| Chosen Page 4 |
||
| Michael's car
crawled slowly down the street as he scanned the numbers tacked to
the fronts of the houses. He was beginning to suspect that his regional
manager had given him an invalid address—it was as expected,
merely a neighborhood full of houses, expensive houses on spacious
and well-kept lots. There was obviously no large company tucked away
among the quiet homes and aging rhododendrons. The house numbers kept growing as he drove along, and finally he pulled to a stop in front of a house with an address that matched the one on the café menu. The address numbers, however, were not on the front of a house, but rather on a brick post that held one half of a large wrought iron gate. A tall, but discreet fence shot out in both directions into the shrubs. The house itself was only partially visible, looking through the gate, and set far back from the street behind forty-foot tall trees and impressive shrubs. Behind the house Michael could see the Olympic peninsula in the distance, over the waters of Puget Sound: a view worthy of charging admission. It certainly wasn’t a business, but it was definitely big enough to justify some substantial exchange of money somewhere. Perhaps he had been given the CEO's home address by mistake. If nothing else, he could talk to somebody, perhaps a servant, and get the correct address for the business. He parked his car on the street, and walked almost guiltily to the gate, where an intercom box was set on a post. For a moment he was skittish—not in a personally self-conscious manner, rather a professional manner. The commission for an account of this size would pay his rent every month, not that he needed it. Michael Irwin consulted his instincts and finally pressed the ‘Call’ button. When it didn't make a sound, or any indication of action, he pressed it again, this time holding it down for an extended length of time. Suddenly a voice came through the speaker. "I heard you the first time," a woman’s voice said. "Christ, you’re gong to wear out my buzzer." "Yes, hello," Michael stuttered to remember who he was and why he was there, "my name is…um, I was given this address as a place of business…well, it looks like mistakenly anyway, but uh…" "If you’re looking for a job, I’m not hiring. It’s strictly a one-woman operation." Michael was stunned for a moment. He looked at the seven-figure amount on the café menu. The situation went beyond unexpected, into the land of unbelievable. "This is Dogwood Software?" he asked. "Wait—no, I’m not looking for a job, I sell office supplies, large amounts of office supplies at discount for large companies." He temporarily broke into sales pitch mode. "I can take ten percent off of what you're paying now. We’ve got exclusive agreements with major manufacturers—" "I told you, this is a one person operation. I get a box of office supplies delivered via UPS every other month or so. I don’t think I’m the sort of business you’re looking for." Michael was mesmerized by the voice again, a sort of indifferent neutrality in the tone which confused him. Michael Irwin, the king of initial small talk, had never encountered the tone before. Usually someone either engaged you, or became suspicious and standoffish. This voice wasn’t on either side of the spectrum, rather right in the middle. As if the conversation was nothing more than an exchange of information. Not necessarily cold, rather practical and pragmatic. But at the same time, sexy in its smoky timbre. He wanted to meet this woman face-to-face, and he knew that it was nearly impossible, that he had no legitimate reason to carry the conversation any further. What he was selling, she didn't need. But Michael Irwin was never one to shy away from a challenge. "Well, OK," he said after a long pause. The voice had been waiting patiently on the other end for a good half-minute. "I guess if you don’t need large amounts of supplies, then—" "No, thank you," the voice said. "Have a nice day." "Good day—" The speaker clicked off rudely. He had been dismissed. He peered through the gate at the mysterious brick-faced monolith hidden among the vegetation. There was absolutely no sign of life. Suddenly, he noticed a video camera discreetly attached to a tree just inside the gate—right above the normal line of sight, but obviously pointing at where he was standing in the middle of the driveway. After a moment, he half-heartedly waved at the camera, then turned around and walked slowly back to his car. |
||
Copyright © 2004 toddbunker.com, All rights reserved