Dear diary september
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1993Chapter 9: Moving Into September free porn video
Sunday afternoon:
Debra called, wanting to talk; first about Jennie Lynne, second about her husband, and third about Megan. After telling me how the baby was growing and changing, she boasted about Charlie, how much air time he was getting, and how devoted he was to his daughter.
I braced myself for the third subject. "Sammy, I think you should know the reason Megan is avoiding you. Her parents blame you for persuading her to go to Florida and staying the entire month of June."
"That's not true. Megan was happy to travel with me. She would still be with me if it were not for her loyalty to her family. Did she put you up to telling me this?"
"Megan would never speak harshly of you. Her mother is very opposed to her seeing you again, and her father needs her help in his business. He's very satisfied with the way she's progressing."
"You must know that we're meeting in San Francisco soon?"
"Yes, I know about your plans to meet, but I wish you would reconsider."
"Was it her mother's idea for you to tell me this?"
"Megan can't bring herself to tell you. Her mother asked me to speak to you."
"Thanks Deb, but until Megan tells me she doesn't want to see me, I won't give up our plans."
Debra Simmons Evans ended the call abruptly, saying the baby needed her attention.
Labor Day was rapidly approaching. Penelope had a new question about the house or the neighborhood almost every morning as I was having breakfast. She was giddy about the fact that Suzanne had changed plans and they would all be traveling together, first class. Since there were to be two beds, Suzanne had decided that there would be accommodations for all. She had even ordered a child's bed for Samantha.
"Is Samantha excited about flying in an airplane?"
"She's more excited about the new bed. You're right, Sammy. We don't have it bad at all."
I knew that Suzanne had their luggage packed.
On Monday, Wanda and I worked on assembling all the data we had collected on the Denver building and its owners.
Suzanne stopped at my office on her way home. "Are you going to have dinner with us, Sammy?" she asked. Her inquisitive look told me she was curious about what we were doing.
"I plan on dining with you. We're putting the final touches on the Denver building."
She nodded, adding that she knew John would be pleased to see what we had collected.
Thirty minutes later, Mr. Oldham stopped at my office door. "Burning the midnight oil, are we?"
"This is everything we've learned about the Denver building," I said, holding up a thick booklet. "I'll put it on your desk before I leave."
"Is that the only copy?" he asked.
"Yes Sir, but we'll stuff two more booklets in the morning in case you want someone else to see it."
"I'll take it with me," he said, extending his hand.
This was highly unusual. They often took work home on weekends, but I couldn't remember him carrying a briefcase during the week.
"I should take my own copy in case he wants to discuss it tonight," I said to Wanda, and it took us another fifteen minutes to put the second booklet together.
It was the right decision. Mr. Oldham hardly touched his dinner, which aggravated Suzanne no end. Not me, I took a second helping of everything, especially the prime rib.
"We're going to have to get a dog if this continues, John. Don't let Penelope know you hardly touched your food," Suzanne scolded.
He motioned for me to follow him into the sunroom where we went over every page of information until it became quite late. Even the coffee that Suzanne served us became cold.
When I went to bed, I was walking on air. Mr. Oldham congratulated me for my fine effort. He was still high on my work the following morning.
"Make plans to visit that building, Sam. I'd go with you if I thought you needed my assistance, but I'm confident that you have everything under control."
I couldn't wait to tell Wanda how well our collection of data had been accepted. Unfortunately, we didn't get a chance to talk until I called her at home that night.
There was a message from Steven Lynch. It was marked urgent.
"You're a busy lad, Sammy Oldham. When I was your age I was chasing skirt twenty-four hours a day. From what I hear, you negotiated a very favorable price for that land in Atlanta, and then screwed the seller. Is it true that you fucked the architect the rest of that summer, and got the ceiling guy so drunk he let you fuck his wife?"
"I don't know who gave you that information; Mr. Lynch, but the last part is false. I let my little neighbor fuck the ceiling guy's wife."
"I admire your candidness, Mr. Oldham. I also hear that you've been doing due diligence regarding my brother and me. Did they tell you that we're broke and desperate to unload the Denver building?"
"Yes Sir. That's why I would like to meet you, and see if we can come to terms."
"Hold on, Mr. Oldham, before you crack a nut, don't get the idea that we've gone bust. I don't bend over for any twenty-two year old rich boy, and my brother doesn't either. Contrary to some party's perception, I don't share my wife either. Now, our sister is a different story."
"I already like you, Mr. Lynch. Tell me, will your sister accompany you and your brother to Denver?"
"Not this trip, but something may be arranged if there is a second meeting."
"When do you want to meet?"
"How about the first of September?"
"Sounds good. Do you know where our Denver office is located?"
"Not exactly, but I've got Barney Meeks' home number."
"You're good. I'll see you and your brother on the first," I said, before rushing out the door to make my nine o'clock appointment.
"You're late!" Mrs. Cynthia Collingsworth said as I was shown into her office.
After verbally sparring with Stephen Lynch, I was not inclined to take abuse from the tall foreigner. "If you're on a tight schedule, Mrs. Collingsworth, I can come back another time."
"Sit!" she said. "I'll be with you as soon as I make one call."
I didn't feel like sitting. While she was making her call, I scanned her office walls for clues about what made her such a belligerent individual. In addition to framed photos of every type of rare stone imaginable, there were certificates of accomplishment and what I took to be family photos. I saw the resemblance to an older woman, tall, long legs, small breasts, but without the puffy, turned up lip. There was also a picture of a man that had to be her father.
As I perused the photos, I picked up snippets of the conversation she was having with an underling. The reason I deduced that it was an underling was the absence of pauses on her part. She was really dressing the person down, lacing her sermon with vulgarities. I decided that Mrs. Collingsworth had majored in the words that were forbidden on the airwaves.
My attention was drawn to a young couple. Could that be Mrs. Collingsworth and her husband? No, it was not possible. They were both smiling. He had a gun on one arm and the girl on the other. She had a pleasant look on her face, and a puffy, turned up lip.
"This way, Mr. Oldham," Mrs. Collingsworth said, with an abruptness in her voice that reminded me of a spot inspection being announced by a young Cadet at C.M.A.
She was wearing a white lab coat and the same black slacks I'd seen the previous Saturday at her home. Workers gave us a wide berth, some of them speaking to her as we walked to the area where the cutting rooms were located. I'm sure they saw how uncomfortable it made me to have to tilt my head back in order to answer her questions.
Her cold stare told me to avert my eyes when she punched the entry code into the keypad.
As I told Wanda, "She kept me busy all day, learning to tell the difference in various stones, how to detect defects, and how to grade quality. I don't know what it had to do with my becoming familiar with their space needs. I think she was trying to show me how she earned all those accolades on her office wall. All I know is that she kept me busy all day and I absorbed very little of what she said. Every so often she would become exasperated with me when I couldn't remember some detail she'd covered not ten minutes before. Hell, I didn't understand a word she said."
"Sammy, did you stop for lunch?"
"She doesn't eat. I just heated a can of soup when I got home."
"Sammy, it's after ten. Didn't you have dinner, either?"
"Like I say, she doesn't eat, but I'm making headway. She kissed me goodnight."
"NO!"
"It was dark when we left the building. She told me to follow her home."
"She told you?"
"Please is not part of her vocabulary. She tells everyone what to do. She called some poor guy and complained that one of her cutters was broken. When he came to the door, she told me to carry the machine to the door and hand it to him because he was not allowed to step inside the room.
"Anyway, she drives an Alfa Romeo. When we got to the gate, she aimed an opener at it and drove through. I followed her to her house. The garage is in back of the house. She opened two doors, motioned for me to park my car next to hers. She then came over to my car and handed me two openers, saying one opens the front gate, and the other is to open the garage door. Then she told me to be there at seven tomorrow, that we would get an early start."
"My God, Sammy, didn't you tell her you have a job?"
"I didn't get a chance. She leaned down to kiss me, and then she was headed for the door leading to the house before I could think of anything to say."
"Are you sure you understood her correctly."
"Not at all, but I can't take chances. Every time I think of telling her to fuck off, Mr. Oldham's words, 'I'll be forced to return twenty million dollars, ' makes me force myself to do as she wishes."
I asked Wanda to alert Neill and Barry Meeks to the Denver meeting with the Lynch brothers and we said goodnight.
It was the following evening before I had a chance to inform Mr. Oldham and Suzanne that Neill and I were going to meet the Lynch brothers in Denver. He was delighted that I was moving the process along. I didn't tell him that Steven Lynch had infringed on my personal background. At least, the man had not said he knew about my adoption.
"I understand you've been investigating the Collingsworth Company's space needs."
"Yesterday, Mrs. Collingsworth gave me an overview of what makes their product superior to their competition. She's somewhat of an expert cutter, and she's very selective about the materials she uses. Their reject rate, or I should say her reject rate, is double what other companies reject. I hadn't looked through a microscope lens that much since high school biology class.
"Today, I was permitted to use her office to conduct private interviews with employees. I must have talked to fifteen men and women. They seemed reluctant to talk at first, but when I told them everything they said would be kept confidential, they opened up. They followed one another on a strict schedule. One of the young women brought coffee, and asked if I needed to use the restroom before we began. I'd spoken to eight employees, and was reviewing my notes when Mr. Collingsworth opened the door and invited me to have lunch with him.
"He gave me some background on his daughter-in-law. She grew up privileged, but lonely. She hardly knew her parents because they left her in a boarding school and went abroad, first to Brazil, then to Mexico, and finally to South Africa. That's where she joined them after finishing her education, and that's where she met and married Mr. Collingsworth's son. He admitted that his son was no match for Cynthia. She ruled their home from the beginning. After her parents died, she took over their business interests."
"How did they die?" Suzanne asked.
"He didn't say, but his son was killed in a hunting accident a few months later. Mr. Collingsworth said he felt responsible for Cynthia because she didn't have anyone else. He convinced her to get out of the mining business and come back to the states with him and Mrs. Collingsworth. Cynthia lived with him and Mrs. Collingsworth until she bought the estate in their community. I suppose you know that his wife passed away three years ago."
"Where do you stand with the proposal at this point?" Mr. Oldham wanted to know.
"The employees gave me an entirely new perspective of their needs. I'm starting over. I told Mr. Collingsworth about my Denver trip and that we'll set up an appointment soon after I get back. That will give Tom Pierce time to incorporate my notes into a new plan."
"That sounds good," Mr. Oldham said. "Now, I'd like to hear your strategy for the Denver meeting."
Before I could respond, Suzanne voiced her objection to conducting business at the dinner table.
"John, can't you see that he's tired? I've never known you to bring work home on weeknights before. These nightly business discussions are giving me a headache. Make an appointment to see Sammy during working hours. That's what I do."
I'd described my day at the Collingsworth office, but I had left out the part that I was too ashamed to admit; that I was being treated like a lapdog by the tall woman. I saved that for Wanda.
"We're going to start over with the Collingsworth plan. Did you speak to Neill and Barney?" I began.
"Yes, Neill said he'll be there early on the first. Barney wanted to know if you want to have dinner at his home the night before."
"Okay, set it up that way. What else happened today?"
"Nothing really, Sammy. Tell me about your day."
"I told you that I was to be at her house at seven. I opened the gate and drove up to the front door, thinking she was going to ride with me. Robert came out and pointed to the garage in back of the house. She was there, steaming, like I was late or something. She said, 'we'll take the black car, ' and got into the passenger's side of a big SUV. I didn't like leaving my car in her garage because it made me captive to her wishes."
"I know a joke about that. Remind me to tell you sometime," Wanda interrupted.
"I got behind the wheel, and drove her to the office. She was dressed in black; only today, she had a crystal clear stone nestled between her breasts. She wore those same four inch heels that put her in a position to look down on everyone else. We went to her office where she put on her white coat, and told me to have a seat at her desk. There was a memo from Cynthia Collingsworth to fifteen employees, instructing them to meet with me for thirty minutes.
"I interviewed eight people before Mr. Collingsworth took me to lunch and seven more when we got back. I got a new perspective on how the company operates and he filled me in on his daughter-in-law. He didn't exactly say that he knows she's an overbearing bitch, but he made it clear that he's very sympathetic toward what made her that way.
"At least, she didn't make me stay late. Just as the last person was leaving her office, Mrs. Collingsworth showed up and I drove her home."
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