Chapter 25: The gate is open

In addition to touring the building, seeing the progress being made, and visiting with Victor and Zelda, two significant things happened while I was in Denver.

First, Barney let me know why he had not applied for the Vice President of Sales position.

"You tailored the job description to fit the way you view the job. It reads like your own résumé. I wouldn't have a chance if you're vying for the job."

Naturally, I denied that I had ambition to step into such a senior position in the company. "Whoever follows Jack is going to have his or her hands full. Despite the way he conducted business, you have to admit that we've fared well compared to our competition."

"Everyone thinks you've already got it sewed up," he said, and when I asked who 'everyone' was, he declined to say.

Second, Neill invited me to have dinner at his new home. When I happened to mention that K.O. slept with his soccer ball, Cassie went into her room and brought back a video cassette, saying it was something she'd recorded for a class she was teaching.

I thanked her for the tape, remarking, "You've adapted quickly to your new surroundings if you're already teaching a class."

Cassie was taciturn, but Neill was quick to boast about his daughter's soccer skills, "Her reputation preceded her," he said.

Barney's accusation that I had designs on the head of sales job was hard to accept. I was anxious to put a stop to the talk that he had alluded to. He had to be referring to his peers. I knew how word spread in the field. They were like a group of old ladies around a bridge table, gossiping, spreading rumors, whether they were true or only imagined. It was not easy being the boss' son, but I wouldn't have traded places with any of the field office managers.

"What did you bring me?" K.O. asked as soon as he saw me.

"Were you a good boy while I was gone?"

He nodded, enthusiastically, and Samantha chimed in to reinforce his claim.

"Don't expect me to bring you something every time I travel," I warned, as I started the tape Cassie had given me.

Cassie, now sixteen, stood in front of a group of young girls, holding a microphone, and speaking with authority about the sport she loved.

K.O. sat down in front of the television as soon as he saw the soccer ball, and Samantha sat down next to him. Cassie held the attention of the girls, and she held K.O.'s attention throughout the next thirty minutes, as she demonstrated various passing techniques, strategy, and shots on goal.

"Who is that girl?" Suzanne asked.

"That's Cassie, Neill Fenton's daughter," I said.

"Did you thank Sammy for bringing you the instructional tape?" she asked K.O. when he wanted to play it a second time.

"Thank you, Sammy," he said, and I restarted the tape, even though I knew I was being manipulated.

After the kids went to bed, I spoke to John about the reason Barney had given for not applying for the sales job. "He intimated that there is talk in the field about the way I slanted the job description to match my own strengths. I've got to head this off before rumor becomes fact," I said.

"You need to level with them. Why don't you plan a trip to the offices," John suggested.

"It would take a week to hit all eight sales offices. If I started in Boston, and went down the east coast, Jerry would have already heard what I had to say before I reached Baltimore. They gossip amongst themselves like a bunch of teenagers at a sleepover."

"I know," John said. "Perhaps you should schedule a conference call."

"I thought about that, but it would look like I've already installed myself in Jack's chair."

"You're right. What if I initiate the conference call? I'll make it clear that the job is open and no one has an edge."

"Great, it may be better if I'm not involved whatsoever."

Suzanne came in to the sunroom and wanted to know what we were discussing. I excused myself, leaving John to explain it to her.

Boy, did I dodge a bullet, I thought. Making a trip to all the sales offices was the last thing I wanted to do. It would take me away from Karen for an entire week. Was I a manipulator or what?

Karen called as she had promised. "The gate is open. I'll be waiting for you," she said.

I looked in on K.O. before I left. He was holding the soccer ball with his left hand, and had his right thumb in his mouth.

Karen met me at her front door, and whispered, "Kevin's asleep. Let's go outside."

I was agreeable to this, but I was a little confused by the way she was dressed. In place of the summer dress, she wore long pants and a long sleeved shirt. It was also evident that she was wearing a bra and panties. She stopped me when we got to the front of my car. Instead of hopping onto the fender, she lowered herself to her knees and unzipped my pants. She had my cock out, and was about to take it into her mouth when I asked what the hell she was doing.

"He's watching," she said, as she dropped my pants to the ground and licked my shaft.

I felt a little uncomfortable having Mr. Parker watch his daughter-in-law give me head, but what the hell. Once she licked the head, I couldn't have stopped her if I had to. She soon had most of my cock in her mouth. If she didn't mind Mr. Parker watching us, what difference did it make to me? Let him watch, sell tickets if he wanted, I didn't give a shit.

Karen's blowjobs always reminded me of the first one I'd ever received. There's nothing like waking up to find a strange girl going down on you. The only difference was that Ellen was doing it for money, not that money made her try harder to please me, or for Karen to try less.

Karen sucked and slurped, took a short break to catch her breath, grinned up at me, and resumed her task of taking my cum prisoner. Try as I might, I couldn't hold out any longer, and released a batch of whitish fluid deep into her throat. She choked for a minute, but accepted my help to lift her up.

"Thank you, but why did you do that instead of hopping on my car and spreading your legs?" I asked, realizing that I was being blunt.

"Couldn't you tell by the way I'm dressed? It's that time of the month, and I wanted to take care of my man."

I pulled her to me and tasted cum on her lips. "Don't get me wrong. That was fantastic, but why didn't you tell me? I would have understood."

"Sammy, you've been out of town. If you had known I was on the rag, you might have sampled one of those Denver girls that hang around hotels. I wanted to reward you for waiting until you got home, and since my breasts are too sore to give you a tit-fuck, a blowjob was the next best thing."

"Let me get this straight. I'm suddenly your man, and you want to reward me for being true to you. That sounds like jealousy to me," I teased.

"That's not it at all. There's another reason."

"I'm crushed that it's not jealousy. Don't tell me your ass was too sore, too."

She buried her face in my chest, and I could barely hear her. "No, it's not that. Mr. Parker offered to leave the gate open, and I didn't want to disappoint him. He might not offer again."

"I get it. That's the reason you had me stand in front of the car, so he could see you go down on me."

"Sammy, do you have to be so graphic?"

"You're the one that used the term, tit-fuck."

"Touché," she laughed.

"While we're being graphic, may I ask you a very personal question?"

"I just had your cock in my mouth. Is it more personal than that?"

I took it that her answer was yes, I could ask a personal question. "Why did you want me to fuck you in the ass?"

She pulled away. "Can we discuss that some other time?"

I told her that I respected her privacy, and would wait for her to bring it up again. As I drove home that night, it was me who was jealous. Why was she involved with Gary? It was obvious that she liked having sex with me. She'd called me her man. Did she really think that I would cheat? We would talk about this again, and the sooner the better.

John scheduled the conference call the following day, and I was invited to attend. A more accurate way of describing it would be to say that my presence was expected, as was my participation. Because of the various time zones, the call took place a few minutes after the west coast managers were due to arrive at work. It appeared to me that it was John's way of showing who was in charge. If anyone was late getting to work, he would have to learn what had been said by asking someone else.

John began by making it clear that the position of Vice President of Sales was open to all applicants, and that the best qualified individual would be given the job. He went on to say that since it would take some time to pick the replacement, "Sam' will fill the job on a temporary basis." He then emphasized 'temporary, ' before asking the group if they had questions. When no one spoke up, he turned to me, and asked if I had anything to add.

Over the years, I'd learned that a suggestion from John Oldham is the same as an order. He must have known that I had nothing prepared. Was this a test to see if I could 'wing' it?

"Thank you, John. I only have a couple of news items. For your information, Gentlemen, I do not plan on occupying Jack Piedmont's office, but if you need to speak to me, please contact Ruby, who is filling in as the assistant until that job is permanently filled. Secondly, Wanda is preparing a schedule of leases that will expire in the coming year. You'll receive the schedule pertaining to your district next week, and I'll speak to each of you before the end of September to discuss our options and our strategy concerning each tenant."

Jerry Bastian, from the Baltimore office identified himself, saying that he had a question. "By late September, do you mean that you'll still be the temporary VP of Sales in September?"

"As I recall, John said that I would fill the job on a temporary basis. Please don't confuse 'fill the job' with being 'temporary VP of Sales.' Our goal is to install a permanent VP of Sales by the end of the year. Yes, Jerry, I expect to be filling the role throughout September, and beyond if necessary. "Are there any other questions?"

Hearing nothing more, John wished everyone a good day and concluded the call. I left his office, and we didn't talk about it again until later that evening when he told Suzanne how I had responded to Jerry's question. She laughed and said that she knew I would do a good job.

The subject of K.O. starting school became a frequent topic of conversation. He would be five in December, which was an awkward age as far as starting school was concerned. I was beginning to believe that he was more advanced than I'd originally thought, but I may have been biased because we had the same blood flowing through our veins. From the way we were progressing with the rover, I didn't think his motor skills were up to speed with the typical five-year-old.

Penelope was assigned the task of looking into neighborhood schools, and she became convinced that a private preschool was the best choice for both kids. I challenged her, pointing out that she was being swayed by her daughter, who was adamant about starting school with K.O.

"Go see the school yourself," she said, and I had no other choice but to make an appointment to meet with the staff.

The owner was a middle-aged lady, who purported to be an experienced educator. She showed me the classrooms, the playground, and the equipment. I liked everything about the school, the small class sizes, the accomplishments of former students, and I was especially impressed by their sports program. Soccer was their major activity. What convinced me that this was the right school for K.O. was one of the assistant instructors. I didn't care if Kay Dotson could teach. One look at her sensitive face, her dainty ears, her dark hair and eyes, her slender neck, her small breasts, her thin waistline, and her shapely ass gave her my vote for teacher of the year. The diamond on her ring finger was like jumping in the pool on a cool April night.

The only thing that kept me from registering the kids that day was the anxiety I felt about how long Heather would permit her son to stay with us. What sent me into despair was the return of the check I'd sent to the Pontiac bank. An accompanying letter explained that the account had been closed. I called them, and was told that the funds had been moved.

"That can't be. It was an education account," I practically shouted into the phone.

"It was set up as a regular savings account. Your sister sent us notarized affidavits that proved she is the boy's mother. She told us that she was transferring the account to a bank near her home. I'm sorry, Mr. Oldham. It was never designated as an education account."

Heather sounded smug when she told me the reason she'd taken possession of the account. "I needed the money to pay off my credit cards. You don't think the bank is going to give us the loan as long as we're already in debt, do you? By the way, Sammy, when are you going to send the other two thousand that my son has worked so hard to earn?"

She had me between a rock and a hard place, and she knew it. I got the impression that she knew I was desperate to keep K.O. living with us. I couldn't bear the thought of him growing up under the same conditions that I had spent my first fourteen years. I told her that the first thousand dollars would be in the mail the next day, and hung up without finding out how much more she owed the credit card companies.

As promised, I mailed her the check the next morning. I also registered the kids in the private preschool.

What kept me sane over the next two weeks were my late night visits to the Parker home, and my visits to the homeless shelter. I could never resist responding to Karen's calls, and there was something that kept pulling me back to the shelter. I became so personally involved in helping out where I could, that I was afraid my passion for its success would be misunderstood by the Reapers. After my last outburst, they would surely be turned off by another lecture from me. That's the reason I let Ginger do the presentation to the group.

She did a good job of describing the shelter's mission, the dedication of its founders, and how we could help them achieve their goals, both monetarily, and with involvement. The response she generated to her plea for our support was weak at best. Even the new members sat there with silly grins on their faces, nodding their heads at times, but lacking the enthusiasm that I was hoping to see. Had the committee been wasting it's time investigating the needs of the shelter?

Ginger ended her presentation by asking for a vote. "I propose that we offer a monthly stipend that the Campbells can count on to supplement their budget. I also propose that we each commit to become personally involved in the operation of the shelter, say a minimum of one day or evening per month. May I see a show of hands?"

I watched her expectations be replaced by disappointment as Ginger counted the few raised hands. For a second, I thought she was going to cry. Suddenly, she stomped her heel on the wooden floor, and I saw a vein pop out on her neck as she began to speak.

"What's wrong with you people? It's not your money. Have you been paying attention to the treasurer's reports? We have over one hundred thousand dollars just sitting in a bank account. Can't we spare a few thousand to help people who..."

A guy in the front row interrupted her. "It's not the money. We're busy people and time is gold..."

He was interrupted by others, who said they didn't object to our contributing funds to the shelter, but committing to one day or evening per month was out of the question. Someone suggested that we hire slobs to do the dirty work.

Ginger stomped her heel again. "Didn't you hear what I said? The Campbells won't accept our money unless we become involved in their project. I call upon you to go there and look around. I assure you that you'll go back. That's how it affected Sammy. I know for a fact that he's been to the shelter five times since he first saw it. I saw him there twice, and Ruth told me about a night he took over so she could get some rest. Floyd found him preparing breakfast for the early risers the next morning. All I'm asking is that you go there, look around, and meet Floyd and Ruth. If you can't make time to become involved, I don't want to know you."

Her eyes looked moist, and her shoulders were shaking. I went to her and put my arm around her. We were going out the door when I heard Marsha adjourn the meeting.

"That was quite a show you put on," I said when we got to her car.

"It wasn't a show," she said, still shaking.

Tears were streaming down her face. "I know, thank you for making the appeal. You did a good job," I said, knowing that I could not have been as convincing as she had been.

Marsha called the next day to say that several members had indicated that they planned to visit the shelter. "Ginger breaking down at the end got her point across very effectively," she said.

I laughed and told her I thought it was the foot stomping.

That evening, I had a letter from Heather, appealing to me to stop dragging my feet, and cosign their bank loan. She must have anticipated my retort, because she went on to say that the reason they hadn't been able to supply all the information I'd asked for was that the building owner refused to open the building again. Her excuse for not finding out if the equipment worked was that the utilities were turned off.