by Unknown
Melinda hit the trunk release as she pulled up in front of the airport terminal. William jumped out, grabbed his briefcase, leather duffel bag and headed for the entrance.
“William,” she cried.
William turned, noticed Melinda for what seemed the first time, so preoccupied, was he. He walked back to where she was standing, put his bags down, hugged her briefly and looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. Afterward, he held her as though their parting was permanent instead of only until evening when she would return to pick him up.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been sort of preoccupied as of late,” William confessed lamely.
“So I’ve noticed. I guess I should have kept you with me this weekend. I’m sure I could have taken your mind off of all of this,” Melinda said.
“It’s never too late,” William, replied. “What about tonight?”
“We’ll see,” Melinda said, smiling.
Melinda, now all smiles, waved goodbye as a traffic cop gestured for her to move the BMW. William broke into a quick smile.
“See ya at six.”
Forty-five minutes later, Melinda arrived back at the office and checked the voice mail. Full, Melinda returned the ones she deemed important. She then contacted the Constitution, the paper, and spoke to Val who assured her she would send a copy of the article by courier as soon as her editor was finished proofing it. She then called the real estate broker and set up the closing for the condominium.
That completed, Melinda checked the mail. One particular letter caught her attention. She dropped the letter opener, tore the letter open, and read it quickly. She threw her hands up in the air in joy, jumped up from her desk and danced the Crip Walk around the office as though Ed McMahan of Publisher’s Clearinghouse had just selected her their grand prizewinner. Sylvia Stanton’s lawyer stated that the divorce was final. Sylvia would not contest it. “Glory be!”
Melinda called Mr. Davis next, who was not in and left word to proceed as planned according to Mr. Stanton’s directions. This done, Melinda set out for Dante’s for lunch. Once there, Melinda ordered a dry martini, then phoned DEA Agent, Terry Shannon, for an update. “Terry, this is Melinda. William asked me to get in touch with you. Said he hasn’t heard from you since he got back and, frankly, he’s a little worried.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t contacted William but things are kind of hectic here. Let me just give you the scoop,” he said. “Thanks to William, we’ve confiscated the largest shipment of heroin ever in the state the Georgia. Not even my immediate supervisor knows. I’m holding the package, now all we can do is sit and wait. It shouldn’t be long before there is some backlash. Already we have received a number of correspondences between Davenport and Morris. We have at least three, which implicate Davenport. He’s accused Morris of receipt of the package and failure to pay. Each correspondence had become more and more threatening.
“I’m sure there will be some type of confirmation sooner or later. I figure the less William knows the better. He’s done everything we’ve asked him to do. The only thing we can do now is sit tight and wait. I can assure you it won’t be much longer before a break or a mistake in made.
“When you owe someone like Davenport a million and a half, you end up paying one way or another. Davenport wants his money and from what I’ve seen thus far, Morris has no inclination of paying for services not rendered. I understand William’s concern but spare him the details just let him know that everything is going as planned. Like I said the less he knows the better.”
“Thank you,” Melinda said, “and have a good day, Mr. Shannon.”
“You, too, His. Bailey,” Terry Shannon said.
William entered Morris’ office at ten o’clock. Morris shortly thereafter.
“Good flight, William?”
“A little turbulence outside of New York but nothing to speak of,” William replied, calmly.
“Sorry I’m late. If you don’t mind I’d like to get right down to business,” Morris said.
“That’s fine, sir.”
“I’ve checked your overseas account and I am quite impressed with the results. However, I’m still puzzled about a number of things. First, what possessed you to increase the bid to four percent? That’s double your initial bid. Was it your commission or lack of?”
“Actually, Mr. Morris, I got wind of the competitions’ bids and realized ours was much too low so at the last min—”
Morris interrupted, “And to think I thought your disenchantment with the government and the jailing of your friends was the reason. I’m certainly glad to know you didn’t let friendship and personalities come into play. After all, business is business. Another point that concerns me in the shipment from Davenport. A package was to have been sent by Davenport. Did he happen to mention it?”
“Yes sir, he did,” William replied curtly. “Said he would be shipping it along with everything else some kind of personal gift for you and the missus.” William wondered if he had offered too much information. Morris, however, didn’t seem overly concerned. After all, William wasn’t supposed to know anything. Little did he know that Morris had never trusted Davenport and, business, after all was business.
“Let me ask you another question, William, and I want you to be totally honest with me.”
William slid back in his chair, a little apprehensive but refusing to let it show.
“Anytime one of my employees involves himself as avidly as you do in the activities of Hill and Morris, it makes me proud. Anytime one of my employees enters into profit sharing, buying stock options and the like, it let’s me know they are interested in the growth of our agency. It’s a symbiotic relationship, of course. They work hard, our agency grows, they collect, we collect. It’s a concept the Japanese came up with following the Second World War that has worked to perfection, although American many companies are slow to embrace it.
“It has enabled you to become the largest minority stockholder at twelve and a half percent. But what concerns me is your intent. If you had accepted the offer as a partner in the firm, it would have dispelled any thoughts or questions I may have had about your leaving or any other intentions. You could have chosen your accounts, overseen others, shaped the company in your image. It’s one hell of an opportunity. I’m curious to know why you turned the offer down. I’m sure you realize that my time with the agency is almost over. I’ll be sixty nine in November and Martha’s illness demands so much of my time, that it’s difficult to oversee the day to day operations of the company. I was kind of hoping—.”
“Mr. Morris, I don’t mean to cut you off, but I just don’t see myself in a managerial position at this point in my career,” William said. “I’ve just sold my home and am in the midst of a divorce. Right now, I’m staying in a hotel. It would be extremely difficult to even attempt to manage a company the size of Hill and Morris, when I can’t handle my own domestic affairs.”
“I didn’t know, William. I think I understand and I’m sorry. I must confess I didn’t know. Tell me, though; you have any plans for that huge commission you just picked up? That should ease some of the pain.”
“Well, sir, I guess I’ll put it back in the company. It certainly beats the 401K plan,” William smiled.
“Anything else needs my attention?”
“No, sir.”
“The offer still stands, William. Anytime you decide you’ve got your house in order and are ready for a change, just up let me know.”
“I certainly will, sir.”
Relieved that the meeting was over, William exited Hill and Morris as it was then known for that last time.
Two days later, an article appeared in the Atlanta Constitution, featuring William Stanton, senior account representative for the Hill and Morris Agency. Never had Melinda received so many phone calls, telegrams and faxes, applauding his achievements. There were even congratulatory faxes from former Atlanta mayor, Andrew Young as well as the U.S. Secretary of Commerce.
The one from the Secretary of Commer
ce as symbolic chief of American business was especially gratifying. Then there were the offers. From as far away as Seattle came the offers. There was even one from IBM, asking him to come on as a part-time consultant at twice his current salary. Still, William remained unwavering. He was looking at the bigger picture.
On the other side of town, Sylvia Stanton bent over to pick up the morning newspaper and watched it slide out of the flimsy little plastic bag and into a puddle. “Don’t know why he doesn’t tie up the damn thing,” Sill mused. She had been out-of-sorts ever since Terrance left. Today didn’t seem to be any different. It had been three days since he’d left and he hadn’t even bothered to call. Not even a phone call, let alone stop by. It was, at that moment, while picking up the paper that Sylvia came across the picture accompanying the article. There in the business section, looking better than he had at anytime in their marriage, was her William Stanton. Gucci’d down to his socks. Seeing his picture was the first time since her leaving, that Sylvia had even remotely considered the notion that she had possibly made a mistake. But, so certain was she of his love and adoration, that she was sure all she had to do was call him and he’d come a-runnin’. The article was great. Sill thought the time apart had really helped William. She especially enjoyed the segment about him setting up a trust fund for a little nine-year-old Nigerian boy. William’s increasing financial status situation, never a factor before, suddenly became a factor. Sylvia accustomed to having her way had become increasingly realizing just now difficult it would be to last the better part of the year at the rate she was going. The money she had taken from their savings was over half gone and she was behind in almost all her bills. If she called asking to come home, it would be an admission of guilt, putting her at William’s mercy. But to call and congratulate him on the article and his recent success, maybe set up a lunch date, would not be quite so obvious. She’d take him out to Dante’s wear something red, low cut and might maybe even give him a taste. He’d have his tongue out, tail wagging, begging her to come home.
Sill called the Greenwich Hill House only to find the number had been disconnected. All that money. Negro still can’t pay a simple thing like a phone bill. She then called the agency. “Melinda, hey girl, how ya doin’. I’ve been meaning to call you but I couldn’t chance William finding me. How have you been?” Sill asked, nonchalantly.
Melinda was stunned. Speechless for a moment. “Sylvia? Why, I’m fine, Sill. How are you?”
“Couldn’t be better,” she lied.
“I tried calling the house to congratulate, William, on the article in the Constitution but the line was disconnected. Know matter how big a man gets, he still needs a good woman to take care of the small things. Maybe he’ll appreciate me now. Whatcha think, Melinda? Think he’s suffered enough?” Sill chuckled, expecting Melinda to join in as she used to. There was no response this time, however.
“Sill, the phone’s disconnected because William’s moved.”
“Moved? He couldn’t have. William loved that house. Are you sure he moved?”
“Closed on a condo just yesterday over on the East Side. Heard it’s fabulous. Shall I tell him you called or shall I have him call you?”
“I’d rather he not know where I am as of yet.” Sylvia replied, guardedly.
“Sylvia, darling, William has known where you were for months.” Melinda lied. “I hardly think he cares.”
“Don’t be so crass, Melinda. What’s wrong? Still can’t find a man? Why don’t you try losing a little weight, girlfriend. It may help.”
“Actually, I’ve found a man, a rather good man, Sill. I really think you’ll like him,” Melinda smirked.
“Maybe, I’ll get the chance to meet him sometime. In the meantime, please let William know I called. Oh, and don’t be spiteful. After seven months, I can still wrap William around my little finger and have you fired. So, be a good little girl and give him my message. Thank you, ever so much. Oh, and Melinda? Have a blessed day.” Sill hung up with Melinda seething on the other end. What disturbed her more than anything else was possible truth in Sill’s words. Sylvia Stanton had that unique ability very few women have: she had that unique quality that caused men to jump through hoops at their command. Most men were at her beck and call and she knew it. Nevertheless, Melinda did what she considered the proper thing and forwarded the message and the gist of the conversation with Sylvia. Oh, what a fool she was. Afterwards, however, she was glad she had done just that. William received the message and smiled.
“Melinda,” he confided, “this is a chapter in my life that’s over. And there is a chapter that has yet to be written. That chapter includes you and me. Let’s write it together.” And then he tossed Sylvia’s number in the wastebasket and called Edwin.
“How are you doing today, Mr. Davis? William Stanton here.”
“Fine, William, just fine. And you?”
“Oh, I can’t complain.”
“I’ve been waiting on your call. I’ve got my man standing by. I’m just waiting on your go ahead.”
“That’s fabulous. Something should be breaking any day now. Just hang on, I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear something.”
William leaned back in the black leather swivel chair, content to do nothing but wait. A week later, Terry Shannon burst through the door of William’s office accompanied by the sane two DEA agents he had met at the airport. There were no hellos, no greetings of any sort.”Ol’ Man Morris is dead,” he said. “The hit came last night in the parking garage at corporate headquarters at seven-thirty about. Boston, P.D., found the body this morning. Three slugs, from a twenty-two, to the back of the head. We believe it was a professional job but we’re questioning everybody there. I don’t believe you’re in any immediate danger but I’m still assigning detectives, Brown and Perez, to you until we know more.”
The old man dead! William was shocked and confused. Stunned, he fell back in his easy chair. He had just spoken to Mr. Morris this week. The Ol’ Man called him to see how things were going at home. There was no talk of business. He seemed genuinely concerned about William’s private affairs and it had taken William quite some time to assure Mr. Morris that everything was working out fine. Morris had even gone so far as to tell him not to pursue any legal or punitive action against Sylvia.
“A hundred thousand dollars is a small price to pay to get someone out of your life that you didn’t see there anyway,” Morris had confessed. “I am sure you would gladly pay that to get rid of a life threatening illness, so look at Sylvia as a cancer that you had to have removed.”
William thought the old man a bit harsh at the time but he made plenty of sense and William appreciated his concern. Now this. He knew there would be repercussions and was not so naïve as to believe that the effect would stop short of being lethal but he was still shocked. He had never expected this. Never!
After a time, William was finally able to focus. One man’s death was certainly a cheap price to pay for all of the children, he’d poisoned. He thought of how Sylvia used to get on her soapbox whenever the topic of drugs was brought up. She called the drug trade, ‘A negative by-product of greed that resulted in the genocide of a nation or the Black Death similar to the plague spread by rats in Elizabethan times. And yes, Jonathan Morris III, was a major contributor to this plague, this genocide, this scourge which was devouring inner cities and extending its bloodsucking tentacles into every nook and cranny of America.’
In spite of everything, there was also another side to Jonathan Morris III. There was the man that had flown a bright, yet very naïve Black man to the corporate offices of the Hill and Morris Agency, a Fortune 500 company, six years earlier and hired him on the spot. This was the same Jonathan Morris, who took him under his wing, introduced him to the best and brightest in the field, and despite their objections and protests, demanded that they show him the ropes. Morris didn’t know William at the time but, having a keen eye for potential, took him under his tutelage that first year and, although t
heir personal relationship did not have the chance to blossom as both men had hoped, there was a deep and abiding respect between them.
The Ol’ Man gave William the opportunity to succeed, to rise to the top of the corporate ladder despite that red necked Jack Thomas who made his feelings quite well-known when it came to skin darkies rising too fast in this White man’s world. And it was Morris who made the final decision to promote William, in spite of the board’s recommendations to promote Thomas to CEO based on seniority. It was also Morris who bore the brunt of Thomas’s wrath about ‘never working for a nigger,’ when he announced William’s promotion. The motives for most of Morris’ actions could usually be tied to money, but William knew the guidance and opportunity awarded him by the Ol’ Man were invaluable. Whether his actions were sincere or simply out of sense of inexplicable guilt, it hardly overshadowed the deep sense of remorse William now felt for Ol’ Man Morris.
At Mrs. Morris’ request, the funeral was to be held the following Tuesday in Boston, since she was not in the best of health and could not travel. During the weeks following the Ol’ Man’s death, Hill and Morris’s stock plummeted. When William was sure the stock could fall no lower, he called Edwin Davis.”Mr. Davis, this is William Stanton. Have you been following the market.” he asked.
“Not doing too good, is it? I guess you know your business, Mr. Stanton.”
“Yes, sir. The bottom fell out, so I guess you know what time it is?”
“I guess it’s time to dance, Mr. Stanton. What are we looking at?”
“Well, the stock has dropped from fifty-four down to six and a quarter. Let it fall to about six dollars a share. By my calculations, that should come to a little over three hundred thousand dollars with the brokerage fee and all. Are you going in on this one, Davis?”
“I suppose I’ll pick up about ten thousand share at six dollars you can hardly go wrong and if this thing blows up like you say, don’t even consider commission or brokerage fees. I’ve got a real good feeling about this one, William.”
