Out of Focus

It helps to get a better picture of the events of the story if one were to read Parts 1 and 2 before continuing here. Lou has been given a chance to try to redeem himself a bit from the misfortune that had been laid at his feet previously. A mysterious trinket has allowed him to prepare for the misdeeds planned by his 'loving' wife and his boss-her father. But, have his preparations placed him in the path of sure peril? Read on ... Flavian

*****

Chapter 5

On the morning of the day that I was to be called into Thompson's office so that they could drop the hammer on me-thinking that I was still the clueless Lou-Zer-I had already arranged for my attorney, John London, to drop in to see me about an 'urgent matter.' I had to be a bit vague when he asked me just what was so important.

John arrived approximately twenty minutes before the time that I remembered from my 'previous' existence as 'hammer time.' When he came into my office, he started right out by saying, "Lou, just what is so damned urgent-and why all the secrecy?"

I shrugged and smiled thinly as I crossed my fingers below the level of the desk and replied, "John, I have been getting strange reactions from folks around here over the past day or two. Also, one of the other employees who came to this company with me sixteen years ago-back when we got bought out and absorbed by Thompson-slipped me the word on the DL that my position here may be in danger. He said that he heard it was all coming to a head today around lunchtime. That's why I felt that I might need you here."

Okay, so I was lying through my teeth about the hints and the so-called informant. But I really did need John here to represent my interests from the moment that the shit was scheduled to start rolling downhill on me. And that would be just ... about ...

And, just as I had remembered from that awful 'last' time, I got the call at 11:30 a.m.; right on the button.

"Mr. Chandler; I'm afraid that Mr. Thompson stated specifically that you were the only one to be admitted," said Thompson's PA; as if that settled the matter when John and I entered the outer offices leading to the Executive Office of J. Carter Thompson.

But, this time, instead of simply following her instructions, I looked at my attorney and then back at her and quietly but firmly said, "This gentleman is John London, my attorney. Regardless of what Mr. Thompson said, Mr. London IS going in there with me; understand?"

She simply sat back down with her mouth hanging open at my sudden defiance. She had expected me simply to do as instructed-as I had done so many times in the past-especially since I had always been a pushover; even for a lowly PA.

If any of the three main conspirators were surprised that I strode purposefully into Mr. Thompson's office without knocking, rather than using my routine meek shuffle, they did not say anything.

It was when they spotted the fellow with me, dressed in the well-tailored suit and wingtips carrying a leather valise, that they began to get vocal.

"Chandler," stormed J. Carter Thompson, "this is a private meeting! We will be discussing important matters ... personal and private matters that affect our family and this company. Just what do you think you are doing bringing a stranger into my office without as much as a 'by-your-leave' before doing so?" He was obviously annoyed; but I could also tell that he was curious. Without waiting for my response, he said, "This man will have to leave until we are finished here."

As before, the supposedly distraught 'wronged' wife, Francine; the shark-toothed lawyer for the Thompson interests; and the twenty-something process server were all there with Mr. Thompson. I did not look around when I detected movement behind me, but I knew that the two security guys had slipped in quietly behind me-same as last time.

I simply stood in the middle of the office and looked directly at Thompson's face-unlike the last time-when I'd had my head bowed and could barely bring myself to look at him. This time, I threw the first jar of gasoline into the legal fire that they had already ignited here.

"I'm afraid that I must insist that my attorney, John London, remain at my side during the course of whatever may occur here." The looks on the faces before me were priceless as I noted their surprise and dismay when I had uttered the word, 'attorney.'

"What ... what do you ..." Thompson was not having a very successful time in regaining his aplomb, as he began to see this carefully scripted situation not just slip away from his absolute control; but cascade away quickly.

But J. Carter Thompson was a major player in the business world, and had not risen to his position by being slow to react. And he was a world-class negotiator; and he brought those skills into play now.

"See here, Chandler," he began in what I am sure he thought was a more reasonable and conciliatory tone, designed to put me off my guard so that he could strike. "I am sure that we can resolve our little difficulties here without things getting too far out of hand. After all, I am sure that you knew that we would discover your little peccadilloes sooner or later, given the security and oversight measures in place here; correct?"

I guess that he figured I would succumb as usual. He would be wrong on that one!

"Mr. London stays; so that he may witness everything that you may have to say to me," I said simply and softly, without bravado. I did not raise my voice or smirk, even. After all, I was still shaking in my shoes at having to confront anyone either physically or emotionally-that type of confrontational person simply was not me. But, a tiny voice deep down assured me that I absolutely must stand my ground on this. And I did-but it was not easy.

Thompson, his attorney, and Francine spent about ten seconds looking among themselves. I guess they were trying to decide with facial expressions alone who would try to salvage the stage play they were producing here this morning.

Finally, Mr. Thompson said, "Fine." Then he looked over and nodded at the young woman holding the evil envelope that I had been expecting for weeks.

She stepped up to me and went into her spiel. "Mr. Louis Chandler?" she asked, as the others stood silently and looked on; this time they did not smirk as broadly as they had before.

"Yes, I am." I did not say this with any bravado, but I was nowhere near as uncertain this time.

"Mr. Chandler, you have been served," she said as she placed the large sealed envelope in my hand.

I guess I could see the identical look of shock on the faces of the Big Three standing before me this time that they had seen on me in the previous time, when I did not even glance at the envelope that was handed to me. I simply held it up under my chin and turned to the process server with a posed smile as she took my picture. I then handed the packet to my attorney.

'Now, he gets to go into action,' I thought, as I passed the packet to John. And he most certainly did!

"My client has nothing to say at this time," John stated quickly as he tucked the packet under one arm and flipped his valise open. I could tell from the way he had said it that John's statement had been intended for me-reminding me not to say anything-rather than for the others. He pulled out a fancy letter knife and easily slit the packing materials open. The process server had taken advantage of the distraction of all this and slipped quietly out the office door.

Pulling out the divorce paperwork, John glanced it over, doing that lawyer page-flip action that only they can do so theatrically and with what the viewing public would call, 'with such gravity.'

"You can expect that we will take the appropriate amount of time to review these documents thoroughly, before delivering our response." So much for my idiotically signing on all the dotted lines, as I had done in the previous installment of this episode; that was just not happening this time.

John slid the pages back into the original packing material and slipped the whole thing back inside his valise before closing it. Pausing with it only halfway closed, he noted the expression on my face and the slight shake of my head.

"Is there anything else?" my attorney asked; now sensing that there was more from the expressions on the faces of my three adversaries.

Mr. Thompson cleared his throat and glanced at Francine. I almost laughed at that point, and would have if I had not still been somewhat cowed in the usual manner by the simple existence of conflict in my presence. But Francine evidently got the hint and followed her stage cues well.

"Louis," she said softly, but looking at me this time around with an unconvincing expression of hurt and outrage. "How could you?"

Since I knew what was coming next, I simply turned to Mr. Shark Teeth and awaited his next pronouncement.

"Mr. Chandler," Thompson's lawyer declared right on cue, "I am in possession of a deposition by one Joan Hartmann-who was an employee within a department over which you have hiring and firing and promotion influence-claiming that you coerced her into having sex on more than one occasion." He waved that now-familiar piece of paper that had all the hallmarks of being official.

Upon hearing the name 'Joan Hartmann,' I glanced to my left and saw John London twitch in surprise. I looked hard at him and held up a hand briefly to keep him from jumping in and saying something. I could tell he remembered the name 'Joan Hartmann' and it took only a split second for him to realize what was happening, to give me a microscopic nod, and then assume a position of stern attention to the details of what was going on.

"You, Sir," Mr. Shark Teeth continued, "are not only guilty of adultery against this ... innocent woman." With that he pointed at Francine, who was busily now reaching for a tissue from her purse, since I had broken the rhythm of the meeting that would have otherwise allowed her already to have one dabbing at her eye, evidently supposedly wiping a tear. "You are also in violation of the pre-nuptial agreement that you signed before entering into the union with Francine Thompson.

"And, I might add," I could see Thompson looking at me with an expression that did not so much show anger, but it was more curiosity at my reaction than the satisfaction he had expected to have by seeing me squirm, "you are in violation of company policy against inappropriate personal relationships between senior and subordinate employees."

He leaned toward me and pulled off his glasses as he made his next pronouncement right on cue. "And you should simply be glad that Mr. Thompson, here, is not going to press for your prosecution under state or federal labor law infractions."

"As I have already mentioned, my client has nothing to say at this time," John London said to the three people who were looking at me now with a bit of relief that their carefully orchestrated setup had not completely come unglued by my acting a bit out of character as well as by the unexpected presence of an attorney as my legal advocate.

They had expected me to be clueless, unarmed, and alone in all of this. But I was not so clueless-I had been expecting this. I was not unarmed-information is the most valuable weapon that a combatant can possess; and I had already resolved in my mind that, as unaccustomed to it as I was, this was combat of sorts. Finally, I was not alone-John London gave me a 'you-may-have-set-me-up-but-I-thrive-on-this-shit' look as he turned toward the door, with my elbow in his hand, trying to get me out of there.

But Mr. Thompson and Francine still had some more lines to deliver.

"You have thirty minutes to clear out your desk and office of any personal belongings. Needless to say, you may not log into the computer network from this point forward, as your network access has been revoked. One of these gentlemen will take your keys and the swipe card for the parking garage." Thompson delivered this in a manner that was obviously rehearsed, but he still managed the 'indignant boss' look.

"And, you bastard," Francine cut in. "Your things have been packed and stacked by the front door of the condo. I have changed the locks, so you need to come by when I am there this evening, but before eight p.m."

I guess I was amazed that I could still surprise Francine at all, because I really got a thrill at the way her jaw dropped open in shock when, instead of crying and begging or looking frantic, I simply said, "Okay." I did not even ask about the girls, as I knew already that she had them at the Thompson house in Stone Mountain with her mother.

Francine then overstepped a bit as she went on, despite the fact that I was not reacting as expected. "I have also filed asking for a restraining order to keep you away from the girls and me, since I am afraid that your previous indications of a violent nature might endanger me and my children." Mr. Shark Teeth passed me another document; which I again took without looking at it, and then passed on to John London.

Instead of seeing me explode in anger or hack in surprise, they saw me stand there without any expression, as far as I could tell-I could not see my own face, but I had practiced putting on the unfamiliar aspect of what I thought of as a 'stone face' and said softly, "Okay," again.

Even J. Carter Thompson began to show that his plan was not going anywhere near according to how he had anticipated. He seemed to be at odds within himself as to how to proceed at this point.

But only for about five seconds.

"Get him out of my office and off the premises as quickly as possible," Thompson said to the men behind me.

In an unusual step for me, I actually smiled once before turning around to leave. As the security guys moved to put their hands on my elbows, my attorney intervened by stepping in front of me and saying, "If you lay a hand on my client, you can be assured of standing in front of a DeKalb County judge in short order on charges of assault."

The security guys looked over my shoulder to take a cue from the boss. Evidently, they got the right signal, since they backed off and simply flanked John and me as we walked out of Thompson's office, down the hall, into my office, and-later-out the door leading to the parking garage.

"Well," John said to me with a thin smile, "you evidently got some good and timely heads-up information. I applaud you for cultivating the right kinds of friends. That could have gotten really nasty in there." He paused and looked away for a second, as we both began moving toward my car, before he spoke again.

"Now! Are you going to tell me just what this 'Joan Hartmann' bullshit is all about?" London asked me. "I remember your showing me her file. And, since she was gone from this area before you even went to work for Thompson, we both know that their entire case for the divorce and for your firing is established on a firm foundation of pure bullshit and possibly perjury. So, what are you thinking?"

By now, I had reached my car and was putting my box of stuff from the office in my trunk. Closing the lid, I said, "My marriage is a farce, John. So, I am not too cut up about separating from Francine for good. As for the kids, I really love them a lot and I do not want to lose them, but I just don't know what to expect from these people on this so-called restraining order based on my alleged anger issues."

"Don't worry," John replied. "It may take a week or two, but I am sure that I can get that one overruled. Now; what about all this 'Joan Hartmann' issue?"

I looked at my attorney and grinned fully as I said, "John, you are about to make me a very rich man with a lawsuit for wrongful termination-and, on contingency, you are not going to do too badly yourself. After the divorce ruling is handed down-and only then-based on this bullshit allegation, I want you to file for sixteen million dollars in damages. I am basing that on a calculation of one million dollars for every year I have been with Thompson and Joan Hartmann has not been. Then, I want you to go up by two million more and threaten them with going to the DA on perjury charges if they try to counter sue. Then, I want you to go up by another half-a-million dollars every time they offer an alternative settlement amount."

John's grin started to match mine and he told me, "You know that the final judgment for a suit like that probably will not come nearly to that much. I mean that the judges do not usually go that high in awarding for the plaintiff in this type of case. But, we should sure see a hell of a good return from a suit with this much evidence stacked in our favor; along with the obvious audacity of Thompson and his attorney! Oh, yeah! We should do very well!"

We both started laughing together as he shook my hand and headed off to his car while I climbed into mine for my ride to the new apartment that I had already arranged for and to which I had already had furniture delivered. My new place was in Sandy Springs, just as it had been in my past existence, but this time I had had time to prepare, and I had found much nicer accommodations. I had also put away enough financial resources to handle things like deposits and ancillary costs for the time being.

As for my stuff at the condo that Francine had mentioned? Shit! I might as well go get it; that way, I could piss her off a bit more by not being beat down and needy, as she no doubt expected me to be in all of this.

As for my girls, I knew that Francine would try to use my love for them as a weapon against me. But I also realized that there was nothing I could do about it right now.

The indirect reference that I had gotten in my 'previous' existence, a few months after my divorce-to the effect that I might not be the biological father of either of my daughters-was still there in the back of my mind. But biology does not trump the love of a father for his children; they were still 'my girls,' regardless of who had made the sperm deposit inside of Francine's cheating cunt. I had simply loved Chelsea and Gracie for too many years to turn off my feelings for them in their innocence. And that innocence definitely did not extend to my cheating slut whore of a soon-to-be ex-wife.

I cruised out into the street and turned on the local news-talk radio station so I could listen to Rush. As his standard bumper music began, signaling the beginning of another hour of what he called, 'Broadcast Excellence,' I began to laugh out loud; more at relief that today's confrontation was over than with just how it had concluded.

****

"Divorce is hereby granted," the judge stated and banged the gavel once, bringing our final hearing to a close, after months of documentation, evidence, testimony, and waiting. We really did not need to be here physically for this particular event, but John London had arranged it so that he and I would be here and that Francine's-who was also Mr. Thompson's-attorney had to be here as well.

I was standing beside John when he looked at the back of the small courtroom and nodded to the DeKalb County Sherriff's Deputy standing just inside the door. The Deputy approached Francine's attorney, who was obviously pissed at being forced to be physically present for what amounted to a simple pro forma announcement that would just be published in the newspaper anyway.

"Ah you, by any chance, Mr. James Cantrell, the attunneh fuh Ms. Francine Chandler, née Thompson, and fuh Mr. J. Cahdah Thompson and Thompson Cawpuhration?" the Deputy asked almost nonchalantly.

I guess Francine's attorney was simply still irritated at having his morning ruined and was not paying too much attention; as he idly responded, "Yes, I am James Cantrell." What happened next really caused him to pay attention!