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3DG Administrator Emeritus
Join Date: Oct 1999
Location: Jackson, MS
Posts: 1,960
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The Story So Far...
Another of my old works. I've become interested in this one again, and I'm working on more of it as you read this...
<center>THE STORY SO FAR...</center>
<center>By R C Smith</center>
The Compu-Lux enginnering firm was located in an ultra-modern (read ultra-expensive) high-rise office building in downtown Manhattan. The company's recently deceased founder, Karl Junger, had started the business forty years previously, armed only with a piece of the American Dream, a Master's degree in Marketing, and an I.Q. of 214.
Karl Junger was a very special man. During his sophomore year of college, he had been making a pot of coffee when a freak electrical storm caused a bolt of lightning to hit the television antenna on top of his dormitory. The sudden surge of power blew the fuses in the building, causing the tenants to be plunged into total darkness just as Karl began to pour himself a cup of java. The spill that followed, and the resulting second degree burns, caused Karl such intense pain that he blacked out for several minutes. When he came to, however, he was a changed man. For Karl Junger had had a vision. A vision that would allow him to become a multi-millionaire. Unfortunately, according to his doctor, he would have no children with which to share the money, but this was not a problem for Karl, as he never seemed to get laid anyway.
After graduation, Karl rented a small office in Queens and began to build his fortune. Only two short years later, he was a millionaire, a husband, and, due to a bizarre accident involving a ham sandwich, a fire hydrant, and a poorly constructed sidewalk, a father of three. All this was due completely to his vision; a vision which he had written down in a frenzy of urgency, lest he forget it and lose his chance at fame. This vision, written on the back of a Kit Kat wrapper, was locked away in a vault under the very building with which we begin our story...
In his massive corner office, the shades drawn and the door securely locked, the Senior Partner and Chairman of The Board, Mr. George Humphreys, was making mad passionate love to his secretary. He grunted. He foamed. He felt a rather sharp pain in the upper left section of his chest, but chose to ignore it.
His secretary was trying not to mess up her hair.
"I love New York," he thought, as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
The secretary yawned and started filing her nails.
Just down the hall, in a five-by-seven foot cubicle, sat Thomas Campbell, Assistant to the Senior Partner and, as either of his two friends would attest (had they bothered to talk to you,) the most boring man ever to set foot on American, or indeed any, soil. At this moment, Thomas was peacefully asleep.
Thomas's phone rang. He heard the noise, raised his head, transferred the call to accounting, and went back to sleep.
"Excuse me..."
Thomas stirred slightly, opened his eyes, saw a tall, shapely brunette standing next to him, and went back to sleep.
He felt someone tap him on the shoulder.
This time, Thomas resigned himself to the fact that he would have to wake up. He opened his eyes, yawned, adjusted his tie, yawned again.
"Can I help you?" said Thomas groggily. He looked up and saw the woman for the first time.
She was attractive to a degree, to the same degree that the Archangel Gabriel was pleasant and inoffensive. Her hair was long and straight, and impossibly well groomed. She wore a smart dress which, while coming across as completely appropriate for the corridors of a law firm, also accentuated her figure in such a way as to make Thomas's mouth drop open slightly. He also noticed, upon final observation, that her legs went all the way up.
"I'm not quite sure," she said in response to his question. "I'm looking for a Mr..."
She pulled a scrap of paper from her handbag and looked it over momentarily. "A Mr. Humphreys. I'm afraid I don't have an appointment."
"I'm sorry," said Thomas after he regained control over his mouth. "But Mr. Humphreys asked not to be disturbed. He's getting on top of some important business. Could I take a message for him?"
The woman's expression became one of mild disappointment. She stared past Thomas at Humphreys's door. Two shadows could be seen within, moving rapidly up and down and side to side. Her brwo furrowed slightly.
Finally, she pulled a business card form her bag and handed it to Thomas.
"Mr. Humphreys can contact me at that number anytime after five." She turned and started to walk away.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience..."
The woman stoped and looked back at him.
"It's quite alright," she said with a smile. "I have all the time in the world."
And with that, she disappeared into the elevator and dropped off the face of the planet.
Thomas stared after the woman for a moment, her image burned into his memory. Thomas wasn't sure why he was reacting this way. He had long ago given up on women, as he often bored them to tears…
Thomas had made a vow of celibacy one night in a bar over a mug of beer. Ironically, that night had started out rather well, as he had been quite drunk by the time the first woman walked in. He bought her a drink and started to talk to her. This had been his first mistake. His second had been his choice of conversational topics; in this case, the relationship between property law and the deforestation of South America. The woman had suddenly excused herself, walked out the door, and stepped in front of an oncoming bus. At the time, Thomas had found this extremely rude. It was this that prompted Thomas to take his vow, and it had proven surprisingly easy for him to keep.
The vow had been made almost three years ago.
Thomas checked his watch; it was ten-thirty.
Behind him, from inside Mr. Humphreys's office, there came the sound of something rather large falling to the floor. Something which had been made of glass crashed and broke into what sounded like several dozen pieces.
Thomas decided to take an early lunch and left, dropping the card in a drawer where it would remain, untouched and unseen, for over a thousand years.
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