Hilary – Part 2

Author © Scott D. Zachary

       I unlocked the beveled-glass doors of the octagonal-shaped building. Hilary and I walked through the marble-tiled reception area into the arboreal courtyard, surrounded by two stories of offices—the continuous second-story veranda overhanging the first-story walkway. Hilary stood admiring the orange and black and white coy fish in the pond that wreathed the island. Narrow inlaid-pebble bridges arc over to the island from various points along the broad walkway. The elysian island features exotic lilies, wildflowers, a picnic table, and slender eucalyptus trees reaching skyward.

       “Your world is a dream, Scott.”

       I smiled. “My office over there is where I work with our sister company, Master Computers, developing the Master Plan maintenance management system using the Accell programming language on the AIX UNIX operating system. And over here to our left is my office where I program the Write Plan maintenance management software package for my company using the Advanced PICK programming language. It is a circus plate-spinning act for me to satisfy the needs that tug at me from our many clients on both systems. That’s why you’re here—to effectively clone me so we can spin more plates.”

       “Until now, I wasn’t entirely sure of your intentions, Scott.”

       “Speaking of clones, the director of my company expressed his concern a while back about my taking off to the resorts for four- and five-day weekends. He said, ‘When you’re here, everything goes smoothly with all of our clients’ software, but when you’re gone, we don’t know what to do.’ So I worked many long hours writing a million-line program to clone myself.”

       “Yeah, right,” scoffed Hilary.

       “I’m serious; my clone was a fantastic programmer and analyst—every bit as good as I am, although Scott-2 did have a major flaw. Word got back to me from my clients that he constantly spouted four-letter words at them.

       “I couldn’t have that, so when my clone returned to the office, I said, ‘Come with me, Scott; I want to show you something up on the roof.’ We went up there, and I pointed down. ‘Look!’ Scott-2 leaned forward, and I pushed him off the building. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes later when the South African police came and arrested me for making an obscene clone fall.”

       Shaking her head, Hilary chuckled.

       “After that, I gave up programmatically cloning myself, and it took a while for my clients to accept my apologies. Now let’s get to work on the ‘massive infusion of knowledge’ cloning method.”

       From day one, our cloning sessions hurtled forward in a spectacularly successful manner. Often, the only limitation was the speed at which I could verbally express my thoughts. My apprentice, Hilary Scott-Ker, was brilliant and voraciously absorbed my expertise. Beyond that, I initially had no inkling how exhilarating it would be to have an extremely appealing, charming, and brilliant young lady latching onto, and ingesting, every single word that fired across my lips. Hilary seemed to enjoy the intensity of our training as much as I did. The quality of our mental synthesis transcended beyond intense into the stratum of sexual elation. Seriously!

       In my usual manner, we gold-starred our insanely intense training sessions with equally exuberant partying. After pummeling both of our brains into mush for hours, Hilary and I would sprint five miles (her exquisite derrière presented an enticing carrot), grab a quick dinner, and party at the nightclubs until the wee hours. It quickly became apparent to me that it’s a whole lot easier to get beautiful dance partners when you walk in the door with the hottest babe in the joint. That prompted all the young ladies to assume I had something that they needed. Hilary and I would drink a Castle or two together at the bar while we scoped out the meat, and then we’d fan out.

        On one of our excursions, most likely on the Wild Suncoast, Hilary hooked up with an Afrikaner named Dave. He was a handsome, sturdy fellow about my age—mid-thirties, and he owned an irrigation company in Durban. Dave and I were a lot alike, most prominently as party animals. We fed off each other’s spontaneously zany antics. He was also one of few in those days who could maintain a semblance of control while keeping pace with my voluminous alcohol intake.

       I recall one weekend when Dave put together a beach party on the Wild Suncoast. About twelve of us marched like ants to a remote spot on the beach, each porting a cooler of beer and steaks and other items to fuel our festivities. I, myself, pompously ported two coolers full of beer, one on each shoulder. We built a mountainous bonfire, baked clams, funneled beer, and howled at the moon. While roasting my steak on a stick over the blazing fire, I observed an endless parade of container ships navigating the Indian Ocean to scatter South Africa’s sanctioned goods around the world.

       I was invincible—which is why the T-shirt of a young man walking past our raucous bash caught my attention. The front of his shirt advertised a computer company, and the back bragged something down the alley of “Anything they do, we can do better. We do the impossible.”

       “I love your shirt! That’s what I do—the impossible!” I exclaimed.

       “I can’t do the impossible anymore.” His broken spirit draped his voice as he spoke. “I breached my limit.” Pointing at his temple, “I broke something inside here. I’m done. Why don’t you take this shirt? You carry the torch.” He pulled the shirt over his head and handed it to me.

       “I will. I’m not aware of any limitations. Thank you!”

       Hilary and I went to Dave’s house that night. Well after midnight, I got tired of hearing the incessant screech of bedsprings. I walked out onto the front porch and admired the city lights of Durban about seven or eight miles to the south. Fitter than I knew what to do with, I set out on a trek to see if there might be an all-night hot dog stand downtown where I might get a snack. I had no inkling that this would be a replay of Katmandu, except this night would present dozens of menacing little kids instead of snarling dogs.

       My trek dipped into a shadowy industrial area. Before I realized it, a small army of African kids ranging from about ten to sixteen years old surrounded me. Closing in on me from all sides, flashes of light glinted from pieces of metal, chains jingled, and distinct sounds of switchblades snapped. I felt The Force intensify within me. It flipped open my Swiss Army knife and casually padded toward the ostentatious leader of this gang. A screech erupted from me as I vaulted into a horse stance with the tip of my blade an inch or so from the throat of the young man. “Peace, please!”

       The swarm of hoodlums around me froze for a moment. I detected movement again, and my body lurched closer to the leader, the tip of my knife pressing against his throat. A calm overtook me as all the demons in hell were harkened by my plea. “Please, PEACE!!!” I smiled a ghastly knowing smile. I knew I was dead and it didn’t matter, as long as I took this young man with me. He could see that conclusion in my demeanor as everyone stood frozen.

       Interminable moments expired until my peripheral vision detected the leader’s fingers at his side, flipping outward. Movements faded away from us until there was only us. I withdrew my knife and continued my trek into Durban where I had the good fortune of finding an all-night hotdog store tended by Sonya, the prettiest young black gal I’d ever seen. Vainglorious to the hilt after the dicey challenge I had vanquished this morning, I asked this sweet-eyed treasure out to dinner for the following weekend, and she accepted. Hah!

       I didn’t trek back to Dave’s; I frolicked on the joy in my heart. Confident beyond measure, I howled brazenly along the way to forewarn.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       Celebrating three months of training, Hilary and I enjoyed the Sandton Holiday Inn evening buffet, followed by beers at a table in the barroom. Hilary began chatting with a polished gentleman at the next table. I left to go to the restroom, and when I returned, Hilary was selling an installation of the Master Plan maintenance management system to that man. I sat back and admired her technically knowledgeable sales pitch to this Operations Director for a textile mill in the Seychelles Islands out in the Indian Ocean. I listened to Hilary parlay her enormous charm in concert with the vast technical library that she had absorbed into an eloquent sales presentation of Master Plan. I savored Hilary’s eloquence with pride as she illustrated how all the mine maintenance managers had declared it impossible for me to design an all-encompassing maintenance scheduler that could do their jobs better than they could. As if she had indeed been there, Hilary looked at me admiringly. “And Scott did it!”

       I smiled a gleaming smile.

       “Master Plan thoroughly and automatically plans every aspect of your maintenance,” continued Hilary, “emphasizing preventive maintenance so that breakdown maintenance effectively goes away. Your maintenance managers will push a button at the beginning of their shift, and they will know who’s going to be doing what, where, and when. Master Plan intelligently assigns all personnel and crews by availability and specialty. It manages spares inventory allocation and replenishment. Scheduling, work orders, cost analysis, and purchase orders, you name it—it does it. And on the rare occasion when you have a breakdown, Master Plan assigns all associated preventive tasks to be performed in conjunction.”

       “I’m impressed! That’s precisely what we need!” the Operations Director exclaimed.

       Hilary feigned being out of business cards and asked for one of mine. I hadn’t yet broached the topic of Hilary to Sterling, and she was selling a large configuration of our software as well as our consulting services. Hilary impressed the hell out of that guy. And me, too!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       Dave came up to Johannesburg from Durban the following Saturday morning to visit Hilary. I gave Hilary the weekend off so they could have some alone time. On my way out the door to do some software testing at work, I told Hilary that I would introduce her to Sterling on Monday. Too many of Master Computers’ employees had seen us at work together to keep our training project a secret.

       Mid-afternoon, I needed the current date for a software test procedure. I spun my chair around and typed “date” on another terminal at the UNIX prompt. The response read: “August 6, 1994.”

       “Well, happy 38^th birthday, Scott!” I exclaimed. I didn’t bother tidying any of my papers or logging off all the terminals. I stood up, stretched, and left the office. I heard music emanating from Cynthia’s open door across the courtyard. She was the classy director of a marketing firm who knew how to throw a party. I walked into her office and proclaimed, “I just now realized, Cynthia, that today is my birthday!”

       “Happy birthday, Scott! Let’s break out the champagne! We usually reserve our bottles of champagne to celebrate over big sales, but I believe this occasion merits a celebration!” Cynthia peeled a gold wrapper from the bottle and expertly manipulated the corkscrew. “I’d love to take you out for your birthday, but I have to finish preparing for a big sales presentation this evening.” She popped the cork. “At least I can help you commence the festivities.” Cynthia sipped a glass of the bubbly, and I swilled the rest.

       I drove to the apartment where I found Hilary and Dave drinking beer on the veranda. Not entirely faking my disgust, “Some personal assistant you are, Hilary. You’re fired!”

       Hilary winced. “What did I do?”

       “It’s what you didn’t do. What kind of assistant forgets her boss’s birthday!”

       “Oh, I’m so sorry, Scott. I didn’t know.”

       Dave smiled mischievously. “I think we can make it up to you, Scott.”

       And they did. Dave, Hilary, and I went on a partying rampage throughout the city of Johannesburg. Dave and I incited each other to the point of insane hypermania. He and I square danced on bar tables. Dave told me he always wanted to playact a barroom brawl the way stuntmen do in the movies, so we did; and just like in the cinema, everybody in the whole bar joined in for real. Hilary laughed deliriously as Dave and I stumbled out of that bar with our arms draping each other’s shoulders, the police sirens rapidly approaching from all directions.

       The three of us had become far too drunk to drive, so we let a fellow that hooked up with us drive my car to the next bar. He parked in one of the many parking towers in Johannesburg, and we continued partying. Our last watering hole was at a big discothèque nightclub in the enormous Johannesburg Mall. When it closed, we struggled to find our way out as doors at the end of the many long corridors of shops were chained and locked. Hilary, Dave, and I stepped into an elevator to see if we could find a way out on another level. Dave nodded toward a firehose spigot. “Dare you to turn the water on, Scott!”

       I didn’t hesitate.

       “I’ll hold the door.”

       I turned the large wheel valve open all the way until the water began flooding the building. While we continued searching for a way out, four security guards approached us. We asked them how to get out of the mall, but they insisted we come with them to their security office. One of the guards started to close the office door behind us. Dave exhorted forebodingly, “Do not close that door!” The rumble of his voice coming from his hulking frame stopped the guard in his tracks.

       “Go ahead! Piss him off! See what happens!” I fomented.

       The door remained open.

       All of the security guards perched warily on a precipitous mental edge as Dave and I thoroughly incited each other. We didn’t threaten them directly; however, they sensed impending calamity from both Dave and me. My body remarkably fit and my mind extremely unfit, I felt bulletproof as I bounced nonstop up and down on the balls of my feet while Dave kept playing and fidgeting with all of the controls on their communications and monitoring devices. The security guards were terrified of doing anything that might agitate Dave and me further than we already were. They sensed no fear in us, and they were right. Total insanity.

       I would love to view a video of Hilary’s expressions as she watched us percolate pandemonium. With Dave and I covering each other’s back in that little security office, the guards knew they would pay hell if they attempted to restrain either of us.

       The security cop in charge accused me of flooding the building which I denied ferociously. He then showed us the video of the lower end of the bottom floor which was covered with several inches of water. Then he showed us the recording of me causing it to happen.

       I scowled. “I thought I was winding up the elevator!” I told him to send me a bill.

       Understandably, the head honcho wanted more than anything to get Dave and me as far away from him as possible. He began taking our names and addresses so we could be contacted later. Dave and Hilary gave him some hilarious information that made it difficult for me to maintain a straight face.

       “What is your name?” asked the head guard.

       Still bouncing, I answered, “Oscar Wilde, with an ‘e.’  ”

       “And your place of employment?”

       “Advantage...” I hesitated to make Hilary squirm, finishing with “...Orthodontal Services.”

       “How do you spell that?” he asked.

       “O-r-t-h and the rest is just like it sounds.” What was he going to do, ask me, “What does it sound like?”

       Incredibly, Dave, Hilary and I were out on the street waving down a taxi moments later. Why? Our newfound friend who drove us to the mall in my car had picked up a girl in the discothèque and took off. Although he did give my car keys back, I had no clue where my car was parked. Sure, we knew it was somewhere in a parking tower, but there were many parking towers in Johannesburg. Alas, we had a taxi take us home.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       “O-h-h-h-h,” I groaned as I stepped onto the balcony, my eyelids barely open.

       “Here, you need this beer more than I do,” offered Dave.

       “You look terrible, Scott,” pronounced Hilary.

       “O-h-h-h-h.” I chugalugged the cold beer.

       “So do I still work for you?”

       “Most definitely,” I grinned. “Thanks, you two, for the most memorable birthday party of my entire life.”

       “You guys are crazy!” declared Hilary. “Do you remember square dancing with Dave on the bar tables?”

       “Marginally,” I snickered.

       Dave grinned. “I think you might’ve cracked my jaw, Scott.”

       “Had to make it look real—made everything after that look plausible.”

       “I’m not going anywhere with you two again!” exasperated Hilary.

       “Call me a taxi, Hilary. I need to go find my car.”

       “Are you going to ‘wind up’ some more elevators, Mr. Wilde with an ‘e’?”

       “O-h-h-h-h, please don’t make me laugh.”

       I dressed in my running gear, and a short time later the taxi arrived. I instructed the driver to drop me off at a parking tower in downtown Johannesburg.

       “Which one?” he asked.

       “Just pick one.”

       It turned out that there were eight large parking towers near the mall in Johannesburg. I ran to the top of five of them before finding my XR6.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Scott?”

       “What are you talking about, Sterling?” I knowingly responded.

       “Her!” Sterling pointed at my office on Master Computers’ side of the building where I had left Hilary while I fetched some software documentation for our training session.

       “Oh, you mean Hilary, my personal assistant and apprentice. Haven’t you met Hilary?”

       “No, I haven’t. Since when did you rate a personal assistant?”

       “Since I became a partner in our company seven months ago. Now what in the hell do you think you’re doing, Sterling,” I bellowed, “gypping me out of my shares in Advantage Management Services?!”

       Sterling’s face flushed. “Keep it down, Scott,” he whispered as he motioned for me to sit down with him at the conference room table. “I haven’t cheated you out of your shares—I just haven’t gotten around to getting your certificate printed.”

       “While you couldn’t be bothered to give me my stock certificate and financial statements, I’ve been paying Hilary out of my own pocket for three months as an investment in my company, Sterling. I’ve been training her from scratch for nearly fifty hours a week in the evenings and weekends to be able to do much of what I do.”

       “You can’t teach someone from scratch to be a top-notch systems analyst in a few months—you and I both know that.”

       Wound to quit and walk out the door, I sparred, “You don’t know shit, Sterling. I am a brilliant trainer, especially when I have an ultra-highly motivated, brilliant student, such as Hilary.”

       “I don’t care how brilliant you two are—it’s absurd to think that you can...”

       I stood. “I’ve got your absurd hanging, Sterling. In three months, Hilary taught herself how to sell the Master Plan software, too!”

       “What the...”

       “Last Friday evening, Hilary effectively wrapped our first sale of a large configuration of the Master Plan system to the Director of Operations for a textile mill in the Seychelles. All you have to do is tie the bow on the deal.”

       “You’re full of shit!”

       I stood and walked toward the door.

       “Where are you going, Scott? Get back here!”

       “I’m going to get Hilary, and we’re going to take a few days off while I figure out whether or not I want to continue working for this pathetic company.”

       “You walk out that door and...”

       The door closed behind me. I retrieved Hilary and drove us to the apartment. Along the way, I somberly said, “I talked with Sterling.”

       “I assumed as much,” said Hilary. “What did he say?”

       “He threw garbage at everything we’ve done. He said it wasn’t possible to train someone to be a systems analyst from scratch in a few months.”

       “We know better than that, don’t we?”

       “Yes, ma’am. You’re well on your way. When I told him all he needed to do was tie the bow on your sale in the Seychelles, he told me I was full of shit.”

       “Did you give him any details about the customer?”

       “Hell, no. Here’s the plan, Hilary: Sterling destroyed my initiative. I’m going to take a couple of days by the pool at my friend Kari’s house in Durban to see if any motivation returns. Here’s your pay through Thursday, along with a little bonus. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay on here until then.”

       As I began to unlock the door of the apartment, I turned and looked into Hilary’s eyes. “The odds are against us continuing with our training project. One question, Hilary.”

       “What’s that?”

       “Are you better off now than you were when we met three months ago?”

       “Definitely! I know how to wind up an elevator now.”

       We laughed, and I blushed.

       “In any case, Scott, I want you to know that it’s been an honor to be your systems analyst apprentice. You’ve inspired me profoundly, and either way that you decide, I will finish our quest to transform me into a world-class systems analyst—like you.”

       “You’re going to be a great systems analyst, you awesome Kiwi. Give me a hug.”

       Before I left town, I arranged for a rental car and dropped my company car in Master Computers’ overflow parking. I pointed the 4-Series BMW toward Durban with U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” on auto-replay at full volume.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       A week later, Sterling left a phone message for me at Kari’s in which he suspended me until his return from vacation in the States. I called Jack to get a number where I could call Sterling stateside. I left a message at that number, telling him he couldn’t suspend someone who had already quit.

       I had lounged around the pool at Kari’s house for some weeks when Jack called. “Would you be willing to work on software projects as a contractor, Scott?”

       “I might consider it, but only if I work against a cash retainer.”

       “I don’t think Sterling will go for that.”

       “I won’t do it any other way, Jack. He killed my trust after seven months of waiting for my stock certificate and financials. Can you blame me?”

       “No. Supposedly I was part owner from the beginning, and after all these years, I’ve never received any shareholder documents, financials, or dividends, either.”

       “Really? Why are you still there?”

       “That’s a good question, Scott. I suppose I should’ve stayed on top of it. Oh, you might like to know that Sterling got a call from a textile mill in the Seychelles Islands. He’s following up on your sale.”

       “That was Hilary’s initiative, not mine. I told Sterling about it, and he threw it back in my face. That’s why I quit without notice. I don’t feel any animosity toward him; he did, after all, make it possible for me to come live in Africa.”

       “I wish you the best, Scott.”

       “I’ve enjoyed working with you, Jack. Good luck to you, too.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       I spent the rest of that summer laying around Kari’s pool flaunting my bronze six-pack and drinking to oblivion. Oh yeah, that’s where I met a gal with a bewitching voice who became my second ex-wife.