Partyville USA: Part 1-1

Dear readers,

As promised, here is the first half (in two parts, since it’s too long for a standard entry) of my new work, Partyville USA. Obviously this is a rough cut, and the formatting is a bit sloppy (cutting and pasting this was an ordeal), but otherwise you can see where it’s going. Enjoy!

 

         

Roland Hicks was woken up by his wall-mounted flatscreen television at 7:15am. It jarred him from a dream he was having about his high school physics hall slowly flooding. As he grunted and wearily rubbed his head, he tried to recall details of the dream. He remembered sitting near the back of the stadium-seated auditorium, his professor saying that chlorophyll is what makes plants grow and then writing it in his notes, and then a small but steady seepage of water crawling out from under the doors behind him, climbing down the stairs and stretching into the aisles. He tried to piece together more of the dream as he draped his pajama-clad legs over the bed, but even now the images were scattering into the corners and crevices of his mind like cockroaches from a flicked light switch.

            He pushed himself off the bed and walked groggily to the bedroom’s adjoining bathroom as he listened to Don Imus talk about a guest Sports Columnist who was going to be on after the break. He planted his left hand on the tiled wall and urinated loudly into the toilet as a commercial for Scottrade started playing. As he flushed he heard the tv turn off, and realized it had probably been Kaylee, who didn’t have to get up for her Pilates class until 9:00. When he walked back into the bedroom she was asleep again, the extra covers frumpily pulled over her right shoulder. In front of her the orange morning sun glowed between the closed blinds.

            Seeking not to wake her up a second time, he tiptoed out of the bedroom and gently shut the bedroom door behind him, wincing as the latch clicked into place. He lingered for a second by the door to listen for any further signs of disturbed sleep from Kaylee, a disturbed sigh or irritated alteration of sleeping position, but when none occurred he turned and walked softly to the kitchen.

            Once inside, he opened the cabinet above the coffee pot and pondered over which of his six blends to grind and brew. He spent a minute vacillating between his Guatemalan Antigua and Ethiopian Yirgacheffe before he grabbed the former and placed it on the counter. He dumped out the last few liters of Decaffeinated French Roast left in the coffee pot from the night before, and ground up the Antigua in the grinder that sat next to the pot. He dumped the fresh grounds in the coffee pot and began brewing them. As the the first black drops splattered and hissed against the naked, hot glass of the coffee pot, he turned to see his leather briefcase sitting geometrically square at the corner of the counter. He opened its Venetian top and removed the thick bound report inside. He held it in his hands, feeling the weight of his ideas and proposals in his hands. He sighed affectionately as he read the immaculately-positioned and scripted title through the clear plastic cover: “Expansion and Projected Growth For Midwestern Markets and Beyond.” In it lay the strategies, image-shifting priorities and branding directives that would take Partyville USA from the largest party and specialty goods supplier in Nebraska and the Dakotas to the largest in the Midwest by 2014, and then for the nation by 2020.

            For the last six months, Roland Hicks had been waiting for this day. Partyville USA’s founder and current CEO James Wallace had been hinting at retirement for years, but after his recent heart attack and subsequent triple-bypass last October, he seemed primed to finally step down. And, of course, establish an ambitious and capable successor to finally fulfill the promise and vision of Partyville USA.

            He gently slid the folder back into the briefcase and poured himself a cup of the  Antigua, drinking it black as he looked out at the tiny slice of West Omaha visible through his kitchen window. All the while, anticipation began to sweel inside him. He mused giddily at how everything would be different, starting today. No longer would he be consigned to his smallish, unremarkable apartment or the kitschy knick-knacks scattered about under the auspices of homey-ness. Roland looked with qa sneer into the living room at the faded, vaguely Persian rug in the center, the bland watercolor paintings of beach sunsets, or the various pewter angels cloistered atop the cabinets, coffee table and credenza. All of it had been purchased by Kaylee, whose decorating sense Roland had always found slightly suspect. He remembered the first time Kaylee had returned to the apartment after shopping for furnishings with her first box of angels. He remembered the way she gleefully produced them from the box, unwrapping them from their bubble wrap and soft packing paper. She giggled sweetly as she presented them to him, certain of his approval. At the time, he gamely attempted to match her enthusiasm, unaware of how the problem would metastasise to the glut of pewter angels he now faced throughout the room that had transformed it into a sort of tacky, diminutive plaster Heaven. He walked over to the credenza and stared at one of the bigger angels.

            "Your days are numbered, my friend" he muttered to its serene, careless face. 

            He slurped down the last of his coffee and returned to the bathroom, seeing that Kaylee had not shifted during the interim and showered his usual ten-minute shower. When he re-emerged, toweling moisture from his hair, he walked to his day’s wardrobe which had been carefully laid upon the bedroom’s corner chair the night before. He slid his legs into the ironed khakis, pulled on his crisp, starched white shirt, Windsor-knotted his striped tie below his neck and slipped his shoulders into the coup-de-gras, his newly-tailored dark blue sport coat. When he finished donning the coat, he admired himself in the mirror and made the final minute adjustments to his attire. He admired his solid, authoritative posture and effortless smile. 

            "Today is the day" he said to his reflection "tod

ay…is…the…day."

            With that he turned and sat on the chair, pulled on a pair of black socks and retrieved his freshly-polished loafers from under the chair and placed them on his feet. He took a final check in the mirror, smiled and then strode back to the kitchen. He grabbed his wallet and cellphone off the kitchen counter, fished a croissant out the wax-paper bakery bag from yesterday and slung his briefcase over his shoulder, before finally heading for the door to the hallway. As he walked out he turned again to the angels in the room and grinned mischievously at them. He shut the door and walked down the hall to the elevator. As he rode down to the ground floor he munched on his croissant and indulged a fantasy abou his future apartment. He imagined the genuine Persian rug, the modern paintings he could discuss over with guests, the real antiques and windows with drapes and knotted tassles as the elevator hummed downward. 

            Finally it cruised to a stop and the doors dinged apart. He continued to stride through the lobby, nodded at the bored, overweight girl manning the desk and headed to the street to hail a cab. One stopped within a minute and he climbed inside. "Brighton Building" he said to the driver. 

            He arrived at the building with ten minutes to spare. As he walked from the cab his head tilted slowly up its windowed fifty stories until his eyes locked on their target. The right-most and top-most corner window, the window of the CEO of Partyville USA. He sighed proudly, taking stock of the window. Wallace’s window. His window. Aside from the maintenance level above, and the helipad-capped roof, there was no taller place in all of Omaha. His place. 

            The sight of it swelled his anticipation even further. His body seemed to bloom from within, bursting from a sweet interior music. He held his head high as he pushed through the revolving door into polished and stately lobby. He nodded at the pretty blonde receptionist whose name he could never recall.

            “Good morning Mr. Hicks” she greeted with a broad smile.

            “And good morning to you” he said, matching her smile as he pushed the button for the elevator. When it finally arrived and its passengers disembarked, he walked in with the two people who had arrived after him and pressed the button for the top floor. As the elevator climbed, he whistled softly, though he whistled more loudly as his fellow passengers got off on their respective floors. All the while, his left fingers unconsciously caressed his briefcase. At last, the doors to the forty-ninth floor parted for him, and he was greeted by the colorful and balloon-dotted sign for Partyville USA on the wall facing him.

            On the way to his office, he swung into the break room and opened the mini-fridge to grab a raspberry yogurt from the six pack he had bought yesterday. However, his high switched gears rapidly when he noticed that instead of the five yogurts that had been there when he left work last night, there were now only three. He slammed the refrigerator door shut and spun around. The only other people in the break room were two interns hunched over the break table drinking black coffee. Roland noticed that both seemed to be hung over.

            “Hey” snapped Roland. One of the interns wearily raised his head.

            “You guys take my yogurts?” Roland asked impatiently. He locked eyes with the more upright of the two, who shook his head.

            “Any idea who did?”

            “No” said the interns in unison.

            “Great” Roland grumbled. He re-opened the fridge and snapped one yogurt free of his brothers and pushed the door, which closed with a thick slap. He grabbed a spoon from the open plasticware box next to the microwave and continued to his office.

            He felt his anticipation coalescing anew as he turned the key to his office and stepped inside. He laid his yogurt, spoon and briefcase on his desk and turned on his computer. As it ran its starting procedures he pulled back the foil top of his yogurt and began eating half-spoonfuls. He glanced at the clock by his door, which was just then ticking to nine o’clock.

            As his computer finished booting up, there was a knock on his door.

            “Knock knock” a voice said from behind it. Roland recognized it.

            “Come in Wesley” he said. Wesley eased open the door.

            “How you feelin’ today Mr. H?” Wesley grinned as he walked in.

            “Pretty damn good” Roland said as he tossed his finished yogurt and spoon into his wastebasket. Wesley was one of the youngest executives of Partyville USA. In only three years he had risen from an intern to his current position, and he seemed primed to become at least CFO before he entered his 30s. He was also a great admirer of Hicks.

            “Can I see it?” he asked, closing the door behind him. Roland grinned and tossed

open the flap of his case. He pulled out the report and handed it over gracefully. Wesley took it, took a second to breathe in the cover before flipping the pages, skimming the lyrical blocks of marketing wizardry and its bold, full-color graphs.

            “Boy does have wow factor” Wesley said as he handed it back.

            “Wow factor five” Roland said, setting on the corner of his desk.

            “Well I gotta run,” said Wesley, backing towards the door “catch you in the conference room.”

            Roland leaned back in his chair as Wesley shut the door. He was only hours away now. One standard morning meeting and lunch was all that lay ahead of him. It was going to be a slow meeting, too. Probably just Beverly discussing an upcoming Fun Run, and Sam Gregory talking about maybe switching balloon distributors. Nothing that would prepare his peers for the jaw-dropping dynamism that he would unleash after lunch.

            When he arrived at the meeting, he took his usual seat between Beverly and Burt Crawford, who was discussing politics with Hal Morgan as he usually did before meetings commenced. Although Roland held no strong political beliefs of his own, he respected Burt for how attuned and aware he seemed to be.

            “I tell you this country is going straight down the socialist shithole,” Burt grumbled as Roland sat down “what happened to spending sensibly.”

            “Things sure have changed since we had Reagan in office” said Roland.

            “Amen to that,” Burt said with a rueful nod “now there was a man who understood that you can’t just spend, spend, spend and expect hardworking people to foot the bill. Not like this clown we have now.”

            “Amen” said Roland as James Wallace emerged from the twin doors to his office and began the meeting. As Roland predicted, the meeting dragged by. Beverly’s rundown of the Fun Run had a sedative effect on her coworkers, to the point where Burt leaned over to Roland and whispered “well I hope it’s a lot more fun than hearing about it.” All the while Roland was sneaking furtive glances at Luanne, the blonde secretary at the end of the table, but she barely raised her head from the minutes she was keeping.

            Sam Gregory’s presentation was even worse. Roland was less polite during his presentation. He had always viewed Sam with a vague contempt, which he could never quite explain, beyond some sort of innate imperative to do so. At the moment though, it was the boredom he was generating. When Sam’s eyes made their way to him throughout the presentation Roland would make covert yawning motions which would trip Sam up mid-sentence. The second time he was also noticed by Wesley across the table, who smiled slyly at Roland as Sam garbled another sentence. Roland winked at Wesley while Sam struggled to regain his rhetorical footing.

            Wallace adjourned the meeting half an hour before lunch, and Roland walked back to his office while thinking over where to eat. On his way, Sam walked up beside him.

            “Real mature Hicks” he whispered venomously.

            “All in good fun, Sam” Roland said, keeping his eyes down the hall.

            “Well I’ll tell you what’s also fun Hicks,” Sam said, looking around “Wallace isn’t going to be around much longer, and as soon as he’s gone it’ll be me running things around here, and when that happens I hope for your sake you keep that playground bullshit under control.”

            “We’ll see” Roland said knowingly.

            “We certainly will” Sam said before turning into the break room.

            “You poor, pitiful bastard” Roland muttered to himself.

            He opened his office door to see Luanne sitting in his chair, with her legs resting on the table.

            “There’s my big guy” she said, standing and approaching Roland. He saw that she had unfastened the top two buttons of her pink blouse, revealing the tip of her cleavage. Without hesitation she threw her arms around his neck and began kissing him affectionately. Roland obliged her modestly until he drew his head back.

            “Anyone see you come in?” he asked softly, checking to make sure all of his blinds were closed.

            “Nope, nobody” she said “I was very sneaky.” She moved down to his neck, alternating between soft kisses and gentle nibbles. Her hands stroked his arms.

            “Mmmmmm, tell me you love me Sweet Baby” she breathed.

            “I love you” he said. He was lying. Roland had actually been tiring of Luanne for weeks. Much of it had to do with his increasing distaste for her simple, folksy ways. She was from a small Oklahoma town whose population never managed to exceed 400. While he had been initially charmed by her uncomplicated earthiness, his feelings had long since faded into dispirited bemusement. He was only feebly attracted to her now and whenever they were together his thoughts would inevitably drift to her tiny but various imperfections. The relative huskiness of her frame, her broad face, or her small, oddly-shaped breasts that she was nonetheless proud of. Her only truly remarkable feature was her lush, golden hair. Roland ran his fingers through it as she exhaled an aroused breath. He felt her right hand caressing down his chest.

            “You know,” she whispered into his ear, her hand drifting past his stomach “we still have twenty minutes ‘til lunch.” She rested her index finger on the tip of his pants. “How about a little appetizer?” she purred. Roland shook his head slightly at her clumsy innuendo without her noticing.

            “I don’t know about that Sweetie” he said.

            “Come on she urged” a small, wicked smile forming on her lips. Her hand rotated down, gently gripping his balls through his pants.

            “I promise I’ll make it worth your while…” she said, fondling his shaft with her thumb.

            “It’s just -” Roland began before he was interrupted by the intercom on his desk.

            “Mr. Hicks?” said the voice. Roland recognized it as Sophie, Wallace’s secretary. Roland disentangled himself from Luanne and pressed the speak button.

            “Yes?”

            “Mr. Wallace would like to see you.”

            “Excellent,” he said, a flush of relief coming over him “I’ll be right there.”He released the button and turned to Luanne who was re-buttoning her blouse.

            “Sorry sweetie” he said, trying to sound disappointed “I gotta see what the big guy wants.”

            “Fine” she huffed “I’ll see you later? We can go to Howdy’s” by which she meant her favorite Barbecue place.

            “Sure” said Roland, trying to banish the image of Luanne sloppily eating her usual pulled-pork sandwich.

            “Lovely! See you then lover!” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

            “Yup” said Roland as checked the hallway.

He walked to Wallace’s office and entered to find him spun halfway in his chair behind his enormous desk, which also bore the logo of Partyville USA. Wallace turned from looking at the pedestrians below when he heard Roland enter.

            “Roland, my boy” he said, sitting up in his chair “have a seat.”

            “Thank you sir” Roland said, taking one of the two chairs facing the desk.

            “Can I get you a drink?” Wallace said, rising and walking towards a large painting of himself that was mounted on the wall.

            “Sure, though I didn’t know you had any here” said Roland.

            “Well just between you and me…” said Wallace as he opened the painting like a door to reveal a fully-stocked drinks cabinet. Roland laughed.

            “Some Crown Royal would be nice actually” he said.

            “That sounds like a plan” said Wallace, removing two glasses and setting them on the desk. He unsheathed the whiskey from its purple velvet bag and poured a shot into each glass.

            “The reason I ended today’s meeting early,” Wallace began before savoring a sip of whiskey “is I wanted to touch base with you briefly.”

            “Oh?” said Roland, taking a sip.

            “I want to show you something Roland” said Wallace as he walked over to his shelves which housed a number of business trophies, plaques and medals. He looked for a minute before removing a translucent diamond-shaped trophy.