The Ronald - A Short Story in the Parallel

Into her mid-thirties, Melodia still had that supermodel physique only possible through a diet of fasting and coke. And those plump lips, so good at more than mere kissing, chemically-enhanced or not, made adultery feel nothing like a sin. Every morning during her two year tenure at Lutin & Dannon Investments, Melodia brought Ronald his coffee, over easy eggs, and other delights with pleasure. Something was wrong when she walked by his office with nary a glance and in walked Reeve Dannon with a stack of papers.

“Ronald,” he said, “there’re some inconsistencies Lutin and I found in your quarterly report. Hold on...” He paused, felt around his pants pocket, and pulled out his vibrating cell phone. “I gotta take this. Stay put until I get back.”

As if Ronald’s weakened knees would cart him out of the office anyway. For all of Reeve’s inelegance - slovenly suits always a size too big for his portly build; flushed skin with a rash of pockmarks and an eternal sheen of sweat; the air of yuck that surrounded him making a strong case he wore fart for cologne - his business acumen was sharp as they come. Junior brokers did not get visits from founding partners for trivial matters.

Stubborn tears left pinkish streaks down Ronald’s cheeks. “So it happens today,” he whispered to his reflection in his desk-mounted mirror. “I’m going down.”

He could pretend ignorance, but he knew what was in those reports. And ‘inconsistencies’ was simply a euphemism for fraud. Ronald’s gut bubbled with regrets. The money was just so easy. Rich people blinded by their own greed, desperate to add more zeroes behind their millions. Poor people with the least to give, desperate for a seat at the table next to the Rockefellers and Rothschilds. With nothing more than a slick tongue invoking juicy promises and American dreams, Ronald made bank. He became the highest earning broker at the firm. As money and praise flowed in, a sweet addiction developed making it easier and easier to con old, oblivious ladies and gentlemen into signing over their mortgages and deeds.

Ronald cursed the sun’s rays beaming into his corner office. The regret bubbling his gut stiffened to defiance. He wiped his tears with his silk handkerchief and thrust his face before his mirror once again.

“It’s not my fault. These people have free will. They didn’t have to agree to sign anything.” He repeated those lines like an actor rehearsing a script. Ronald’s new resolve banished the shaking and the tears... until the doorknob on his mahogany door twisted. He closed his eyes and felt his dream life along with his nerve disappear.

“Sorry about that. Where were we? Yeah, these reports.” Reeve sat opposite Ronald. He thumbed through the stack of papers.

“Mr. Dannon, I don’t have much to say for myself, but I can ex-”

Reeve cut him off. “Your position as junior broker is no longer a right fit for you.”

Ronald did a poor job hiding his disappointment.

“We’re transferring you. To the upper floor. With us. Vladisav and me.”

“The executive level!” Ronald’s eyes widened with disbelief. “But, I thought-”

Reeve waved his hand, the size of a palm frond, in front of Ronald and... laughed. “You’ve made us a lot of money Ronnie. We like that. And how the hell you got clients to sign off on these agreements, waiving their own rights to even sue. There must be some secret to the art of the deal only you know about.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ronald thought he’d answer nonetheless. “Chairs!” he shouted. “Comfortable chairs! People are a lot more agreeable when they’re comfortable, so I sent my interns out to buy the couches and chairs rated highest to make folks so comfortable they want to fall asleep. And when you’re comfortable, they let you do anything. Grab ‘em by the wallet. You can do anything!”

“That’s, umm, fascinating Ronnie.” Reeve stood. His signature scent wafted throughout the office. “Under our direct guidance, we’ll first show you how to cover up those tedious inconsistencies there and how to procure the kind of wealth that turns family bloodlines blue. Cause ain’t no money like tax money. Your new office will be ready by week’s end.”

Relieved and knees suddenly stronger, Ronald walked Reeve to the door. “So boss, where will my new office be?”

Reeve chuckled again, “Oh, Mr. Crump. We have big plans for you. How does something, say, in an oval office sound to you?”

Ronald didn’t know what was wrong with the regular square offices most were accustomed to but chuckled back and nodded away.

Reeve gone, Ronald smiled a smile so self-satisfied a Cheshire cat would be proud. Before closing his soon-to-be-former office door, he remembered an urgent, aching matter that needed the attention of his secretary’s talents.

“Melodia,” he called. “Can you come in for a few moments please? I never got my coffee and I could use someone with a good head on her shoulders.” She sauntered in, everything swaying. Ronald closed and locked the door. “You know something, if you’re into cooperation, I just might turn you into my wife.”