The Staircase of Dragon Jerico
Chapter Three
“TWENTY-ONE!” Preston called out as he sank another basket. That felt good.
“Are you practicing all the time, bro? You were never that good when we were playing back in school,” his friend Gene panted.
They’d managed to get together for hoops at Jerico House every Sunday morning all summer long. It was their way of breaking out after the pandemic. They played without masks.
“Just hyped about our new project. It makes everything easier,” Preston said enthusiastically. He’d hinted at the new project several times, but Gene was on the board of directors and Preston didn’t want to tip his hand until he was sure everything was lined up. “It takes all my time. I even passed the Mackenzie project on. I don’t have time for it.”
“I hope you’re not isolating yourself in your ivory tower too much. The economy has been a little unpredictable when it comes to building and development.”
“Nothing is recession-proof,” Preston said. “But we learned things from the pandemic. We didn’t shut down. Jobs were retained and a new business model emerged.”
“So, you’re getting the company back on its feet. Bravo. Of course, everyone believes that’s Duval’s doing. What are you doing to get back in the world now that the pandemic is supposed to be over?” Gene asked.
“I’ve never been very good at facing the world, Gene. You know that. I can talk to you. I can talk to Mom and G-Pop. It’s all I can do to rap the gavel in a board meeting. I got along better with the world when I could stay isolated and not talk to anyone. I’m not eager to get out in it again.”
“I think you slipped backward during the pandemic. Have you continued seeing your therapist?”
“Yeah, yeah. We go through hours of talking about my childhood and nothing changes. Hell, I had a great childhood. I don’t understand where the anxiety comes from.”
“Is that all your therapist does?” Gene asked in disbelief.
“No, of course not. That’s me talking about things I can’t control. She’s big into cognitive behavior therapy and I’ve learned some ways to deal with it. Then, I enter a room full of people and I can’t even breathe.”
“It’s not healthy to stay isolated all the time. You might even find some things that would help you with your new project if you got out once in a while.”
“It would be fine if I could stay safe while interacted and watched people. I use my binocs from the rooftop to watch people sometimes. But to get out there and interact? That’s torture.”
He’d tried to overcome his social anxiety. He had counseling, speech therapy, and even got involved in sports. At six-two, he’d been good at basketball, but that hadn’t translated to social circumstances. His family was well-known as city founders with one of the oldest homes in Jerico City. He still carried the Jerico name as his middle name, though the Carver clan had been around the city almost as long. They simply hadn’t been as influential.
Taking the prescribed drugs, going to counseling, and practicing speeches he never managed to give. The last time he’d called a woman his mother wanted to set him up with, he’d hyperventilated while on the phone with her until he passed out. The woman had called 911 and refused to speak with him again.
“How about a limited interaction environment? Here’s an idea: Slip out to a different restaurant once a week for lunch. You might find some new dishes you want to try. See some interesting people. All you’d have to do is point at what you want on the menu and nod when they ask you how it was. Make it a study, my friend. Watch people from a little closer than your rooftop. Listen.”
“I’d end up with people watching me. ‘What’s Preston Carver up to, eating by himself? We should say hi,’” Preston said. “You know, I went out to a play a while ago and by intermission, there was a reporter waiting in the lobby to interview me. I don’t even know why they know who I am.”
“You’re Preston Carver, Chairman of the Board and CEO of JeriCorp. There’s a page dedicated to watching you on social media.”
“They all want to know why I’m chairman and CEO. I quit following them when they started talking about how Royce Duval is the brains keeping JeriCorp alive.”
“You know, it doesn’t take that much to disguise yourself these days. Masks are still a thing. Put on dark glasses and wear a baseball hat or something.”
“I don’t know, Gene. You and I can talk. We’ve learned over the years. My own assistant at the office is always trying to finish my sentences for me. She walks all over me.”
“I’m thinking of you, my friend. I know it’s hard, but try it. See if you can manage just a little anonymous interaction. If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out. Really, man. It’s got to be better than another blind date your mother arranges.”
“No kidding. I’ll try it.”
“Let’s suppose a woman you meet was only interested in your money,” Jacqueline said at Sunday dinner.
It was a family tradition and Preston endured it after his morning basketball game with Gene nearly every week. Preston’s mother was a would-be matchmaker, and he simply tuned out her well-intentioned interference in his life. He appreciated her intent. Really. He had just been burned often enough to not be enthusiastic about dating.
It started with Beverly, back in high school. Preston had fallen hopelessly in love and she’d been his first lover. But she’d shown her true colors when she got pregnant by another classmate and tried to convince Preston it was his.
“They are only interested in money,” Preston sighed. He supposed, as his therapist had told him, that was a terribly unfair declaration. There were days he wished he had no money. But that scared him, too.
“Well, what’s the downside? Just make sure any relationship is locked into an ironclad prenup and enjoy yourself. Someplace along the line I’m sure to end up with a grandchild.”
“I think that’s called prostitution.”
“It’s what I did. Lyle looked at the agreement, then looked at me. He signed it. I assume my standing in front of him naked until he signed might have had something to do with it, but he signed. He married me so everything was legitimate. He got me pregnant, exactly as I planned, and then I kissed his ass goodbye. He took what was owed him in the prenup, and your father was never seen nor heard from again.”
“I’m supposed to be happy I never knew my father, Mother?”
“Believe me, son, you’d have been bored to death with him,” Lawrence said. “I wasn’t sure what Jackie saw in the boy until I met you. Getting her pregnant was probably the greatest accomplishment of his life. The second greatest was leaving.”
“What I’m saying is that you don’t have to be alone,” Jacqueline said. “It’s not healthy. Find someone who is poor, pretty, and desperate. Take her out. Show her the agreement. Marry her and enjoy her for as long as it pleases you, making sure you get an heir out of her. Then divorce her and pay her what she’s owed in the prenup.”
“It’s what Royce has done,” Lawrence nodded. “After his first wife took half of everything he’d worked for and the children, he presented Shannon with the prenup, so she knows exactly how long she has to put up with him and what she’ll get for it when it ends. He gets a beautiful young wife and she gets pretty much whatever she wants.”
Preston laughed at the thought of his chief operating officer and his young wife.
“Neither one of them can keep their pants on,” Preston said. “No thanks. I honestly think they work together to seduce whoever one or the other wants to bed. They grin at each other like conspirators.”
“Royce is a good and effective public face for the company,” Lawrence said. “Believe me, I locked him into as tight an employment agreement as his prenup with Shannon.”
“In return for which, he gets to take credit for every success the company has. Everyone believes the City Community Center was his idea. They actually believe he designed the Mackenzie project himself,” Preston snorted. “He never had an original idea in his life. You even designed his prenup with Shannon.”
“But the man can sell,” Lawrence said. “I know you spent hours with him to make sure he understood what the Community Center concept was and the reasons for it. He can be a little dense sometimes, but then he took the concept and sold it to the city, to the board of directors, and to the rest of the company. And let me remind you that you did not have to make a single presentation.”
“I… I… know, Grandfather. I’m a g-great disappointment,” Preston stuttered. As soon as he was on the spot, he froze up. Detecting his grandfather’s criticism, it was like his tongue swelled in his mouth. He couldn’t get a sentence out that made sense. If he could, he wouldn’t need Royce as a front man for the company.
“Preston,” Lawrence said gently, “you have never disappointed me. You have vision. You have talent. And you understand the market trends better than anyone I know. Having a puppet who can present those ideas and sell the concepts is no disgrace. It’s what I hired Royce for in the first place. And he knows he’s a puppet. He takes your words, your ideas, and packages them together with his natural charisma and glib presentation style. It’s a winning combination. You just need to pull on his strings once in a while to make sure he’s dancing to your tune.”
Maybe that was what Preston needed in his social life, too&mdasah;a puppet who could sell him to a good woman without him having to actually talk to her.
It had always been that way. It was why Beverly thought she could control him by pretending he got her pregnant in high school. It had been a satisfying first sexual experience, but he’d fallen in love with her. When he found out she just wanted his family fortune, it was devastating.
Since taking over from his grandfather as Chairman of the Board and CEO, Preston had remained isolated in his penthouse office at JeriCorp. He had a private elevator that rose to the apartment, so very few people saw him enter or leave the building. He met with Royce each week to go over plans and coach him on the details of any project needing to be sold.
He had a personal assistant he worked to the bone, just carrying messages to the executives on the staff and reviewing projects. He never had a personal assistant who worked for him more than a few months. His people skills were so poor that he drove his assistants away.
Gene Hathaway, Preston’s high school friend and staunchest non-family ally on the board of directors, had encouraged him to get out of his office for lunch once a week. It took Preston until Thursday before he got up the energy to leave his office and explore a little.
Lawrence had designed the penthouse office and apartment when Preston first graduated from college. The two shared the office for several years before Preston took over the company. The space was comfortable and Preston didn’t really like leaving it. His grandfather had insisted on a few rules, however. During business hours, the space was the office. Both men wore suits and ties to the office. A secretary had her space next to the elevator and reported to work each day in proper business attire.
Royce was considerably less formal in running the rest of the office on the lower floors. Architects and engineers often wore jeans and casual shirts unless they were meeting in the penthouse. It was understood that anyone who came into the penthouse during business hours was to wear proper business attire and use formal terms of address for Mr. Jerico and Mr. Carver and Ms. whoever happened to be their assistant.
At Preston and Lawrence’s end of the office were floor-to-ceiling windows with sliding doors that opened to the rooftop terrace. Of course, Lawrence’s desk was now empty most of the time, but the old man still came in regularly to consult with his grandson and advise him on the business. Between the two spaces was a comfortable meeting area for when a table was not needed. The sofa and chairs were formed in a U-shape facing the windows.
A loft was Preston’s private sleeping and lounging area with his bath and closet. Beneath it, next to the central office space, was his kitchen and dining area.
The assistant’s space was as large as any office in the building. It was fully networked with printers, projectors, file cabinets, and computer system with multiple screens. Beside the assistant’s area was a restroom and a large storage area.
When his assistant left for lunch Thursday, Preston quickly removed his jacket and pulled on a hoodie sweatshirt from his alma mater. He put on dark glasses and a mask, took a deep breath, and left by way of the elevator directly to the ground floor exit.
He was going to do it. He was going out to lunch.
The Top Knot Diner had a good reputation, according to online ratings. It was only three blocks from the office, so Preston made it his destination for his first adventure. Of course, he couldn’t expect the diner to serve food as good as what he would make for himself. If he hadn’t been born into the Jerico family of architects and designers, he could imagine himself owning a restaurant and cooking up his own special dishes. He’d have gone to culinary school and become a great chef. These days he only cooked for himself and occasional family meals at Jerico House.
The first thing he noticed at the diner was that it was clean. That was an important issue for Preston. Restaurants often kept the lighting low so dirty floors and seats went unnoticed. The bright lights in the diner would have exposed any mess or spill that went untended. As he waited for a seat, he saw a waitress grab a clean towel, wet it in hot water and go to the last booth in the corner of the restaurant to scrub it down. She even washed and dried the plastic menus at the table. Preston was sold.
When she turned away from the booth, he startled her, standing just behind her.
“Okay?” he asked, pointing at the booth.
“Sure. Sorry, you startled me.”
“Th-thank you for… using cl-clean cloth. To… you know…”
“Oh, sure. It doesn’t help to wipe a table down with a dirty cloth and old dishwater,” she laughed. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Water?”
“Y-yes.”
The waitress, named Maizie according to her nametag, hurried off to get his drinks while he looked at the menu. Maizie had nice legs and arms, though that was really the only description he could manage. The pinafore uniform looked exactly like all the others in the diner, the hat covered her hair, and she wore a mask, like he did. He supposed it was suspicious for him to keep his sunglasses, mask, and hoodie on, but he’d seen half a dozen employees in the diner when he arrived and wasn’t going to risk being recognized.
When Maizie returned to the table with his drinks, she asked what he’d like.
“J-just… th-th-the…,” Preston just pointed to the note on the menu for the Blue Plate Special. Maizie nodded.
“Have it for you in a jiff.” She was gone again.
That was refreshing. She didn’t try to finish his sentences for him. She just took the direction from his gesture and went about getting his food. When she brought the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans, she set it down so Preston would get the best presentation of the old-fashioned comfort food.
“I’m Maizie,” she said. “If I’m not near or not paying attention, give me a shout if you need something.”
“Yeah. Oh. I-I-I’m Jerry.”
“Nice to meet you, Jerry. Enjoy your meal.”
He bent his head over the food and lowered his mask just enough so he could eat. The bright lights of the diner meant he could see fine with his dark glasses. And the food was good. Maizie stopped by to refill his coffee cup and then was off to wait on her other customers. He was impressed with how cheerful she was, even in the demanding atmosphere of the diner.
“I’ll be happy to be your cashier when you’re ready,” she said when she delivered the check for $13.45.
“Oh. Um… I-I have it here,” he said, digging in his pocket. He handed her a $20-bill. “Keep… the… uh… change. Enough?”
“That’s very generous of you, Jerry. Take your time with your coffee. Thank you for choosing the Top Knot for lunch.”
He saw her run the twenty through the bill reader at the cash register and then count out her change. He left before she returned to her station.
He was back at the office before Mrs. Armstrong returned.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
