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July 9, 2004
Marks - Chapter 9
By QBlog in
I want to thank all those who've taken the time to let me know how much they are enjoying this novel. It's really exciting to know that people love reading this serialized book. All of your comments will be passed along to the author. I wish I could open up the blog comments for each post but due to the length of the chapters on the blog, open commenting would probably result in an unnecessary and avoidable server strain.
What is this novel I'm talking about? Well, it's called Marks and it 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. All previous chapters are archived here on the blog so if you missed any just search for "Marks" and you should be caught up in no time.
And for all the fans of the first eight chapters of Marks, I'll be publishing Chapter 10 tomorrow as a special bonus!
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 9
Work had become hell. Teri spent eight hours pecking numbers through her brain and head, interrupted only by breaks spent surrounded by people who eyed her suspiciously and whispered behind their hands.
Going home was a relief.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Tom warned when she stepped out of out of the chilly rain and into the townhouse. “You have a wives’ meeting in an hour.”
Teri tried not to grimace. The wives’ meetings were a combination of pep talks, Bible study and psychology lecture. More experienced Sheik Chic retailers taught how to help the business succeed – by being understanding, obedient and always smiling. A large part of the two hours was devoted to methods of stroking men’s egos.
Teri found it humiliating. Still, she went every week and wore her idiotic, supportive grin the entire time. Tom had requested that she commit to six months of meetings. That wasn’t too much to ask, Teri reasoned. She might not be completely convinced that his methods were the best, but she knew Tom only had her interests in mind. He just wanted to build a better life for them. Tom told her that at Uncle Robert’s funeral and Teri cherished the knowledge.
She silently repeated the words he said that night whenever she wanted to skip a meeting or pick an argument over something petty.
Like the carpet.
Belinda Jackson’s latest tape preached the importance of a pristine home.
A sparkling personal appearance went a long way, Belinda trilled, but a disordered house was worse than a lipstick-free face. Even the mailman was a potential. Who wants him to see a messy home, with newspapers piled high and shoes thrown around the living room? What kind of message did that send? A home is a testament to the lifestyle Sheik Chic provides. Your house should demonstrate that you have ample time to take care of the details. Make those beds! Don’t let a dirty dish stay in the sink! Dust and vacuum daily. Every single speck of dirt is a blight on your dreams. The Sheik Chic home furnishing line will keep your décor fresh and modern. Update seasonally to have a house you are proud to keep up.
Ever since listening to the rhetoric on the long drive back from a distant steakhouse, Teri had to polish the bookcase of performance trophies and mementos and give the house a quick run with the sweeper after work.
At first she argued that Tom should do those chores, since he was home all day.
That was ridiculous, Tom countered. There was men’s work and women’s work. It wasn’t sexist, it was just a fact. He ran the business and Teri ran the houseold. She should be happy to do her part to make their dreams become reality.
Besides, he continued, it wasn’t as if he just sat at home watching television. He was out making contacts and housecalls. He probably worked harder than she did.
Teri grimaced as she remembered. She grabbed her dusting cloth and jerked it across the top of the spotless bookcase.
When she pulled the vacuum out of its niche in the tiny closet, she knocked over a stack of videos and the lining of her winter coat. Hastily, she stuffed everything back in and made a mental note to give the storage area a thorough cleaning over the weekend.
At a previous wives’ meeting, a Mega claimed that vacuuming could be quite relaxing. Enjoy the overlapping star patterns you make in the carpet, she advised. Imagine you are sucking the negativity out of your environment. And always smile.
Teri found it difficult to smile when she really wanted to cry. She wished she could peel off her pantyhose and the confining business suit, draw a fragrant bubble bath and spend the evening clean and warm in her loose, soft cotton pajamas. She would read a novel, maybe drink a cup of tea and watch some mindless comedy on television.
When she had decorated the living room carpet with row after row of intersecting lines, she moved down the hallway to the bedroom. She didn’t need to take as much care in rooms where visitors would never see. She plunged the head of the vacuum cleaner under the bed a few times and completed a tight circle around the small room.
“Don’t worry about cooking,” Tom called out as soon as Teri turned off the sweeper. “There was a delivery today so we have plenty of Desert Oasis frozen dinners. I’ll nuke something later.”
“Okay,” Teri mumbled back. She shoved the vacuum into the bedroom closet and padded into the kitchen to make a sandwich. She would have to eat as she drove to the meeting.
Abuja, Nigeria
Mr. Reyima:
I have contacted your lawyer with the information you requested. There is a question of who should pay the demurrage fee, but I am certain that problem will be resolved shortly.
This small holdup should not have any bearing on your potential affiliation with my company. Wear e very excited about expanding our operations into your country. With essentially no competition for our high-quality products, you may be able to recoop your initial investment within the very first week of owning your own business!
I do, however, understand about your present monetary situation. Possibly we can work out an arrangement to finance your franchise costs. However, I would have to be convinced that you are seriously interested in joining my team. Remember that this opportunity involves a good bit of marketing and recruiting but with a little work it can prove quite lucrative. Teri and I will be with you every single step of the way by helping you polish your skills and reach your goals.
Bala, I can’t tell you how excited I am about this. An email just can’t convey my enthusiasm! We are really at the beginning of something special. There is enough money out there to allow you and many of your countrymen to experience the lifestyle that I enjoy – one not burdened by financial worries and woes.
Maybe I am getting too personal here, but I always wanted a real legacy to pass on to my children. I always wanted a business that I built from the ground up. I hope you feel the same way. Of course, you won’t have to start from scratch since the support system is well in place, but this is a wonderful chance to touch future generations.
If you are serious, Bala, very serious about working hard, having fun and building a money-generating business then we can work something out about the fee.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely, Tom Remley.
“What do you think?” Marco asked after he finished reading from the computer screen.
Jacob sighed and continued fumbling with the knot of his tie.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “It doesn’t sound like the thousand dollars you asked for is coming anytime soon.”
“He’s cautious” Marco admitted. “But that may be a good thing if we go into business with him.”
“Well write him back, Bala. But he says there’s a lot of work involved. That probably means a lot of time.”
“So what?”
“So I thought your heart was set on getting out of here as soon as possible.”
“No,” Marco said thoughtfully. “That was you.”
“I still think you’re better off working for Dr. Bean,” Jacob said. He shrugged on a navy blue dress jacket. Dr. Bean had borrowed the suit from the teenage son of a friend. The fit was almost perfect.
Marco cocked his head and watched his friend preen in the mirror.
“Big date tonight, huh?”
“It’s not a date,” Jacob insisted. “Muriel has this fancy do with the company that is sponsoring her internship. She needs an escort and it has to beat sitting here counting my nose hairs.”
“I like Muriel. She’s cute.”
“She’s not your type,” Jacob warned.
“What’s my type? I’d think you’d want your two best friends in the world to hook up. I can see it now, you as the best man at our wedding.”
“Shut up.”
“Next time she needs an escort, offer my services.”
Jacob grunted. He tried to wedge his feet into a pair of dress shoes, also borrowed, that were a size and a half too small.
“Won’t you be busy building your business, Bala?”
Jacob finally succeeded in squishing his feet in the leather oxfords. Untied, the pinching was almost bearable.
“Hopefully,” Marco replied with a frown. “If I can get around this whole assumed name thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t go signing official business papers as Bala Reyima.”
“So you tell him your real name.”
“And lose his trust and respect?”
“Then what?” Jacob asked.
“I have to do it diplomatically.”
Jacob took a deep breath and laced the shoes.
“Why do you even want to do it in the first place?” he asked in a pained voice through gritted teeth. “If you want to run a business so badly, tell your dad. I’m sure there’s some little subsidiary of Brand Family Foods that he’ll give to you. Since we were kids, all I’ve heard from him is that you take no interest in the company. He’ll probably be so excited that he’ll fly you home tomorrow.”
“I’d rather flip burgers than work at BFF,” Marco grumbled.
“There’s always been a Brand at the head of the corporation,” Jacob bellowed in a reasonable facsimile of Jonathon Brand.
“Yeah, generation after generation of Brand men riding the coattails of a particularly business-savvy and ruthless great-great-great-Uncle. No thanks. I want to earn my own way.”
Jacob snorted.
“You’re doing a great job of that. Really wonderful. Your daddy bought your way through prep school and got you into Kenton. You’ll eventually graduate because of your name. When he dies you’ll be president of a huge business even if you sit around twiddling your thumbs for the next forty years.”
“You think I wanted any of that? You think it’s easy to see your father’s name everywhere? Plaques, trophies, pictures… he was quarterback of the football team, homecoming king and class president. What was there left for me to do? How could I live up to all that?”
Jacob examined his reflection in the mirror, cataloging the effects of squaring his shoulders and tugging his jacket. He smiled sarcastically.
“You live a hard life, Marco.”
“You don’t understand.”
“That’s true. Must be tough to have the perfect guy as a dad. I wouldn’t mind the money, though.”
Marco tapped on the computer keys for a minute.
“How’s Bethany?” he eventually asked in an overly innocent and casual tone.
“She’s okay.”
“She know you’re going out tonight?”
Jacob felt defensive.
“No, but I’m not hiding it from her. It just never came up.”
Marco raised his eyebrows.
“Does she even know about Muriel?”
“It hasn’t come up.” Jacob spoke tersely.
“But you’ve spent like every non-sleeping, non-working minute with the girl for the past week. How could it not come up?”
“You know.”
“What?”
“I don’t want Bethany to get jealous,” Jacob admitted. “Not that there’s anything to be jealous of. Muriel and I are just friends.”
Marco dropped his shoulders and leaned on his chair so that it tilted on its back legs.
“You are clueless,” he moaned. “You know absolutely nothing about women.”
“Okay. Enlighten me.”
“Start dropping some hints about Muriel. Let little Bethany know that she’s got some competition.”
You’re such a jerk,” Jacob said. He scooted across the floor, silently calculating the number of steps he would have to take to get to the lobby and wait for the car that would take him to what promised to be a long, painful evening.
Marco stared at the computer screen for a while. He had absolutely nothing to do. Besides Tom Remly, there had been no takers on the Bala Reyima letter. Marco debated whether or not he should send out another batch of emails. He couldn’t afford another mailing list, but he could scour a few discussion boards and compile his own list of email addresses.
It couldn’t hurt, he told himself. What else was he going to do tonight while Jacob was out with Muriel? Watch mindless television? Play some equally silly video games? Why not use the time to find some suckers with more money than brains who could finance his way home?
Marco just couldn’t bring himself to start. It wasn’t the work that discouraged him, it was the whole plan. Just getting home, simply returning to the life that his dad had orchestrated for him, wasn’t enough anymore. Marco wanted to control his own destiny for once — to succeed or fail on his own terms.
He scrolled down the list of emails in his online account, selected and reread Remly’s last letter.
That was the life he wanted. The luxuries and vacations were appealing, but Marco knew he could attain the same wealth just by staying the course at Brand Family Foods. What Marco really desired was the knowledge that he had went against the grain and answered only to himself. Not to a boss. Not to his father. Not to some outdated notion of family obligation.
Marco felt cold despite the heat that rolled into the room from the miles of concrete surrounding the hotel. He felt empty and nervous. Expectant, although there was nothing in his short-term future to look forward to.
He took a deep breath and began sketching out his next letter to the unseen, unknown businessman on the other side of the world who might offer salvation. The next time he wrote to Tom Remly, it would have to be as himself, no matter what the consequences.
© 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)