Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

  “Yes I do and that’s the problem, it’s the word you live your life by. But, as far as us, as far as we’re concerned, you don’t have the winning formula, not yet.”

  He laughs sardonically and takes a step back. “Touché - you win.”

  What!

  “I’m not competing Ayden. It’s never been a battle of wills for me.” I shake my head from side to side to reinforce the point and inch towards him.

  “No, but you can still bring me to my knees with a fucking smile,” he roars.

  That single declaration has me reeling. I’m stunned, but not into silence. “I’m sorry you feel that way. So ... so defeated.”

  “I don’t, I mean I do, but I don’t want to.” His hands reach into his pockets and, out of frustration, he rocks back and forth. “Look, I don’t know what I’m saying, I’ve got to go.” With heavy lids, he takes a lingering look at me, as if committing my image to memory. He turns and marches off in the direction of his waiting car. Even though I know it’s coming, the sound of the door slamming makes me flinch and I watch him speed away.

  Wearily, I close the security door, leaning my hand against the glass for a couple of seconds to regain my composure. What the hell just happened? Dispirited, I return to my apartment.

  “Beth?” Charlie calls from the lounge. Caught up in the commotion, I’d forgotten she was there. She must have heard everything.

  “Here,” she hands me my glass of wine. “I heard. What’s that guy’s problem?”

  I have a simple answer. “He has to win.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means that unless he accepts that it’s an irrational way of approaching everything, we’re not going to make it.” I shrug my shoulders and turn to face her.

  “Oh Beth.” She takes hold of my hand, but sympathy is the last thing I need.

  I have a moment of clarity. “In a way, it’s a good thing.” I’m having a positive thought for the first time in 24 hours: it’s a revelation, so powerful it reshapes my face.

  Puzzled, Charlie asks, “How’s that?”

  “We’ve got to the bottom of his problem. That’s been his motivation! All these years he’s been driven by nothing else, why didn’t I realise. We could have avoided all this heartache.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, even though I’ve not got a friggin’ clue what you’re talking about.”

  I throw my arms around her neck and kiss her affectionately on the cheek. “It doesn’t matter, you don’t have to, but thanks for listening.” Feeling energised, I wipe the dampness from my cheeks. “I know what I have to do now.”

  Out of the blue, the external buzzer sounds and we look at each other. “Did you hear that?” Surely Ayden hasn’t come back? What would motivate him to do such a thing?

  Charlie jumps up. “I’ll get it and, if it’s him, I’ll make myself scarce.”

  I can hear an unfamiliar male voice, “Are you Beth?”

  “No, who are you?” Charlie answers in her ‘don’t mess with me’ voice.

  “I’m Jake Harrison, I work with Ayden Stone. Is Beth Here?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll ask her. Wait there.” She returns to the lounge. “There’s sex on legs at the door and he wants to speak to you, says he works with your Mr. P. Should I let him in?” She holds her hands together in a kind of mock prayer.

  “Ok, ask him to come in. Just give me a minute to make myself presentable.”

  She dashes off and I do the same, in the direction of the bathroom. I don’t want one of Ayden’s colleagues to see me looking like this. My mascara is smudged and I’m ghostly pale, through lack of food and sleep, but it’s nothing a little blusher and a touch of lip gloss can’t improve.

  I hear Charlie giving her all; her best flirtatious laugh is bouncing off the walls. It almost seems a shame to interrupt, but he’s come here to speak to me and the least I can do is show my face.

  “Hello, Mr. Harrison, I’m Beth Parker.” I stretch out my hand and notice how quickly he reviews me. I wonder what he’s thinking. “I’m pleased to see Charlie has been keeping you entertained.”

  “Yes, she has.” He launches a beaming smile in her direction and I swear I can hear her heart skip a beat from the other side of the room. I know why, of course, he’s ruggedly handsome and nicely turned out in his black suit and silver tie: he’s just her type.

  “Can I offer you anything, wine, water?”

  “No thanks, I’m good.”

  Oh, you’re American, I detect a west coast inflection.

  “I wanted to speak with you about Ayden and it’s a kinda delicate matter.” Is he suggesting Charlie leave?

  She picks up on it immediately, reaches for her handbag and offers him her hand. “Of course, I’ll get out of your hair. It’s been very nice meeting you Jake, I hope we meet again soon.” She’s all teeth and sparkling eyes.

  “Sure thing.”

  After a farewell hug and a kiss, she heads for the door. With Jake’s back to her she holds up an imaginary phone, meaning get his number, but I look away quickly in case he catches my wandering eye. From his serious expression, I think he has more important things on his mind than arranging a date with my best friend.

  I make a point of giving him my full attention. "So Jake, what’s on your mind?"

  "Well, Ayden and I have been buddies for, well since we were kids. I went to the U.S. to college and he stayed here building his empire, but we always kept in touch. These past five years, we’ve been working together on projects. I’m his CCO, right hand man and his sparring partner in and out of the boardroom: he’s the ideas guy and I figure out how to make things happen, sort out the logistics, kinda."

  "I see, so you’re telling me you’re close?"

  "Yeah, we’re close I guess or as close as you can get to ..." He nods his head knowingly and I resist the temptation to do the same. When he starts to fiddle with his tie, I sense something more pressing is about to be discussed. "I don’t know how to put this politely but ..." He’s trying to find the right words.

  "Don’t bother sugar coating it for me. What’s up?"

  He laughs softly. "He said you were sharp."

  I acknowledge the compliment.

  "I think he’s lost his fucking mind over you!"

  As hard as I try, I can’t conceal my astonishment. "Really? Why do you say that?"

  "Well." He runs his right hand over his close cropped hair. "It started last week. He bailed on two major meetings in New York last Friday and the one he did attend he was totally distracted. Can you believe it? He had two video conferences on the plane? That’s unprecedented."

  I’m sitting back, wishing Ayden back in my arms with every new insight. Keeping my amusement under wraps isn’t easy. It’s clear, Jake is in need of some answers.

  "Not only that but he’s only been available through email and video conferencing this weekend; it’s like he’s gone off radar. On Sunday morning, he even blew me off and he doesn’t do that."

  "Sunday morning?" I have a recollection of a very happy man organising a picnic and commenting on my ‘I’ve been fucked hair.’ The memory lingers, making me smile.

  “Yeah, was he here?"

  "Yes. I heard him talking to you and he ended the call when I walked in the room." I point over to the kitchen table. "He was sitting right there."

  "And why did he end our face to face, we had some important business to discuss?" He’s gripped, impatient to hear more.

  "So he could put me on his knee."

  His mouth opens and stays that way. "And do what exactly?"

  "Stroke my hair, cuddle me." Knowing exactly what I’m doing, I smile sweetly.

  His hand is in his hair again; for Ayden it’s his neck that’s his tell, for Jake, it’s his hair. Like a wide toothed comb, his fingers move from front to back, forming a wide circle that finishes on his chin.

  "Look. I don’t think we’re talking about the same guy." He tips his head back to stress the point an
d blows out hot air.

  "Oh I think we are." I reach for the kiss pendant but find only a vacant space. "Have you spoken to him today?"

  "Have I! Oh yeah, we had a real early start. At 3am this morning, he calls me asking about love songs, songs that say sorry. I mean, what the hell do I know about songs?"

  Obviously he’s finding the whole affair difficult to comprehend, so I encourage him to continue.

  "Anyway, I went round to Stone Heath this morning when his secretary reported him AWOL."

  "Stone Heath?"

  "You know, his place in Belgravia?"

  I don’t, but I nod as if I do.

  "And he’s there in yesterday’s clothes writing some God damn speech to give to a bunch of school kids. I mean, what’s all that about?"

  I know perfectly well what that’s all about, but simply smile.

  "So, I ask him, what the fuck’s going on? You’re supposed to be in LA in two days giving the opening speech at a conference attended by some of the leading players in global communications, and you’re here downloading songs and attending kids’ parties and ..." He holds my attention with a wide stare. "... d’you know what he said?"

  "No."

  "Fuck off!"

  I know I shouldn’t but I start to laugh. "That sounds like Ayden." I’m trying to under-react, but peals of rippling laughter are erupting from my mouth. My poor Mr. P.

  Jake reaches down and takes a couple of gulps of the unclaimed half glass of red wine sitting on the table: he really is feeling very stressed.

  "Hey, that’s not the reaction I was hoping for lady. You wanna tell me what’s going on? Because, I tell you, if he doesn’t get his shit together and come up with a monumental opening speech, we’ll be fucked. Six months of planning right out the window and A.S.M.I. along with it."

  "There’s nothing wrong with him, not really." I know but I’m hesitant. Should I tell him?

  "If you’re messing around, then you’ve gotta stop. There’s a lot at stake and I don’t just mean his reputation."

  He finishes off the wine and I feel a sudden chill in the air. His once hazel eyes are now a penetrating charcoal colour. I sense an approaching battle of wills. Here it comes

  "How much will it take to get you off his back?"

  As hard as I try, I cannot conceal my disgust. "What! How dare you come here to my home, and offer me money to stop seeing him. Don’t you realise what this is all about?"

  His piercing stare doesn’t leave my face, it tunnels through my eye-balls like a truth seeking missile.

  "He’s in love with me," I announce, waiting for his reaction before elaborating further.

  "He’s what?"

  "You heard me." I allow him a couple of seconds to mentally digest my revelation. "He won’t admit it because it would feel like he’d lost the battle but, once he realises he can win the war, if he just stops fighting, he’ll be fine." I smile, feeling proud of myself for solving the puzzle.

  He’s standing, pacing, running his hand across his hair again. "I don’t get it. You’re as fucked up as he is."

  I nod in agreement. "Yes, I am. Please sit down."

  He exhales and faces me.

  "Now, tell me when should Ayden go to LA?"

  He runs his now sweaty palms over his thighs. "He’s scheduled to fly out of Heathrow tomorrow around midday, stay over, run through his speech and face the music Wednesday morning 10am, local time. But I can’t see it happening, not now when ..."

  "He’ll be there."

  He gives me a knowing smile. "I sure hope you know what you’re doing?"

  "I think I do now." I stand, brush down my skirt, I’m ready to give him his marching orders.

  He’s a smart guy, he reads my signals. "Ok I’m out of here. I can see you’ve got things to do."

  He leans into me and kisses my cheek. "Just so you know, Ayden likes to operate out of sight, in the shadows, but this is big, he has to be seen to be engaging in the social debate about corporate communications: he is A.S Media International. If you’re serious about him, you’ll get him to L.A." He offers his hand to me. "No hard feelings about the pay-off? I had to give it a shot."

  I reach out to shake his hand. "No hard feelings. Just don’t ever try to insult me by offering me money again, or I’ll make sure that long standing friendship you and Ayden have, the one you value so much, comes to a very swift end."

  "You bet." He lets go of my hand first. "It’s been good to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you."

  "Not all good I hope."

  "Mostly." He grins, cheekily.

  "Oh you shouldn’t believe everything you hear." I think we actually have an understanding, finally. "Ayden is a very talented businessman, but you already know that?"

  He nods.

  "What you don’t know is that he’s so much more than that to me." I purposely hold off on the smile, to make my point.

  He winks and gives me a knowing look. "I think you’ll be good for him, once he sorts his head out."

  "I think so too. Thank you for coming to see me." I usher him to the front door.

  He spins around, forcing me to take a step back, his right hand is in his hair again. "Look, I’d kinda appreciate it if you didn’t mention me coming here, Ayden can be ..."

  I beat him to it, “Difficult."

  "Yeah difficult." Smiling, he turns away from me and strolls towards his waiting car. I wave him off, feeling so much clearer about what I have to do. I rush inside, pick up my phone and press Speedial 1. Ayden picks up on the third ring.

  "Hi, it’s me."

  "I know." That’s a curt reply.

  “You asked how long and, what’s it been, an hour?”

  "More or less." He’s unsure about my line of questioning but is willing to go with it.

  "I’ve had all the time I need. Will you get over here?" I picture him smiling, if only for a second.

  "Only if you ask nicely."

  My God, even now after all that’s happened, he’s still fixated on winning; if it’s not bloody buttons it’s bloody please. I find my best girlie voice. "Please will you come round because I want to talk to you and I’m stood here in your T-shirt feeling as horny as hell." I switch back. "Will that do?" The line goes dead.

  A silver BMW, way past its prime, is chewing up the tarmac on the A1, only 12 miles from ground zero. The weight of equipment and basic provisions is playing havoc with the suspension, forcing its impatient driver to curse and swear.

  Thankfully the route is quiet for 1500hrs on a Monday and Dan is able to reserve his spot in the inside lane, refusing to give the budget saloons a second glance as they flash past him doing 70. As far as he’s concerned, they are mindless drivers on the road to nowhere, whereas he’s a man on a mission. He knows better than to rush when embarking on an operation of this scale.

  ‘I’ve waited seven years for this, another couple of hours won’t kill me.’ His mood lightens, he readjusts his seat and takes in the scenery.

  He loaded up the car at 0400hrs, drove the 17 miles to work to make the early shift at 0600hrs and looked busy until his shift ended at two. From there he headed straight to the estate agents to hand over his Landlady’s signed reference, which he typed out for her, and the email address of his Line Manger Mr. Crowther. It was all done and dusted in thirty minutes.

  Now, with almost sixty miles behind him, he’s running on pure adrenalin; the route to Elm Gardens is engraved permanently into his psyche and the registration of Stone’s car is engraved permanently on his skin, like a pink tattoo.

  Discarded on the passenger seat is yesterday’s Daily Mirror, folded back on the page he read during his tea break. As hard as he tries to distract himself checking out drivers and passengers as they overtake him, his eyes are drawn to the photograph taking up almost a quarter of the page. He snatches it up and flattens it out across the steering wheel; his impatient hands fold the outer edges around it, allowing him to hold it firmly in place. Out of sheer wilfulness he procee
ds to inspect the photograph at close quarters, whilst steering. But, doing two things at the same time is proving to be more of a challenge than he first thought, not because he is actually driving, but because the words on the page keep merging. Ayden Stone and Elizabeth Parker are side by side in the picture and in print, as if they are meant to be together. He smiles inwardly, ‘Elizabeth Parker, right. What happened to Francis?’ His thoughts are his own and they are coming thick and fast, triggering a disturbing response.

  Dan Rizler is gripped by rage, it has him by the throat and he can barely swallow. Momentarily, he has a lapse in concentration and the car veers onto the hard shoulder, making a loud, rumbling sound that jolts him back into consciousness.

  “Fuck!” He swerves back into position and holds firm, checking his mirror for an unwelcome observer or, worse still, a police car. The last thing he wants is for the cops to pull him over and to start asking questions, even though he knows he has nothing to worry about. He doesn’t have a police record and they would be hard pushed to find anything in his car worth investigating. After all, he’s just an ordinary guy, moving his stuff from A to B. Why would they think otherwise?

  Back on track, he allows his eyes to settle on the road and briefly on the black and white photograph of the ‘happy’ couple. There’s something about a Book Launch and some writer’s new crime thriller but it’s of little consequence. All he can see is Stone holding her hand, turning on the charm.

  “Fucking poser!” He hisses between his teeth, slamming his hand over his image, almost puncturing the paper. Only Elizabeth Parker remains intact. His jealousy fades and it’s just the two of them again, the way he likes it, the way it’s meant to be. Her beauty transcends everything else, he cannot look away. Even dressed in black she’s an angel, his angel. He stretches out his thumb and caresses her image, up, down, left and right nonstop for the next eight miles.

  When he reaches the Pinner turn-off, feeling pacified by the proximity of her image, he glances down once and then again, preparing to say farewell, but she has vanished. All he can see is her escort, standing there next to a blurred and faded ghost. He takes a look at his thumb. It’s black and the ink has found its way around the entire nail and into the cuticle. Without noticing, he has erased her from the page. She no longer exists. Surprised at his own clumsiness, he chuckles, holds up his thumb and inspects it. “How’s that for a prediction princess, I’ve got you under my thumb already and I haven’t laid a finger on you yet?”