by C. L. Donley
Cynthia felt the bile of unspoken things rising up her esophagus. If she sat on them any longer, they could officially be considered lies. She swallows, tamping them down for the moment.
“I’m starting to hate your father,” she says.
“Don’t. It’s not a good path. Trust me.”
“He took away ten years of our life.”
“He gave you ten years of yours.”
“It was a curse. I sold my soul. Like that Faustian deal you talked about once.”
“He knew what a deal like that would do to a person like you. The money was just the slight of hand.”
She shook her head woefully as he continued to defend her.
“He told me if I tried to contact you he could sue me. Ruin my career, follow me, make me unemployable. Or I could just… take the money and run. And I believed him. He was so full of shit. I’m sure it worked better than even he thought it would.”
“He wasn’t full of shit.”
“What?”
“He would’ve done everything he said. It would’ve been like… smashing an ant with your thumb.”
Cynthia just lays there as he strokes her arm.
“I just realized something,” he chuckles.
“What?”
“You haven’t given me an answer,” he grins.
Cynthia was quiet, so much so that he thought she was asleep.
“Cynthia?”
She raised up to look at him, giving his face a once over as though her time with him was limited.
“Cynthia, please don’t tell me I’ve just made a fool of myself.”
Something prevented him from pressing the issue. She laid her head back down on his chest, stroking the fine hairs there.
“Let’s not ruin this. Later, I promise.”
* * *
“He’s in and out today,” Ben’s sister Val says.
It’s the beginning of the end when Ben comes over to his father’s penthouse to meet with Val, and thanks to his reunion with Cynthia the night before, it doesn’t completely railroad him. As much as he’s come to resent him, seeing his father lose the savvy that he’s come to rely on implicitly is not something he takes joy in. He wants to, but the sight is too sobering, watching such a man become a humiliation, an embicile. Ben wants no part of that karmic fate.
“I think I’d like to see him,” Ben suddenly says. Val looks at him with surprise.
Ever since Cynthia re-entered his life he’s felt a need to talk to the old man as much as possible, to unlock this piece of the past as foggy as his own father’s head. All the answers are in there. And they are ironically locked away in a mental safe so secure that even his father can’t get back into it.
“You wanna know something dad? Before last night, I would’ve come in here, saying the worst possible things I could think of, hoping you could understand them and not be able to do anything about it. No snappy remarks. No smug response about how this family owes you our unquestioned devotion. You’d be left alone while my awful words swirled around in your brain and came out at the strangest, most disjointed of times. But last night, I was with Cynthia. And it made me realize something. You’re just one man. And you can’t stop me, or anyone else. With all your resources. Sure you can delay things. Can cause unforseen obstacles. But it only causes things to come back stronger. You can’t stop anything, or anyone. You’re no match for life.”
Ben pulls his chair close up to his father as he sits in his rocker facing the window.
“Making me wait ten years was the best thing you could’ve done for me. Now I know what I want. It’s the same thing I always wanted, but now I know for sure. I said I was going to find Cynthia, and it took me a long time, but I did it. And now I have your company. And there isn’t a thing you can do to me. I got everything I set out to get. And it’s even better than I thought. So in a roundabout way, I’m grateful. Thank you, dad.”
“Cynthia?” his father suddenly says.
Ben goes cold and stiff. Was his father having a lucid moment?
“Cynthia Gordon. The designer. The girl I was in love with. You paid her $100,000 to stay away from me. Well she finally paid you back. She paid you back and then some.”
“Her mother…” he begins, tearing up like an old woman.
Ben shivers from head to toe.
“Her mother? What about her mother?”
“She mustn’t find out. Did she receive the flowers?”
“Did who? Cynthia’s mother?”
“No, she’s dead, don’t you know that! No, the girl! Such a beautiful girl. Just beautiful,” his father confesses with a far off look. The uncharacteristic moment catches Ben off guard.
“She’s even more beautiful now,” Ben replies. “Think you can make it to the wedding?” he dares with dark humor.
All of a sudden his eyes meet his son’s steadily. Ben shudders uncontrollably.
“You weren’t supposed to find out. I went too far. I went too far…”
Ben desperately wants Val, anyone, to come barging into the room. He’s suddenly afraid of his own father but he doesn’t move.
“Went too far with what, dad?”
“I can’t tell you. You’ll tell her. And she mustn’t find out.”
“Cynthia?”
His father nods quickly.
“Everything I built… it will go to the girl anyway. Isn’t that true?”
Ben sighs, hearing his father refer to Cynthia as his shrunken mind remembers her.
“It will. All that scheming was in vain, dad.”
“You would’ve left me. It was the best way. You weren’t supposed to find out.”
Ben clenches and unclenches his fists, his jaw, before he continues.
“All that scheming,” Ben repeats, shaking his head, a tremble in his lip. His father’s state was almost too humbling. “You should’ve lived a good life, dad. The very moment you pissed in your own hallway. That should’ve been the time to start re-evaluating. But no. You were too arrogant. Even for that. And now look at us. We can’t even carry on a conversation. I’ll never know what it is you have to tell me.”
12
Ten Years Ago
Solomon Dvorak was a shrewd man. A wealthy man. And he got that way by manipulating everything and everyone around him. He knew best. Knows best. And right now, his 2nd oldest’s future was in jeopardy.
He let himself be suckered in by his compassion. Watching Benjamin bravely undergo surgery after surgery. Letting the physical therapists work his atrophying limbs this way and that while he screamed in agony, determined to prove the medical experts wrong.
He’d withheld his discipline, and now he was paying for it.
Solomon could still manipulate Benjamin’s motivations, however. He was surprised to learn that the root of them was fear. Of being abandonded, of being rejected. He came by it honestly, he was his mother’s child, after all. Once Solomon could convince Ben that he was disposable, he was an asset in a way that Grant could never be.
Grant knew from the beginning his worth to the Dvorak legacy, a rookie mistake in Solomon’s estimation. He did not make the same mistake with Ben. Why become attached to a child constantly teetering on the verge of death? Ben practically killed himself proving his worth to his father, the company, to everyone.
Word was getting back to him how well Ben was doing downstairs. He worked every bit as hard and long as anyone else. Never complained, got along well with the other associates and never leaned on the Dvorak name to get things done. And all that was fine, fine. Good for him.
But he apparently had taken a liking to a certain cafeteria worker.
Were it a one time thing, he could’ve overlooked the fireable offense. But it seems now they were fraternizing, and his sources were telling him that it was escalating. Quickly.
Eventually, Benjamin of course would have to marry. But not for love. Not for any of the things that young men marry for.
He was a junior analyst, and if he was to become
a senior associate, then senior VP, and finally president, then there would be no time for honeymoons or vacations, or even coming home for dinner. He didn’t understand how Ben, as smart as he was, could look at this vast empire and think he could run it by punching a clock and being average.
This woman, whoever she was, was average. She worked 40 hours a week, and came back day after day because it was the best she could do. And he didn’t need this average woman, filling his son’s head with average ideas. Like settling down, and working less and “money isn’t everything.”
Money isn’t everything. For fuck’s sake. Of course money isn’t everything. And when you have a shitload of it, quaint platitudes such as those are suicide.
“Sir, I have Cynthia Gordon waiting for you,” his secretary warbled through the phone.
“Very well, send her in,” Solomon bellowed.
Solomon knew he would never be able to convince his son to do what’s best for himself. Once he got something in his mind, any protest was like cement for his feet.
But perhaps he could convince the young lady to do what’s best. Average though she may be, it didn’t mean that she was an idiot.
His office door creaked open and in walked the beautiful young girl from the associate’s party that had caught his son’s eye months before— and Solomon’s radar. Jewish she most certainly was not. This little low-class goyim habit Benjamin had was the act of a lifetime of spite, Solomon was certain.
“Cynthia. Please have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand, sir.”
Solomon cracked a smile.
Ben must be divulging all kinds of things to the girl for her to have so little sense of respect for where she was.
“Very well, Miss Gordon. Any idea why you’re here?”
“I imagine it has something to do with Benji.”
“Benji?”
“Benjamin. Your son?”
“My son.” Solomon Dvorak paused as he sat back in his chair. “What else has Mr. Dvorak told you? About his place in the company?”
“He doesn’t talk to me about work.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
“With all due repsect, Miss Gordon, this ‘work’ is his life.”
“Is that why you have us followed?”
So she wasn’t an idiot. Good.
“I like to keep tabs on all my employees. Including my son. Including you, Miss Gordon.”
Cynthia was poker faced.
“My cafeteria manager tells me that you’ve been having someone else punch your timecard in the mornings.”
“Jorge? But why would he—”
“And someone else to punch your card in the evenings. I’m sure you know from your employee handbook that this is a serious violation of our code of conduct.”
“That’s a lie. You’re lying,” she blurted. Solomon’s entourage bristled, but he did not.
“Be careful who you accuse, Miss Gordon.”
“Look, I’m telling your son it’s over if that what this is about.”
Solomon was surprised, but he continued unphased.
“We don’t engage in unethical practices at the Dvorak group. This is merely a meeting about your performance. And your inevitable termination.”
Cynthia let a bit of panic seep into her words, an effort to appeal to his compassion, perhaps.
“Mr. Dvorak, please. Sir, I need this job.”
“I sympathize,” he said, though his body language suggested otherwise, “but the two of you working at the same company has clearly compromised your judgment. And his. Falsifying your time sheet is a fireable offense.”
“But I didn’t! Sir, there must be some way that I can prove—”
“All discharged employees are required to sign a non-disclosure agreement when they leave the Dvorak Group. You’ll be provided with a sizeable severance package, which is not normally offered to our hourly employees, so consider yourself very special. I’ve been told you’ll be very difficult to replace.”
Cynthia’s steely blue-gray eyes turned fiery.
“What if I say no?”
The deafening silence in the room had his junior VP associates eyeing each other.
“Say no to what, Miss Gordon?”
“What if I don’t sign? What if I tell Benji about this little meeting?”
The deafening silence suddenly turned a bit amused. His junior VP gave a smirk.
“Well, first things first, Miss Gordon,” he said, sitting up in his chair. “Let’s see, if you don’t sign, then your termination becomes a resignation. And an employee who quits will get nothing. Also, I don’t take kindly to threats, and seeing as how you need this job, as you said, I’m sure you’ll need every other job just as much. I can very easily make an uncooperative, insubordinate employee like yourself unemployable, Miss Gordon.”
“I see. And what about the part where Ben finds out about all this?”
Solomon Dvorak gave her a smile. Only vaguely resembling his son’s.
“I understand that you and your mother live in a van just outside of Jersey City,” Solomon said.
Cynthia’s heartbeat doubled. She tried to hide the wild fear coursing through her, succeeding except for her eyes.
“You haven’t told him, have you? That you’re homeless. Why is that?”
Cynthia didn’t answer.
“I don’t say any of this to scare you, Miss Gordon. Just so that you can properly understand the scope of what you’re dealing with here. Clearly being on the top floor of the Dvorak Group building, in the office of its owner doesn’t mean much.”
“No, it doesn’t. Because you’re a cunt. And I can call you that to your face, because I have nothing, and I don’t care. Meanwhile, you’re a slave, which is why you have to pay me money.”
Solomon laughed, perhaps more than anyone had ever seen him laugh. The rest of the room was in a hushed awe.
Not only was he assured he was doing the right thing, Solomon realized he’d narrowly dodged a bullet.
They were sleeping together. More than that. This young girl would be the death of his son, the death of everything he worked for.
“I can see why my son is so smitten with you, Miss Gordon. He has a habit of… collecting the people he likes. Using his wealth and resources to keep them close. He has nothing else, you see. Not in his mind. In his mind, he’ll always be a cripple.”
“That’s not true.”
“Did my son tell you he was engaged?”
Her sudden silence answered his question.
Oh, Benjamin. His flimsy backbone was about to do Solomon’s hard work for him.
“My son is a good man. Committed to the task of being honorable. But he is spoiled. An oversight on my part, I’m afraid. He has never been poor. He hasn’t the faintest idea of it. I’m sure you know precisely what I mean.”
“What do you know about it? You inherited this company just as he will,” Cynthia retorted.
“I did. But before my dad nearly drove himself mad to become the sort of man that you have to become, to make a fortune in this world out of nothing, we knew a level of poverty that doesn’t exist in many places anymore.”
Suddenly, he reached into the center drawer of his desk and pulled out what looked to be a checkbook.
“Not only am I going to offer you a severance package, Miss Gordon, I’m going to write you a check.”
“Mr. Dvorak—”
“Call me Sol. Please. Take me up on the offer. I don’t offer it to many.”
She watched him scribble from his chair, unable to make out the amount, but it looked very large.
“Is it true you were going to tell my son that it was over?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it… it would never work,” she admitted cryptically. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing the real reason, the one they were currently discussing.
Solomon Dvorak smiled. “Believe it or not, Cynthia, I’m beginning to like you. You
’re smart. And because of this, you deserve to learn a particular lesson, as early as possible.” He slid the check at the edge of the desk, urging her to take it.
“You’ll cancel it as soon as I walk out the door.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“Why?”
“Because my son has toyed with you terribly, I’m afraid. You’re not the first casualty of his. A little known habit he’s acquired. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“…Or else you’ll ruin me,” Cynthia wilted, pieceing together the true nature of the Dvoraks.
“Among other things. Money has a way of appeasing a woman scorned, I’ve found. Despite the nature of this meeting, I hope you understand that I wish you well.”
Cynthia pocketed the check.
“Oddly, I do.”
“You’ve officially become an investment of mine. And I like to keep track of all my investments, as you can imagine, Miss Gordon.”
Cynthia studied the check as though it were an alien artifact. She looked at her name next to the large sum. A hundred thousand isn’t a lot these days, she tried to tell herself.
“I’ll pay this back. If it takes me my whole life I will.”
“I look forward to it. If you so much as send him a e-mail, I’ll find out. And that will be your undoing.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
“We’ll see. Oh, and don’t spend it all in one place, Miss Gordon. I’ll not have it in the budget for more.”
* * *
Cynthia waited three hours on the steps of the shelter where mother was staying, and where she was on schedule to pick up the keys to their apartment in the next two weeks. The three hours went by fast. Cynthia was in a stupor, mentally reliving she and Ben’s relationship, now seeing the obvious truth. She replayed Melanie’s visit, where Cynthia remembered a flash of the gleaming ring on Melanie’s hand. One that must’ve been so old that she didn’t feel the need to flaunt it.
He was playing me. Oh God, was he playing me, she kept saying over and over to herself. A wave of nausea washed over her and she fought off tears when she saw the van pulling around the entrance. Bev gave her a smile that rapidly turned to a look of motherly concern.
