« Doris Shaw Arrested | Main | The Harteis Blog »
July 2, 2004
Marks - Chapter 8
By QBlog in
Marks is a novel that tells the story of a young married couple, two college roommates and a successful businessman whose lives ultimately intertwine as the result of a business opportunity — and a dream. Quixtar BLOG is publishing Marks as a serial, making a new installment available every Friday.
If you missed chapter seven, never fear, it's still here for your reading pleasure.
Disclaimer: This book has not been through a final edit. There may be some misspelled words and grammatical errors. Please understand that as you read through the novel.
» Chapter 8
Mr. Reyima;
I am very interested and intrigued by the proposal set forth in your letter. As the owner of an international business, I am well aware of the frustrations that can arise and the occasional need to find associates outside of your home country.
In your email you expressed concern about my honesty. I can assure you that if we do proceed, I can be trusted to take only my agreed-upon share of the money and promptly forward the balance to you. My wife and I are successful entrepreneurs and our extensive holdings both keep us busy and allow us to live our dreams. Rest assured that we will not be tempted to take your money.
Lately, I have toyed with the idea of expanding my business into Africa. If you are interested in exploring a partnership in my retail and marketing firm, please let me know. I am always eager to find energetic associates who want to work for themselves and realize a lucrative return on an incredibly small investment.
Sincerely,
Tom Remly
President, Remly International
“How about that?”
Marco sat back proudly while Jacob read over his shoulder.
“I don’t get it. Are they sending us money or offering us a job?” Jacob asked.
Marco turned his attention back to the notebook computer. He scrolled through a selection of files and opened a document.
“This has got to make you feel better about the whole proposition,” he said without looking up from the screen. “After all, Jakey, this guy is loaded. He’s not going to miss a few thousand dollars.”
“He’ll sure miss the six million we promised him,” Jacob muttered as he trudged the few steps to his bed.
“He understands all about risk and business loss. He’s not counting on that money.”
Jacob curled his bare toes across the rough carpet.
“He’s an international businessman. He’s too savvy to fall for this.”
“No way,” Marco argued. “If he was on to us then he never would have answered the email in the first place. I think his experience is going to make everything easier, actually.”
“How so?” Jacob was skeptical.
“He’s not going to expect something for nothing. He’ll understand all about red tape and corrupt bureaucrats.”
Jacob stretch out across the width of the bedspread. Life was so simple to Marco. He did what he wanted to in the moment and never worried that he couldn’t deal with the consequences. Jacob wished that he had the same ability to constantly see the best of a situation and know that everything would work out.
With a great effort, Jacob pulled his arm through the heat and looked at his wristwatch.
“Get off the computer,” he commanded with sudden energy. He threw a pillow at Marco and jumped off the bed in a single motion.
“What?” Marco asked as the cushion bounced off his head.
“It’s my turn.”
“Just wait a minute, Jakey. I’m almost done.”
“Now.”
“I only want to add a little bit to the email. Respond to their partnership offer and put in a personal note. Then I have to log into the other account and send the letter from the lawyer. Fifteen minutes, tops.”
“Tough. I’m meeting Bethany online. It’s cheaper than using the telephone.”
Jacob grabbed at the computer and tried to tug it off the table but Marco held firm.
“Calm down. It’s Bethany. She’ll be late if she shows up at all.”
“I’m not joking. Give me the computer, Marco.”
“Okay, just let me close this down and get the disk out. All we need is for Dr. Bean to find it. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, with all his friends in the government.”
A sudden, chilling thought entered Jacob’s mind. He stopped struggling and backed away from the table.
“Hey,” he said very quietly. “We can’t get in any real trouble over this, can we?”
“What do you mean?” Marco asked distractedly. Saving his work occupied most of his attention.
“I mean jail. How seriously illegal is this?”
Marco ejected the disk then turned around and rolled his eyes.
“What are we doing that’s illegal?” he asked. “We’re lying on the Internet. Ever visit a singles chat room? There cannot be that many five foot seven, one hundred and twenty pound, C-cup redheads home alone on a Friday night.”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay. Listen. Have we given out our real names? No. Are we going to? No. Any money that changes hands is going to be handled as a cash transfer by Western Union so we aren’t performing any credit card fraud. Relax, Jakey. Come type to your woman.”
Bethany wasn’t online.
Jacob was supremely disappointed but not terribly surprised. Out of loyalty to her and a good bit of pride, he didn’t want to admit to Marco that she had stood him up. Instead, he browsed a series of boring websites and tried to look happy and in love.
Marco’s gaze never left the television. The music channel was coming in with unusual clarity.
Dr. Bean settled back in the leather armchair and sipped his tea from the tiny china cup with the dainty handpainted roses. The burgundy patina, developed from years of use and infrequent oilings, warmed him as much as the fragrant Earl Grey.
He looked around the room and took in the diplomas, paintings and candid photographs of children. Dark red drapes and two huge, burnished wood desks made the fluorescent lights glow as warmly as candles.
Richard felt a tinge of jealousy even as he enjoyed sitting in the comfortable chair. He would have loved to pack up the entire office and paste it into his little apartment back in Ohio, a world and a lifetime away. He would enjoy brandies and fine cigars and pass every evening organizing his data and his thoughts.
The Greenes were very generous to share their home with him. They greeted him with extraordinary patience when he came by, night after night, with books tucked under his arm. They were about his age, American and professors at the university of Abuja. He had met them at a lecture on campus and fell immediately in love with the life they had created for themselves in the foreign city.
Although they weren’t in his field – Margaret taught English literature and Chris was a physiologist – Richard found them easy to talk to and quite knowledgeable about economics, politics and the everyday challenges of the academic life.
Although a confirmed bachelor and outspoken proponent of negative population growth, Richard was charmed by the loud, playful and intelligent bramble of children that plowed through the house and fired questions at him.
“Homer getting a little deep for you?” Margaret asked from over the edges of her notebook and half-moon glasses.
Richard patted the dog-eared volume in his lap.
“Just relaxing a bit before the suitors meet their grisly fates. You have a wonderful study here. It is so conducive to working.”
“It’s peaceful now,” Chris Greene agreed. “But try doing anything when the kids are awake. A seven year old wandering in and out, the teenagers demanding food, throw in a couple of graduate students calling to suck up and the deep thoughts are stifled before they even form.”
Richard laughed. He witnessed the disruptive power of the Greene offspring in full force during dinner and knew that their father wasn’t exaggerating.
“I really hope you don’t mind me being here so often,” Richard said. “It’s so nice to get out of the hotel and be in a real home.”
Margaret waved away Richard’s concerns.
“The more the merrier,” she insisted. “You wouldn’t believe how entertaining it is for us to have another adult to talk to. Talking to that old thing gets boring fast.”
Margaret looked pointedly at her husband, who smiled back tenderly. The Greenes teased and complained about each other, but everything was covered with a thick sheet of affection. Richard liked that.
“You should bring your research assistant with you sometime,” Chris suggested. “I bet he would enjoy a home-cooked meal and a few rounds of video games with the boys.”
Richard shook his head.
“I’ll ask, but Jacob’s always holed up in the hotel. Chatting with people on the computer, I think.”
Margaret shuddered.
“I have to stay off the internet,” she said with a smirk. “Escept for research and checking the news. I get in fights on message boards. It’s as if all my aggressions and hostilities come out when my fingers hit the keyboard. Of course, then I feel guilty for days. Honestly, though, some of the idiotic things people write – ”
“Now, now, Dear,” Christ interrupted. “Save it for your anonymous, virtual little friends.
Richard grinned and picked up his tattered paperback version of The Odyssey.
The last time he had read the book from cover to cover, he was an undergraduate student taking a required humanities class. He had chugged through the assigned pages and reviewed lecture notes. He had studied the names of the characters and historical timelines and sweated through exams, but he never enjoyed the beautiful imagery and impassioned speeches that grabbed him now.
He was grateful to whatever had stirred him to unpack the half-forgotten texts from the dusty carkboard box under his bed and take them with him on his trip. The Iliad, Don Quixote, The Book of Good Love, Metamorphoses, Candide. They filled his nights with their flowing words and glorious stories.
Richard wondered how much of his life had been wasted preparing for tests but missing the beauty of the subject.
“I forgot to tell you,” Margaret said while shuffling papers across her desk. “The University is looking for an adjunct professor. I don’t know if your research will keep you here long enough to make it worthwhile, but it might be nice to make a bit of extra money. An international position never hurt the old curriculum vitae, either.”
Richard frowned.
“I could use the paycheck, but I am so tired of being behind the podium and lecturing to a classroom of students who don’t want to be there. I’m enjoying my break.”
“Things really bad at Kenton?” Margaret sounded sympathetic.
“No worse than anywhere else, I guess. I hate to sound so old but ‘kids today’ and all those clichés.”
“You might be surprised,” Chris interjected. “We have our share of the rich kid, legacy types – only in it because papa made them. But then there are the idealistic ones who are determined to learn everything they can and take it back to their village.”
Margaret nodded.
“Some of the students fight tooth and nail to get to the University. They make everything worthwhile.”
“I’ll think about it,” Richard said slowly.
Chris smiled at his wife.
“We were only here for a semester, you know. It’s been six years now.”
Richard ran his fingertip down the line of octagonal bronze nailheads on the arm of his chair and tried to concentrate on Homer.
“Bethany? Can you hear me?”
“Jakey! What a surprise. Why are you whispering? Or is it a bad connection?”
Jacob huddled in the corner of his hotel room, the telephone resting on his shoulder, and glanced toward the bathroom door.
“Marco’s taking a shower,” he explained. “I don’t want him to hear me.”
“Why not? What’s the matter?”
Jacob pictured Bethany sitting on her bright orange beanbag chair, her long legs sprawled out in front of her and her fingers twisting her golden hair into tight ringlets.
He decided to take the conversation directly to the point.
“Where were you over the weekend?”
“The weekend?”
“Yeah. We were supposed to meet online.”
“Oh, Jakey,” Bethany cried. “I am so sorry. The cable was out all day and I couldn’t connect at all. You know the little light on the modem? It just kept blinking.”
“I tried to call. Every chance I could for the past three days.”
“God, is that what this is about? I can’t study at the library without clearing it with you all the way in Africa?”
There was real exasperation in her voice.
“Of course not,” Jacob said gently. “I was just worried about you, that’s all.”
“You don’t sound worried.” Jacob imagined Bethany’s full lips sagging into a pout. “You sound angry.”
“No, I’m not. It’s just really hard to be away from you, you know? I miss you all the time and I really looked forward to talking to you, even if it was through the computer.”
Bethany sighed.
“It’s hard on me too, Jakey. When are you coming back from Somalia?”
“Nigeria,” Jacob corrected.
“Whatever. When are you going to be back at Kenton?”
Jacob calculated how much he had earned toward his ticket home. Unless Tom Remly or someone like him came through with the money, he still had three or four months of work as Dr. Bean’s assistant ahead of him.
“Not long,” Jacob answered. His stomach tightened with the lie. “A week or two. Three tops.”
“Good, ‘cause the spring formal is next moth.”
“It wouldn’t do to have the prettiest girl on campus go without a date,” he teased.
“Your biased, but of course I couldn’t go solo.”
“Surely you wouldn’t go with some other guy?”
“Why not? We’re not dating exclusively.”
Jacob felt light-headed. He moved closer to the air conditioner vent and let the cool breeze brush across his face.
“What do you mean?” he finally asked.
“Look, Jakey. If you’re here then we’ll go. If not I’ll find someone else. It’s just not a big deal.”
“Okay.”
Jacob felt very hollow, as if everything except his skin and bones had been ripped out of him. There was no heart to beat, not blood to pump and no feelings except for intense loneliness.
“I’ve got to go, Jakey.” Bethany sounded impatient. “Call me when you’re not so gloomy.”
Jacob slowly set the phone back in its cradle.
“I’m getting out of here,” he yelled toward the bathroom. The spatter from the shower stopped.
“Going downstairs? Will you bring me back a soda?” Marco called back.
“I’m going to explore the city a bit,” Jacob answered. He was out the door and down the hall before Marco could interrogate him or ask to tag along.
When he threw open the thick, glass door, Jacob felt as if he was facing a brand new world. He stood on the concrete stoop, flanked by plastic palm fronds arranged in giant brass bowls, and let the cars whiz by him. Plumes of hot dust blew against his bare legs.
Dr. Bean insisted that when the rainy season began in a few weeks, the streets would flood and their skin would pucker from the constant humidity. Today, though, the sun hung like a paper cutout pasted on a pale blue, construction paper sky. Jacob turned his face up and let the warm rays caress his skin.
Traffic was busy and there were no sidewalks or streetlights, but Jacob strode past the hotel. He turned down the first side road he found and walked as quickly as he could past the stalls displaying bundles of dried and fresh vegetables and piles of beaded jewelry. His sandals slapped against his heels and the dust and tiny bits of rock ripped his skin like hundreds of invisible paper cuts.
He stopped suddenly and let the world complete a wide, slow swirl around him — an intoxicating rotation of heat, spices, orange, brown and red.
There was a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Are you lost?”
Jacob turned around and stared at the light brown hair pulled into a slightly crooked ponytail and tanned skin blending in with her khaki shirt and shorts. The woman smiled and looked up at him with concerned green eyes.
“What?” Jacob found it hard to concentrate. All of his senses were overloaded.
“Are you lost?” she repeated patiently while she gave his shoulder a little shake. “Has something happened? Do you need me to take you to a doctor? The American embassy?”
“No. I was just going out for a walk.”
Jacob wanted to take back the words as soon as they left his mouth. They sounded so lame, but the young woman seemed to accept the excuse.
“Join me for a drink?” she asked. “The heat can really get to you.”
Jacob nodded and followed her down the road a few yards to a float rock nestled between a brick building and a booth selling bolts of emerald and royal blue fabric.
“We’ll have to share,” she said as they settled on the makeshift bench. She swung her backpack around and fished out a sports bottle. “You don’t have anything communicable, do you?”
Jacob shook his head.
“I’m Muriel, from New Jersey.” She paused to take a drink then passed the bottle to Jacob. “I’m doing an internship on international public health.”
Jacob took a long drink. The water was warm and tasted slightly bitter. He let the moisture roll across his tongue and fill the tiny pits of emptiness in his mouth. Over the edge of the bottle he watched Muriel. She was pretty in a cute and wholesome way. Her ponytail bounced jauntily and there were freckles peaking out from the suntan on her cheeks and nose. She looked like the stereotypical girl next door yet somehow she seemed less foreign in the busy marketplace than he felt.
“Jacob,” he introduced himself after a giant swallow. He handed the bottle back and smiled. “I’m from Ohio, here as a research assistant for an economist.”
“Cool.” She leaned back, hugged her knees to her chest and cocked her head to the side. “I’m trying to think of something intelligent to say but it’s tough since I know absolutely nothing about economics.”
“I’m pretty clueless about international public health,” Jacob admitted. “Do you, like, go around inoculating people and weighing babies, that sort of thing?”
Muriel nodded happily.
“And pass out disease prevention literature and organize health clinics.”
“So you’re the ‘save the world’ type.”
Muriel held the bottle up as if giving a toast.
“Oh yeah,” she laughed. “Altruism all the way. We won’t mention that it’s all required to hang on to my scholarship and that nine days out of ten I would rather be watching a football game with a plate of buffalo wings on my lap than passing out my ‘STDs and You’ pamphlets.”
Jacob shook his head.
“No. You’re an idealist.”
Muriel punched his shoulder companionably.
“So what are you doing here, Mr. Economics? Are you some corporate stooge, researching ways to sell miracle smake oil to the natives and rob them of their hard-earned nairas?”
“No, nothing like that.” Jacob struggled to think of a way to describe Dr. Bean’s project that was factually correct and noble sounding. “We’re trying to find some of the differences between actual economic practices here and how the government records them.”
“There are discrepancies?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Well, there are obvious problems with money flow here, but the stance of a lot of officials is that there are no reasons, therefore there can’t be problems. By finding the truth, maybe we can get to the heart of the situation.”
Muriel seemed to look at him with admiration. Jacob felt a little taller. Bethany never asked about what he was doing in Nigeria, he realized. Never once.
“How long are you going to be here?” Muriel asked.
“I don’t know. A few months more. There’s still a lot of work to do.” Jacob didn’t want to tell her about the gambling debt. “What about you?”
Muriel traced the rough lines of the rock with her fingertip.
“At least until the middle of May. That’s when my internship ends, but I might stay and do the tourist thing until school starts in August.”
He had only known her for ten minutes, but Jacob felt that he could talk to Muriel forever. He wanted to learn her thoughts, opinions, hopes and dreams. He wanted to know everything about her. It was a very different feeling than he ever had for Bethany.
He always wanted to tucked Bethany into his arms, stroke her golden hair and promise that everything would be okay. They never had long, soul-searching conversations.
Maybe that was the difference between passion and friendship, Jacob reflected. He loved Bethany, but maybe Muriel would be a good buddy to beat around Nigeria with.
© Copyright 2003-04, Janet Marie Mills - (The Creative Commons License on this site does not apply to this Copyrighted work which is published with the permission of the author)