Chapter 126: “Take the Long Way Home”

I don’t think this trip is what Supertramp meant with the line “You take a trip to the city lights and take the long way home.” Still it is a great song even if the band split up a long time ago and only did a few reunion tours. Oh yeah, there is that album they made that I think only Wikipedia knows about.

Elena and I were on a nice straight stretch of road when the song came on. I didn’t even realize we were both singing along with it until the she really belted out “Lonely days turn to lonely nights take a trip to the city lights...” She really knew the song as she harmonized right along with the band.

As I continued to drive toward one of the hotels Paula had suggested I found out a lot about Elena. While she could have completely rocked the spoiled little princess role, that her father wanted her to play, she just couldn’t ever pull it off. Instead she only faked it when it was required of her when attending some event her father had dragged her too. Her mom had died trying to deliver triplets vaginally at ten months along. Elena was six at the time. Her father is heavily involved in multiple billion-dollar companies and was only able to keep the promise he made to his dying wife. He had promised to always make time to have breakfast and dinner with his daughter.

To keep his promise, he often had to take Elena with him when he travelled. By eight years old she was a very confident, self-sufficient little girl. Sure, she had a nanny to babysit her and a tutor was there to teach her. Unfortunately, the tutors soon found Elena had vastly surpassed their ability to teach her when she was ten. Instead of being a spoiled brat, she focused on completing a whole years’ worth of state required curriculum in a single month. By then her nanny finally accepted that she could no longer control Elena so she quit. Regularly her father had to text Elena to remind her to stop studying an hour before supper so she had time to clean up and be ready for wherever they were going that evening to eat. When she was a tween it wasn’t a big deal. Mostly it was washing off the dirt and sweat from whatever sport she had been playing with the neighborhood kids after they got out of school. The trouble began when she started puberty.

With her schoolwork unable to challenge her any longer she became a wrench monkey. Most of her days were spent demanding the various mechanics teach her how to work on her family’s boats, cars, planes and pretty much anything else mechanical she could find. If she didn’t have to work on getting clean from the oil and grease than it was all the grime on her from climbing around inside the walls and crawl spaces for their house. She was a complete handywoman before she ever got her first period. Even that was a mere annoyance because when she was so bloated that she couldn’t get into some of the tight spaces anymore. Her father demanded her to wear gloves at one formal dinner because her hands and knuckles were really scraped up from overhauling the engine in her Jet Ski. She had been trying to show up some boys out on the lake and had gotten all sorts of garbage sucked up into the water intake. That has trashed the engine and impeller by the time she had limped it home.

I didn’t tell her about the lightning accident, but I shared details about all my other accidents. She kidded me about being the man of steel in a boy’s body. We only stopped asking things about each other when a song came on the radio that one of us really liked and wanted to sing.

While I didn’t stare, I noticed that almost the whole drive she had turned her body towards me with her left leg mostly in the seat and right knee up so that I was getting an unobstructed look at her pussy when I turned to say something to her.

Well mostly unobstructed. I don’t count any of the times where she was rubbing her clit or was getting her fingers wet by pushing them way up inside her.

Instead of eating at the hotel, Elena insisted that we go to this upscale restaurant a few blocks down the road. The Valet didn’t even raise his eyebrows when I got out of the Lotus. When he opened Elena’s door and reached an arm down to help her out, he got a full on view of her very wet pussy. Instead of covering up, she made a bit of a big production of letting him look as she first put her right foot up on the dash to put on a sock and sneaker, and then took just as long to do her left shoe. I know what he saw because I was waiting on that side of the car for her. When he finally snapped out of it I handed him a “valet” fob that was supposed to only allow the car to be drive for short distances. After that he would have to wait for five minutes before it could be driven another short distance. I didn’t even hear the engine rev as he slowly pulled away from the curb.

No Ferris Bueller car drives for you.

Inside we found the place was packed with people dressed to the nines waiting for a table. Elena walked right up to the maître d’ and told him we were a party of two. He told her there was a two hour wait. Instead of saying we would wait, she pulled me over toward the end of the bar.

“Two menus please,” she told the bartender.

I was surprised when they asked if we wanted a cocktail or drink from the bar. Elena answered for us. She ordered us both a soda. As we looked at the menu she pointed out a number of things that she said were safe bets at these types of restaurants. Once we had ordered we moved to one of the tall bar tables with stools over near the window.

She had a very happy smile as she told me, “This place could have been completely empty, and we would have had to wait at least an hour for a table, if we they ever seated us. We aren’t dressed the way they want their customers to look to eat in this restaurant. All the women have to be in the latest expensive crap the celebs are wearing, the men in very expensive Italian suits or a similar trendy style popular in Hollywood right now. Their goal is to have only those who give the image of being extremely wealthy be seen eating here. I could have gotten us a table by giving him my name, but then how could I tell my father about how one of his restaurants is being run when he isn’t here inspecting it? His managers have failed miserably here with their staffing to maximize the restaurants profits. If not for the bar only using top-shelf alcohol, the restaurant would always be in the red. A quick consider the back showed me they were fully staffed with primary as well as secondary staff for a busy Saturday evening. At the podium I saw seventeen parties on the waiting list to be seated. Only those the maître-d’ decided looked like they should be eating here will be given a table. I know from experience that they have fifty-six tables in this restaurant. Only nineteen are in use. As with those still waiting, we would have been made to wait indefinitely until we finally left. I just leveraged my knowledge of where the most money is made in this restaurant to ensure we would be able to eat quickly. It is doubtful that if even we were to be dressed exactly as they desired, we would still have very slow service so it appears the restaurant is packed with wealthy customers. In the bar area they are encouraged to turn over the seats as quickly as possible once customers stop drinking alcohol.”

That makes a lot of sense. Well not the snot at the podium choosing who can eat here, but moving the customers from the bar as quickly as possible when they aren’t drinking anymore. They can’t make money off the bar if there is nowhere for people to sit.

Before she could tell me more about this place a man dressed in a suit, which looked like it almost is a tux, came over to our table, and interrupted our conversation.

“Miss Elena! What an unexpected pleasure to have you join us this evening. Where is your father tonight? I hadn’t been informed that he had arrived. We want to ensure he is seated as soon as he is ready,” he asked.

Now I really see what she was describing. This man didn’t give two shits about Elena, just her father.

When she explained that her father was wherever he was working today and that she was on a road trip with a friend, there was a noticeable change in how he carried himself.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a more private table? We have a number of booths which ensure complete privacy,” he said, but she didn’t respond. “I do remember you when you were a little girl and would insist on eating in the kitchen so you could watch the chefs cook. You obviously aren’t a little girl anymore, but we have a perfect area where you can eat and watch the activities in the kitchen.”

Elena waited for him to finish and then tore into him, “Mister Rodgers, I greatly appreciate your misguided efforts to ensure that only those you choose who satisfy your elitist criteria are permitted to dine in the dining room. We’re fine here over near the bar. It just wouldn’t be acceptable for you to seat a high school girl wearing a form fitting tank top and skirt from Goodwill and a high school male in shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers. Plus, it would give the impression that you care nothing for the income of your bartenders. Now, I believe one of your staff is patiently waiting behind you to serve us our soup before it gets cold. Please run along now. I do believe I saw a Bentley and two Rolls pulling in a few moments ago. I’m sure they will expect you to greet them personally.”

Ah! There is the spoiled bitch princess act she told me about. I would say this situation definitely requires her to play her part.

After the waitress brought us our soup Elena exclaimed, “He is a fucking useless twit. Daddy keeps him around because he is an expert at being exactly the condescending prick manager the snots expect to work at a place of this caliber. It is the same reason those dumb trust fund morons will wait all night for the chance to get a table here even when there is no way in hell it will ever happen. All they care about is being seen here. It doesn’t matter if they get to eat here. Can you believe they actually think they have finally arrived when they actually manage to get seated? As you head to the bathroom look at the third table just inside the dining room.”

Ok, why not? Probably need to wash my hands again anyway.

I got some strange glances at me as I went past the people waiting to get in to go to the bathroom, but no one tried to stop me. At the third table I saw a man that was wearing what seemed to look like a very expensive suit and he had on very expensive looking shoes. I didn’t get what he had to do with this place or why Elena wanted me to see him.

She told me as I ate my salad.

“Daddy always dumped me off here to eat lunch while he went to the bank to discuss modifications to the accounts tied to a number of restaurants he owns in this town,” she said softly so only I could hear. “The man you saw was always very polite to me. So polite that once he realized I was inviting myself to his table, he stopped eating to pull out my chair. He gave me a lot of my education in how places like this really work. I was still talking to the man when daddy came looking for me so we could to go to the bank across town. The gentleman did something few I have seen be able to do with my father; he drew him into a conversation to discuss how well I had engaged him in very intelligent conversation. He hadn’t expected such wit and knowledge from a girl of only eleven. Daddy sat down to join us as the man finished his meal. He insisted that the man’s meal was free since the man had been kind enough to tolerate my barrage of questions. He then told my father how he didn’t take charity from anyone for any reason. We found out that the man had been living on the streets for decades. The suit and shoes he found had been tossed away like yesterday’s newspaper. In fact, he had found many high-end suits that he kept in the storage locker where he slept. Over time he had gotten them tailored to better fit him in exchange for doing off the record maintenance work for the cleaners that did the alterations. One day he came in to see if they would let him use the restroom only to be shown to a table even when there was a long line of patrons waiting to be seated. With what money he had on him he managed to afford a bowl of what he said was the best soup he had eaten in a very long time. He told us that he would now keep a portion of what he little money he earned to be able to come have a bowl of soup here at least once a week. Since the man comes in here regularly and meets the stringent unwritten dress code, they escort him to a table without him ever having to wait.”

“Doesn’t he have to at least buy something expensive to keep eating here,” I asked.

Elena replied, “Nope. That is yet another failing of the management at this restaurant which my father has kept overlooking. They would rather have a well-dressed customer eating a ten dollar bowl of soup versus a slightly less well-dressed group of ten each eating one of the hundred dollar a plate entrees. Now if you will pardon me, I need to use the bathroom. Afterwards I’m going to talk with my old friend for a little while. We should just be getting our entree by the time I come back.”

How am I supposed to keep from bursting out laughing over here? Both the maître d’ and manager have a sour look on their faces as Elena walked over to the table and the man gets up to pull out a chair for her.

Watching the two of them talking made it obvious that she really did know the man and they were good friends. She had to have lost the track of time because the waitress who brought our food out looked really worried that Elena wasn’t here. I pointed to the table where she was sitting and suggested that she take her food there.

“We just met this morning. I’m giving her a ride home since it is on my way. She said she is the owner’s daughter,” I told the waitress.

I guess seeing that the manager and maître d’ busily answering the waiting customer’s questions about why someone dressed like her was sitting in the dining room made the waitress decide for herself. I saw her pick up Elena’s drink, get some fresh silverware, and take Elena’s food over to where she was talking to the man. I knew that I was an outsider. I could see how happy she was talking to the man so I decided to enjoy people watching as I ate my dinner.

Maybe I’m smarter than I think. How else could I clearly see that the rich idiots waiting on a seat had no clue that it wasn’t about how much money they had but that they weren’t dressed to eat here.

Elena was doing more talking than eating, so I decided to do a little experiment. I paid the bartender for our dinners and made sure to slip him two hundred-dollar bills in exchange for him helping me with my plan. He charged my card for an order of prime rib to be taken to the man at the table. The man was to be told that it was from a friend of a friend who wanted to thank him for his years of kindness to Elena. That wasn’t going to be the exact way it was said though. The bartender told me he knew what I was trying to do and that he also knew the man was homeless because the bartender had given the man a ride to his storage unit a few times when the weather got really nasty without any warning.

As we had driven up to the restaurant I noticed a very high-end suit store that was open until nine tonight. They guaranteed that any suit they sold would be altered in less than ten minutes so that you could walk out in the new suit. I got ignored by everyone there until I pulled out a black American Excuse card along with my real gold covered JP Morgan card to ask if they took either of the credit cards to pay for a suit, I didn’t have a check or enough cash on me. They were like cock roaches coming out of the woodwork when the lights were turned off. I had seven men and women stripping me down to my underwear. I didn’t even have to tell them what I wanted; they immediately got what had to be the most expensive suit in the entire store that would fit me. I played along as they went back and forth with shirts, pants, shoes, coats and ties until they had what they thought I wanted. I didn’t even look at the cost as I swiped my normal debit card.

I’m sure it cost thousands and was so overpriced that each of them were getting a big bonus. I have to admit that if my family still went to church I would be more than happy wearing this suit each Sunday. What is that in the pants that make them so smooth to the touch?

It didn’t take me long to get back to the restaurant and walk right to the maître d’.

“Good evening sir, can I get you a table,” he said obviously looking at my expensive suit instead of my face.

I just replied with, “No. I already ate at the bar earlier. It seems you wouldn’t seat me when I arrived in shorts and a t-shirt. I will just go grab a seat with the boss’s daughter and her friend.”

He obviously had no idea how to answer the questions that came from the rich snots as I walked over to the table where Elena was sitting watching the man eating the largest piece of prime rib I have ever seen.

“Sorry for the ruse, but I have had enough people being total dicks to me during my life that I couldn’t resist thumbing my nose at the jerk maître d’. All those people waiting still don’t seem to have a clue,” I said.

The man finished his bite and said, “I doubt they ever will. In this world people are mostly sheep. There are plenty of wolves, but few sheep dogs. All of those waiting for a table are sheep trying to make everyone believe they are wolves.”

I could see why Elena had found the man interesting all those years ago. He was very well read, spoke eloquently, and was obviously very intelligent. When I asked why he chose to live as he does, he replied that a few years before he met Elena he had been a sheepdog. Protecting the sheep, like the people waiting to never get a table, from the predatory wolves in the world. All it got him was constant harassment from his bosses and then his family. One day he went home, dropped signed divorce papers on the table in front of his wife, grabbed a small bag and left. Everything he had ever earned, except for a very small interest bearing bank account, was left to his wife and kids.

“Not a one of my offspring ever filed a missing person’s report or sought to ascertain my location. For years I deluded myself in to believing my children truly loved me. It broke my heart to find that they only loved the money I earned to keep them in lap of luxury to which they had become accustomed. As a father and husband, I ensured they would continue to live as they were accustomed until they turned eighteen. No more, no less. Part of my past holdings is the very storage facility where I live. It cannot be sold without my signature, or as the saying goes, over my dead body. My children and wife have both tried multiple times to liquidate it given its prime location in the center of the most expensive real estate in the city. I seriously meant it what I said. Without my signature they would require DNA verification from a rotting corpse to close the deal to sell the storage facility,” he told us. “Most find that idea quite morbid and that was the very point. Their greed will be putting the last self-inflicted nails in their coffins before the first one is every put in mine. Of all my past assets, this storage facility carries special sentimentality for me. It was built on the site where my mentor spent hours teaching me how to become honestly wealthy while working to make money for a company who only cared about what I could do for them. As soon as his children had him committed for dementia the wrecking ball was moving before he even cleared his driveway. The storage business has been outlandishly profitable. It has a six-person staff and seventeen floors of various storage configurations in a climate controlled building. The customers do all the heavy lifting. When they fail to pay, the business opens the units and has everything appraised. The high value items are sold at auction with a reserve price at ten percent below the sale prices of similar items recently sold at auctions around world. The remaining worthless junk it placed on to pallets and sold as single lots.”

Elena knew what he meant, but I was a bit confused. He was extremely nice to explain that the auction would use past sale prices for similar items, along with the appraised price, so the minimum bid had to beat that price or it wouldn’t be sold. The ten percent discount of what these same people would pay at other auctions guaranteed that the items would sell for at least the minimum acceptable price. Most times they went for way over the appraised value. All that money went right into the bank. Most of the junk left in the lockers would sell for enough to cover the past due storage unit rent. So when people paid, they made money. When people didn’t pay, they still made money. Sounded good it me. If there was something really valuable in their locker when they defaulted then he made money.