Chapter 16
ONE LAST CHANCE....
"One thing sure as hell," Carl said intenselj' across the restaurant table as he and Elaine shared mid-morning coffee, "Bob Smelton is getting the axe and the word has to break soon."
"That figures. It's been two weeks since he made the pitch to you. What's holding him up?"
"Maybe he can't find a candidate?"
"Don't you think Al would take the job? You did recommend him."
"No, I don't think he'd take it and I also don't think Darcy would offer it to him. It would be too logical for this place. Things don't work that way"
"You sound like a professional sarcastic, but I'm afraid you're right. They haven't had a good top man here since they knifed Ken. Wait a minute though." Elaine paused and looked at him. "They did offer it to you, so there goes your pat statement out the window."
"Not so. It had me worried for a while, but I came up with the answer. I didn't hear his terms. Maybe it was going to be offered on a basis that would have made it impossible for me to do a job."
"You're pretty fast on your feet, Jordan."
"I have to be, my sweet, to keep up with you"
"Okay then. If not Al, then who?"
Her question and their attempts at finding a logical answer kept them occupied for another five minutes. After that, the other agency types began to drift in. As usual, it was their signal to leave.
Bob Smelton almost groped his way along the hall. Tears which he fought to hold back blinded him and he found his way to his office only because he had made the trip often enough to remember the way.
Passing his secretary's desk without speaking, let alone picking up messages, he slumped into his chair. If there were messages for him, they wouldn't be important. He had just been fired.
As long as he lived, he knew he would remember and relive the horror of that meeting in Sinclair's office. The vice president was smug and full of cliches as he told Bob that in the order of things, new blood had to replace old from time to time.
"There's nothing personal about this, Bob," he said with what appeared to be a warm look of friendship, "it's just that the department needs a shake-up and only a brand new man can do that."
"What did I do wrong? I brought in that tire account. I've got other things on the fire."
"There's no point in going over details, Bob. We're prepared to permit you to resign, we'll give you a nice settlement, you'll land on your feet. You have a lot of friends in the industry."
At that moment, Bob realized just how few real friends he had. When you get the chop in the agency field, he knew, you're all alone. Friends will meet you on the street, if they don't spot you far enough ahead to avoid it, they say all the proper, sympathetic things, and end up by saying that it's too bad their shop is filled right up at the moment.
"Keep in touch though, if we bring in another couple of accounts we're going to need someone with your qualifications."
He had used the line often enough himself to know that he was going to be on the receiving end of it for a while. After that, what? For the first time in his life, Bob Smelton considered the possibility of suicide.
There could be a grand gesture. He could leave a note on his desk, open the ninth floor window of his office and step out. It would be all over. If anyone laughed at him then, he wouldn't be around to hear it .
"Who's taking over?" He wondered why he hadn't thought to ask sooner.
"Mike Kalman. We'll anounce it as soon as your resignation comes in. Try to get it to me today, will you?"
Mike Kalman. Mike was his own man. He had brought him into the agency despite his lack of background. He was to have been a loyal buffer against more experienced men who could have been a threat.
No, not Mike. That just couldn't be. He had felt the knife between his ribs earlier, now it was twisting and grating against the bone.
Sitting slumped over his desk with his head in his hands, Bob felt the knife still twisting. He still couldn't believe it was true that Mike Kalman was behind the knife and ready to take over.
His hand gripped the phone tightly as he dialed Mike's number. He had to hear it from the man's own mouth before he could accept it.
Mike's secretary told him that Mike was out and wouldn't be back until after lunch. Was her tone really different or did he just imagine it? Does everybody in the department know it? Are they all laughing behind my back?
How neat of them to arrange that Mike be away when he got the news. That way, there could be no direct confrontation until later. Mike could pick up the job without having to watch the flow of blood. They thought of everything.
"Are you all right, Bob?"
Startled, Bob looked up to see his secretary, Jean, standing by the desk. He hadn't heard her come in. He noticed she had closed the door behind her, but he hadn't heard that either.
"I've just been fired." He dropped the words like soggy lumps.
"Oh no." Jean sounded genuinely surprised.
She moved closer and his arms wrapped around her hips, his face pressed into the front of her dress Through the thin material, he felt the firm warmth of her body.
Jean was just twenty-three and, while her face was a shade less than stunning, she was still attractive and her body was a lush thing.
Bob knew about her body. He had explored it without clothes being in the way. There had never been any ultimatum involved in the way of come across or else. Rather, when he first made his play for her she was bright enough to know that it was a part of holding her job.
She came across that time, on the couch in his office, and was always ready when he made demands on her after that. The demands weren't frequent though. He seldom took her to bed and that suited her fine since she didn't regard him as much of a lover and she was experienced enough so that she could make a fair evaluation of a man in that department.
Instead, he usually contented himself with running a hand up her dress as she stood beside his chair. For a while, he would play with her thighs, then, when he began moving his hand, she would part her thighs and allow him to play with her through her panties.
Now, as he felt the warmth through her dress, he discovered he needed her. He wondered if she would let him do it now that he wasn't really her boss.
Quickly, his hands moved under her dress and pulled it up. She wore no slip and he saw the nice swell of tummy through the blue nylon panties.
His face pressed into the warmth at the bottom of her panties. He felt smooth thighs below the nylon. Behind her, his hands cupped the firm, nylon sheathed buttocks.
Bob began to cry then. His cries were muffled by her body. His tears made her panties very wet, but she didn't seem to mind.
When even the film of nylon was too much, he tugged her panties down and she made no objection. His tears fell against her belly then and trickled into her triangle of tangled brown foliage.
Her buttocks were smooth under his hands, smooth and firm and warm. They almost brought comfort. It was as if there was just one thing blocking him from finding the comfort her body could provide. He had to find out what it was.
There was physical discomfort and he had to find it. He stopped sobbing as he strove to locate the area where comfort was needed most. He felt himself straining against the front of his pants then and knew what it was, knew what had to be done.
While his left hand still held Jean's bottom from behind, his right reached to fight the zipper down and reach inside. When his hand came out of the open front of his pants, it was filled and he knew all the pressure would be gone in a little while.
The hand began to move in the familiar motion he had learned back in boyhood. The fact that Jean was there watching didn't matter to him at all. Bob was a little boy again and the world had become confusing.
What he was doing would take him away from all of the confusion of adults. The silken buttocks under the nylon panties felt good as he continued to rub them.
In just a little while, Bob felt his body brace and knew it was going to happen then. He closed his eyes and held back to intensify the delicious moment just before release. It felt so good.
Then it was throbbing and spurting. He saw the jets disappear under his desk. The thing in his hand became soft. It was all better now.
Without a word, Jean handed him a box of tissues and he began cleaning himself. When he was finished, he put the spent thing back into his pants and zipped them closed.
Turning, he looked into her face without a trace of shame. There was a placcid expression on his face. She had never seen him look so boyishly innocent.
"I'm going out for a while, Jean."
"Will you be back?" She didn't specify today, just will you be back. "I don't know."
Jean was alone in the office then. She tried to tell herself that what she had just seen was really true. She saw the stains on the rug in front of and under the desk.
Trembling a little, she left the office and went to the washroom.