LEGALEASE:
I'm sure you people already realize this, but if you're not 18 (21 where applicable), please leave immediately and do not proceed reading this story. Blah, blah, blah... Now that that is out of the way...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- B-Boys by Skyler -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Seven: Blake's Trouble
It's raining. Perfect. It's a Monday and it is raining. The start of the workweek is bad enough; I really don't think it needs any assistance from the weather. How depressing. At least I don't have to face it alone. With him lying next to me, I am relaxed, at peace with the world and at least somewhat more prepared to greet the challenges of a new day. The bed is so warm and comfortable that I really hate to get up.
I slide out carefully from beneath the covers, trying not to disturb his sleep. Brock looks so serene in his slumber. His features slack and at ease, soft breaths coming forth from his slightly parted lips, smooth and rhythmic. I love watching him sleep. Hell, I love watching him do anything; just being near him thrills me. Today will be out of the ordinary, for sure. Saturday night's show seemed to be received positively at the time, but by now the rumor mill would be going full force, as people have had time to reflect on what they really witnessed that night, they'll be able to think seriously and draw their own conclusions. Today I will really be able to see what is in store for us.
I shower quickly and scoured my closet, pondering what to wear. Should I go cautious and conservative or blatantly loud and flashy? I have a staff meeting this morning and several new accounts later in the day, so a stylish mix of the two should be fitting. Black shirt, dark gray double-breasted suit with matching slacks and a bright gold power tie should do the trick. I choose a pair of diamond-inlaid gold cuff links with identical tie tack to go with my new diamond earring; a special addition just added last Friday. Yeah, it's the right ear. Not wearing my heart too boldly upon my sleeve, am I? My gold pocketWatch and a crimson handkerchief tucked in the jacket's breast pocket complete my ensemble. I love bright power ties, they draw attention right to you, without being too flashy or gaudy. Gives a guy that subtle, in-control look. A quick glance in the full-length mirror and I'm ready to face the day.
"You look like a million bucks! Sexy, too!" I glance at the reflection of my groggy lover in the mirror and smile.
"Thanks! I feel damn sexy!" I say, laughing. "But I think you being naked gives you the 'Most Sexy' Award for today." Brock blushes and giggles softly as I turn to face him and receive a good morning kiss. Morning breath, yuck! Oh, well, I'll take a kiss from that boy however I can get it!
"So, any big plans for today, babe?"
"Not really," He yawns. "Just classes all day, the usual routine. You?" To work more with the band's development, Brock transferred to the local college this semester. He's majoring in education now, since they don't have a music program, but the group is in demand and tuition much cheaper, so he doesn't seem to mind. Besides, now we're able to see each other every day. Something we both really like.
"Me? Just still slowly trying to conquer the world via Wall Street." We laugh at my comment, followed by one more kiss and I hit the door.
I stop off for a donut, coffee and newspaper on my way to the office, as is my usual routine. Gives me time to prepare for the day ahead, plus have that extra cigarette. By the time I reached the office, my usual five minutes late, the lot was already full. I wheeled the Mustang into the "Reserved" spot and bolted for the door, stopping quickly along the way to say hello to the several secretaries who were smoking by the entrance and stubbing out my own cigarette, before heading inside.
Barton, Ashcroft & Marcyzk (soon to have my name on the door, too!) is the oldest brokerage house in town, occupying a newly renovated four-story brick building right on the town square. Since I'm a Vice President already, my office is on the fourth floor, back corner, affording me an excellent view of the river and a nicely landscaped park.
"Good morning, Lucille!" I smile, flying past her desk and into my haven. I love my office almost as much as my house. When I got the last promotion and moved into my executive quarters, they gave me $75,000 to redecorate the suite. The floor is hardwood, finished in a cherry stain and topped with a navy and burgundy hand-woven Persian rug. The walls match the rug, opposing sides in each color, two navy, and two burgundy. They are adorned with pictures of whales and sharks, all purchased from a class gallery in South Carolina, the cheapest among them cost $3,500.The wood trim, fixtures and door are stained to match the floor. My personal office is 20' x 25', containing a four-person conference area in addition to my desk, chair, credenza, two guest chairs, multiple book shelves and a large sofa. All the chairs are covered in cinnamon leather, as is the sofa, and are of a very modern design setup to be good for my personal back. My desk is an enormous three-sided contraption, dark-ebony colored wood, and it clearly dominates the room. I love making a powerful first impression. This place most certainly can accomplish that.
I log into the computer, check my e-mail and appointment calendar while I finish my coffee. Then its time for a quick glance at the market opening prices and reports while I review my paperwork for the board meeting.
"Your meeting starts in ten minutes, Mr. Thompson." Lucille says, scurrying in with a fresh cup of coffee and a stack of files, probably for my appointments later in the afternoon.
"Mr. Marcyzk asked that you bring your account lists and current financial statements with you." She nervously announces. "He asked that you be on time, too."
How odd. I've never been late for a meeting. My financial ledger? Very unusual request. Maybe they're going to offer me that partnership earlier than I expected. Or maybe John just has a larger burr than normal stuck up his ass today. Oh, well. I already have made more money than him this year, so he is probably just jealous. No worries. I gather my files into a large briefcase and hurry down the hall. When I reach the conference room, it appears that everyone else is already here. The small talk stops and all eyes focus on me as I grab a Danish from the pastry tray in the corner and take my seat at the table, which has also been custom-designed just for me. Mitchell Ashcroft, senior partner and CEO, looked up from his place at the head of the table, eyeing me cautiously.
"This meeting will come to order. All members present and accounted for." He bellows in his usual grave, monotone voice.
"And on time!" John Marcyzk pipes up loudly, staring angrily in my direction.
"You have a problem this morning, John?" I shoot back quickly. That guy really makes me nervous; he's such a blowhard.
"That is enough, gentlemen. Let's begin, shall we?" Ashcroft says. "You all have copies of Mr. Thompson's account list and ledgers, please refer to them now."
"Blake, you show 2,184 total accounts, with 946 opened within the last twelve months, billing $349,762.48 year-to-date, $187,654.29 still receivable and a total value of $9,106,422.76. Is this correct?" Asked Byron O'Doyle, head of accounting for the company.
"Yes, sir. Those numbers reflect actual totals as of last Friday's close." I state, beaming with pride. Once I hit $10 million in total portfolio value, they had to offer me the partnership. Last guy to do that was John Marcyzk and that was nearly ten years ago. It took me just two years to do what it had taken John seventeen and he even had a degree! I bet that just burns his ass!
"Eighty-four percent of those accounts are tier I, is that also correct?" This question came from Stuart Barton, grandson of the company's long-dead founder and the corporate attorney, which gave him executive privilege, but he drew a salary and would never become a partner.
"Yes, sir." Tie I meant over $100,000 generated in annual commissions. Those clients are all frequent traders and enormously wealthy to boot. To have even 30% of accounts at this level is a major accomplishment here, also being a very rare one. Damn, I'm good!
"Let's get right to the point." Ashcroft announced. "Blake, you have set growth records here that will probably never be matched or broken. You've made yourself and the company very handsome income and you are very close to becoming a partner."
"Thank you, sir." I beam happily. "I am honored that you recognize my efforts and hard work so graciously."
"You are certainly welcome, young man. You have worked very hard and become a master in your craft, a shining asset to our firm and your clientele. Your charisma, skill, intellect and integrity afford you much praise and recognition."
"Thank you, sir."
Talk about stroking your ego! I think I'm in heaven!
"However, recent developments in your personal life have caused certain members of this establishment great concern." Marshall stated flatly, a pained expression on his face.
Oh, shit....
"Blake," Stuart Barton said, "Some of us feels that while your professionalism is stellar, your personal conduct is unbecoming and frankly, we are concerned that this will reflect poorly on the organization."
Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is not good... What the hell is going on here?
"Gentlemen," I begin, speaking as calmly as possible under the circumstances, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand what exactly you're driving at here."
"Take a look in the mirror, kid!" John Marcyzk quipped, "We don't want any dirty little faggots in here!"
Whoa! You can't get any more direct than that, I don't think! I wonder what happened? Who knew? For that matter, how did anyone find out?
"That is enough, John! Blake," Byron O'Doyle shifted uneasily in his seat, "My family and I attended your performance Saturday night. I was rather disturbed by the connotations of your music. My daughter also saw you kiss another boy. Your lead singer, I believe, as we were leaving that night."
Oh, God... I think I'm gonna vomit...
"Please understand, Blake," said Ashcroft, "We know that all people are entitled to live the life they deem fit and we do respect that right."
"However," stated Stuart Barton, "We do not feel that, under the circumstances, your presence here would reflect well upon the greater reputation of the company."
"I really don't understand, guys. You want me out because my being gay will reflect poorly on your profits? Come on, gentlemen! My accounts alone bill for nearly 38% of the revenues so far this year! It just so happens that I've been gay the entire time!"
"Well, now everybody knows you're a fag!" snarled Marcyzk, "And fags go to hell! We don't need some little fairy pedophile, ass-reaming child molester here! It scares people! Scares the hell outta me! Your queer ass needs to cruise right on out of here before you ruin us all!"
Jesus, I can't take this anymore!
"Listen here, Marcyzk, you rat fuck bastard! Only bigots go to hell, so you've definitely managed to reserve your first-class ticket! I have a steady, loving relationship with one person. I may like cock, but at least I can keep mine in my pants at work! How many here know that you're fucking your secretary? And that pretty little assistant down in human resources? Christ, you're a married man with three kids! And you think you're better than me?" I could feel the blood rush to my face, along with the beginnings of a massive headache. I feel dizzy and can barely see straight now. Just looking at the Danish on my napkin forces my stomach to do flip-flops.
"Fuck you, kid! How dare you accuse me! How dare you speak to me that way! You have no right! Little fucking faggot!"
"No, John. Fuck you. Hell, you're so screwed up that I bet you'd fuck a snake if somebody would hold it straight for you!" I'm not positive, but I think I'm either going to cry or puke any second...
"Enough! Both of you!" yelled Lyle Barry, the director of Human Resources. He slammed his fist down on the table and everything stopped.
"Blake," said Byron O'Doyle, "The firm has prepared a very generous package for you. You will be able to take some of your clients with you, as well as a cash payout for the rest. You are also entitled to a residual of all the accounts we keep for the next five years, paid every month. We want to make things as easy and amicable as possible for everybody. Especially you, son."
"If, however, you refuse our offer, we will call the matter to a vote and if it passes, you will be terminated and forced to accept the package irregardless. The choice is yours as to how you want this to happen, Blake."
"Little faggot doesn't deserve a goddamn dime! Doesn't even deserve to live! I move the board terminate him without any future compensation, effective immediately!" John shot off again, causing the whole room to begin screaming at each other.
"Shut up, John!" Lyle seethed. I always liked him; he is very nice to me and has never treated me as though I were a child. He looks like he wants to just reach across the table and kill Marcyzk, which is something I'd relish at this exact moment.
"The motion is denied by executive order. Any further motion or even comment to that effect by any member of this board will result in that individual's immediate resignation, accepted with no regrets. Do I make myself clear?" growled Marshall Ashcroft. The room fell silent instantly. He turned to me, a look of worried compassion upon his grandfatherly face.
"I'm sorry, Blake," He said flatly, "But we need an answer now."
My body shook and I bit my lower lip to keep it from quivering. A single tear shot down my face, more forming presently in my eyes. At that moment, I felt as though I might die.
"Where do I sign?" I asked, surrendering. Then the tears began...
Yep, another short chapter, but I guess that's just how this one is shaping up! Please send any comments or suggestions to SkyPro21@yahoo.com. Hope to hear from you!
-Skyler