Duplicity

Duplicity

Chapter 2

This is Chapter 2 of the story. Sorry it took so long. Honestly the comments on the first chapter was welcomed in general. The somewhat demeaning emails less so. Please note that English is not my first language.

There should be a third and final chapter soon.

===============================================================

...I plopped back into my lounger and for the first time today allowed myself to shed a tear at the loss of a great friend and mentor, and - looking at the two rings in the palm of my hand - a tear for the loss of the girl I thought I had asked to marry me so few years ago.

********

"You'd better close your mouth before something flies in there", Geoff said with a smirk.

She was an utter beauty. Some might not find her so, but her short frame, dark hair and little upturned nose were nectar to my eyes, her light laughter strummed my ears like the breath of an angel, her...

Okay, so I am no poet. But I was utterly and unequivocally in love. This, for a multitude of reasons, was a hugely pleasurable shock to me.

It being the company's annual picnic, it was

really

difficult finding out that she was Carol Marsden, 19 years old, a trainee creditors clerk at the company, living with her mum and; whilst an old school flame of Brad, the nephew of our company's owner; currently unattached.

One has to love old Mrs. Hammond; a golden hearted old dear and an unrepentant gossip.

I was given pause by our relative age differences. At 32 I was quite a bit older than her. Of course once I hit 80 the 13 year difference wouldn't seem as bad but that was a ways off as yet. And, of course there was the little matter of me being a part of senior management at the company and there probably being some conflict of interest rule in there somewhere. I was sure I had read the company manual at some stage of my employment - probably induction - but it

had

been 10 years and honestly, who actually gives an iota of attention during these things?

********

10 years before, I had been fresh out of college with the ink not quite dry on my Structural Engineering degree and dreams of 'building stuff'. This happened for all of a year before I was called in by my manager one morning, and curtly informed that I had been earmarked for a managerial position.

Informed as in "get your arse in gear, get an MBA and I like my coffee black and bitter. Just like my ex-wife. You're my assistant for now."

Jeremiah Wilson was a mountain of a man, black like coal, totally dedicated to his wife job. This latter change came about compliments of a college football player and Jeremiah's ex-wife's lack of attention to detail. One of those details being the fact that Jeremiah was the godfather of one of the football player's teammates, to whom the poor idiot had bragged of their affair. The divorce had been short and bloody. Not as bloody and broken as the football player if Mrs. Hammond was to be believed, but still.

Also according to Mrs. Hammond; Jeremiah, his son and his godson all had ironclad alibis for the weekend of the mugging since the three of them, together with the godson's father, had been fishing a 150 miles away at the time. This alibi did nothing to prevent ex-Mrs. Wilson from developing an unhealthy and undeserved fear of Jeremiah; prompting a sudden move to her parents in Florida with instructions to her lawyer to get the divorce over with as soon as possible and at any price. Any price ended up with her getting only 17% of all they owned and Jeremiah with the fiscal responsibility for their two kids in college.

An excellent engineer and an even better manager, he had learned that a methodological approach was always best, so when the divorce was final, he sat down one evening and when the sun rose the following morning he had sent his resignation to Agnes.

In his opinion, 50 was a pensionable age and giving a company 5 years notice of your intent to take early pension was more than fair.

Which lead to my ascension to the position as his 'assistant' a week later.

In due course Jeremiah left, moving to Florida and marrying his ex-wife's sister. Before he left, the two of us went out one evening and I experienced the mountain of a man in a social setting for the first time ever. The normally taciturn observer turned out to be a gregarious conversationalist who enjoyed dancing as much as the ladies enjoyed dancing with him. He also turned out to have no head for alcohol and ended confessing to his involvement or lack thereof in the battering of his ex-wife's boyfriend. But that is another story.

The twist to Jeremiah's leaving being that the new head of the Design Department was not me, but a lady called Susan Gillies, who had been specifically headhunted for the position a number of years before.

I had spent 2 years under the tutelage of Jeremiah, learning the ins and outs of the design department. In the end I ended up drinking my coffee black and bitter, the way he liked it and made it; since he ended up making all the coffee that was the way I drank it. I was being kept busy with 'other stuff' - and a lot of it.

My structural engineering degree was just a piece of paper. Our company did more than just build bridges.

Aesthetics, longevity, environmental impact, blah, blah... His words not mine. Jeremiah believed in a holistic approach to design. And the design wasn't finished until the project was finished. As in built, handed over and written up in at least one trade publication. Meaning one had to understand the perceived need of the client, the technology available to meet that need, the financial and other constraints in meeting that need. The production constraints that might affect the process. The human factor. Yes, just because the design was a good to look at engineering marvel that would come in under budget didn't mean people would accept it. And once you had an architect involved...

I was stuck in budget meetings, design meetings, site meetings, and meetings about meetings. I worked in all the departments to get an idea of what might go wrong in these little dens of inequity that might affect the bigger picture. You get the idea. If you'd lived it you'd understand and probably hate it.

Jeremiah had me started out taking minutes at the meetings. I harbored ill feelings towards him about this until, about a month later, I realized that I was being forced to actually listen to what people were

saying

. Which my engineering training hadn't prepared me for at all. I was an engineer and I just knew what they wanted and needed. Right? Writing up those minutes had me thinking about those people

meant

when they were spewing forth.

In meetings I started playing my own private version of 'bullshit bingo', anticipating the buzz words certain people would use, the direction they would try to steer the process into and the way they would react to input from other individuals. After about a year Jeremiah caught me at it when he saw me doodling someone's response before that person had made it. He cornered me after - taking me for a very irregular beer - and getting the whole story from me.

A secretary started taking minutes from then on and he encouraged my active participation in every step of every process. Our relationship slowly changed from journeyman/apprentice to friends.

Friends? Oh joy. I was ridden harder than ever before. My course work towards my MBA had to be done in my own time. Time that was severely lacking as I was still expected to all but shadow Jeremiah at work. And since the man had no wife to return to at home and no social life in general, he worked 60 to 70 hours a week.

Needless to say I ended up having no social life of my own, which didn't bother me in the least since I had never had a social life anyway. I had spent senior prom with my paternal grandmother and following this pattern any free time I had was still spent with her. I was so set in this pattern that; when I got the much vaunted MBA and my grandmother passed away, I ended up going for my doctorate and ending up being socially inept at best. This was not much of a change from my time at college so I just trudged ahead. Yes, all work and no play made Peter a very dull boy. I easily interacted and conversed with colleagues and clients, but my personal life was private to the extreme.

In a candid conversation a few months later, Jeremiah told me of Agnes's cancer and her need for someone trustworthy - him - to shoulder some of her burden.

My doctoral dissertation became a distant dream as Jeremiah's other duties expanded and I was laden with more work than I had faced ever in my life.

My life changed abruptly again when I was called in by Agnes and informed of another change in my future job prospects. Informed as in "get your arse in gear, finish that doctorate and I like my coffee white and sweet. Just like me."

Her and Jeremiah had obviously been working together for a while.

Jeremiah had stuck to his guns about going on early pension, refusing to take the company's reigns from Agnes, whose cancer was in remission. His solution was to offer me up to Agnes as the perfect candidate as her successor. His reasoning was that, due to his 'holistic' training I was as au fait with the workings of the company in general as he was, maybe more so. Apparently, and this was news to me, I was generally well liked and respected by the different managers and executives and my relative youth made me ideal to be her understudy.

The offer to me was the title of CEO when I turned 35 IF I met her expectations at that time.

I now started having my coffee white and sweet.

********

So there I was 16 months later, awestruck and worried.

Enter Geoff. One of my very few friends and the HR manager at the company, he was married to an industrial psychologist nearly 20 years his senior; putting him in the perfect position to laughingly assure me that being the Executive Assistant to the CEO of the company in no way made me a real part of senior management and that age was indeed, just a number.

My day ended with me being introduced to Carol by a giggling (!) old Mrs. Hammond, and me stumbling through a mumbling, blushing greeting in reply to her questioning salutation. I beat my retreat as soon as I could, cursing my own social ineptitude.

Monday at work I was morose and ineffectual, gaining me a scathing reprimand from Agnes. I trudged through the week, rarely sleeping, spending as much work time as possible in the cafeteria hoping for brief glimpse of the focus of my affections. I made a number of halfhearted attempts at calling her cubicle, abandoning these efforts since I hadn't the faintest clue what I was going to say to her. I was a wreck.

In the early hours of Sunday morning, I finally decided that having no plan was a bad plan. I was an engineer dammit, so I planned my strategy like a military campaign, defining victory, assessing my capabilities, identifying my allies and decided on a strategy.

All of which found me on Geoff's doorstep with coffee and bagels, at an ungodly time a few hours later. After a indeterminable delay following me leaning on the buzzer at the front door; Geoff opened up, looked at me askance and, barking a laugh, he threw open the door bellowing up the stairs for his wife, Marcy to get decent and join us below.

A woman in her late forties had no business looking as well put together and in control as Marcy when she joined us. Whilst I viewed Geoff as a friend, I viewed her as a maternal figure, more so following the death of my grandmother and I had always secretly hoped that the mother I never knew had been like her. Their childless marriage and her demeanor towards me, made me suspect that in some ways she viewed me as, if not a son, then a little brother.

After their accepting my halfhearted apology, I laid out the problem as I saw it.

My tale of woe proved a source of huge humor to Geoff. A rambunctious fellow and knowing the source of my discomfort, he had been observing - and relaying to Marcy - my antics and general manner at work all week long. After the second interruption Marcy glared him down and took me into her home office to continue our discussion.

A Sunday morning 'discussion' cannot be described as therapy.

Although not a clinical psychologist, Marcy had a deep empathy and I felt myself opening up to her, telling her of my early childhood; being raised by an absentee father and a long string of nannies; being sent to boarding school at a young age and spending vacations and holidays either alone or with a cold and distant grandmother. I had learnt from an early age to fend for myself and any love I showed for either my father or grandmother had been rebuffed. One of my earliest memories is of waking up one night to see my father looking down at me in bed, with what can only be described as hate in his face. I later came to realize that he blamed me for the death of the light in his life, and I was a constant reminder of his loss. My grandmother had vehemently disapproved of his marriage to my mother and as far as I was aware they had barely spoken following his and my mother's wedding. Many years later, when I had nearly finished high school, she and I managed to settle into a relationship of sorts when my father passed away unexpectedly. I would never describe this relationship as loving but she was family and my last link to a mother I had never known and father that...well, my father.

A subdued Geoff appeared and disappeared infrequently with trays of drinks and snacks, and around noon an invitation to stay for a late lunch, which I declined, aghast at the uninvited I way I had intruded on their private time. Marcy had tears in her eyes when she hugged me and told me that we had done enough talking for one day anyway, but invited me to come over again on the Monday after work. I spent the rest of Sunday willfully drinking myself into a stupor, anaesthetizing the long suppressed feelings of despair. This was a first for me and considering the way I felt on Monday morning, the last.

That morning at work I plodded along, hung over and depressed. Agnes was away for a few days and I was lucky in that I was left alone for the most. Geoff, in professional HR mode, popped in during the course of the afternoon; informing me that I was to go straight to their place after work, where Marcy was expecting me.

Marcy opened the door when I was mounting the steps to their front door and led the way back to her office, following a brief and downcast greeting.

She proceeded to admit that she had, against all professional ethics, discussed our discussion of the day before with Geoff and apologized profusely for this. She then presented me with a sheet listing the names and contact detail of three her clinical colleagues.

I was, in a word, speechless. Whilst I was sitting there trying to assimilate what the hell ever was happening, she told me in broad strokes that her limited clinical experience had led her to believe that I was suffering from a number of issues ranging from depression to fear of abandonment; and that she sincerely hoped that I would seek professional help.

Still speechless, I dropped the sheet of paper on her desk. After staring at her for a few seconds, I managed to gasp, "So now I'm crazy?", stumbled to the door and ignoring her pleas got into my car and drove away.

My cell rang and I switched it off. I was aghast. I had approached my friends for dating advice and ended up being... What really? I sincerely didn't know, but arriving at my apartment and flopping into bed, I did know I had never been this unhappy in my life.

I woke the next morning whilst it was still dark to a lightning display that perfectly mirrored the way I felt. A few cups of white and sweet later I resolved that I would solve the current issues the way I had all my life - with hard work.

Agnes was back and I was shocked from my own morose state of mind by her pale and drawn look. My concerns were shrugged off and we plowed into the organized mess which was work.

A few weeks passed. At work, I avoided both the cafeteria and Geoff, adhering to strict professional courtesy when I had to deal him during weekly meetings and renewed my efforts in finalizing my dissertation.

Agnes kept shrugging of everyone's concerns about her health and indeed, started looking better. Life was back to normal.

I was at my favorite deli one Friday afternoon after work, when I heard my name being called. To my stunned surprise, I turned to find Carol standing behind me with a half-filled basket. I stammered out a greeting, still amazed at the strong physical attraction I felt to the girl.

"Oh...err hello Carol."

"Hi there!", she said with a bright smile, peering into my basket. "Hmmm, cold cut sandwich for supper?"

"Cold cut sandwich?"

Again with the bright smile. "Pastrami, roast beef,...hmmm what else?" she said, putting down her basket and delving into mine. "Ooh! Provolone and mushrooms. Let me guess, you're making some girl a Philly Cheesesteak sandwich?"

"Err..., no?"

Giggling she said, "Sorry, didn't mean to delve into your private life". Then casting me what can best be described as a coquettish look, "...or your private recipes."

She burst out laughing. "Sorry, I'm projecting on you. I've been hankering for a decent sanga for a while now." The last in a patently false Aus accent.

"I'm not a good cook", I admitted. "Pre-processed meats supply the taste without the effort, so I usually stock up for a week or so and have it with salad or straight on bread." I was impressed with my ability to construct a full sentence whilst basking in her beauty. "I'm assuming 'sanga' is a type of food?"

"Type of food!?", she gushed, "You heathen! Tremezzino, butty, smørrebrød! A well prepared sandwich by any name in any language is a piece of heaven." She bore herself up, "And I am an undisputed master of the art."

I again admitted to my total lack of culinary expertize and/or experience. The girl was like a total force of nature.

She looked at me askance, "Tell me, you've at least experienced a decent Reuben recently?"

I was vaguely aware of a Reuben in the Bible, but other than that I had no clue what she was talking about. So I limited myself to, "Errr...no?"

An hour later I found myself sitting on a bench at the river, feasting on what could indeed be described as a piece of heaven. I had no clue how this came about but sitting on the self-same bench was Carol, waxing forth on the pros and cons of different styles of sandwiches and their fillings. I was more in love than ever.

I was pleasantly surprised that I actually managed to have a conversation with her after my initial panic had subsided. Admittedly, barring her monologues about sandwiches, it had mostly been about work and the people we worked with. Not gossip, we had Mrs. Hammond for that, but just a general discussion of the people and their quirks as we experienced them. OK, gossip. I told her about one of two of our current projects and she entertained me with a few stories from the creditors department. And there I was believing it was a boring job!

"Thanks for the date" she said as we were packing away the remnants of what had been delicious meal she had prepared right there on the bench from what I had bought from the deli. Well OK, I had paid but she had filled the basket.

Date? I was flummoxed again. It had been a date?

"If you don't have any plans for tomorrow, would you like to go to the farmers' market with me in the morning?" she said with a little smile.

I was powerless to resist.

Being with her was like a wild roller coaster ride and I happily rode it, enjoying the spills and excitement to the fullest.