Remember Me (29 page)

Brian L. MacLearn

tsunami. I prayed that in the end my decisions would ultimately make things better. The end of the world was not something I wished to contemplate. I’m guessing the rest of the popula-tion would agree with me on that point.

Tom would drive down on the twenty-first so we could

meet with the realtor from Hoganhoff Commercial Realty

together. Tom was exceedingly rough in his dealings with people. After the initial introductions, he might come off more as arrogant and abrasive. I knew this first hand, and by all the stories Amy had shared. We met at my place and took my car to Hoganhoff Commercial Realty in Urbandale. On

the way, I instructed Tom in how I saw the meeting going and what I wanted his role to be. I told him that he was more than welcome to add points to the conversation, but I wanted it constructive, and in no way should he make any comments of a personal nature.

“I think I’m more than capable of handling myself professionally!” He said it more under his breath while keeping his anger in check.

He was well aware of the meaning behind what I had said.

His statement was a perfect example of the point I had been trying to make to him. “I believe you are more than capable, or I wouldn’t have asked you to come,” I responded back—hoping to pad his ego slightly. “We have more at stake than just the current property. If I’m close to being right about the rest of the land coming up for sale, we stand to gain much for ourselves and put E.M.J. in a great position. I don’t want to blow the opportunity. I want this guy reading us as another commission later on.”

“Got it,” was all Tom replied.

Zack Dreslin was the perfect prototype for “Salesman

101.” He talked the talk and walked the walk. He wore a black, pinstriped, three-piece suit and looked more like the flashy S 216 S

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head of a casino, rather than a realtor from Iowa. He smelled of cigar smoke and a unique blend of cologne. Neither of them did anything for me, but make me want to open the window and hang my head out so I could breathe. A shiny gold watch fob and gold cuff-links accessorized his ensemble. I had to smile. He and Tom made a striking pair and I’m sure if I hadn’t been present, the two of them would have hit it off, deciding the fate for the rest of us insignificant bystanders.

It was Tom’s ability to connect on a personal note with

Dreslin that ended up saving me several thousand dollars. I still over-paid based on the current value, but stole it for a song compared to what it was going to be worth within ten years. Dreslin came complete with the voluptuous secretary and equally well-proportioned staff assistant. Again, no doubt, if I hadn’t been there, there was no telling what he and Tom would have ended up doing. I curtailed my ugly thoughts and looked for possible loopholes in Dreslin’s gregarious spiel.

I found an entry point and managed to turn the conversation toward the accompanying land around the warehouse.

Dreslin informed me that it belonged to Owen Anderson,

brother to the owner of the warehouse, Chad Anderson. The brothers were not on good terms with each other. They were both in their late sixties. It had once been farm land and the subsequent inheritance had caused the family friction between them. Owen was currently not planning on selling, but Zach would be more than happy to approach him on the matter. I smiled and thanked him. I said he should let it rest for now, but to keep us in mind—just in case.

I was ready to finish the deal. There was too much testos-terone in the room. I was tiring of the boasting and posturing of both Tom and Dreslin. Zach had to be in his late thirties, but it was hard to tell. He had large gold and diamond rings on both hands, one of which could have been a wedding ring, S 217 S

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but I wasn’t sure. His office walls were plastered by Sales Achievement Awards. I scanned the pictures on the desk and the ones running the length of the wall on the counter behind his desk. In one of them I saw a dark-haired boy, probably around ten, playing with a dog. I wondered if it came with the frame.

Linda, his staff assistant, brought us coffee and the aroma of freshly applied perfume. It was enough to nearly gag me, but Tom was soaking it all in, especially when she bent towards him, giving a close-up view of her cleavage. “A gun for hire,”

came to my mind, only she was shooting at the wrong target.

I had enough, so I abruptly closed the deal on the latest price Dreslin threw out at me.

“Done,” I said. Both he and Tom simultaneously looked at me and then at each other.

“Wait,” Tom interjected. “I can’t in good conscience let you do that Pete. The property on Ventura Avenue is priced better and has more transportation options. It’s much closer to the airport. Its need for remodeling is much less. I sincerely believe it would be the better buy.”

I was struck dumbfounded. I had no idea what property

Tom was even talking about. I was glad Dreslin was looking at Tom and not at me; it gave me a chance to compose myself and get back in the game. “I guess I’ll have to trust your judgment.

I’m sorry Mr. Dreslin, but I’m afraid we should consider the other offer first.” We started to rise from our chairs…

“Hold it,” Dreslin responded, motioning for both Tom and I to sit back down. I have a little more wiggle room and by cutting my commission I can make you a sweet deal.”

I had no pretentions that Dreslin’s commission was in danger or would be reduced whatsoever. The price he shot back at us was thirty-thousand less than the last offer. Tom smiled at me and nodded his approval.

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“Mr. Dreslin… now we have a deal.”

On the way back to the warehouse site I congratulated

Tom on a job well done. A part of me still felt sickened by gaining anything by way of Tom. But on the other hand, Amy was worth any price I had to pay. We walked around the inside of the warehouse for nearly forty minutes. Tom took pictures with his thirty-five millimeter Pentax camera. I wandered over to the trailer and unlocked the door. The inside had a musty odor. The trailer had been stripped down and the only thing left inside were three mouse traps on the floor, two of which contained long dead mice.

I exited and locked the door behind me, why? I couldn’t

have told you. I went back inside the warehouse and tried to envision an active production line and the place full of bustling employees. I knew it would happen, just not how or when.

“Hey Pete, come over here a sec,” called out Tom.

“Sure, what’s up?” I had to stop myself from saying “Sup,”

the catch phrase Amy’s kids had gotten me sucked into using. A thought crossed my mind. I could be the new slang initiator of this time. I chuckled out loud at the thought of writing OMG

or LOL on my corporate letterhead.

Tom grabbed me by the arm and started walking me

around the interior of the warehouse. “This is only a preliminary assessment. So much depends on the type of processing equipment and raw material storage we are going to need, but I’m guessing we are going to run out of space within the first five years of actual production. I’ve had a chance to recon the inside of Intel and IBM. The trade magazines in the Library were pretty detailed. I’m basing everything on the assumption that we become the driving force in the marketplace.”

I tossed out at Tom, “I think we might be able to stretch your timeline out a few more years.” He abruptly stopped and turned to face me. I saw that familiar glaring look in his eyes S 219 S

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and without missing a beat I continued, “If we are not careful and put all our eggs out there at once, we could be swallowed-up by the competition. We need to be the sole place where everyone comes to get the key component for their products, not the product itself. Microsoft understands this, and someday Bill Gates will probably be the richest man in the world.

I’m not saying we can take over that spot, only grab a hefty piece of it for ourselves.”

Tom’s look of challenge dropped away, and I saw contemplation cross his face—lots of money, not all at once, but more than a lifetime could fathom. “Where do we start?” he asked.

“We need to assemble a team of Geeks,” I stated. My eyes had a distinctive, faraway look, and I’m sure it was accented by the sly smirk on my face.

“Geeks?” Tom asked, seeming to be perplexed by my use

of the word.

“Electronic and computer experts,” I replied. “We need the up and coming computer wonders. We give them the toys to keep them happy and provide for their every whim. In return, they will be the ones to solve all the questions and concerns we will ever have.”

Tom just stared at me and I could see his dislike, or better his prejudice shining through. I let it drop and stated, “Let’s get out of here and call it a day well done.”

“I’m with that!” Tom smiled, and we headed out the door.

He separated the keys into two sets and handed one to me. I took it from his hand and dropped it into my pocket.

“Tom, why don’t you and Amy pick a place to eat, and

tomorrow we’ll have a celebration dinner. Make some reservations, say around seven.”

“Great idea! There is a place we’ve wanted to try, a little Italian place on Mission Avenue.”

“Perfect! Sounds great and I love Italian.”

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The ride back to my place was mostly done in silence, save for the music on the radio. Each of us was busy with our own thoughts. I’m sure mine were not what Tom would have anticipated. My thoughts kept drifting forward in time to the life I once led. I couldn’t stop myself for going “Star Trek,” in my mind, believing that just maybe I might bring about some advancement in technology that could make it possible for me to go home.

I could see it all happening. The electrified pulses coming from generators running sophisticated equipment would dance all around me as I stood inside a glass enclosure. My body would shimmer as the charged light began to caress my skin. The hair on my body would stand on end, charged with electricity, just like the moment before I was sucked into the wormhole. From inside the enclosure, I would watch as the technicians outside hustled around the equipment. Someone would call out, “It’s time,” and a large explosion of white would consume the interior of the glass box. It would be followed by a small black hole, growing ever larger as it gained size by drawing the energy out of the light. Once it was large enough, I would dive into it and go home again.

“Pete! You just went by the turn,” Tom called out.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming.” I made the next left and backtracked to my place. Tom got out of the Blazer and headed to his car. Just before he got in I yelled out, “Give me a call in the morning and let me know about the reservations.”

“Won’t be too early,” he said. He climbed into his car and raced off to wherever. I couldn’t help but notice the large smile playing across his face. My only thought was of Amy, and I was momentarily jealous.

Tom called around eleven the next morning and confirmed the time for our dinner. I met them at Anatolli’s at seven sharp. Amy and Tom were sitting at the little bar waiting S 221 S

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for me. Amy smiled and waved to me. She looked absolutely beautiful. She’d gone out of her way to dress up, but Tom, on the other hand, was more casually dressed. I wondered who it was she had dressed for. By the look on Tom’s face I gathered it wasn’t necessarily for him. I could already deduce that he wasn’t in the best of moods.

I walked toward the two of them. “Amy, Tom, thanks for

making the reservations,” I said. “I hope the food here is as good as it smells!”

Amy beamed and added, “I’ve been dying to come here

ever since it opened last fall.”

“Glad I could make your day,” I replied, not giving a darn that the smile on my face was spreading wider and wider.

The hostess told us to follow her, and I took up the rear.

I caught a whiff of the enticing scent of Amy’s perfume as she walked ahead of me. It wasn’t the one she wore in the future, but it still fit her well. It was amazing watching her walk ahead of me. In twenty years hence she would still be the same size.

The only difference from behind was the slightly darker color of her hair. I wasn’t the only one who noticed how stunning she was. A table of men to my right all had their eyes fixated on her. My heart caught in my throat and I could feel an emotional wave of loss and desire wash over me. As the hostess laid the menus down on our table, I made a quick excuse and headed to the bathroom.

Once inside the bathroom, I chastised myself for letting the situation get the better of me. I couldn’t get my Amy out of my head. I swallowed hard a couple of times and tried to bring my breathing back into some semblance of balance. Finishing, I went to the sink and washed my hands. I avoided looking at myself in the mirror, afraid of what I would see. I tore off a paper-towel and dried my hands. After one more deep breath, I exited the restroom and made my way back to the table.

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The waiter had filled our wine glasses, and Tom’s was

nearly empty. I didn’t mind that Tom had ordered wine without my input. Amy hadn’t touched hers yet. I wondered if she was waiting for me. I watched Tom look past me towards the front of the restaurant. He had that smirky look—the one that screamed self-perpetuating maleness. I hated him, respected his talents, hated him, and wondered if I would be able to keep my emotions in check. As I sat down opposite Tom, I began to sense Amy’s familiar presence. This Amy’s eyes were dancing in the candle light and it stirred my memories. So many times the two of us had shared nights together just like this. She never tired of trying out the newest restaurant or the most exotic of cuisines. For me, it had never been about the food or the night out, it was about how she made me feel when we were together. The more alive and happy she was the more I loved her.

“Here’s to the start of a great adventure,” I said, raising my wine glass in a toast. Amy smiled and raised hers in response.