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August 13, 2004
Marks - Chapter 15
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. 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.
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 15
“Mrs. Remly?”
Teri pulled her eyes open and turned her head toward the door. Instead of the orderly, ready with a wheelchair to take her for another excruciating hour with the physical therapist, she was surprised to see a magnificent spray of peach roses. The arrangement was so large that it burst outside of the frame of the doorway.
“May I come in?” asked a voice from the other side of the wall of flowers.
“Of course,” Teri answered. She breathed deeply and let the thick floral aroma fill her lungs.
A large, blond man in jeans and a denim workshirt pushed the arrangement in and carried it to the corner under the wall-mounted television.
“Here okay? You’ll be able to see it from the bed and anyone passing by will get a nice glimpse of it.”
“That’s fine.” Teri couldn’t take her eyes off of the flowers. They were arranged in a plain urn and shot out at all angles. She guessed that the display was over four foot high.
“How many roses is that?” she asked. “Five dozen?”
“Six,” the delivery man answered.
“Is there a card?” Teri was surprised at such an extravagant gift and more than a little confused. Tom could never afford a present like this. Even if money were no longer an issue, her husband would never think of such an impractical but beautiful gesture.
“No card. They’re just from me.” The man held out a thick hand. “I’m Steven Murich. I was in the accident with you.”
Teri trembled as she reached out and gave the best handshake she could manage.
“You’re not the one who caused —”
“No, no,” he interrupted. “There was another vehicle. A truck cut me off and I had to slam on the brakes and I guess you didn’t have enough time to respond. I’m so sorry about that.”
Teri thought about her own interview with the police and what information she had pieced together after the accident.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “I was following too close and I was distracted.”
“Still, you got the worst end of the deal. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for that damned truck.” Steven waved toward the bed.
Teri was tired of talking about her condition and she was in no mood to lay blame.
“Thanks for the flowers,” she said with spirit, determined to change the subject. “You really didn’t have to do that. It must have cost a fortune.”
Steven shrugged.
“My family owns a flower shop,” he said. “Plus, I owe you. Because of the accident, my father finally agreed to buy a new delivery van.”
Teri looked away and tried to think of how to respond.
“I’m sorry,” Steven continued. “That sounded so callous. I didn’t mean to make it sound like your suffering was insignificant or worthwhile or anything because I have a new van now. I was just trying to justify being here and I thought I was being funny. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you here?” Teri asked. She was beyond caring if she sounded rude.
Steven looked down.
“I don’t know. I guess I feel a little guilty. I was distracted too, you know. Maybe if I had been paying more attention to the road, I wouldn’t have stopped so suddenly and then…”
He motioned toward the bed again.
Teri tried to steer the conversation toward a less trying topic.
“Your family owns a flower shop. That must be nice.”
Steven frowned.
“You would think so, but it’s not my dream job. I was kind of forced into the business. Look, I’m sure you don’t want to hear my petty complaints. I just wanted to drop these off and see if there was anything you needed.”
Steven began to edge toward the door.
“Do you need to go right now?” Teri asked.
“No, but you probably need to rest.”
Teri slammed her hands down on the bedrail.
“What I need is some company,” she said. “I am sick of the idiotic shows that somehow found a place in the television schedule and I cringe every time a nurse comes by to give me a shot. My job sent the sad, wilting plant over there but hasn’t bothered to call and I am so mad at my husband that I would bludgeon him if I could get out of this stupid bed by myself.”
Steven’s eyes were wide as he took in the unexpected tirade.
“So,” Teri continued. “What I’d really like is for someone I don’t hate, someone who doesn’t have a needle in his hand, to talk about something nice and normal like how he doesn’t like working at the family business. That’s what I would like.”
Steven gave a tentative smile.
“Why are you mad at your husband?” he asked. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope,” Teri answered with spirit. “I do not. I want to hear about you. Have a seat and tell me all about your family woes.”
Steven crossed the room and settled in the chair beside his bed. He crossed his legs in a few different configurations before staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t know where to begin really,” he finally said.
“You said working in the flower shop wasn’t as terrific as it might seem. Start from there. What’s bad about it?” Teri prompted.
Steven grinned.
“What’s bad about it can be summed up in two words – my father.”
“What’s wrong with your father?”
“He’s really old world. A German immigrant.”
“So was my next door neighbor when I was a kid. Mrs. Oberhouser.” Teri smiled as she remembered. “She was the nicest woman in the world. So far you aren’t winning my sympathy.”
“It’s not that he’s German, it’s that he expects everything to be exactly like he remembered in Germany. Not how it was, but some fictionalized world where kids respected and obeyed their parents wholeheartedly, strangers were nicer and people bought a lot more flowers.”
“He’s nostalgic. That doesn’t sound like such a crime.”
“No.” Steven thought for a moment. “I guess what it comes down to is that I don’t want to be there and I only am to try to live up to this little fantasy he has built. That makes me pretty miserable.”
“So the problem is you, not him, maybe?” Teri asked.
“Yeah. You’re probably right.”
Teri smiled.
“Tell me. Where would you rather be if not working with your father?”
“Well,” Steven began. “I’m a CPA. I’d rather be anywhere doing the work I was trained to do rather than playing delivery boy and dutiful son.”
“Why can’t you do both? Work for your dad on the weekends or after work for a while?”
Steven shook his head.
“There’s so much work to be done and the store just doesn’t bring in enough work to hire someone. I work cheap and under the table.”
“Maybe you can moonlight. You know, do the books for other small companies. I’m sure it won’t pay a lot, but it might be good for you to be able to think of yourself as an accountant rather than a delivery boy.”
Steven ran his thick fingers through his sandy blond hair.
“You might be on to something,” he said. “There’s some stores on the same block as ours that would probably be very interested in something like that. You’re a smart woman.”
Teri blushed at the compliment and was trying to think of something witty yet modest to say when a nurse’s aid pushed a wheelchair into the room.
“Time for PT, Teri,” the young woman in bright pink scrubs announced.
Steven stood up.
“I’d better get going,” he said. “Do you mind if I drop back in sometime? Maybe next time I’ll let you do some of the talking.”
“Whenever you want,” Teri answered. “We’ll get you straightened out yet.”
“And don’t go too hard on your husband,” Steven said from the doorway. “We men are simple folk.”
Teri tried to gather the courage and strength to face the painful move from the bed to the wheelchair. It was easy to make sense of other people’s lives, she reflected. How amazing that her own had meandered so far off course.
“Steven’s got a girlfriend. Steven’s got a girlfriend.”
“Shut up Michelle,” Steven whispered. His head was stuck in the flower cooler. “Or I’ll have to tell Dad about you sneaking off after midnight to meet your dweeb boyfriend last night.”
“Carleton is not a dweeb,” the little sister hissed back with a vengeance. “He’s intelligent and sweet —”
“What girlfriend?” Mr. Murich interrupted in his accented voice. He wiped his hands on his apron and walked toward the cooler. “Who is Steven’s girlfriend?”
“There’s no girlfriend,” Michelle answered in haste. She threw her brother a fearful look. “I was just teasing him.”
“I’m going to visit Teri again.” Steven was matter-of-fact. “She’s nice, she’s lonely and she’s married. There’s nothing romantic going on.”
“Good, good.” Mr. Murich stuck his own head in the cooler and pulled out a handful of choice delphinium blossoms. “Take her something different today.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Michelle said. “The police said it wasn’t our fault. The insurance company said she doesn’t have a case.”
“Still, it doesn’t hurt to look sympathetic,” he father countered.
Steven grabbed the pale blue flowers, added them to the mound of carnations in his bucket and rushed to the arranging table without raising his eyes. He picked a long, narrow vase from the stack in the corner and began laying a base of white blooms.
“How is Mrs. Remly?” his father asked. “Will she be out of the hospital soon?”
“End of the week,” Steven answered in what he hoped was a light tone. “As soon as her husband gets everything ready for her at their house.”
He hoped he managed to say husband in a normal voice.
“Good, good. It is good that she is going home where her husband can take care of her.”
Steven silently disagreed. He had not met Tom Remly yet, but he did not like him. Teri never said a word about her husband, but Steven knew from her noncommittal shrugs that there were problems in their relationship; and that made him strangely happy.
There was something about Teri, something that drew him back to her hospital room everyday with an armful of flowers. She was so intelligent — she seemed to understand his problems right away and she managed to put them in perspective and show him compromises and solutions. Since he met her, he didn’t feel like his life was so miserable. He felt alive and happy, especially when he was sitting beside of her.
Steven was almost certain that he had fallen in love.
He felt giddy when he loaded the finished arrangement in the new delivery van — and guilty and embarrassed over his excitement. He practiced conversations while he maneuvered through town, taking every shortcut he knew to knock a few seconds off of the journey.
Don’t talk too much about yourself, he reminded himself. Ask how her physical therapy went. Get her to talk about her plans to go back to school.
“Another bouquet?” Teri squealed when he ducked his head into her doorway. She clasped her hands together and Steven could tell she was pleased. “You really shouldn’t have. You’re spoiling me.”
“My father insisted.” Steven had to move three other arrangements to make room for the vase. Once his hands were free, he held them up in apology. “He lives in fear that you are going to sue him.”
Teri looked thoughtful.
“I always wanted to run a little florist shop. Just sitting around all day, smelling the roses and raking in the money — must be nice.”
Steven snorted and took his customary seat beside her bed. Teri looked good, he thought. She was sitting up in the bed more than usual and the bruising on her face had subsided. Her shiny blond hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and he could see the soft smudge of liner around her blue eyes.
“So what have you been up to today? How’s your little cottage industry coming along?”
Steven smiled at the reference to the accounting work he was doing for several small businesses. He worked for a couple of hours every morning before the store opened. Surprisingly, his father approved of the enterprise and Teri had been correct — working in his chosen field had given his psyche a tremendous boost.
Steven was about to tell her about his plans to make his operations an official corporation when he remembered his oath not to talk about himself. This visit was about Teri.
“Going good,” he said vaguely. “How about you? How did therapy do this morning?”
“It’s getting a little bit easier everyday, but it’s still not something I look forward to.”
“I bet you’re really looking forward to going home.”
Teri shrugged.
“I’ll still have to come back for therapy, tests, appointments… I’ll be at the hospital so much that it will be as if I never left.”
“No, it will do you a world of good to sleep in your own bed and eat your own food. Is Tom excited?” Steven asked in an overly-casual voice.
“With Tom one never knows.”
“What does that mean?”
Teri looked away.
“I guess he’s really busy, getting your place ready,” Steven said to fill the silence. Talking about Tom built a painful ball in the pit of his stomach, but somehow he couldn’t stop.
“I’m certain that Tom is really, very busy.”
Steven began to get irritated by the cryptic answers.
“Do you want to go home or not?” he asked with more sharpness than he intended.
“Knock, knock,” a man called into the room before Teri could answer.
“Speaking of the devil.” Teri didn’t look at the speaker, but Steven stared at the tall, well-dressed man leaning against the doorframe. He was as handsome as Teri was beautiful and Steven felt stocky and ugly in comparison.
“You must be Steven,” he said. “You’re making me look bad, bringing all these beautiful flowers.”
“And you must be Tom.” Steven stood up and offered his hand to his rival.
“Oh I’m sorry,” Teri said flatly. “Where are my manners? Tom, Steven. Steven, Tom.”
Tom cocked his head and stared at his wife.
“Don’t mind her,” he said. “She hasn’t quite been herself since the accident. I think it’s the painkillers.”
“Yep,” Teri agreed. “That must be it. Any rational thoughts my little pea-brain comes up with must be induced by drugs.”
Steven didn’t know what was going on between the couple, but he felt uncomfortable being in the middle of such obvious animosity.
“I was just leaving,” he said. “It was nice to finally meet you, Tom.”
“Don’t go.” Tom put a firm, restraining hand on Steven’s shoulder as he tried to pass by. “Teri has told me a lot about you and I would really like to talk to you.”
“Here we go,” Teri said under her breath. Steven ignored her.
“You sound like a real go-getter, Steven. I am looking for associates who are interested in earning a marvelous salary and setting your own hours. Are you looking for something like that, Steven? Are you ready for freedom from financial worries?”
Steven stuttered for a moment, then turned to Teri for some guidance.
“He’s going to ask about your dreams now,” Teri informed him.
“Dreams?” Steven was at a loss.
“Dreams,” Tom echoed firmly. “What are your dreams, Tom? Do you see yourself at your father’s store forever? So you want a little something more – something to call your own?”
The conversation had moved beyond Steven’s comprehension at a speed that left him dizzy.
“I think I’d really better be going,” Steven said, his feet as unsteady as his voice. “I’ll drop by again later, Teri. Take care.”
“You too, Steven,” Teri called out. “I hope these visits don’t stop when I go home. You don’t know how much I look forward to them.”
Steven waved and tried again to push through the door, but Tom planted himself directly in his path.
“It’s been a pleasure,” the blond man insisted. “I’d really love to talk to you some more about this opportunity. Are you free tomorrow? Which works better for you, lunch or dinner?”
Steven felt trapped by Tom’s very blue and overly serene eyes. He panicked.
“Tomorrow?” he stammered. “Dinner, I guess. But really, I don’t think I’m the kind of guy you’re looking for. Maybe we should –”
“Seven o’clock, SteerHand Steakhouse,” Tom interrupted. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
Only then did he step away from the doorway.
Steven scurried out the room without even a backwards glance when Teri thanked him again for the flowers.
Marco tried not to look as apprehensive as he felt while he watched his companion stroke his graying beard and study the pamphlet. He was afraid it was a mistake to show the plan to George, but he wanted to practice his presentation on someone at least somewhat friendly before moving on to strangers. Jacob was always working or with Muriel these days and Dr. Bean would have pointed out all the flaws, so George was his only option.
George claimed to be Canadian, but Marco suspected that he was as much a native of the Great White North as Marco himself. Although they both sat in on the same twilight card game every night – with George losing substantially less than his younger alleged countryman – they seldom talked. Poker was a business in itself, and maintaining the critical game face left little opportunity for camaraderie.
They had shared a cab early one morning, when George had some type of dealings at Marco’s hotel. Once, they even ventured together to a diner that George knew on the other side of the city. The hamburgers were as dry as George warned and the French fries were limp and half-cooked, but at least it was a taste of home.
Even away from the card table, George hadn’t gone out of his way to get to know Marco. He responded to questions with grunts or his snide, cynical laugh.
It was a mistake to show him the plan. Marco knew that now. He couldn’t remember why he had decided to, but he regretted the decision. He longed to reach across the table, tear the pamphlet out of George’s fat, hairy fingers and run out of the café straight to the first airplane that would take him home. Even if he had to throw himself on the ground and kiss his father’s feet in order to get the money, it would be better than this humiliation.
“So I don’t actually sell anything?” George asked. “What kind of business is this?”
“You buy things you need anyways,” Marco repeated for the twelfth time. “Except you buy them from yourself rather than pay a middleman just to mark everything up. You simply redirect your buying habits. Then, you teach others to do the same and share in the profits they make.”
In his last instructional email, Tom Remly had insisted that the key to a successful business meeting was to remain enthusiastic and patient. Marco found it difficult to be either when staring at George’s frown.
“So, don’t I just become their middleman?”
Marco’s mind went blank for a minute. He remembered coming across that question in one of the training guides Tom sent him. He struggled to recall the suggested response.
“Not at all.” Marco spoke slowly in order to buy time. As if by a miracle, the answer came to him and he chanted it verbatim. “At a retail store, you are not just paying for the merchandise, you are paying that month’s rent, payroll, utilities… the list goes on. When you are your own retailer, you don’t have any of that overhead. When the people you recruit buy from themselves, there is minimal markup and plenty of profit to share.”
“Just how much money can you earn?” George sounded dubious.
“That is completely up to you. There is no limit. The more people you recruit and the more you and they buy, the more profit there is. Of course, you can also supplement your income by retailing your high-quality products to others.”
“And the recruiting – is that tough to do?”
“It takes work. You have to get out and meet people, develop a rapport. But honestly, this is such a terrific opportunity that it really sells itself.” Marco had no idea what he was talking about, but the words just raced off his tongue.
George finally looked up from the colorful brochure. For the first time, Marco saw a smile break out from under the curly beard. He noticed the George was missing several teeth, but forced himself not to stare.
“I could do this,” George said in wonderment. “I really could. How do I sign up?”
“Sorry I’m late, Dr. Bean.” Jacob rushed into the hotel room, tossed his backpack on the bed and slid into his chair while he apologized. “Muriel and I went to a lecture about the new AIDS education money available and she had to hobnob with some grant people afterwards.”
“A worthwhile endeavor.” Dr. Bean nodded. “Muriel is quite the young activist go-getter, isn’t she?”
“You don’t know the half of it. There’s nothing that girl can’t do.”
Jacob took a deep breath of the cooled air and thumbed through the pile of work that was stacked, waiting for him, on the table.
“More papers to grade?” he asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. We just don’t seem to work much on the Brand Foundation project anymore. Is that over?”
The old professor shrugged.
“For the most part — your involvement is pretty much done, at least. We’ve done the legwork, we’ve crunched the numbers… all that’s left is writing up the conclusions.”
“How’s that coming along? Anything I can help with?” Jacob asked. He felt a connection to the research — he had sweated in the Nigerian heat as they interviewed farmers, inputted data in the computer until his head ached and listened to Dr. Bean talk about the implications of the work they were doing for hours on end. He didn’t want to be cut off now.
“It’s getting there,” Dr. Bean assured him. “I work on it quite a bit at the University where there are over economists to bounced ideas off of. You’ve come a long ways, but I’m afraid it is a bit beyond your expertise.”
“Still, I would like to read the paper when it’s finished.”
“You can count on it, and if it is published, you can be sure that your name will be there in the byline. That will help the old resume or grad school application.”
Jacob felt a lump in his throat.
“That’s not necessary,” he said in a small voice. “Like you said, it’s beyond me.”
“The paper could never have been written without your help,” Dr. Bean insisted. “You deserve the credit.”
“Thank you,” Jacob whispered.
“Now,” Dr. Bean continued. He looked over the upper edge of his glasses and frowned. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about life after this research project, anyways. You have about enough saved up to go home now. Will you be returning to Kenton next semester?”
“I really don’t know,” Jacob answered truthfully. “There’s so much to do here. Muriel and I have both been offered jobs at International Relief. I’m thinking about taking some time off from school and pursuing that.”
Dr. Bean was silent for a long time.
“I think it would be a mistake for you to drop out,” he finally said.
“Not ‘drop out’,” Jacob insisted. “Just take a few semesters off. Lots of people do that.”
“And very few of them ever get a degree.”
Jacob felt himself growing defensive.
“It’s not like I’m a wonderful student. I didn’t get all that much out of school anyway. I’ve learned so much more in the field than I ever did in the classroom.”
Dr. Bean bit his lip.
“But still, having those letters after your name — it opens so many doors for you.”
Jacob shrugged.
“Plus, I think you’ll surprise yourself when you go back,” Dr. Bean said. “You might not see it, but you’ve grown so much these past months. You’ve become more confident. You’re putting information together and understanding the implications. You don’t second guess yourself.”
Jacob felt heat rise to his face and he knew he was blushing. Dr. Bean stopped the string of compliments abruptly.
“Honestly, I have some ulterior motives for wanting you to stay in school,” he finished lamely.
“Really? What?”
“I guess every teacher would like to have a protégé,” the professor said. “A student that carries on his research and makes sure his struggles were not in vain and never evaporate off the face of academia. I think you would be a terrific heir to my admittedly meager scholarly estate.”
“I barely passed my classes at Kenton,” Jacob protested.
“Like I said, you’re going to surprise yourself. You are a gifted researcher and you can be a wonderful student.”
Jacob was silent for a while.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Bean. I just can’t see myself going back to Kenton right now. I think about the school and I feel nauseated.”
“Maybe Kenton was part of the problem,” Dr. Bean suggested. “Maybe you don’t need to be in a fraternity-ruled party school where the curriculum is watered down until a junior high student would only be moderately challenged.”
Jacob’s eyes widened. He had never heard Dr. Bean rant so bitterly about the school.
“There are schools here, you know.” Dr. Bean shuffled through his papers while he spoke and pulled out a catalog for the University of Abuja. “You could finish your degree while work for International Relief. I know some people there. You wouldn’t have any trouble getting into the graduate program. With a background like that, you could do even more good here.”
Jacob reached for the catalog and flipped through the pages.
“Do you really think I can do it?” he asked.
“I know you can.” Dr. Bean’s voice and intense stare left no room for argument.
“I’d better start grading these quizzes,” Jacob said through his smile. He set the college catalog on the table and drew the first paper off the pile. Although he tried to concentrate on the list of true and false questions, his mind was racing.
He could have it all, he decided. He could finish school and make his father proud. He could stay here and feel like he was doing something more worthwhile than chugging beer at the frat house.
And he could stay with Muriel.
© Copyright 2003-04, Janet Marie Mills - (The Creative Commons Liscense on this site does not apply to this Copyrighted work which is published with the permission of the author)