What Would You Do?
What would you do? That question has always intrigued me.
During the Nuremburg trials after the Second World War, a 19-year-old girl was sentenced to prison for being a guard at the gate of the prison at Auschwitz. "I was just a young girl and was told to stand guard or they would shoot me. What would you do, judge?" she pleaded--to no avail.
A number of years back, a few salesmen were standing out front of a retail establishment on a slow summer Friday night. One brought up the question: "What would you do if you caught your wife in bed with another man?"
There being always one joker in any group, an older gentleman who had been married a long time, quipped: "I'd just give him back his white cane and dark glasses, hand him the leash to his seeing-eye dog and help him out the door."
Most of the others had more macho comments like: "I'd beat the shit out of him," or "I'd kill the wife," or "I'd kill the guy." One in particular said, "I'd take the gun I keep in the bureau drawer and shoot them both. I don't care what would happen to me, nobody's gonna take what's mine, and that whore who gave herself to someone else doesn't deserve to live."
As fate would have it, a couple of months later this same man felt sick at work and decided to go home early and lie down, and in doing so caught his wife in bed with another man. He did go to the bureau and take out the gun. But he then went to the closet and took out a duffle bag, put the gun in the bag, took down all his clothes in the closet and put them in the bag; cleaned out the bureau and put the rest of his clothes in the bag. Then calmly walked out of the house and never went back.
So, you see, people don't always do what they say they are going to do when confronted with the actual event.
Many people, over the course of their lives, are forced to make decisions that can seriously alter their lives.
Which brings us to Harry Miller.
Harry is 40 years old, about 5'11" tall, athletically built, handsome, and successful. He has worked for the same company since he graduated from college, and has gradually moved up the executive chain to a fairly large office on the fifth floor, earning a fairly large salary, a 401K and lots of perks. He is well-liked and respected by the employees and his employer.
Harry married Joanna before they even graduated from the same university. Joanna is now a 38-year-old beautiful woman. (As a side note: I believe that the most beautiful age for a woman is between 30 and 40. By 30, if she has taken care of herself physically, she has lost her baby fat or her awkward skinniness, and if she has taken care of herself mentally and emotionally, she has matured into a voluptuous woman who can hold intelligent conversations on many subjects; who is sexually experienced enough, even if with only one man, to know how to satisfy herself and a man in bed.) Joanna is such a woman. She is not movie-star gorgeous, but she is beautiful and sexy and desirable.
Harry loves--passionately loves--Joanna.
Joanna passionately loves Harry.
True, they had each once had an affair outside their marriage. Really not an affair--just a one-night stand. That was back not too long after their son was born. She felt stressed and overworked; he felt deserted and lonely. Ultimately they both decided individually that that was not what they wanted in their marriage and never did it again. They never admitted it to each other, and neither found out about the other, but each spent the rest of their marriage dedicating themselves to each other. Consequently, they now have a life together that many people dream of but very few attain.
There is only one slight irritation for Harry as he drives to work this Monday morning. His secretary of many years had quit the previous week to follow her husband to another city, so he has to interview for a replacement this morning. It is a chore he dislikes doing; he feels it takes away from spending time at the work he really enjoys.
When he exits the elevator on the fifth floor there is a mid-twenties-year-old black man sitting at the desk his secretary used to occupy.
"Can I help you with something?" Harry asks the young man.
The young man rises and holds out his hand. "You must be Harry Miller. My name's Maximillian Jonas. My friends call me Max, but you can call me Mr. Jonas. I'm your new executive assistant."
Harry shakes Max's hand before he realizes what is happening. He pulls his hand back and looks at Max suspiciously.
"But I didn't hire an assistant and I don't need an assistant. I do need a secretary if you'd like to come into my office, I'll interview you for that." And he heads for his office.
Max follows. "No, you don't understand, Old Man. I'm already hired. I'm your executive assistant. And while I assist you you're supposed to teach me everything you know about the business."
"There's no way you would be hired without my prior approval. Who do you think hired you?"
"Mrs. Browne on the fourteenth." Max notices Joanna's picture on Harry's desk. "Say Old Man, is that Mrs. M? Man, I'd sure like to fuck that."
In a fit of rage Harry jumps up and with his left hand grabs Max by the collar while he raises his right fist to strike Max in the face--before he thinks better of it, and pushes Max away.
Max is not intimidated. He is a little taller than Harry, more heavy and muscular, and of course, much younger. "Jeez, calm down, Old Man. Don't get your nuts in an uproar. You should take that as a compliment; that's how I meant it. I've seen women whom I've thought; 'Wow, that's one ugly woman. I wouldn't fuck that with your dick
.'
No man wants to hear that about his woman. You should be proud of the fact another man finds her so attractive and fuckable. Most men secretly like the idea of another man wanting to fuck their old lady."
"Well, you keep your crude and rude remarks to yourself and get the fuck out of here. I'm going up to see Mrs. Browne and when I get back you better be gone or I'll have security throw your ass out." And he storms out of his office to the elevator. His rage builds more and more as he waits till he punches the elevator door.
On the fourteenth floor he storms past Mrs. Browne's secretary and barges right into her office, screaming: "What the hell is going on? There's some obnoxious son-of-a-bitch down in my office telling me he's my executive assistant and that you hired him."
Mrs. Browne is a wizened, thin, black lady in her sixties. She looks frail but she is as tough as they come. She knows everything that goes on in the company and rules it like a queen. And the employees treat her like a queen. She and her family built the company from scratch when she was a young woman and it is now a powerhouse in the county and even the state. Her family owns all the stock and she is the main stock-holder.
"Thanks for knocking and waiting to be asked to enter, Harry," she states sarcastically. "How did you know I wasn't having a meeting or something in here? I see you've met Max."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Browne. I don't mean to show disrespect but that clown has really pissed me off. I just met him and first thing he tells me he wants to fuck my wife."
"Settle down, Harry. I'd offer you a drink but it's too early in the day. How about a coffee or water or something?
"No, Thanks. I'm fine."
"Yes. Max can be crude and rude. That's why I sent him to you."
"But why? Why him? Why me?"
