Chapter 2: Sweet Anticipation

Horti wearily dragged herself to her seat at the magnificent dining table in the family room in her parent’s house. Her parents and grandparents from both sides were sitting at the table, enjoying a pre-dinner drink.

“The day went exactly as I predicted. The clients were happy to meet in a private room in the coffee shop. That was a great idea, grandpa! I didn’t pay a cent to use it. Heather watched my back. Derek followed me as predicted. I made sure I scheduled the meeting in the afternoon so I could come home after the meeting,” said Horti.

“Tomorrow morning, he will fire you; make sure you call the lawyer into his office when he tells you he is unhappy and wants to meet you. You are entitled to bring along someone to support you. Colin Rinehart will join and represent you. He is your age and was at your school. You can call him your supporter. He said he knows you well. He is an excellent lawyer and highly intelligent. I use him if litigation is likely as he presents very well in court and is nimble on his feet,” said Grandpa Chuck. “Don’t underestimate Colin. He is a nice guy but is also a valuable asset to our firm.”

“How do you want me to play it?” Horti wearily asked. “I remember him; he was a likable guy at school.”

“Leave it to Colin. That is not all. Today, I spoke to my golf buddy, who’s a judge, and told him what was happening. George is fond of you and would ensure you get looked after. I was pleased to find out he knows Conrad well and was not impressed with his previous underhanded dealings, most of which played out in his court.”

“That is excellent,” said Horti. “I remember George. He tells a great story and is an amusing man. I am relieved it is all coming to a head,” said Horti. “Grandpa, I am pleased you are on my side. I value your support.”

“Horti, you will rarely have such good luck. Make sure you control your emotions as it plays out,” said Grandpa Chuck, dad’s father, managing partner of one of the biggest law practices in the city. “I want Conrad to be the one that makes the mistakes.”

“Horti, how do you feel about what is happening?” Vivian, Horti’s mother, a clinical psychologist, asked.

“Horti glared at her mother. What do you think? I feel wonderful and excited to be fired. I feel great about borrowing money from you and having blown all prospects of paying it back. All I can think about is how I can ever find my feet. You guys are wonderful, but I feel terrible about my situation. I feel happy and relieved to be out of the clutches of Conrad. He is one of the cruelest people I have ever met. Yet at the same time, despite knowing it is irrational, I feel guilty about not being able to negotiate the stairs and not at least trying to negotiate them. My rational mind knows I couldn’t get down those steep steps without help. On the other hand, I hate being a cripple. On days like today, I loathe myself. I hate being dependent on all of you. After this, I will have no job and depend on the largesse of the family once more. Mum, you ask how I feel. Who is going to want me? I will live a lonely life.”

Horti blinked away several tears, then walked over to the counter, grabbed a couple of tissues, and wiped her face.

Horti turned to her Grandfather. “One other thing; I think is important, Grandpa – I told the client my boss wanted me to visit them in their office. I said I would do it if they felt it was necessary or important to do so, but I would need help getting back down the stairs again,” Horti explained.

“They refused to allow me to visit them upstairs. They insisted we meet as usual in the nearby cafe. I hadn’t even told them about using a private room.”

Horti turned back to her mother. “I worked so hard for that bastard. I sorted out lots of the kinks in the software, and I know the clients like me. Despite my painstaking work, Conrad never acknowledges it and subtly hurts me as often as possible, but he does it in the nicest way possible. He pays me the least of those at my level and expects me to work overtime without payment. He says it is time in place of the time I have been off having operations or going for appointments. It’s rubbish. I have used sick leave and recreational leave time when I needed treatment. No matter how long I worked after hours, he never let me use the extra time worked for appointments. Time in lieu only goes one way; his way.”

After dinner, Horti went to her room to dress for her date with Jimmy Robson. What kind of pitiful woman was she to go out with a useless piece of shit like Jimmy? Horti didn’t like her answer.

“Horti, Jimmy is at the door for you,” her mother said.

As usual, he was half an hour late. She was sick of him.

Horti walked to the front door and made a major effort not to limp.

“Hi Horti,” he said, “let’s hit the road. I want to take you to a great restaurant this evening. Move it; our booking is in ten minutes.”

Jimmy led the way to his fifteen-year-old sedan.

Yup sounds like McDonald’s again! Horti looked at Jimmy carefully. Undoubtedly he is on something, and he also stinks of brandy. The car is filthy, and it reeks. It’s a pigsty. I am not going back to his place, no matter what. If he hits me, I will deal with it. Let him try something! I am over it!

McDonald’s it is. Drug dealing night again. I am sick of this shit.

As usual, Jimmy opened his door and walked into McDonald’s without looking back. Horti boiled. As she walked through the door, she looked up. One of Jimmy’s cronies had spray-painted the security cameras. It was their characteristic modus operandi.

Jimmy sat at a table not visible from the kitchen and by inside cameras.

“Sweetie, get us some burgers and fries; I have a couple of big deals to negotiate; I am making sure we have a great time, and I am looking after our future,” said Jimmy. “stay near the counter for the next five minutes.”

Horti was not happy as she walked to the counter. She saw a couple of gangster wannabes as high as kites stroll to Jimmy’s table. Jimmy passed around a small bottle of brandy; after the money changed hands, he pulled out several small bags from his pocket.

She waited until the amateur-league gangsters left and went back to the table.

“Sweetie, you’ll come over tonight,” he said commandingly.

His voice cracked.

“No, you pitiful asshole, you can go home and screw yourself; you are a fuckwit, alcoholic, drug addict, try-hard, and a half-brain. You are a half-baked useless passant of an aspirant drug dealer who will spend most of his life in jail or on the streets. Get a job and get off your fat butt. I am not taking your shit anymore. We are over—finito—no more. You are also a two-timing unreliable parasite, so cheap you can’t even pay for your miserable fucking hamburger. There is no us any longer. Go and screw that whore Ruby, but keep that puny prick for her while she uses you and...”