* * * *
The seafood focused hors d'oeuvres table was a place of temporary reprieve for Stephen Williams. He wanted to avoid the crowd for as long as possible, most who were mulling around their seats in the main chapel of the funeral home waiting for the service to begin. The buffet table, one of seven, bore smoked salmon, mini-crab cakes topped with a dollop of roasted red pepper aioli, prosciutto-wrapped shrimp, a small tower of seasoned shrimp, miniature fruit cups, and multiple wafers and crackers. Traditionally, many would find an overindulgent buffet out of the ordinary for a funeral. These days, when a family could afford it, opulent displays were a status symbol as if to impress in case there were a heavenly visitation.
Grabbing a small gold-trimmed porcelain plate, Stephen added several pieces of the hor d'oeuvres fair with eager anticipation to savor the delicacies. Glancing back at the main congregation of attendees, the senior director for marketing William Sumner noticed him, smiled, and dashed in his direction extending his hand. “Stephen, how's it going?”
Stephen reciprocated the handshake after moving the plate to his other hand. “I'm doing fine. How ‘bout you?”
“Better than that dead little shit laid out stiff in the box,” William answered. Stephen knew William didn't like Jeffrey Bradfield. William felt Jeffrey's father had brooded over him incessantly to the detriment of the company. Even though he’d worked in a different division, Jeffrey’s constant management fiascos caused problems that William felt would need correction for a catalog of accounting errors and misrepresentations.
“Where's your buddy Alder?” William continued.
“Don't know; he should've been here by now,” Stephen answered, returning to stockpiling his plate.
“So, you think we'll have a visitor today?”
“Depends on Jeffrey's life I guess. No one knows why they show up, if they do,” Stephen noted.
“So how well did you know Jeffrey Bradfield?”
“Not too well. We dealt with him on a few accruals that didn't get posted to the proper month. Other than that, didn't have to deal with him too much,” Stephen lied. Stephen and Alder did work quite a bit with Jeffrey Bradfield. They continually corrected Bradfield's budget updates, redid the assignment of expense codes and reworked the other numerous accounting errors for his department, some seriously putting his department in the red. Stephen knew that if Jeffrey Bradfield hadn’t been the son of the senior vice president for production, the company wouldn’t have tolerated the incompetence and would’ve fired him. A car accident netted the same effect.
William pressed on with the questions, “So have you seen one before?”
“Nope.” Stephen finished loading his plate.
“Well I'm hoping something will happen this time. I keep dragging my kids to these hoping something would happen. We even got a new digital camera with enough megapixels to grab the tiniest detail, with one of the fastest shutter speeds around.”
“Will it work? I heard everyone who's tried to take a picture, it comes out either completely black or just a splotch in a blurred background.”
“Hey, this was special ordered. I paid a few g's for this one,” William boasted as he pulled a Nikon digital SLR camera from a camera bag hanging on his shoulder and placing the strap around his neck.
Stephen hadn’t noticed the camera bag. He found himself focused on the plates of food in his hand and wanted to raze the succulent appetizers until another thought hit him. “Can you have that in here?”
“Don’t forget my position in the company. I managed to allow for any personal camera devices in case of a visitor,” William bragged.
Stephen felt disappointed because he didn’t get the word about the waiver for camera related devices. He left his cell phone in his car.
“Hey, do you smell that?” William queried looking around the foyer attempting to find the source of the aroma. “It smells like a damn flower shop in here.”
You suspect a heavenly visit will take place when you begin to smell the scent of fresh flowers like a bouquet of roses, hibiscus, or tulips. Some even said there’s a hint of a fragrant scent similar to sweet cinnamon or clove and that a simple waft would calm an agitated soul. That was the closest anyone came to accurately describing the aroma in earlier news reports and newspaper articles. Not everyone could smell the arrival, however. Stephen was one who couldn't. His sense of smell had been deteriorating over the last couple of years, and if there were to be a visitation, he would miss this part of the experience.
Several attendees made a final grab for food from the buffets tables in the foyer area before the homily and pastoral memoriam would begin. William was already making his way back into the main sanctuary of the chapel to join his family. As the other attendees rushed to claim open seats, Stephen made one final glance past the foyer waiting area to see if Alder and his family had arrived. No sign of him. The ushers urged him back to the chapel area while letting in a husband, wife, and their toddler son from the standby line. There’s three lucky bastards, Stephen thought.
The Fallen and the Elect Page 2
