Monday, April 22, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
"Idyll Plains" continues
Toby was seated on the closed lid in the first stall, desperately trying to avoid advanced algebra by adding to the graffiti on the walls around him. Apparently one of the gym teachers, Mrs. Randall, was both “a bull dyke and a raging kike”, if stall lore was to believed. He took some solace in seeing that it had been spelled correctly. It was the least hate mongers could do. He was angered slightly to find Will’s name there as well, along with a rather rude assessment of his sexuality. True or not, he didn’t want it to remain there and was just beginning to black out the words with a pen from his pocket when several voices entered the bathroom. There were three of them and he recognized Erik Miller’s vicious cackle almost immediately which meant the other two voices belonged to Russell Keith and Anthony Boyd, the two seemingly brainless stooges who often served as his personal entourage. All three were stereotypical football jocks, though Erik looked more the part of a bookworm with his long curled hair and stylish horn-rimmed glasses. He was more slender than the other two, which was also probably one of the reasons he would often terrorize boys like Will. Toby realized only after it had grown quiet that he had forgotten to raise his feet. Swallowing hard and accepting his fate, Toby stood up slowly and unlocked the door. Sure enough, Miller was standing at one of the sinks with Boyd just next to him, and they were watching him carefully. Russell, the bull-necked slab of sinew Toby had never heard utter anything besides a chuckle or a grunt, stood guarding the bathroom door. Toby faced him, and though he probably could have pushed past him with the element of surprise he knew that the payback later would be very harsh, so he turned back and looked at Miller head on. “Wassup Erik?” he asked, the slight tremble in his voice betraying him.
A malevolent grin covered his face. “You were just gonna leave without washing your hands? That’s fuckin disgusting, isn’t it boys?” The other two laughed and nodded though it was clear they didn’t get the enjoyment out of it that their friend did. “Maybe you weren’t taking a shit. Maybe you were jerking off thinking about your little butt buddy friend, Billy. That’s what faggots do, right?” All three tormenters laughed.
“I’m not a faggot.” he replied through gritted teeth.
“Save it. This is gonna be a warm-up. We’ll catch you and your queer bait friend after school. That’ll be the real show.” he said, moving toward him and grabbing Toby’s arm. Toby dug his heels against the stall door behind him and prepared to lash out as Miller pushed against him. The football player was just too strong and the door gave way as Miller’s hand clutched Toby’s neck, forcing his head down toward the bowl. He was anticipating the cold water on his head when the sound of a commotion in the room outside halted his descent. He was still crouched and leaning against the wall when Mr. Bryce, the assistant principal, poked his head in. Though he did register concern, it was soon replaced with a weary been there/done that façade Toby had grown all too accustomed to.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” he replied sheepishly, standing up and composing himself as Mr. Bryce moved to the sink and began washing his hands. The other three boys were gone.
“You want my advice, son?” Toby half shrugged and half nodded. “Go out for some extracurriculars. Maybe even try out for the football team. Miller would find it harder to constantly harass a member of his team”
“I’m in the choir.“ Toby responded, probably a bit more forcefully than he had hoped.
Mr. Bryce smirked. “I’m not talking about that crap, I’m talking about sports.“ Toby was still eyeing the authority figure with confusion when he continued, leaning in and almost whispering. “If you continue to act gay and show weakness, they’re going to continue to torment you. I’m trying to help you here.” Life lesson espoused the elder man stood up straight again, finished wiping his hands dry and threw the soiled paper towels into an overstuffed garbage can near the door. “I haven’t seen your Dad at any of the PTA meetings lately.”
Toby, still seething quietly, managed to reply. “Because my Mom’s not forcing him to go. He hates that shit.”
“Hey! Watch your language.” he snapped, afterward taking a deep breath and placing a hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Look, I cut you a lot of slack because your Mom was a big part of this school behind the scenes, but I can’t keep finding you playing hookey in the bathroom. I know your Mom’s been sick, and I’m sorry, but I need you to get it together.”
Toby’s face sank as the words of misguided hope settled in. “Fuck you.” was all he could think to respond, afterward turning and leaving a stunned Mr. Bryce behind shaking his head.
A malevolent grin covered his face. “You were just gonna leave without washing your hands? That’s fuckin disgusting, isn’t it boys?” The other two laughed and nodded though it was clear they didn’t get the enjoyment out of it that their friend did. “Maybe you weren’t taking a shit. Maybe you were jerking off thinking about your little butt buddy friend, Billy. That’s what faggots do, right?” All three tormenters laughed.
“I’m not a faggot.” he replied through gritted teeth.
“Save it. This is gonna be a warm-up. We’ll catch you and your queer bait friend after school. That’ll be the real show.” he said, moving toward him and grabbing Toby’s arm. Toby dug his heels against the stall door behind him and prepared to lash out as Miller pushed against him. The football player was just too strong and the door gave way as Miller’s hand clutched Toby’s neck, forcing his head down toward the bowl. He was anticipating the cold water on his head when the sound of a commotion in the room outside halted his descent. He was still crouched and leaning against the wall when Mr. Bryce, the assistant principal, poked his head in. Though he did register concern, it was soon replaced with a weary been there/done that façade Toby had grown all too accustomed to.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” he replied sheepishly, standing up and composing himself as Mr. Bryce moved to the sink and began washing his hands. The other three boys were gone.
“You want my advice, son?” Toby half shrugged and half nodded. “Go out for some extracurriculars. Maybe even try out for the football team. Miller would find it harder to constantly harass a member of his team”
“I’m in the choir.“ Toby responded, probably a bit more forcefully than he had hoped.
Mr. Bryce smirked. “I’m not talking about that crap, I’m talking about sports.“ Toby was still eyeing the authority figure with confusion when he continued, leaning in and almost whispering. “If you continue to act gay and show weakness, they’re going to continue to torment you. I’m trying to help you here.” Life lesson espoused the elder man stood up straight again, finished wiping his hands dry and threw the soiled paper towels into an overstuffed garbage can near the door. “I haven’t seen your Dad at any of the PTA meetings lately.”
Toby, still seething quietly, managed to reply. “Because my Mom’s not forcing him to go. He hates that shit.”
“Hey! Watch your language.” he snapped, afterward taking a deep breath and placing a hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Look, I cut you a lot of slack because your Mom was a big part of this school behind the scenes, but I can’t keep finding you playing hookey in the bathroom. I know your Mom’s been sick, and I’m sorry, but I need you to get it together.”
Toby’s face sank as the words of misguided hope settled in. “Fuck you.” was all he could think to respond, afterward turning and leaving a stunned Mr. Bryce behind shaking his head.
Monday, April 1, 2013
"Idyll Plains" Continues
Andrew stepped off of the elevator onto the 23rd floor of the Rand Building and hurriedly brushed a hand through his thinning hair to try and undo the damage inflicted upon it by the winter winds. He’d been away from the New York branch for at least a month, content to supervise things from Royal Fields’ Main Office. But the development was almost completed and filled with homeowners now, so his job there would soon be done and left to a Property Manager. He’d decided to go into the office today and check on some designs his team had been working on. Cubicles and offices alike were filled with employees either chattering away with each other or trying to hook prospective clients over the phone. He fidgeted with his tie, the Windsor knot he had done up quickly that morning making it hard for him to breathe as he quickly traversed the main hall which split the office in two halves toward the executive area at the back. Numerous people wished him good morning, and eventually he was greeted by Stacy, the secretary he shared with several other suits. She was a mousy brunette who always wore clothes ill suited to her environment, but she had a great set of tits so Andrew wasn‘t complaining. Today was no exception, despite the cold weather, as he had to try and avert his eyes several times from the heaving bosom she presented to him through her low cut blouse. “Good morning, Mr. Kirkland. Its been a while.”
“Good morning, Stacy. I was exiled to the burbs for a bit.” he told her chuckling slightly.
She laughed back, though it sounded fake to him. “Mr. Kensington wanted a quick word with you the next time you were in the office. I’ll page him to let him know that you’re here.”
He froze for a second. Kensington was the CEO, and somebody Andrew hardly ever dealt with on a 1-to-1 basis. It was a little disconcerting hearing that the man was waiting to speak with him. He nodded, though, trying to seem upbeat about it. “Gimme about ten minutes, all right?” She nodded, half-smiling, and he stepped past her into the spacious office with an amazing view which he sadly rarely ever got to appreciate. He’d been promoted from Sales to Director of Property Development after encouraging the company to branch out into New Jersey. They’d been thinking with their upturned noses rather than their pocketbooks for decades, content to build upscale condos and housing developments in every New York borough because the city afforded them the right to zealously overcharge people who desperately wanted to live there. It had been a long and tiring pitch, consuming a year and a half of his life from the first time he broached the subject with his supervisor to the final draft meeting with the designers, and then another 6 months after that to secure the acreage they needed in Branchburg, a town nestled midway between New York and Pennsylvania and located conveniently ten minutes from the Turnpike. But finally, after two and a half years, their first New Jersey development, River Walk Gardens, had been mostly completed. Named after a downtown remodel which was supposed to have riverside trails but had eventually been cancelled, the complex in the end offered neither a River Walk or Gardens of any kind since space had been at a premium, but he had been proud of the site nevertheless. As a virgin venture it was not half bad, and had turned a profit almost immediately. The company had done three more since then, culminating in Royal Fields where he was currently living. But the next project was to be his masterpiece. He’d been planning it for almost his entire adult life, if not as a business venture then simply as an ideal place to live. Whereas the other developments had only tertiary involvement from him as far as designing and layout went, the new project was his baby from end to end. He still needed a team to draw up plans, but the layout and contents were entirely his, and he was extremely proud of this fact. He took off his black winter trench coat and threw it over the easy chair in the far corner of his office, placing his briefcase on top of his desk and taking a moment to look out the window at the skyline and surrounding buildings. It was overcast, but it still presented him with a hell of a view. He felt terribly small despite the world below seeming microscopic from this vantage point. He let out a long sigh, and then there was a knock on his office door. He turned, taking a deep breath. “Come in.”
Stacy smiled through the open doorway. “Mr. Kensington to see you.” she said, stepping back as the elder man walked forward into the office with his arm outstretched.
Andrew moved toward him, probably a bit faster than he would have liked, with his arm outstretched. Their palms connected just as Stacy closed the office door behind her. “Andrew. Its been a while but its good to see you back at the old homestead for a day.” Kensington told him, shaking his hand vigorously and then clapping a palm against the younger man’s shoulder with a grin. He was a bullish man, stout and sweaty, saved only by an elegant thatch of silver hair and the expensive suit and jewelry he draped himself in every day.
“Thank you, sir. Would you like to sit down?”
“You sit down, let me fix us some drinks.” he said, walking toward the small liquor tray nestled between bookcases against the far wall.
Andrew sat down warily. “Uh…its 9 in the morning, sir.”
Kensington nodded, looking back from his drink preparations. “True, but you’ll need it.” He finished pouring small shots of whiskey into glasses and turned, handing one to Andrew, who had seated himself in front of his own desk. Kensington leaned on the mahogany desktop in front of him and raised his own glass. “Hopefully to new beginnings.” he said, downing the alcohol in one quick gulp before placing the glass beside him and fixing Andrew with a heady stare.
Andrew hadn’t touched his drink, merely holding it while he watched his boss with abject fear racing through his mind. Kensington motioned toward the glass, and to banish the issue he knocked the whiskey back quickly but gritting his teeth a bit as the white hot liquid flowed down his throat. “Mr. Kensington, I…”
“I’m sure you’ve been keeping track, Andrew, but our stocks have gone down steadily for the last month.”
He nodded gravely. “Eleven points. But the entire DOW is down.”
“Sadly, I don’t speak for the entire DOW. Just for this company.”
“We’ve had this kind of thing happen before. Its cyclical. In six months it’ll turn around. Royal Fields is almost a complete sell-thru.”
He nodded, his face still stern. “Some of the Board members think that’s the problem. We’re spending too much time and money on these New Jersey operations while some of the New York properties are floundering. Spreading ourselves too thin.”
“Sir, one building burned down because of a meth lab in the basement, another is under investigation by the Board of Health. Those aren’t things that are market driven or any of my concern really.”
“No, but they are my concern. And the Board’s. Andrew, they’ve voted to shut down your project until further notice.”
“But…” he began, louder than he had wanted but he was fighting to hold back anger and disappointment now.
“It’s the most expensive project we’ve ever done. They’ve frankly been looking for an excuse to back out of it since the beginning. I was your biggest supporter, but I have to answer to them in the end.”
There was a moment of silence during which Andrew put a worried palm against his forehead. “I’ve been dreaming of this development for twenty years. Let me talk to the Board. There has to be a way.”
“I’m afraid their minds are made up. But I have been thinking of an alternative for you.”
“What? I’ll do it.” he said, standing up and fixing the older man with a pleading glare.
“Their main concern is cost. You’ve proven yourself as far as sales ability and design goes several times over. They might consider underwriting a small portion of the cost if you found your own investors.”
His brow furrowed at the thought. “Well, its not really my area of expertise. I find homeowners, not investors.”
Kensington nodded. “You’ll have to broaden your scope if you want to continue with this project. For now, finish your time out at Royal Fields. It should be another month or so, right?”
“Probably.”
“That might give the stocks a chance to come back a little. In the meantime, try to find your own investors. I’m sure I can get the Board to cough up twenty million when the time comes provided you have the rest. I really don’t want to lose this opportunity since we’ve spent so much time and energy on it already.” he said, standing up straight and walking toward the office door. He turned back before opening it. “Good luck, Andrew. I’m pulling for you.” And with that he was gone.
Andrew sat in stunned silence for a moment. This was a one billion plus project. Twenty million was merely two percent of the funding he would need to raise to make it a reality, if he was doing the math in his head correctly. Kensington probably pocketed more for his last Christmas bonus. Angrily he flung his glass into the far wall where it shattered into pieces, afterward sitting back down with gritted teeth and placing his head in his hands.
“Good morning, Stacy. I was exiled to the burbs for a bit.” he told her chuckling slightly.
She laughed back, though it sounded fake to him. “Mr. Kensington wanted a quick word with you the next time you were in the office. I’ll page him to let him know that you’re here.”
He froze for a second. Kensington was the CEO, and somebody Andrew hardly ever dealt with on a 1-to-1 basis. It was a little disconcerting hearing that the man was waiting to speak with him. He nodded, though, trying to seem upbeat about it. “Gimme about ten minutes, all right?” She nodded, half-smiling, and he stepped past her into the spacious office with an amazing view which he sadly rarely ever got to appreciate. He’d been promoted from Sales to Director of Property Development after encouraging the company to branch out into New Jersey. They’d been thinking with their upturned noses rather than their pocketbooks for decades, content to build upscale condos and housing developments in every New York borough because the city afforded them the right to zealously overcharge people who desperately wanted to live there. It had been a long and tiring pitch, consuming a year and a half of his life from the first time he broached the subject with his supervisor to the final draft meeting with the designers, and then another 6 months after that to secure the acreage they needed in Branchburg, a town nestled midway between New York and Pennsylvania and located conveniently ten minutes from the Turnpike. But finally, after two and a half years, their first New Jersey development, River Walk Gardens, had been mostly completed. Named after a downtown remodel which was supposed to have riverside trails but had eventually been cancelled, the complex in the end offered neither a River Walk or Gardens of any kind since space had been at a premium, but he had been proud of the site nevertheless. As a virgin venture it was not half bad, and had turned a profit almost immediately. The company had done three more since then, culminating in Royal Fields where he was currently living. But the next project was to be his masterpiece. He’d been planning it for almost his entire adult life, if not as a business venture then simply as an ideal place to live. Whereas the other developments had only tertiary involvement from him as far as designing and layout went, the new project was his baby from end to end. He still needed a team to draw up plans, but the layout and contents were entirely his, and he was extremely proud of this fact. He took off his black winter trench coat and threw it over the easy chair in the far corner of his office, placing his briefcase on top of his desk and taking a moment to look out the window at the skyline and surrounding buildings. It was overcast, but it still presented him with a hell of a view. He felt terribly small despite the world below seeming microscopic from this vantage point. He let out a long sigh, and then there was a knock on his office door. He turned, taking a deep breath. “Come in.”
Stacy smiled through the open doorway. “Mr. Kensington to see you.” she said, stepping back as the elder man walked forward into the office with his arm outstretched.
Andrew moved toward him, probably a bit faster than he would have liked, with his arm outstretched. Their palms connected just as Stacy closed the office door behind her. “Andrew. Its been a while but its good to see you back at the old homestead for a day.” Kensington told him, shaking his hand vigorously and then clapping a palm against the younger man’s shoulder with a grin. He was a bullish man, stout and sweaty, saved only by an elegant thatch of silver hair and the expensive suit and jewelry he draped himself in every day.
“Thank you, sir. Would you like to sit down?”
“You sit down, let me fix us some drinks.” he said, walking toward the small liquor tray nestled between bookcases against the far wall.
Andrew sat down warily. “Uh…its 9 in the morning, sir.”
Kensington nodded, looking back from his drink preparations. “True, but you’ll need it.” He finished pouring small shots of whiskey into glasses and turned, handing one to Andrew, who had seated himself in front of his own desk. Kensington leaned on the mahogany desktop in front of him and raised his own glass. “Hopefully to new beginnings.” he said, downing the alcohol in one quick gulp before placing the glass beside him and fixing Andrew with a heady stare.
Andrew hadn’t touched his drink, merely holding it while he watched his boss with abject fear racing through his mind. Kensington motioned toward the glass, and to banish the issue he knocked the whiskey back quickly but gritting his teeth a bit as the white hot liquid flowed down his throat. “Mr. Kensington, I…”
“I’m sure you’ve been keeping track, Andrew, but our stocks have gone down steadily for the last month.”
He nodded gravely. “Eleven points. But the entire DOW is down.”
“Sadly, I don’t speak for the entire DOW. Just for this company.”
“We’ve had this kind of thing happen before. Its cyclical. In six months it’ll turn around. Royal Fields is almost a complete sell-thru.”
He nodded, his face still stern. “Some of the Board members think that’s the problem. We’re spending too much time and money on these New Jersey operations while some of the New York properties are floundering. Spreading ourselves too thin.”
“Sir, one building burned down because of a meth lab in the basement, another is under investigation by the Board of Health. Those aren’t things that are market driven or any of my concern really.”
“No, but they are my concern. And the Board’s. Andrew, they’ve voted to shut down your project until further notice.”
“But…” he began, louder than he had wanted but he was fighting to hold back anger and disappointment now.
“It’s the most expensive project we’ve ever done. They’ve frankly been looking for an excuse to back out of it since the beginning. I was your biggest supporter, but I have to answer to them in the end.”
There was a moment of silence during which Andrew put a worried palm against his forehead. “I’ve been dreaming of this development for twenty years. Let me talk to the Board. There has to be a way.”
“I’m afraid their minds are made up. But I have been thinking of an alternative for you.”
“What? I’ll do it.” he said, standing up and fixing the older man with a pleading glare.
“Their main concern is cost. You’ve proven yourself as far as sales ability and design goes several times over. They might consider underwriting a small portion of the cost if you found your own investors.”
His brow furrowed at the thought. “Well, its not really my area of expertise. I find homeowners, not investors.”
Kensington nodded. “You’ll have to broaden your scope if you want to continue with this project. For now, finish your time out at Royal Fields. It should be another month or so, right?”
“Probably.”
“That might give the stocks a chance to come back a little. In the meantime, try to find your own investors. I’m sure I can get the Board to cough up twenty million when the time comes provided you have the rest. I really don’t want to lose this opportunity since we’ve spent so much time and energy on it already.” he said, standing up straight and walking toward the office door. He turned back before opening it. “Good luck, Andrew. I’m pulling for you.” And with that he was gone.
Andrew sat in stunned silence for a moment. This was a one billion plus project. Twenty million was merely two percent of the funding he would need to raise to make it a reality, if he was doing the math in his head correctly. Kensington probably pocketed more for his last Christmas bonus. Angrily he flung his glass into the far wall where it shattered into pieces, afterward sitting back down with gritted teeth and placing his head in his hands.
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