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“That concludes your formal executive training here at UGGA. The rest will be on-the-job type learning. If you have any questions, be sure to ask them and I’ll give you my complete answer. You are now free to return to your romantic fantasies of Marty or Barbara or whomever, just don’t let a woman interfere with sales.”
“Thanks.” I need to take my brain for a shower. I’m glad these sessions are over.
“Don’t mention it. How else would you ever learn anything?”
As Bob drove away from David’s barnyard to the office, his thoughts turned to Marty: Marty, my love, whatever happened to you? Bob’s thoughts were never far from her. He punched his car’s dash in frustration. I feel like my sensibilities were assaulted nonstop for days on end. I thought about Marty the whole time David dumped his view of the world on me. I’m glad I won’t remember anything he said. Nothing eased the ache he felt inside. At unexpected times, he could still hear her laughter, that teasing, mirthful laugh of a woman who loved everything about life and who gave life everything she had.
In the evenings when he was asleep, he could still feel her breathing against his chest as if she were there in bed with him. In the mornings, he half expected her to emerge from the bathroom. Then there was her voice. Bob heard it whenever he was alone. Her voice came from his memory, but he heard it nonetheless. It talked to him as if she were present in the room with him. Life for Bob was as if she never left him, and he began to believe Marty never left him. Her presence, her closeness with him, was something he could never explain to anyone. Other people would never understand a love like this. It was something greater than remorse or pining for a lost love, or a missing someone. She became part of him in that wonderful year, but she left without an explanation.
Bob tried to reconstruct his last days and moments with her, but she left no clue. One moment she was there, full of joy and love, and the next she was gone. He could not imagine or accept that he might never see her again. He wanted her back as she was when he last saw her. What happened to her? His mind first touched madness, then anger, but he did his best to conceal his emotions. If only he could punch the problem in its face and break its nose. But he couldn’t do that. He was a man now and there was no definable foe.
He wrestled with his thoughts and struggled to hold her ghost. I ache for her warmth next to me, for a kiss from her. He willed her to come back, but his forces of thought were only met by silence. I don’t care if she had the reputation of a notorious whore. I love her, all of her, everything about her. I love her just as she is. Passions for Marty coursed through his blood. He wore his heart on his sleeve. How could she do this to me? What have I done or not done to make her leave me? What happened to you, Marty, my darling fiancée? Why can’t we be together again?
He sensed that David read his feelings and understood them in a man-to-man sort of way. He resented David’s encroachment upon his feelings, but he accepted that his senior partner was only trying to help. His management lessons of the past three months provided an offensive distraction, but his mind still fixated on Marty.
When David came into the office, he stopped in to check on Bob. “A strange call came in late yesterday. Some woman said she was a friend of Marty’s, said she knew Marty for years before she came to work at the firm. Somehow, she had your name. Maybe Marty mentioned you to this woman, I don’t know. But anyway, the woman’s name is Rita and she said she’d like to meet you and talk with you. Here’s her phone number.”
“Who took the call?”
“Nobody. Apparently she called after we closed and figured out how to get into our voice mail. She left the message on my machine. I wrote her number down but I erased her message.”
“Thanks, I’ll call her.”
RITA
Rita wanted to meet in a public place, a bar. She told Bob to dress casual. The night after David delivered his message, Bob went to the appointed bar. It was a neighborhood beer and burgers joint, nothing fancy. Rita’s eye-popping figure was perched on a bar stool. Her blue eye shadow, deep red lipstick, and plunging neckline invited males to notice. Bob joined her at the bar.
“You must be Rita.”
“Yes. And you would be Bob. Thank you for calling me. I am pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, Rita. I understand you wanted to tell me about your friendship with Marty.”
“Yes, I did. Marty and I go way back. We, shall I say, double-dated a few times together. Those were fun times. Marty was happy and footloose then, but there was an incompleteness about her. I could tell. When you came along, she changed. She told me one night that you took her breath away, that you were the one. She was very excited about marrying you, Bob. She loved you.”
“You’re saying loved, as in past tense.”
“Well, yes, Bob. I guess I did say loved. You see, no one knows Marty as well as me. I don’t think a man who loved a woman as much as you did should be left thinking things were one way when they weren’t. What I’m trying to say is Marty has a disease. It’s a psychological disease. She and I have it and we can’t escape from it. Men make fun of us. They call us bimbos or whores or nymphomaniacs, whatever. But the truth is, Bob, we can’t help ourselves. We love sex so much it affects our judgment and our choices. We easily make mistakes. We can even turn our backs on a man who loves us, who we are in love with, but we can’t help ourselves. We need more than one man in our lives. Monogamy terrifies us, Bob. Do you mind if I order another Gibson?”
“No, Rita, go ahead. I’m buying.”
“Why thank you, Bob. Bartender, another Gibson, please.”
“Make that two,” said Bob.
When Rita ordered, a man arose from a table as if on cue and approached Bob and Rita.
“Hi, my name is Phil. I’m doing a piece for the local paper about some of the popular neighborhood bars. You two look like a perfect photo opportunity for my lead segment. Could I trouble you to let me have a few photos? I’m just trying to help the local retailers. Would you mind?”
Rita looked at Bob, then to the photographer, shrugging to feign indifference. “Why not?”
“Okay” said Bob.
The photographer started taking shots. He wanted a few close-ups of Rita and Bob’s faces, cheek to cheek; one of them toasting each other; and one of Rita looking very suggestive with the slit in her skirt showing a lot of leg and her arm around Bob. A final request was one of Bob giving Rita a kiss, bending her over backward while holding up his Gibson.
“That was great, you two. Thanks so much.”
“Don’t mention it.” Bob waved the photographer off.
“Marty was telling me true, Bob. You are a very good kisser. I can see why she stayed with you as long as she did. Here’s my card. If you want company sometime, I’d like hearing from you.”
“Thanks, Rita. But tell me your woman’s intuition. Will I ever hear from Marty again?”
“I honestly don’t know, Bob. Maybe she just got afraid of commitment. If I were you, since you haven’t heard from her, I’d move on.”
“Thanks, Rita.”
TRACKING
Little Sparrow called Chief weekly to discuss matters of interest to them both: the usual goings-on with the various tribes, reservation issues, Chief’s investment interests, and politics. Lately their calls dwelled on the topic of Bob and the disappearance of Marty.
“Bob’s been melancholy over Marty’s absence. He won’t snap out of it. I wonder if there’s anything I should do.”
“You’ve begun going into his life, Sparrow. You must do more than just letting him know you are woman.”
“What are your thoughts, Father?”
“A man has many voices in his head. Some voice he hears says he wants a woman. But another voice tells him to try to understand why things are as they are. One voice asks if he is doing the right thing, and another asks what he should or should not do. These things matter as much on men’s minds as women’s, Sp
arrow. Your Bob is confused now. He was to marry this Marty woman, but now she’s gone. She went away suddenly and Bob is disoriented.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t call him ‘my Bob,’ Father. He promised himself to another. She may come back.”
“You may think that, Sparrow. I think she will not come back.”
“Why do you say that?” Sparrow’s interest in her father’s thoughts was keen.
“She’s not back after three months. Police cannot find her. She left no word for Bob. She will likely never be back, I think.”
“Do you think she found another man?”
“Not sure. That is only one possibility. There are others. She may have been taken away. She may have something to hide and fears to come back.”
“Will Bob always be this way?”
“No. He will change with time, but you could move time faster.”
“How, Father?”
“Enter his other minds and find what things trouble them. Help him see what he cannot see, Sparrow.”
“But Father, those matters are not my business. I may offend if I start asking about them.”
“You must not ask, Sparrow. You must first know what concerns him and then go to him when you have answers to his concerns.”
“I do not understand you, Father.”
“Sparrow, remember when you were a little girl. I took you on the plains and the forests in the snow and showed you what the animals were doing by looking at their tracks.”
“I remember.”
“Do you remember when you first saw tracks they all looked like there were senseless crossings of tracks going different directions, doubling back, going this way and that?”
“Yes, Father, I remember.”
“Then do you remember when I taught you how to read the tracks? How the wolf followed the deer, how the deer moved with the sun behind it in the morning and back with the sun behind it in the evening? How the coyote track followed after the wolf’s track and how the rabbit’s tracks stopped where the snow had the brush of the owl? How we figured the time of day the owl hunted the rabbit and how we figured when the deer and the wolf and coyote passed? How the tracks painted a picture for you, and once you saw the picture you understood what happened among those animals that day? How we found the kill the wolf made and how the coyote stood off and waited his turn? I know you remember such things.”
“Yes, Father, I remember. But why are we even talking about this, my chief?”
“Because, Sparrow, you must use those lessons I taught you and track the human animals. Once you understand their tracks, you will find the answers to the questions your Bob is asking himself.”
“Father, you are most wise, but how do I track humans in a city?”
“The human animal also leaves tracks, Sparrow. He leaves paper tracks. You must first ask why this Marty woman disappeared. Ask why it was ten days before the police were called. Ask why she didn’t sell anymore, why Bob sells instead. Ask what changes were made for the people in the firm with her gone. Ask how the money moves and how the internal ledgers change. Ask if you know what everyone’s deal is who works there, why they are there, what they appear to do, and what they really do. You must know as much about the firm as Mr. David and Ms. Maloney know. Then you must know how the money moves around in the firm, and into and out of the firm, who gets paid, what they appear to be paid for, and what they are really paid for. Once you have all the questions you can think to ask, then you must also be able to answer them. When you know their tracks, you will see a picture and you will have your answers. Remember, Sparrow, I trained you well. You are the one with the advantage. You are the hunter.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“You’re welcome, daughter. And daughter, be very careful that you track alone and unseen.”
“Your concern, Father?”
“The Marty woman disappeared for a reason. That concerns me. Until you know the reason, you must assume it could be anything. Things are not always as they appear to be.”
“Thank you, Father. I will track alone and unseen.” Barbara felt a chill up her spine.
“You are welcome, my dear daughter. Do you still feel love for your Big Horse?”
“Yes, Father. I know I love him. I have never stopped loving him. When we see each other, our eyes kiss. I love him in my deepest ways, Father, but I am fearful that Marty has entangled him with woman favors.”
“I see, but can you tell if she carries a child?”
“I do not see that, Father.”
“Then I think things will reveal themselves to you and to him, and he will not be trapped by her favors. I think he will be your man, Sparrow. Eyes do not lie. You have my blessings, daughter. May the spirits bring love and a happy life into your heart.” Chief sat back in his massive leather chair, looked up through an open skylight, and drew deeply on his pipe.
“Thank you, Father.”
VAULT
Whether by intent or by accidental slip of the tongue, a seemingly innocuous comment caught doubt’s tripwire and launched a carefully choreographed dance of suspicion and trust. Both David and Bob were in the reception lobby on this fateful day; Bob to review the vacation schedules of the marketing staff with Mrs. Rodriguez and David to confirm some appointment dates in his calendar with the ones kept by Barbara. When men are talking while at the same time peering at a woman’s breasts they may accidentally let a comment escape that reveals a truth or condition.
David, always one to stage-manage events according to his evolving grand plan, was this day a man with a bifurcated mind. The detailed cognitive brain was following Barbara’s recitations about dates, times, persons to attend, board agendas to be discussed, securities to be approved for fund purchases, etc., while the casual, all-sensing receptors of the disengaged remainder of his brain were suddenly overwhelmed by lurid beckoning impulses from Eros.
Barbara never wore brasseries. Her breasts were like a nubile goddess’s and they invited touching. They were full, firm, and glowed with a warm copper-colored radiance. Her nipples tilted upwards as if they yearned to be rubbed between a man’s thumb and forefinger.
From her blouse wafted the combined scents of lilies and feminine body heat. David believed her breasts were underappreciated. He thought it was a waste of womanly bounty for Barbara not to have a man in her life, not to have a man’s hands caressing and squeezing those breasts. She possessed an erotic arabesque quality of feminine beauty in those breasts. Their very presence, unadorned by the hands of man, bespoke of male ineptitude and failure of the male organization to appreciate that which beckoned to be touched. Even David’s long-held commitment to homosexuality wavered for brief intervals whenever he was near Barbara’s breasts. His mind was firmly on them this day, although his hands were not—at least not yet. He was busy complimenting her for keeping his appointments in sync.
“Thank you, Barbara. You know I’m terrible at paperwork. I always forget to write things down and my record keeping is useless.”
Barbara responded with a matter-of-fact “You’re welcome, David,” and went back to what she’d been doing. As David turned from his strategic position behind Barbara’s right shoulder, he artfully flipped a paper clip from his appointment book. The metal missile arched through the air over Barbara’s shoulder and traveled down into her blouse where it came to rest in the perfect strategic location about three inches below her cleavage above a slight fold on her stomach.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” shouted David in a mock fluster of male incompetence. “Here, I’ll get it.” He thrust his hands down Barbara’s blouse. He fumbled around for the errant clip and in a deft faux-inadvertent maneuver he managed to squeeze both Barbara’s tits while moving his fingers frantically in search of the elusive clip. She took a deep breath, swelling her breasts, as David’s hands groped her. Instinctively, she deeply inhaled David’s scent for close analysis by her olfactory receptors, not to give him an enlarged playground as he mistakenly assumed.
> There were the normal pheromones of male testosterone. She recognized those instantly. But there were other, fainter, mysterious scents she couldn’t quite pinpoint. There was a trace odor of decaying flesh, a faint hint of something related to decomposing rancid ketoses, and a fleeting nearly indecipherable presence of formaldehyde. Mindful of her father’s teachings to remember the smells of a place and a person, Barbara exhaled slowly, sifting the molecules of scent as they passed through her nostrils, confirming what she detected when she first inhaled. She committed David’s odd smells to her memory. Now finished mentally cataloguing his peculiar essence she moved to disabuse him of his mistaken misogynistic notions.
“Stop it! Just stop. I’ll get it. Just get your hands off me!” she screamed. Barbara lifted her blouse discreetly, retrieved the clip from underneath, and handed it back to David. For a woman just molested, Barbara kept her composure. Another lesson from her father was to never flinch in the face of an enemy. When David reached for the clip, Barbara just held onto it and stared into his eyes.
“Do not ever touch me again,” said the winsome Cherokee.
There was a long pause, a seminal moment when their eyes met and held fixed to the other’s. A message of sorts passed between the pairs of eyes, and David felt a twinge of fear. For a brief moment, he realized this woman was likely more intelligent than he was and perfectly capable of killing him. A chilling fear welled up within him, recalling millennia of adversarial dealings and hatreds. David didn’t understand why he felt the way he did, but in that instant, he instinctively knew Barbara represented a hidden mortal danger to him. His skin flushed red. He knew at once that he didn’t know anything about her, how she thought about things, how she viewed him and the business, even why she was really there. Everything he assumed he knew about her was somehow terribly wrong and indefinable, yet he was fascinated by the mysteries of her danger and decided right then and there to play along with this newly revealed unspoken threat to his ordered world. He chose to allow it to travel its natural path of discovery and come for him.
When The Butterflies Come Page 16
