I prepared to run by doing my warmup and stretching exercises. I looked up at my residence. Not too many people could say they lived in the same structure they worked at. Fewer still, would those be that lived in a three-story bank building covering a city block. As I had so many mornings, I admired the Greco-Roman architectural style of the matched granite stone and the Doric columns rising majestically at the front entrance of the building.
My ancestor had built the first permanent building of the fledgling town. He had studied well the effect he wanted to project. Prosperity and permanence were the assurances that encouraged others to build. They closely copied the bank’s architectural theme and the entire city square represented wealth, employment, and industry.
Or it had, I sourly thought as I looked at the ghost buildings of the dilapidated city square. Now, my bank remained the last bastion. The final reminder of the past that brought so much regret.
As I ran, the regulated tempo caused only the sound of my footsteps and breathing to break the silence. I used this as my quiet time. A time to reflect and focus.
Foremost in my mind was the business; the Camden Bank & Trust. It was being besieged from enemies; from within and without. I had to remain vigilant every day since I had taken over as President of the bank. All it would take was to commit one wrong move and all my hard work and the lifework of my father and generations before would be taken from me.
So many decisions to make and no one to help guide me. Not for the first time I felt all alone as I finished this run and staggered up the stairs to my third floor apartment. How I wished, I could forget all the troubles. A shower and a quick rest would have to suffice. People were depending on me.
I stripped and gingerly stepped into the shower. Within seconds, the hot water dissipated into a cold spray of water. Another grievance I would have to take up with Janet, I thought as I rushed to bathe myself.
Nine a. m. found me seated at my desk working as the official banking hours began. In reality, I had been working since seven a. m. shoring up deals for the bank’s benefit. If all went well, it would continue to be this busy all day.
At 9:25 a. m. the intercom buzzed.
“Mr. Williams… you have some visitors.”
The oddness in Janet’s voice alerted my defenses. Why hadn’t she announced the identity of these visitors? A small voice mentally told me to refuse the callers, plead a heavy work schedule prohibited seeing any visitors today. Delegate another employee to resolve any problem arising.
Realizing I had let an undue pause hang from responding to Janet’s call, and I hesitantly told her to see the visitors to my office. The door opened and Carla Robbins, Susan Moix, and Staci Ellen Porter nee Buckman walked into the office.
For the first time in six years, I was seeing Staci up close. The passage of years had been good to her. Her features had morphed from her previous angular beauty into more rounded features. She matured from being a girl into a young woman in the prime of her life.
“Hello Troy,” she sought desperately to catch my eyes. I knew she was trying to initiate a dialogue before any barricades could go up. In response, I waved my arm to the chairs on their side of the desk. Carla tried to initiate a hug with me but was made aware of my reluctance with any body contact with the three. If I refused Carla’s hug, Staci could not be offended being refused. The three ladies promptly sat down in the chairs. I sat behind my desk.
“How are you, Carla, Susan, Mrs. Porter? What can I do for you ladies today?”
Staci winced at the cold civility present in my response. There was no warmness in the greeting, no sign that the passage of time had brought a desire to forgive the past wrong. She noticed that my gaze was fixed onto the high school classmates that accompanied her.
“Please Troy, I’m still Staci. I would appreciate it if you’d call me by my name.”
“I’ll keep that in mind Mrs. Porter. Once again, I’ll ask y’all how may I be of assistance today?”
“It’s been ten years since we’ve graduated high school, Troy. We are on the reunion committee. We are trying to drum up recruits for the committee and support for the reunion,” Susan took the lead in explaining the purpose of their visit.
I remained silent. I had discovered in the course of my career that silence was a necessary and effective negotiating tool. Granted this didn’t shape up to be the normal business deal I was used to, but the same principles applied.
“Well, Troy?” Susan asked with exasperation.
“I’m sorry, Susan. I didn’t hear anything that requires a comment from me.”
Susan sighed, “Would you help out and lead the committee, Troy?”
A minute passed before I replied.
“Susan, isn’t it traditional for the Senior Class President to head up the reunion committee?”
Susan hesitated, knowing where the conversation was leading.
“Yes, Troy, but-”
“Refresh my memory, Carla.” I turned to the woman I interrupted, “Who was the person that was our Class President?”
“… David Porter.”
“That is correct, Carla. It seems to me that you are talking to the wrong person.”
“David has already said that he wasn’t going to serve on the committee, Troy,” Staci explained.
I gave no indication that I heard Staci’s comment or intended to respond to it.
“We could really use your help, Troy,” Carla suggested.
“I understand, Carla, but since I will not be attending the reunion I don’t see the need to be on your committee.”
I pressed the intercom button, “Ms. Temple, would you please come in.”
I could tell that the uneasy trio was searching for a new avenue of attack as all three insisted I had to attend. Before I made any comment, Janet Temple walked into the office.
“Ms Temple, please escort our guests out of my office. I regret to tell y’all that I have a pressing engagement, so y’all will have to excuse me.”
“Come on Troy, you owe it to your classmates to attend our reunion,” Carla valiantly insisted on one last effort.
I whirled my attention back to my three classmates.
“Oh, before y’all leave, I’d like to tell y’all a little story about owing people,” I acidly began the tale.
“A beautiful woman walks into a bar. No sooner than she sits down, a man appears before her. ‘Madam,’ he says, ‘for your information I am one of the richest men in the world. I am so awed by your beauty that I am willing to pay you the sum of $10, 000, 000 to spend one hour making love to you.’
At first, the woman is appalled at the suggestion. Then she starts thinking of all the things she can buy with $10, 000, 000. ‘Okay, I will make love with you for $10, 000, 000,’ she replies.
Then the man asked, ‘Will you sleep with me for $5. 00?’
Now the woman is quite upset at the insult.
‘$5. 00! What kind of girl do you think I am?’ She screams at the man.
‘We’ve already established that. Now, we are just discussing price.’
Do y’all understand the significance of ‘owing’ in that story?” I asked of my three classmates.
“Perhaps, I can give you a better example. Imagine some poor dumb bastard thinking he found the perfect woman for him only to be humiliated when she runs off with his best friend. What the hell do you think is owed to him? The opportunity to jump and do her a favor the first time he sees her in years?”
There was dead silence and icy glares for the insults bestowed. I was walking out of my office’s back entrance which precluded me from the awkward situation of shaking their hands. I heard Staci’s voice asking me to stop. Again, I chose to ignore my betrayer. I bounded up the steps and paced through my apartment.
I continued to stalk around my apartment. I was systematically checking the views from the windows hoping to spot the departure of the trio of classmates that ambushed in to see me. I heard the door open and Janet’s footsteps echoing toward me.
I wheeled and hissed, “NEVER! NEVER! NEVER, do that to me again if you want to keep your job! Do you understand me?”
She recoiled in shock from the venomous tone in my stressed voice.
“… I’m sorry, Troy. I had no idea how to handle that.” She replied in an abject apology.
“Well, you damn well better figure another way if that… that… woman, EVER comes back to see me!”
“They didn’t tell me who they were! They only said they were your high school classmates,” she protested.
I paused a minute to calm down, but things were still awkward between the two of us.
“Are they gone yet?” I asked staring out one of the windows. In my peripheral view I spotted Janet’s nod to my question.
I could tell that she was nearly in tears from my chewing out as she nodded yes, not trusting her voice to break out into a sob.
“Then its time to go back to work,” I brusquely walked out of the apartment to head downstairs to my office. Janet remained in my apartment to compose herself and fix her makeup before she made her appearance at her desk.
When closing time came, I was left alone in my apartment for the entire night. That trend continued for two weeks as Janet focused solely on her job and I focused on mine.
Then on a Thursday afternoon, right before closing Janet came into my office. With tears welling in her eyes she trembling asked me, “Are you ever going to forgive me?”
I went to her and held her in my arms as she started crying. We went upstairs to my apartment and I did my best to make up for all the pain I doled out to her. By Friday morning things were back to normal. Saturday morning, we spent relaxing in my bed.
We were engaging in pillow talk when she broached the subject.
“Why do you hate her so much Troy? Why can’t you get past her?” She asked as she drew lazy circles on my chest with her fingernail.
I knew who she was referring to. I debated telling her that it was none of her damn business.