Draw Me A Picture (33 page)

“I see,” William said, letting it go. No use getting into a fistfight with the boss over a perceived slur against the English.

“Now, who are you again?” Oscar asked William; as he spoke the man produced a bottle of glass cleaner and began spraying the surface of his desk liberally, wiping it off with a clean cloth.

“William Montgomery; Contracts & Negotiation,” William answered, automatically.

“Oh, yeah,” Oscar sat down on his chair, and put his feet up on the clean desk. William saw that his boss’ feet were clad in a pair of very old penny loafers, worn with no socks. He began to suspect the man in front of him placed somewhere between pleasantly eccentric, and seriously off his rocker.

“Well, Montgomery,” Mr. Maclane continued. “Most of the firm lawyers of Brownstone & Peters have been terminated. Why should I keep you on?”

“There’s no reason to,” William said, quickly. “Not unless you want to keep a hard worker who’s been with the former company for six years, and two years previous at the London office. I’ve written hundreds
of contracts and aided negotiations for twenty-seven successful mergers.”
 

“OK,” Oscar said, he took out a cigar from some unseen drawer and lit it. After puffing out a thick smoke ring, he looked back at William. “Tell you what, Montgomery... most of the offices on this floor are being remodeled, but the ones below are already done.”

“Impressive,” William remarked, truthfully. Oscar nodded.

“Yep. Amazing what you can do with twenty crews of workers,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Less downtime. Your office is being worked on now, I think. Your secretary Mabel moved out the documents Friday. The problem I have is … the janitors are on strike.” William raised one eyebrow, slightly; his boss continued. “The new office furniture downstairs is all dusty, what with the work we’ve done. How about you give us a hand with the polishing?”

About to laugh and protest, William thought he saw just the slightest hint of a challenge in the man’s eyes, and humor. Something in William rallied and despite the ludicrous suggestion, he felt like rising to meet this challenge.

“You wish me to polish all the downstairs office furniture?” he asked, just to make certain he knew what the man wanted. Oscar nodded, not breaking his stare.

“Laurel can find a jumpsuit for you to wear so you don’t get your suit all messed up,” he said. “The polishing equipment is already downstairs in the first office. Think you can handle that?” William looked the man square in the eye.

“Not a problem, Mr. Maclane,” he said, evenly. The ghost of a smile hovered on Oscar’s face for a moment.

“Excellent,” he said. “You can let yourself out, Montgomery.”

“Thank you, sir,” William responded. “Good day to you.” He turned and walked out of the office.

Once the door closed, Oscar chuckled to himself. The boy was definitely upper crust but not arrogant. Picking up the remote again he pointed it at the sound system. A rousing, Latin beat filled the air as Oscar stubbed out his cigar.

“They worked from eight to four...” he sang along, getting out of his chair. “They were in love.... they had each other... who could ask for more?” He moved a little from side to side as if he were dancing with an imaginary partner. “At the Copa... Copa Cabana...” He opened a closet door and took out an expensive suit, still moving to the song.

Down the hall, William heard the music and looked over his shoulder. The man wore shorts in November, penny-loafers with no socks and listened to lounge singers… at work. He didn’t even want to consider the watermelon on the desk issue.

“Perhaps I need a new career,”
William thought. Ahead, he spotted Laurel sitting at a sleek new desk. She closed her laptop as he drew near and looked up expectantly.

“Apparently, I am polishing furniture today,” he stated. Mr. Maclane’s assistant smiled.

The secretary did indeed have a spare jumpsuit for him, the kind a janitor would wear. Hanging up his coat in the re-furbished men’s room William had to admit that as much as the new boss appeared to be completely barmy, he certainly could get things accomplished quickly.

“Someone should give him a medal for renovating this building,”
he thought, taking off his tie.

Stowing his things in a coat closet, William exited the room and walked down the hall clad in blue denim; he decided to take the stairwell down to the paralegal floor. The downstairs offices were remodeled in much the same fashion as the lobby; the entire effect was modern, businesslike but rather relaxed regarding color and the simple lines. The first office William encountered harbored a table complete with stacks of clean buffing cloths and several cans of polish. One can had a post-it note on it. Picking up the can, William saw the label and snorted. It read “Old English” furniture polish. The note read: ‘God save the Queen’. For a moment, a muscle in William’s cheek twitched; a slow grin spread over his face.

“He can’t get to me that easily,”
he thought, narrowing his eyes. Rolling up his sleeves, William set to work.

Oscar Maclane sat at his desk, flipping through a file of papers, once again dressed in proper business attire. Pushing his intercom button, he called for Laurel.

“Sir?” came the cheerful voice of his assistant.

“Is he downstairs?” Oscar inquired, smiling to himself.

“Yes, he is,” his assistant answered. “Polishing away, too. Do you still want me to go meet your niece at the main office?”

“Yeah. I’ll be along shortly,” he replied. “Before you go, route all my calls through my cell. I won’t be back from lunch until 1pm.”

“Got it, sir,” Laurel replied. Shutting of the music, Oscar smiled at the lime shirt as he hung it up. One tacky thrift-store shirt with limes on it, $2; one out of state watermelon, $14.82; the look on his niece’s fiancé’s face… priceless.

AMID A fast-moving crowd of businesspeople Michelle walked briskly in the chilly air, snug in her blue coat. Every few seconds, she looked down at a small business card in her hand. The weekend was over; William was working and things seemed more or less back to normal. Looking at her left hand, Michelle smiled; a slight bulge showed could be seen in the glove’s fabric, right over her ring-finger.

“Maybe not quite normal,”
she thought, happily. The young woman continued searching for her uncle’s building. She spied it after a minute, an impressive modern structure with two doormen out front. As she drew near one of them opened a door for her. Inside, the space seemed a little backward; the reception desk was a gray, elongated monstrosity, set fairly close to the doors. The ‘lobby’ appeared almost non-existent. Behind the reception desk hung large glossy, black letters on the wall: 'Felix- Maclane, Attorneys at Law'. Many phones rang in the air; three receptionists sat behind the desk, all answering calls. Michelle waited by the desk for one of them to look up.

An older lady in a smart, brown suit-dress put down her phone and smiled at her in a friendly manner; the smile set Michelle at ease.

“Michelle Gregory to see Oscar Maclane?” she said, timidly. The woman beamed.

“He’s expecting you. Come with me.” The receptionist took out a key-card and came out from behind the desk; she walked briskly past the main elevator. She stopped at a corporate elevator flanked by two security guards. Swiping her card, the woman stepped back as the doors opened. “Go ahead there, dear,” the woman said, kindly. “It stops at his office.” Thanking her, Michelle walked in to the large elevator.

Admiring the polished wood seat, Michelle sat and looked down at the floor; it appeared covered in black granite. Faintly in the background Michelle thought she heard classic rock music playing. She smiled; apparently her uncle wasn’t one for ‘easy listening’ in his elevator.

The elevator doors finally opened; Michelle walked out and immediately felt like she was in a warehouse. The elevator stood by itself as a little box in the huge space. The whole floor was open save for the many support columns. Natural light poured in from huge windows set into the walls on all sides of the room; tall, potted trees stood in between the windows. The floor’s support posts had been fashioned to look like Roman columns. Every thirty feet or so sat large worktables and many chairs, set up in an even pattern throughout the floor.

“There must be a hundred of them,”
Michelle thought, looking around. Modern, small colored lamps hovered over each table, hanging down from the ceiling on long wires. It was by far the most extraordinary office Michelle had ever seen.

Voices filled the air; all around the room echoed calm, steady discussions. Around many of the tables grouped people in business suits; some looked at papers, some talked but most sat in front of computers. Freestanding shelves and wooden file cabinets stood in various places; every once in awhile a lawyer would walk over and open a drawer. It appeared to be a giant research facility.

Searching the faces, Michelle did not see her uncle anywhere. Not wanting to walk around or disturb people, she remained where she was. One table nearby caught her attention; a set of blueprints was spread open on top of it. Two men in suits spoke animatedly in turns with three men who did not appear to be lawyers; they wore blue jackets, with the words ‘Felix-Maclane’ written on the back in white letters. One of them shook his head and crossed out something on the blueprints.

A blond woman stood near this group, holding a clipboard. After a moment, she turned around and saw Michelle standing by the elevator. Stepping closer to her, the woman held out her hand and smiled.

“You must be Michelle, Mr. Maclane’s niece,” she said, pleasantly. “I’m Laurel Ecland, his assistant.” The woman stood a little shorter than Michelle; she guessed the blond woman to be about twenty-four or twenty-five. She was very pretty in a crisp, modern way and dressed fashionably in a tailored knee-length business dress; elegant, thin glasses perched on her slender nose. She had on a tasteful amount of makeup on; her curly, blond hair was cut to fall to her chin in bouncy ringlets; it appeared to be naturally blond.

“It is nice to meet you,” Michelle said.

Laurel looked at her face closely.

“I can see the family resemblance,” she said, smiling. “Hopefully you didn’t inherit the unpredictable temper and tendency toward incivility.” Michelle smiled. She liked this lady already. “You uncle’s running a little late and asked me to show you around until he gets here, alright?” Michelle nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, quietly. Laurel smiled and walked slowly forward, pointing out different departments on the one floor.

“I know it looks a little weird in here,” she began, “But the Boss figures we’ve save huge amounts of time not opening doors or running from one floor to another.”

“On the contrary, I like the feel of this place,” Michelle said. “I think the only issue would be trying to concentrate.” They passed a group of people talking loudly, with an occasional burst of laughter. Laurel grinned.

“Nope,” she said, cheerfully. “If it gets too loud, you just slip on your ear-buds and keep typing.” Michelle smiled at this; it seemed quite a relaxed place of business, for a law firm.

Laurel led them over to a less-occupied corner. A sort of sitting area had been arranged there, taking up nearly a quarter of the floor, complete with comfortable couches and chairs, coffee tables, an espresso cart and even a small café, with tables. Several potted trees formed a temporary barrier between the sitting area and the rest of the ‘office’. Sitting on an empty couch, Laurel sighed and set down her clipboard.

“I won’t ever get fat working here,” she said, grinning. “I probably walk several miles a day just on this floor alone.” Michelle smiled at her words and began to take off her coat. Removing her gloves, she stuffed them in her coat’s pockets; unbeknownst to her, the new ring on her finger caught a ray of sunlight.

“Oh, my gosh...” Laurel said, suddenly. She sat up, staring at Michelle’s hand. “Is that real? Holy cow...” Looking down at her hand, Michelle smiled and blushed.

“Oh… my boyfriend, William, proposed to me this weekend,” she explained, softly. She sat down on a comfy chair just opposite Laurel, so she could see her ring better. Studying it closely, her uncle’s assistant smiled. She looked at Michelle with raised eyebrows.

“Impressive,” she said. “Now, is he as great a guy as that ring suggests?” Smiling, Michelle nodded in answer. Sighing, Laurel leaned back against the couch. “Some girls have all the luck,” she said, affecting a sad look.

“I don’t believe luck had anything to with it,” Michelle said, biting her lip. “I just think God is an incredibly good matchmaker. There is no other way to explain how we met.” Laurel’s eyes glittered.

“OK... now I’m really curious,” she said, sitting forward.

OSCAR WALKED up to the café area some twenty minutes later; the girls still sat on couch, talking. Laurel dabbed at her eyes with tissues, wiping away actual tears. Oscar halted, having never seen his spirited assistant cry before.

“Oh, my gosh... that is so sweet!” Laurel was saying. “Is he like the perfect guy or what? He went down on one knee and everything? Wow...” She blinked down at the empty tissue box in dismay.

Michelle looked up and saw her uncle standing close by, with a puzzled expression on his face; she smiled at him and stood up. He looked different in a suit, she decided; very professional; she could see how some folks would view the man as intimidating.

“Uncle Oscar,” she said. Laurel quickly wiped her eyes on her hand and stood too, pretending to study something on her clipboard.

“I hope I’m not… interrupting,” Oscar said, managing a half smile. Michelle kept herself from laughing; it was amusing to see the tall, stern man ill at ease over girly conversation.

“Not at all,” she said.

“She was just telling me how her gorgeous man proposed,” Laurel said, smiling at Michelle. “I need to meet a nice guy like that. I’ll leave you two alone. Take care, Michelle.” Nodding, she walked off with her clipboard in hand.