SOMETHING WAITS (23 page)

When the camera next picked her up, the girl was walking in a city park at night. She trailed the shore of a dark expanse of lake, the moonlight silvered on its still waters. The stars were out, millions of them, and they twinkled jewel-like overhead. Occasionally the girl would turn and smile at a couple passing her on the park walkway, holding hands, heads together, taking their time, stealing a kiss between lamplights.

After a time, she came upon an empty bench facing the lake. She sat down. The camera sat down beside her. She looked out at the lake. The stars were diamonds in the clear air, reflected in her glistening eyes, which really weren’t that unattractive in close shots. She sat gazing contentedly at the lake for the next twenty minutes.

Then she turned to the camera, smiled warmly again, and mouthed three simple words. Mr. Conway couldn’t quite make out what they were. In a moment, the screen went dark. The lights came up. The counter man stood grinning from the doorway behind the projector.

Mr. Conway stared back, incredulous. “That’s it?”

The grin never faltered. “That’s it!”

“A hundred dollars for a walk in the park with a homely girl!”

“Don’t forget the dinner and lake.”

“A
hundred
dollars!”

The counter man shrugged. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mr. Conway stood up fast, fists clenched at his sides. “I want my money back!”

The inevitable shaking of the head. “Club dues are non-refundable.”

Mr. Conway started to steam…then settled down, nodded contemptuously, wryly. “So that’s it, huh? That’s the scam: lure a guy with vague promises and sly innuendo, get him worked up for months, then rip him off! Is that how you keep this little dump operating, off the money from gullible slobs like me?”

“You’re among our most valued clientele, Mr. Conway.”

“I’ll bet I am.”

He shouldered past the grinning face and stalked to the shop door. He felt…strange inside.

“I’m having dinner with the police commissioner tomorrow night,” he said authoritatively. It sounded about as pertinent as it did likely.

“
Bon appetite
!” from the counter man.

Mr. Conway slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Things were even worse the next day.

He arrived at the office early, bent on setting the wheels of partnership dissolution grinding. He was greeted by looks of sheepish guilt from most of his staff amid a sea of cardboard boxes. The boxes were slowly being filled by the staff with their personal effects. For one ludicrous moment, he thought Stan had gone completely crazy and fired everyone in the office; then the awful truth became apparent. Stan was leaving all right, and taking the staff with him. And from the looks on their faces, it was a voluntary decision.

It wasn’t until that moment he understood the depth of Stan Waterman’s deviousness…and his height within the firm. Who, after all, dealt with all the major clients day after day, having carefully, skillfully built up a personal relationship with them through the years, ate dinners at their homes, knew all their kids by name? And what self-respecting office employee wouldn’t go with the player who held all the most marbles--and the contacts to secure more marbles? The answer was confirmed a few minutes later when Mr. Conway found himself alone in a desert of empty desks and cubicles.

He went to his own office and sat down in his leather chair, sat down very hard. He stared out the window. A skeleton crew of old timers had remained loyally behind, but he was essentially alone in the building and assumed—if he hadn’t completely lost his edge-- just about wiped out financially. So this is what Stan had meant on the phone when describing the break-up as a ‘big mistake.’
His
mistake, not Stan’s.

He called his secretary to order lunch in, but his secretary had defected too. He called his lawyer and his lawyer was just sick about the whole thing, just really broken up because gosh he’d known Mr. Conway for years even before Stan had joined the firm--but when faced with the choice of going with the most assets the ugly truth was, Stan simply had more—

Mr. Conway hung up.

He stared out the window. Even after the sun began to set. He was, most likely, ruined.

Funny, then, in the midst of all this, he should be thinking about the girl in the film. The plain girl in the plain gingham dress with the plain but somehow sincere smile. She wasn’t pretty, that girl. But she’d had nice eyes…

* * *

He found more packing going on at home.

Althea wasn’t going to wait around and endure all the gory details of a divorce,
he
could handle that. She had friends in Jamaica. She’d phone him.

The house was quite still without her but that was nothing new. He sat staring at the Jay Leno Show silently, seeing only two soft brown eyes, a gingham dress, a lake, and stars that twinkled restfully, peacefully off its mirrored surface. Althea and he had walked beside a lake like that once, in another time, another world. It was what he was thinking about when he finally dozed off. It was, in fact, what allowed him to doze off.

He woke the next morning knowing exactly what he would do, what he must do. It was the next logical step in his life, perhaps even a preordained one. And he didn’t even have to go into the office to do it. He phoned Brewster Foods right there in his bedroom.

“Conway here, Mr. Brewster. Sorry it took so long to get back to you. Yes, we’d like to begin work on the Safety Cigarette campaign right away. We’re very excited about it.”

After that he called his office and told the remaining staff all about the account. It felt good to get it off his chest finally. They were very excited too. Then, he dressed, drank a glass of orange juice and headed in. Strange how good he felt despite all the recent upheaval in his life. He felt relaxed, almost peaceful. When he arrived at the office it was to a chorus of cheers. We’ll show Waterman what a Conway and Associates campaign can do! This was a slam dunk! Why, the account was so big they’d have to hire a new art director immediately!

He interviewed one that very day, took him to lunch at the Chinese restaurant where no one spoke English, an affable young man from L.A., full of daring new L.A. ideas. They shook hands at the corner and the young man started work that afternoon. Mr. Conway didn’t join him back at the office, though; he walked down the street a couple of blocks from the restaurant.

“I want to see the film again,” he told the man behind the counter.

“Great film, isn’t it!” the man grinned. “Only one in the whole place I still look at. Reminds me of my first wife!”

“I’d like to see it again, please.”

“Why certainly, Mr. Conway, you’re a member now!”

He stepped to the door and paused beside the silvery knob. “Two hundred dollars, please.”

Mr. Conway went pallid. “
Two
hundred! That’s highway robbery!”

“That’s the price.”

Mr. Conway stamped his foot. “It’s ridiculous! I won’t pay it!” And he turned on his heel and stalked to the door and slammed it behind him.

He went back, of course. Again and again, week after week, month after month, to sit on the bench beside the girl and watch the lake… watch the diamond stars reflect on its surface. Even though the price doubled with every visit and he spent a small fortune in the process. He had to. It was the only way he could sleep at night. Besides, wasn’t he, after all, the boss? Hadn’t he just sewed up the most important advertising campaign in history? Wouldn’t it gross millions of dollar annually?

Damn right it would.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BRUCE JONES is the author of twelve previous novels and a collection of short stories, including (under the pseudonym Bruce Elliot) the bestsellers STILL LIFE and DEATH RITES, plus numerous screenplays, teleplays and graphic novels. Recently he has published three novels: SHIMMER, THE DEADENDERS, and THE TARN, all available as ebooks. Jones won the Upcoming Author of the Year award from the Bertelsman Book Club. He lives with his wife, novelist and screenwriter April Campbell Jones, and their dogs Pete and Lily. The Joneses spend their time in the ethers between Los Angeles and the Midwest
.