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Ari's publisher deals with business, as Sam's maternal instinct is put to the test.
Chapter 10
New York was experiencing its typical summer day. The humid streets were crowded with lunch hour foot traffic, all hurrying to the nearest building to escape the 94 heat.
High above the East River, safe behind air-conditioned walls, the publisher of the Profile Magazine, Harrison James, sat across the polished ebony conference table from Hurito Kamasuchi, Vice President of Sonico Electronics. Between them laid Profile’s Annual Report. As Hurito thanked the young man in white for serving him his tea, Harrison idly fingered the pages of the report.
“Good tea, Harrison. Good tea,” commented Hurito as he sipped with a connoisseur’s air.
“After five years, the kitchen should have it right. Thank you, Martin.” The young man exited, closing the heavy double-door without a sound.
“My goodness, it has been that long, hasn’t it,” lamented Hurito. “Five years. Long enough for you to break a profit, right?”
Harrison smiled with the contempt the war-horse from Tokyo had grown accustomed to.
Hurito sighed. “That’s an unfair question, Harrison. I’m sorry. How can you possibly come back with an answer without sounding your weak self? The publisher of my magazines can’t afford to appear weak, I know. But…” he rose and walked to the large Rosewood cabinet at the far end of the room. He opened its doors. “There are ways to solve our little problem of six million in the red.” He took up a red dry marker and made a large circular motion on the board without showing much of a red impression. “You…”
Harrison stood up and approached the board. “If you don’t mind using black to show me my ‘red’ problems, the black marker is fresh. Used it this morning to demonstrate some problems to marketing.”
“Please, spare me Mr. James.” Hurito picked up the black marker and repeated the circular motion, imprinting a large 6 on the board. “Your marketing department is not the problem. The number 6 is the problem. How do you propose to change that number, Mr. James?”
“You threatening to pull the plug again?” quipped Harrison.
Hurito stepped back to his seat and picked up his teacup, sipping with the calm that he knew did more than push Harrison’s buttons. “Sonico Electronics bought this magazine, along with your ‘easy ride’ publication security, EXXIT, which incidentally is doing well under your watch because the world loves a loser and EXXIT fulfills that need perfectly with its featured weekly fallen hero – but I digress. We took along Premier to prove a point, Mr. James. Trashy Celebrity pictures printed on glossy stock with literary stories accompanying them represents a moneymaking concept. It has been proven in Germany, France and even in Kyoto. Just because your government has made it uncomfortable for Paparazzi to function in their old ways…”
“’Uncomfortable’? Is that all you can say?” Harrison leaned in. “The only way we can even get near the stars is out of the country. They know that. I know that and you know that. They continue to prance around in New York and Hollywood without fear because ‘The Privacy Act’ protects them as if they were an endangered species. Except when they’re at a public function surrounded by hundreds of other photographers, my cameras are strappedunless you want to add some more loss to the big 6 with $15,000 fines for every shutter click we make around their personal life.”
“Domestic problems bore me,” said Hurito as he took one last sip of tea. As he walked toward the door, “I expect you to turn this around. Get the pictures. Get the stories. Get the edge back, Harry. You were good once. Nothing scared you. Pulp art is in. It would be a shame if you weren’t, eh?” He opened the door. “Next quarter, Harry.”
As he stepped into the gallery like foyer with its many framed Profile covers dressing the walls, he turned back to Harry, “Oh, incidentally, I forgot to thank you for the interesting Santa Claus Christmas card.” He stepped into the elevator. As the bronze paneled doors closed into a seamless removal of the image Harrison detested, Hurito smiled and bowed, saying, “That smeared red and green was clever. My wife thought it was Conan O’Brian giving bad Halloween.”
Harrison stood erect staring at the walled silence before him. As his eyes narrowed to mock Hurito’s parting comment, a smile took form. “It was.”
***
“Antonio is getting hungry, Maxwell. Can we stop soon?” asked Sam.
Max eyed her in the rear view mirror as Antonio said, “Gracias, but my home is just a short way further. You can drop me there.”
“Well,” said Sam, “If you’re going to be leaving us, let’s open that case again. I seemed to have left all my jewelry back at the hotel.”
Antonio grinned with full understanding of what was happening. He lifted the latches of his case. “You must feel very bad.”
“I can surely make do with this fine array.” She lifted out several pieces and began making choices, giving him complements as she went along on his taste in offering such fine workmanship.
Max found the moment pleasant seeing Sam giving such personal attention to a stranger, especially a child. Children had never been a priority with her and if for no other reason than that, Max saw this kind a behavior as good for someone with such predispositions of the other kind, and especially for the woman he loved.
As they rounded a curve overlooking the ocean, Sam sat proudly looking like a counterfeit Masai tribeswoman, her arms and neck layered with silver, colorful phony stones and shell jewelry worth all of a few dollars. In Antonio’s hand, however, was a stack of twenty-dollar bills. He closed his case and carefully folded the money and placed the thick reward in his shirt pocket, the button barely reaching the buttonhole. He smiled shyly at the woman who had more than made his day.
“You have made my family very happy. Thank you. Gracias.”
Sam put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close to her. “I’m glad we met. Very glad. How many in your family?”
Antonio looked down at the ocean side at the small tin roof tucked back from the shore among the rocks. “There are six of us now.”
“Your mother and father must be very proud of you.”
He pointed to the left of the shanty structure. “There is my oldest brother coming in on that boat. He made it himself. My mother and father are in heaven now.”
Max glanced in the mirror once more. Sam’s hair was blowing across her face, but the somber expression could not be hidden. Antonio continued looking down at the shoreline, the gradual enveloping smile of a triumphant warrior returning home brought tears to Sam’s eyes—or was it just the wind, thought Max.
Antonio pointed up ahead, “That is my road. You can drop me there, please.”
Max reduced his speed and slowed to a crawl as he studied the entrance to the rutted dirt road before him. “Here?” he said.
Sam jumped in, “Don’t be rude, Max. That’s a long walk down with a heavy case.” She stood up in the back seat and gazed down at the rusted covering of Antonio’s home. “There,” she pointed.
Max took another look down at the eroded invitation, “Sam, perhaps he wouldn’t mind the walk.”
Antonio sensing Max’s concern as he started to get out, “That’s Okay Senior. Of course I can walk.”
Sam was not to be dismissed. “This car was made like a tank, Max. Your own words, remember? This is but a small challenge.” Placing her hands on her hips, she lifted her chin, “Show us your ‘tankmenship’.”
Max sighed, took one last look to plan his route, and slowly let his foot touch the accelerator. “Remember, oil pans don’t grow on trees, especially not here.”
Below, Antonio’s brothers and sisters caught sight of the cautious approach and began waving their arms.
Antonio returned the greeting, “Julia, Maria!”
Max stretched his neck left and right, checking the Bentley’s every move, avoiding the deeper holes and somehow enjoying his deft steering talent. Sam smiled down at him as she balanced herself with the back of the seat, her other arm around the shoulder of her waving passenger. “Maxwell!”
Max gave a hurried turn in response, quickly returning to his task. “What?”
“Thank you!”
“What?” he repeated with another glance over his shoulder.
Sam gestured with her head for Max to notice Antonio once again. He took a quick look.
“Thank you!” she repeated, this time enjoying a nod and smile back from Max.
A few hundred yards out in the bay, Antonio’s older brother, Salvador, lifted himself aboard the small weathered boat, pulling behind him the nets filled with shells. As he wiped the salt water from his eyes, he too noticed the white whale-like undulation making its way ever so carefully over the terrain leading to the waving children. As he started to row back to the shore, all he could think was what has Antonio done now?
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Love ya!
Jane
That appears to be some amazing charity from two wealthy newlyweds to a young boy in a much different social strata. My partner says that rich people are the most stingy when it comes to generosity. Your story seems to defy that concern.
You made me recall my encounter with a small girl selling seed and pasta necklaces in the Santa Clara La Laguna village on the banks of Lake Atitlán in Guatemala. When I had negotiated a suitable price for two necklaces for my nieces, I tried to give the girl a large Quetzal note to pay for them. She shook her head in disagreement because she had no change to give me. We both left each other disappointed. Later, I had acquired enough change and finally saw her among the crowds. When I came up to her, she ran and cried. I finally caught her and held out the money to her, begging her to give me the necklaces. When she did and took the money her face lit up in happiness. I knew that she wouldn't be punished by her parents for not making the sale earlier.
Ron