee”. Occasionally he’s send an envelope with a 20 in it to her anonymously from where ever in the world he was. She knew it was him and had kept each of them in stack figuring by the law of averages that he’d die before her and she could slide them into his coffin with a note that read “Finally Stiff!” to get the last laugh. Had he known he would have thought it was funny but been too stubborn to die first.

  He collects his final thoughts and reaches for his briefcase passing momentarily in front of the mirror gracing the suites entrance, stopping to check the position of his tie, the part of his hair, inspecting his jacket for lint one last time. Admittedly it’s a stall and once he steps foot out the door the day really begins. In truth he has more than four working hours into the day, he’s been on the phone with staff back East for hours. Going over every detail, planning, positioning, checking and rechecking everything in exasperating detail, making sure nothing was missed or misunderstood. A decision was made, a little touch up ironing on his shirt and lapels, a shower and a fresh shave had brought him to this point in the day. He puts his ever present shades on like a cloak of invincibility for his geeky teenage Dungeons and Dragons game and steps into the hall, down in the elevator, his wooden heels clicking authoritatively on the marble hall way leading to the lobby. Vincent stops and slides effortlessly three steps to the right for a glass of water with lime, finishing it in one quick gulp, he passes through the main doors as the bellman and Chris finish loading his suitcase into the trunk. He just slid himself into the passenger side back seat of the Lincoln, coming to rest with a posture that would have given his kindergarten teacher a heart attack and at that very moment he was quite certain that he could feel his grandmother’s decaying corpse spinning like a top inside of her grave. Shins positioned exactly over his ankles, his ass on the front third of the seat, back rounded oddly forward and backward at the same time. His arms wantonly laid at his sides the left hand open as if in an unbalanced meditative state in a reclined cobblers Yoga pose. His right hand was gripping his cell phone in what can only be described as a casual death grip incase the device at some point or another could spring to life and try a daring escape. The hand looked relaxed but the white knuckles told a different story.

  The door is closed by the Bell Captain and Vincent greets Chris cordially but it is not a time for small talk, he is in his own world, running through the meeting in his mind, playing and replaying the expected moves, the positioning, the talking points, and at the same time validating the data in his own mind one last time just to be sure. What could be their reactions, objections, the precise words to choose, how to delicately deliver the message, had there been a key piece of data overlooked? Not very likely but mathematically possible. As the car winds through the Mecca of the technology industry and the information age he sees Yahoo’s marquee building in the distance, the landscape was dotted with household names, Google and HP, industry monoliths like Cisco and
Sun Micro mixed in with names that never quite made it, other yet unknown with dreams of wealth and prosperity next to the empty office space still bearing the best long since lost dreams of others who failed. It was like giving birth in a cemetery while a funeral was going on, the mourners were trying not to be sad and the mother of the baby was trying to forget that she was suddenly reminded of her own mortality. At least Deb looked and seemed truly happy he thought as such pleasantries once again diminished and back to the tasks at hand. As Chris brought the car to a stop Vincent collected all his thoughts one last time ready to play them back at the appropriate moments like a well rehearsed play. “Are you going to wait?” he asked. “Yeah Vince, but I was going to run up the street and get a coffee.”

  “Ok, but be here in 45 minute incase the meeting runs short.”

  Vincent flips a 20 over the space between the drivers’ and passenger side front seat “Big assed Latte with three extra espresso shots dumped in, low fat or skim and whatever you want.” Pausing momentarily, he adds “I’m sorry, I should have asked. Do you mind?” All the while his tone was that of an old friend talking to another old friend, Chris didn’t mind and now had a sponsor for his drink also. For as much of a jerk as Vincent was it was never to someone who was taking care of him. He worked particularly hard to take care of the everyday person, their lives were not luxurious, often unrewarding and unappreciated. These were the people that he went out of his way to be polite and thankful to.

  Chris responded “No sweat! I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks man” and with these words Vincent sat up reached for his case and began his egress from the car to the building.