The Rolls And The Pipe Ch 03

The Rolls and the Pipe: Chapter 3

Chapter 3 of

The Rolls and the Pipe

is here. It's a dual perspective piece, and therefore will be a bit longer than the other two chapters. Things might get a bit steamier in this chapter than the other two, but as I write this, I don't know. Words flow from me and onto my keyboard, resulting in text on the computer monitor, so I can't guarantee what's coming.

Other than that, remember the usual schtick: 18 years of age or older only please. Mucho feedback appreciated, enjoy the story, all that guff.

By the way: The Rolls-Royce that Kaiser drives is not governed like most – he had the governor removed (in North America it's governed at 210kph, and in Europe 280kph). The interior is a stained red oak, burgundy and black leather upholstery. It has a small wine cooler installed in the back seat, with a small storage compartment between the rear seats, a glove compartment in front of the passenger's seat. I would have preferred to make the vehicle a standard transmission, but I know of no conversion kits for the Phantom. The exterior colour is a dark silvery-grey.

* * * * *

Paige de'Lephant's Perspective

I'm rarely out of sorts. I was raised by middle-class parents in a middle-class neighborhood with middle-class neighbors and with the usual middle-class bullies. I had average marks (you know, 75%-ish) in school and the usual flings in high school. I was stable and proud of it. I had to deal with my chores just like any kid and argued with my parents about curfew just like everyone else. I had a happy childhood, and I could deal with anything. Kaiser Mattanthas was the unforeseen variable in the mathematical formula of my life. In J-school, I learned that this phenomenon was known jokingly as "phrenology with an 'f'".

I got to work the day after the interview and sat down at my terminal. I puttered around, fixing the mistakes that my editor caught in my column, tidying up my desk (journalists don't have cubicles in most cases – our workstations are open to everyone else. "The New Adventures of Superman" – the Daily Planet – had that right) and doing basic maintenance. It wasn't until that I sat down after lunch to write down the interview that the events of the night caught up with me.

Ever had writer's block?

I sat at my computer for over an hour, just staring. When I 'woke up', I discovered that I was staring at the little pendant that Mr. Mattanthas had given me – staring directly into the diamond and rotating the little thing between my fingers. I quickly looked around and stuffed it back around my neck – I had gotten an inkling of how powerful he really was the previous night, and I wasn't about to cross him. It's not every man who has a squad of U.S. marines protecting him.

I finally put my fingers to the keys and pounded out a story.

Kaiser Mattanthas: A Paradigm of . . . What?

By Paige d'Lephant

I have stood in the shadow of greatness. Well, that is not entirely true. Rather, I was intimidated by it, had supper with it, laughed with it and insulted it. Equally, I was insulted by greatness, laughed at by greatness and humbled by it.

This week I had supper with the United Nations' single most powerful delegate – Major Sir Kaiser Mattanthas, Ph.D., M.Ed., B.A., B.Ed., B.Sci. M.Sci..

I suppose the best way to introduce my evening's companion is to relate a little of his history – a topic that he tried to refrain from addressing while being rather forthcoming about it.

Mr. Mattanthas was born in Canada in 1984 – 28 years ago. He entered college-level education at the age of 16 and graduated with his Bachelors degree in History (Hons.) in 2007 from one of the most prestigious universities in the Western Hemisphere. He was published as an academic author before the age of twenty-one and, in 2008 convinced the United Nations to grant him the resources to fund the first multi-national university.

Located in Scotland, the university provides free education to students – but before you get too excited parents, the school is highly exclusive. He personally chooses each and every student. They are given a well-rounded education from the age of six, and currently five world leaders are graduates. His work in studying World War Two and the Vietnam conflict has resulted in his honorary masters and doctorate degrees from Cambridge and Harvard. His studies into genetic engineering has resulted in his masters in the subject after receiving an honorary degree in genetics in 2007. His Bachelor of Education degree was conferred upon him in 2007 by the United Nations in collaboration with McGill University. He says that he bullied them into giving him those degrees, saying that he is lazy and did not want to do the work. Yeah right!

For his work in military expansion and theory (his personal interests lie in strategic analysis), he was honored with the rank of Major in the United Nations Peace Forces.

Kaiser Mattanthas was knighted earlier this year by King William of Britain.

He achieved his fortune in real estate shortly before graduation and is currently living with the financial burden of $480 million (in Euros) in an undisclosed location. This is all common knowledge – you can find it in any newspaper or tabloid. What people do not know is that he is a normal guy!

When I first met him, he was dressed simply, in steel-toed boots, jeans and a sports jacket. He arrived in a second-hand Rolls-Royce, and was intermittently quite charming and as crude as most of my former boyfriends. He cites Dennis Leary as one of his heroes and pays lip service to celebrities, stating that their public images are strictly business-oriented. He reads fantasy stories more than anything and claims that you don't need to study textbooks to know something. With a

testable

IQ of over 150, I doubt that he means it.

Unfortunately, that is all I learned – like I said, he was quite private about himself.

I do know, however, that he has a huge security system – each and every one of his graduates are protected by his personally trained agents. I encountered at least six during my interview with Mr. Mattanthas. I therefore suggest that you enjoy him from afar, but if you ever have the opportunity to meet him, you will be swept off your feet.

Before he gently catches you and returns your emptied purse to your hand.

I'm afraid that I didn't do Mr. Mattanthas justice, but I think you can forgive me. My emotions were so cross-wired that I don't think that I could have written anything better...or anything more flattering.

I tossed my pen to the table after proofreading my submission. I always print things out before editing. Paper trail, you know. It wasn't what I wanted, but that's what the boss would get. I grabbed my jacket and walked out, tossing the papers on Dave's desk.

"So how'd the date go Paige!" he yelled. I cringed – I didn't want the rest of the office listening.

"It was alright. He's a bit of a snob, but all rich people are." He quirked an eyebrow and scanned my copy.

"Apparently that wasn't all you thought!" he joked. "Listen to this guys!" I jumped – the rest of the people from my department had snuck up behind me. Bastards.

"'... and was intermittently quite charming and as crude as most of my former boyfriends...' Oh my! Comparing him to old heartthrobs already, eh?" he snickered.

"Aw, cram a stapler in it, Dave." I stuck my tongue out at him and turned to leave. He got a glimpse at my necklace as I put my coat on.

"He gave you

jewelry

after your interview!?" Everyone started to crowd around.

"No, Dave."

"I've seen every piece of jewelry you have! That's new. You don't have the cash to buy it, and I know that –"

"Shut UP Dave!"

"Alright. I'll want to talk to you tomorrow. This is a problem. Go home."

I scowled. I felt like yelling at him, felt like telling him the truth, but I couldn't. Kaiser (

oh God, I'm not thinking of him as 'Kaiser', am I?????

) had made me promise. I just left and slammed the door behind me. I hailed a taxi and went home.

Kaiser Mattanthas' Perspective

Well, that went well,

I thought. I'd been able to give her jewelry and protect her at the same time. I love giving little gifts to my dates, regardless of familiarity, and I always have. I think I started that practice when I was eleven.....

When I went home (an apartment on Ogden and Kedzle, just outside of Douglas Park, my primary holding in the 'States), I walked into the kitchen, tossed my jacket on the counter and grabbed a chocolate milk. I had a fully stocked bar, but I dislike alcohol, so I keep it for my friends. I went to my study, opened a window and sat in my easy chair. For those who are interested, this particular apartment was more than two thousand square feet. I had a full bath (75 cubic foot jacuzzi with jets, a toilet, urinal, sink and shower stall), a bedroom (queen sized bed, garderobe, table with Hepplewhite chairs and a Queen Anne's table and en suite half bath), a study (book-lined walls, a couple of cabinets, solid walnut desk, a coffee table, three easy chairs with ottomans and a love seat, a computer table with office chair and a single recliner – red paisley, of course) and a full kitchen (designed off of the one at my main house and my pride and joy). My foyer and entertaining area were one, with a fish tank (lobsters), a couple of couches and a coffee table or two.

Pulling a small tin of G.L. Pease's

Bohemian Scandal

tobacco out of a cabinet (one of the last tins in the world – September 2004 had brought a huge fire that had destroyed tons of Syrian tobacco, Pease's prime stock) and a Dunhill quarter-bend bulldog from a pipe rack, I sat in my recliner by the window. I sat there until nearly four in the morning, puffing and re-filling my pipe as needed. When I get depressed or have a lot on my mind, I withdraw and become nearly hermit-like. I am an introvert by nature, and I use extroversion as a way to protect myself. I don't like people.

But frankly, I was intrigued by Paige. There was a time when I wanted to become a journalist, but the formation of the university had taken precedent. Journalists, for the most part, are super intelligent. Don't get me wrong, there are some stupid ones, but in the field you have to be able to see and interpret things that others cannot – any investigative journalist (tabloid authors excluded) can tell you that. Journalists survive off of charisma: their own and others. They are not paid anywhere near as much as they should be (something like $12000 American per annum), considering the skills and work involved. My press secretary, for example, is paid more than eighty-grand a year. She's quite thankful. It helps that I'm paying for her three kids to go through school. I never said I was greedy.

She seemed to see right through me, seemed to take interest in every aspect of everything I said, and wheedled things out of me that I had no intention of saying. Machiavelli, my Siamese, snuggled up onto my lap somewhere during the night. He had been fed by the maid and fell asleep quickly. I stroked Mac and imagined what Paige would feel like. I'd only touched her hand and Mac felt hard in comparison. Siamese fur is softer than goose-down, and that should give you an indication.

I sighed. I went to bed that night thinking of a dark-haired beauty that I had known in high school, and had fantasized about for the past decade. Paige brought back some painful memories.

I was awoken around ten the next morning by a beep from my security line. The White House has its Red Phone, I have my own.

"Yeah," I grunted.

"Trouble, Abe."

"What?"

"Your date from last night is, shall we say, under surveillance?"

"Marc, what the hell are you talking about?" I had known Marc when I was in junior high, and I'd traced him and his cousin (a personal trainer) down and offered them work when I struck it big.

"Damn man! She's one of the hottest pieces I've ever seen, and you don't know who I'm talking about? The chicky from last night is being trailed!"

"What?"

"Yup." I heard tapping from the other end. "Check your screen."

I flipped a switch on the phone casing and a TV screen flickered on. I seemed to be looking at a Mickey D's concession stand from Paige's breast level.

"'K. Yeah, so?"

"The grey haired man on the left, by the wet bar." Rotten Ronnie's had started serving alcohol as standard when a German firm bought the company three years earlier.

"The one with the handle bar moustache and Harley jacket?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Isn't he a bit too obvious?"

"That's what you'd think. I ran a check on him, turns out he was in the French foreign legion in the 1970's. Got arrested in Moose Jaw in '90 and got slammed for unpaid alimony eight times. Name's Jim Bregure. Got hired by

them

three years ago, about the time you dropped out of sight."

"Ah."

"Yeahm. Anyway, Gordie said that he was near the Riva last night, and Dream mentioned seeing him near the 'paper last month."

"Right. So, what do you think?"

"Get over there and figure something out. And...wait a sec...." Marc seemed to turn from the phone. "...Yeah. Deedee says you should get another date going."

"Right. Thank her for me."

"Yeah. Ciao."

I hung up.

A week later, I was whisking out of my 2012 Mercedes (a white job, fully kitted out with a stereo system, carriage lights, hydraulic shocks, the works. I love the computerized instaform seats with integral 9x5 subs!) in front of the 'paper where Paige worked.

I breezed in through the main doors and walked straight past the receptionist. I still prefer the term secretary, but whaddya do? I walked straight up to Paige.

"We need to talk."

"Kaiser!" she shouted, drawing the attention of absolutely everyone in the office.

"Now." I turned and left. At this point, most of the office had gathered around – 120 journalists and photographers struggling with recorders and cameras. They don't worry me: I use a magnetic pulse to destroy images and recorded sound. They'd have nothing but fuzz. I strode out, Paige running behind me.

Paige's Perspective

God. If I had thought that he was impressive in casual dress, man was I wrong!

Kaiser stormed through the door as though all the hounds of hell were after him – well, actually, he looked grimly amused, but that's irrelevant. He was dressed in pure white – his jeans, shirt, trench coat, belt, shoes, everything. His hair glistened golden as he brushed past the boss and the receptionist. Big men look big in black, but Kaiser literally filled the room when he was wearing white. Not only that, but he was angry – I could feel it.

"We need to talk," he said. When men with bass voices get mad and are trying to restrain themselves, things rattle.

"Kaiser!" I shouted. You'd be surprised too if someone like him arrived out of the blue and demanded to speak with you!

"Now," and he turned and left. Metaphorically speaking, the waters parted and I rushed after him in the wake of his passing, tossing on a jacket.