Chapter 43: Departures

Althea stepped off the elevator at her New York City office holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a large folder in another. As far as anyone was concerned, hers was a failed road trip as she tried to secure a controversial biography that would have belied her publisher’s label as “Young Adults Read Us.”

With everyone well into their work day, acknowledgments of her arrival were restricted to a few nods hello, with many people at their desks missing her arrival completely. She did not even make it to her desk, instead turning directly into the office of her boss, publishing legend Martha Kennedy.

“Fill me in Althea,” said the 60-something publisher from behind her thick reading glasses. A condition called macular degeneration, ironically, would rob her of her ability to read in the not-too-distant future. “What happened up there?”

“I’ve been in and out of the office three times since I went to Canada,” she said. “They’re gearing up to reprint the entire line of Peachy Keen books in a new deluxe format. They will sell in the millions, not to mention the new stories. I hate that I kept missing you.”

“I know, but this Canada book could be my legacy,” said the aging publisher, in her 35th year of running her current imprint. She didn’t say she was visiting doctors worldwide trying to restore her vision.

“His story would be a blockbuster, but it can’t be told until after he dies, I’m afraid,” Althea said. “He still has too many friends and people who aren’t have a way of disappearing. A woman I met and talked to there committed suicide the day after I left, according to his people.”

“Jesus Christ,” Martha sat up. “You know I don’t believe in coincidences, and I’ve taught you the same thing. Drop it in whichever filing cabinet applies and we’ll revisit the bastard when he croaks. I’ll be happy to wait him out.”

“You know he’s over 100 years old,” Althea said softly.

“That documented?” Martha asked, setting her magnifying glass down. Althea merely nodded, but Martha was able to pick up her silent gesture.

“So back to the PK account, then,” Martha said, dismissing the project just that quickly. “I know you’ll stay on top of it because it’s the biggest damn commission I’ve ever seen.”

As Althea retrieved the massive Peachy Keen file from her desk, a man in a turtleneck and a bad haircut was stepping into the lobby of Althea’s building. He approached the desk punching in a series of commands onto his Surface.

“I have an appointment to see Althea Drummond,” the man said.

“Do you have an appointment?” the wary security clerk asked, knowing he meant Althea Channing. But she found himself otherwise unable to respond.

“Yes, but you knew that,” turtleneck said. “Punch me in.”

“I knew that,” the woman repeated, pushing the button that allowed him into the complex. He checked the board and confirmed the publisher’s office as being on the sixth floor. But it had been a long flight; nature called. A unisex rest room with a lock was just a few steps away, allowing him to relax, set his silencer-equipped pistol on the counter, and take a long, satisfying piss and an ever longer, much-needed dump.

Up in Martha Kennedy’s office, Althea paused before leaving.

“There was one thing I needed to ask you,” she said, sitting back down before her boss. “You’re having eye trouble, aren’t you?”

Martha felt a flash of anger over somebody spilling her secret, but instead she exhaled and felt like crying. “Yes, Althea. And it’s bad.”

“I knew that,” Althea said. “I beg your patience.” She hit her speed-dial and got me on the first ring. “She’s right here. Hold on.”

She held her phone towards Martha and I hit the Master PC app Chuck brilliantly developed for the modern phone. I switched the scanner on and saw that she was in superb health for her age except for a mild arthritic condition and an advanced case of macular degeneration. It was a small matter to adjust her settings and restore her 20-20 vision, clear up her aching joints and, for good measure, remove a pre-cancerous mole.

“Martha, close your eyes,” Althea said. “Trust me. You’ll be thrilled.”

She looked quizzically at Althea, but agreed. Althea turned off her office lights; only a glimmer of light came in through her blinds.

“Okay,” I said. “It’s done.”

“Martha, open your eyes,” Althea said as she quickly broke the connection should someone be trying to monitor it. As it turned out, someone would have been, but he was enjoying his first major shit in a week.

“It’s dark in here, but it seems brighter at the same time,” Martha said.

“Tale off your glasses,” Althea said, and Martha jumped, startled. “I can sort of make out your silhouette, but it’s pitch black in here. How is that possible?”

“No, there’s a little bit of light,” Althea tried not to laugh at her perplexed boss. “Let me show you little big of light at a time.”

Rather than blind her with the overhead lights, Althea showly rotated the blinds to let light seep in by degree.

“Althea, I can see you!”

““I’m hitting the lights, so brace yourself,” Althea said, following suit. Martha shielded her eyes for a moment, but quickly had them wide open and seeing all.

“It’s a miracle!” she said, grabbing Althea’s arm.

“But it’s the same technology that enabled Michaux to live God knows how long,” Althea said. “You needed to be shown it was possible.”

“Okay, it’s possible,” Martha said, rising from her desk. Althea immediately saw I’d taken 20 years off her body. “Clear your schedule. We’re going out.”

“I’m already on...” Althea wasn’t able to finish the sentence before Martha grabbed her by the hand and yanked her out the door of her office. Laughing and chattering mostly gibberish, the deliriously happy Martha Kennedy grabbed Althea’s head. “We’re going to the MMOA and then the library. I’m going to look at every painting I’ve missed and then I’m going to read to you!”

“I can’t wait,” Althea said with a genuine smile. Martha Kennedy had given her a big break; she was now able to return the favor. Martha again grabbed her hand and yanked her into the elevator just as another opened from the lobby.

Refreshed and energized, the Canadian entered the offices and stood imperiously over the receptionist’s desk.

“Tell me where Althea Drummond’s office is,” he said. “You are compelled to tell me the truth.”

“Althea Channing does not have an office here,” she said truthfully.

“How can that be? Is this where she works, is it not?”

“Yes, master,” the middle aged woman at the desk answered.

“Then where is her office?” he asked more loudly. He was beginning to be noticed; more people would have to be controlled, he realized.

“I have no idea, master,” she said. “At home, perhaps?”

“Why will you not tell me the truth?” he raged at the helpless female, who dissolved into tears. “I saw her enter the building!”

“I cannot lie to you, master! Why do you not believe me?” she wailed.

“Because I know Althea Channing is employed here,” he roared. “If someone brings me her head, I will pay them a million American.”

“She has a cubicle, asshole,” the big Canadian turned to enrapture whoever spoke to him, but a heavy metal ashtray stopped his attempt. It was wielded by one of the security guards, who was downstairs and saw the big man charm his co-worker. It laid out the Canadian, breaking his jaw, knocking out a half-dozen teeth and crushing his twice-repaired nose.

“He dangerous. Don’t let him talk,” said the older guard, who got a heads-up about potential trouble from an anonymous source earlier that day. The ashtray’s next mission was to crush the intruder’s Surface – which it did with total efficiency in one blow.

Satisfied that he was alone after a quick but thorough search of the building and the block, the older guard punched a pre-arranged number and said, “Apple is secure.” He went back to his post, knowing that within a week, $10,000 would find its way into his bank account.

It was with minimal packing that I readied myself for the day I dreaded far more than my actual wedding. But to prepare myself for the anything goes kind of weekend Doc threatened to be planning, I spent a wonderful night with Nicky and an emotional breakfast with Stacy (and Anita, and Audrey). Of course, she got what was up without prompting.

“So, Dad,” she began, smiling into her spoonful of cereal, “you gonna make it through the weekend without your girls?”

“Hard as it is to believe, I might endure,” I said, hoping my grin was genuine. I silently took her in as she ate, reading the Life section of both the Daytown and Bakersfield papers. She had requested Susan Castle and I allow her to tan, and she was overall a golden bronze beauty now. She was back and forth about whether or not she wanted boobs, so I allowed her to retain the cup size boost from her previous outing. She’d grown comfortable – without my and Master PC’s help – with being the alpha female around the house, while Anita and Audrey each had responsibilities unique to them and Stacy had a position of superiority that all understood.

“What are you going to be doing this weekend?” I asked, nose buried (mostly) in the Sports section. All three girls smiled at that – something I did not catch or appreciate until later.

“Audrey’s having horse-boy over for a weekend of big dick sex. And Anita...” Stacy began.

“Since your brother is also going, Anita is going home to visit her family for a weekend of big dick sex,” Anita finished. “If you must know.”

Audrey and Anita exchanged high-fives.

“And you, my beloved daughter?” I asked, setting the paper down.

“I, Daddy Dearest, am going to Vegas on the Nicky Bachelorette Party Road Trip of Rampaging Pussy,” she said, as if that wasn’t a huge turn-on to hear. “I promise to come back, no matter how much fun we have.”

“I’m counting on that,” I said, giving her a kiss that told her that Nicky would not be taking her place as my one and only daughter. I followed that up with passionate kisses of my other two women, but Stacy stopped us short of taking to the next level.

“You know you’re going to need your energy, right?” she said, wise beyond her years.

She was right. So I settled for going down on each of them. To tell the truth, I could not get enough of Anita’s twin clits, Stacy’s perfect snatch or Audrey big – really, really big – accommodating pussy.

I had barely had time to brush my teeth when Doc called to make sure I would be ready when the limo arrived.

“Limo? Are you kidding me?” I asked as Stacy giggled knowingly.

“Just to take us to the airport,” he replied. “I didn’t want anyone to miss out.”

As I waited for my ride, my cell phone buzzed with Joanie’s unique ring tone. Had she called five minutes later, I would have already stuck it in a drawer. It was not allowed on the weekend – Doc’s rules.

“Cutting it close,” I greeted her. “I’m leaving in a few.”

“Something you have to see,” she said in an excited voice.

“Can it wait until after the weekend?” I asked patiently. “Doc is being a real stickler about our schedule.”

“Open up the attachment I just sent you,”

An old black-and-white photo, something easily out of a bygone era, stopped me in my tracks. It was a photo of two dark-haired, stunning women who would have looked very much in place in the present day.

“Wow,” I said. “They look like sisters.”

“On the money,” she said. “But do they look familiar?”

“Well, since you took great pains for me to see this, I’m guessing I should know the answer to that,” I said, taking a closer look. “Wait ... Nicky?”

“Her mom and her mother’s older sister,” Joanie said triumphantly. “Suzanne and Angela, the Valdez Sisters.”

“What were they? Dancers?” I asked, not being able to tell much from the publicity photo.

“Acrobats,” Joanie said. “You know, the flexy, contorting kind.”

Even though Nicky’s mom was pushing 70 – which probably meant her older sister had long since passed on – I felt my boner stir at the thought of these two women themselves wrapping themselves up into a nice little package of fuck.

“You know I won’t be able to get this photo out of my head all weekend, right?” I said crossly.

“Yeah. I’m kinda evil that way,” Joanie laughed, breaking the connection. I stuck the phone in a drawer in the living room just as Stacy came alongside.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“Someone jealous they’re going to Nicky’s bachelorette party instead of mine,” I said.

I stood at our living room window watching the street, holding my beloved daughter as close to me as I could without squeezing the breath out of her. One time I looked down at her face and discovered she’d been looking and staring at mine. Awkward, yes; also beautiful. We each smiled, and you bet that we kissed.

We were still in a liplock when Anita shouted helpfully, “Limo’s here!”

It was Stacy who broke away with a playful shove, saying, “Will you get out of here already! You’ve earned this trip; enjoy it, okay?”

“Okay.” I grinned at her, grabbed my single suitcase and rushed out the front door just as the limo let blast the loudest horn I’d ever heard on four wheels. But the well-trained driver was still there to greet me and put my bag in the big trunk. I climbed into the stretch limo and there to greet me were Doc Harris, Bud Wilson, Chuck Arnovsky and my brother, Darren, who had finally thawed out from our little mission to Canada. I hugged them all; it would be the first of many healing gestures made possible by Master PC over the next three days.

It was Doc who handed me the glass of champagne.