:-( is an unhappy face, etc etc.
Pointed brackets are used to enclose stage directions, most commonly:
means “grin”
Double colons can also be used as an aside, as in:
::chuckle::
Similarly, a number of acronyms have become popular shortcuts in ‘netspeak, such as:
fwiw = for what it’s worth
otoh = on the other hand
rotfl = rolling on the floor laughing
so = significant other
btw = by the way
There are vast numbers of permutations of these signals, all intended to either give tone to the written word or to save typing time in chatrooms. Type “emoticons” into your search engine to find out more.
*/8-)
Aunt Mary, who has her glasses on today as well as a new hat
***
Uncertain? Confused? Ask Aunt Mary!
Your one stop shop for netiquette and advice:
http://www.ask-aunt-mary.com
So, having been dismissed by God, I dutifully took my departure and went on home to mind my own P’s and Q’s. I knew whatever the senior Coxwell had to say to the junior one was none of my business. The sad truth is that I have no idea what was said, what happened next or how the story ended.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Ha! AS IF!
Serves you right, if you believed me even for a moment. You think I haven’t heard all your self-righteous sniffing out there, but I have, oh yes, I have.
You haven’t been very subtle about it, btw.
Now, it’s all very well and good to say someone should be doing this that and the other, but when you want a story, you need the facts.
Face it - without me and my healthy sense of curiosity, there’d be no story here. No middle, no end, no resolution of conflict. We’d just all drift along, getting nothing done. I am your source of information. I am woman. I am shit-disturber.
I am CATALYST.
I suggest that you keep that in mind. Remember how disappointed you just were the next time you huff and puff at my unconventional choices.
Okay, lecture over. Of course I listened. What red-blooded American, reasonably normal human being wouldn’t have listened? It was KISMET, I tell you, raw fate turning in my favor that:
1/ the door was ajar;
and
2/ James felt some compulsion to speak to Ms. Prim, who should have known that (duh) they wouldn’t take any calls when they were sequestered. Otherwise, he’d have gone through the connecting door and I would have been S.O.L.
Maybe I should call her Ms. Prim & Dim.
I did wonder, briefly, whether James had expected me to eavesdrop and had deliberately engineered matters so that I could.
But why, why? There was no motivation for him to do that, or so I thought at the time. It was just pure, untrammeled luck. Luck o’ the Irish. Haha.
Not one to spit in the eye of good fortune, I got down on my knees and hovered close to the opening, just so I wouldn’t miss a syllable. I knew deep in my bones that this would be good, and oh baby, it most certainly was.
Though I wouldn’t have missed a word even standing in the hall. The old man was in an ugly mood that made me appreciate my father even more.
“What the hell kind of nonsense is this?” the senior Coxwell snarled. “You demand a meeting with me, then you make me wait. I’m a busy man, as you ought to know by this point in your life. I’m due in court in an hour and have reading to do. Make it fast.”
“I want to know what’s going on.” James sounded calm and reasonable, but then I was starting to wonder how much of that was an elaborate façade. Takes a poker face to know one.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Tell me about Matt.”
“Tell you about your own brother? Tell you what about your own brother?”
I heard a squeak of leather and guessed that James was playing my game of getting comfy just to annoy. I smiled.
“Oh, maybe why he’s here.” James spoke casually, making me smile in a more Cheshire fashion. Cat, that is.
“He’s here because he always should have been here,” dear Daddy spat. “It’s not my fault that he took so long to realize what choice he should have made in the first place, nor is it my fault that he has a great deal of work to do in order to be effective in the role he was born to play.”
“That’s really the essence of it, isn’t it?”
The old man sounded cautious now. “What do you mean?”
“You must have seen the paternity test results.”
Oh, illegitimate babies in the illustrious Coxwell clan. I’m so there! This promised to be really sordid. My ears must have been the size of Saturn’s rings.
“Of course, I saw the test results. I ordered the test, didn’t I? I paid for the test, didn’t I? You had no right to pick them up yourself.”
“I had every right and you damn well know it.”
Things got very still. Hostility exuded from the office next door, a little cloud of thwarted testosterone sliding through the slightly open door.
Then James cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “I had thought that we might be reasonable about this.” He certainly sounded as if he was trying very hard to be reasonable.
“Reasonable?” his father demanded. “What the hell is reasonable about living a lie? What is reasonable about being shamed in front of an entire community? Or of seeing your entire life thrown into shambles? Of knowing that you have lived your life, the victim of a cruel deception and the butt of a thousand malicious jokes?”
“Are we talking about my life or your life?”
“My life, obviously. I have worked hard to build something, to make something of myself, and I will not see all of it squandered upon a bastard child…”
James interrupted his father tersely. “Who just happened to have worked just as hard as you to build this partnership - notice I said partnership, which is the legal status of this organization, and one that implies that those partners each have a stake in its future.”
“It’s called Coxwell & Coxwell, not Coxwell & God-Knows-Who-His-Father-Was.”
Ouch! Silence followed, which was good because I needed a minute to chaw that one down. James was not his father’s son. Huh.
Could have fooled me.
Evidently Robert had been fooled for a good, oh, forty-two years.
“You’re really intend to cut me out,” James said softly.
“I have no choice.”
“You have every choice.” Now James’ voice was hard. “You are the senior partner. You have the choice of acknowledging twenty years of effort, you have the choice of acknowledging that a man is more a product of forty-two years of experience than of five minutes of cells colliding. You have the choice of crediting talent and perseverance, and you have the choice of ensuring that your grandsons are provided an education.”
“They’re not my blood!”
James ignored the interruption, but his voice hardened. “Alternatively, you have the choice of cheating me of everything I’ve owned, destroying my life and then destroying Matt’s for good measure.”
“It will not destroy Matt to follow his destiny.”
“He never wanted this and you know it. You let him live his life before as he chose to do so, but now you’re choosing to ruin it, just for the sake of your own ambition.”
“I am a judge!” Robert Coxwell roared. “I was the foremost criminal lawyer in this city for years. I am running for re-election on a conservative platform, which is the bedrock of my beliefs. Surely even you understand that a divorce and a bastard heir would compromise my position.”
“As opposed to compassion and acknowledging merit independent of birthright. Yes, I can see that would be problematic.”
Go, James, go! There was a hit for the good guys.
“Do not try t
o turn this around on me! Your disrespect is as clear a mark of your illegitimacy as anything else could be.”
“Whereas you would stand aside if you were to be cheated of everything you had worked to gain, and that on the whim of an old man more interested in his pride than his morals?”
“Audacity!” the senior Coxwell bellowed. “Get out of my offices!”
“You can’t afford for me to leave. Consider your point made and let’s get back to work.”
“I will not have you in this office any longer.”
Silence again, then I heard James rise. “Give me the Laforini case.”
“Not on your life!”
“You won’t win it without me.” James spoke calmly, though with heat. “Matt won’t win it. It’s unfair of you to even make him try. The stakes are too high and the case is too high profile. It’s not a reasonable case for him to take on first.”
“It is. He will win and he will make his name.”
“And what if he doesn’t? What will your lofty partnership be worth, if you can’t win the high-profile cases? What will your first-born son be worth if he cracks under the pressure?”
“He won’t.”
“He might. We’re very different, Matt and I, though I wouldn’t expect you to have noticed.”
“Your difference is exactly the point. Matt is my son. You aren’t.”
“Funny,” James made a sound akin to laughter. “Most people might have argued the very opposite on the basis of personality.”
“Most people are not my concern.”
“No, I see that now. I’m still asking you to reconsider claiming carte blanche to trash Matt’s life.”
“It’s none of your business. Get out.”
I heard a rustle of paper and the sound of someone sitting down. The senior Coxwell cleared his throat. He’d probably picked up his reading to dismiss James by body language.
“Do you know that Marcia has left me?” James asked.
“I couldn’t care less.”
“I see. And since I am not your son, then ipso facto the boys are no longer your grandsons. They’re worthless to you, too, aren’t they? It’s quite a flattering self-portrait you paint, Judge Robert Coxwell.”
“Matt will win the Laforini case,” the father insisted. “He will win it because I will coach him. Don’t you forget who taught you everything you know.”
“But you haven’t taught Matt everything you know. And I don’t think he even wants to know what you know.”
“You will not challenge me!”
“Yes, I will.” James spoke firmly. “You’ve made sure that I have nothing left to lose, after all. Why shouldn’t I challenge you? Why shouldn’t I defend my brother? Isn’t that what big brothers do?”
“You’re not his brother!”
“Half brother, then. Matt and I have discussed this, by the way. We’ve decided that since we grew up as brothers, we’ll continue to be brothers. An accident of conception isn’t that important to our perceptions of each other and of our relationship.”
“It’s critical. I always knew that you couldn’t be my son. You’re not sufficiently respectful of authority.”
“While everyone else says I’m a chip off the old block.”
“They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“You have even said as much.”
“Before.”
“Yes, before the results were in.” Silence carried to me and I figured they were eying each other. James continued softly. “Here’s a thought - why don’t you ask Matt what he wants? You’ve never asked me, you’ve never cared, but maybe it’s time to try a kinder, more gentle approach.”
A book slammed. “I don’t need your advice, counselor. Clean out your office by close of business today or I’ll have it cleaned out for you.” A chair squeaked as someone got up, no doubt the judge. “I don’t want to see you again and I expect at least this small courtesy from you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, not yet.”
“Then I shall call the authorities and have you forcibly evicted.”
“And I will tell them that I bought into this partnership with cash and created value in that investment with sweat. I will tell them that I have sacrificed and my boys have sacrificed and that we will have reparation for that sacrifice. And if they will not listen, then I will call the press, Judge Coxwell, and you may be sure that they will run a nice story about your family values in advance of the election.” James spoke tersely but I believed his threat. “You will give me a fair price for my stake, and then I will leave.”
“Forever?”
“You don’t need to worry about seeing me again.”
“Just like your father,” Robert Coxwell sneered. “Everything has it’s price. You can be bought and sold, like cheap chattel.”
“I wouldn’t have been so harsh,” James said quietly. “But yes, in many ways, I am exactly like you. What great luck it is to have the chance to change that now, before it’s too late.”
The older man inhaled so sharply that I thought the carpet might be pulled from the floor. “Mrs. McCready!” he called. “Bring me the checkbook and bring it now!”
“Not that fast,” James said in a dangerously low voice. “First, we get this practice assessed.”
I took advantage of the moment and scampered through the foyer once Ms. Prim had taken the books into the other office. Wowie, kazowie. James had been fired from the family biz, because he wasn’t technically family. That was some kind of shocker.
But, of course, none of my business. No sirree. It was about time that I got down to some serious code. I did have one contract, you know, and it was a bite technically. My client was going to be getting twitchy about delivery and I wanted more work from them in the future. Or at least a referral. I also wanted their payment on delivery to appease the IRS.
The thing was, that although I’d had enough of the family stuff, I still couldn’t push it entirely out of my mind. Big cogs kept on turning, working over what I’d learned.
I guess, given her objectives, Marcia got out just in time. I had to wonder how James was going to adapt to this. Talk about being born with a silver spoon in your mouth - and here he’d found out forty-two years later that the spoon wasn’t his, after all. When somebody ripped it out of his mouth, no less.
I land on my feet, but I’ve been doing that all my life. It would be kind of a shame if Granite Man shattered into a thousand shards as a result of this.
Don’t even go there, Maralys. With Marcia gone 404 and James going cuckoo, I could end up with kids after all.
Wait, I feel a nervous breakdown coming on.
I stopped cold in the street, feeling decidedly queasy. No doubt about it, I was coming down with a bad case of dependencies.
This called for sushi.
* * *
Nothing soothes the troubled mind better than a few hours in the kitchen, such as mine is. And I was in need of some serious soul sustenance.
The root of the problem here was that James wasn’t his father’s son. It was hard to believe, you know, because the two of them really did seem to be cut from the same cloth.
At least I’d thought so up until now. The last twenty-four hours were making me reassess James’ Jerk Quotient. He certainly had nothing on the old man in that department.
Not just the dimple, then. I liked that he was more worried about his kids than himself. Probably because it surprised me. I like unpredictability, and I’d thought this guy was as predictable as milk curdling two weeks past its Best Before date.
I was getting curious. A dangerous proposition.
And okay, I liked that he could hide his thoughts like a pro.
Danger, danger, hormones on full alert.
Time for sushi.
Yes, it’s a huge pain to make your own sushi. It takes eons to get it just right, but it’s soothing in a way. Nice repetitive, detail-oriented gestures. Not unlike writing code, come to think of it. Two things I do well.
>
Very well.
I like sushi, like it a lot, but am always a bit leery of buying it already prepared. You do not want day-old sushi, or at least I don’t. If it’s not prepped right, the nori becomes soggy city once it’s all assembled. Yuck.
Fresh would be the point of sushi, right?
So, I put on some tunes and set to work - if the sushi didn’t perk me up, then the soundtrack from “Cabaret” and that box of Passionate Persimmon hair color ought to do the trick. I’m blessed with thick and healthy hair, though I’ve tried my best to mess with it over the years. I can’t bear to cut it, so I color it. Often. Wildly. It’s a hobby.
It was perhaps the fourth time I had belted out the soundtrack with Liza, and I was just realizing that, as usual, I had gotten enthused and bought too much fish, when the freight elevator clattered and groaned into action. I listened, fully expecting that one of my neighbors was arriving, but naturally suspicious all the same. Here’s the problem - I’d been so excited about getting to the fishies that I hadn’t locked down the hatch.
There are a few disadvantages to my living circumstances. Here’s a big one - the isolation-lack-of-personal-security combo-pak. I don’t worry about it too much, but when that elevator goes in the night, my pulse certainly picks up. Usually, I’m the only one in the building after six or seven.
This is not a good feeling.
The elevator made the unmistakable sound of halting at my floor. I hadn’t invited anyone - as if! - and a quick glance at the glass bricks revealed an impressionist interpretation of a night sky. All I could see through the industrial grade mesh surrounding the elevator was a silhouette tall enough, broad enough and male enough to be a serious problem.
Don’t tell anyone - anyone, you hear! - but this kind of thing scares the living crap out of me. I have far too vivid an imagination and in moments like this, I think it should be against some law for me to live alone.
Fortunately, the moment of potential dependency usually passes and leaves few discernible scars.
And even more fortunately, the elevator door takes a few weeks to open. I grabbed my trusty fourteen-inch cast-iron skillet and assumed position. The grate groaned open, I lifted the skillet over my head, and a man stepped into my loft. He moved cautiously into the shadows, as though uncertain what he would find.