THE INVITATION (Another 'B' Word)

“Boyles has the boys’ representative, waiting in the lobby.” The secretary announced, peeking in through the space in the door that she was holding ajar. The man behind the desk, swung his chair around slowly. He was holding a cigar and had been looking out the floor length glass window, of his 44th floor executive office. It was his preferred activity, whenever he had a big decision to make. And his view point from that height, could hardly be blurry.

“Are the boys with him?” He asked his assistant. Meanwhile, unsuccessfully muted voices of females. Could be heard giggling, from behind a large cardboard partition at one side of the wide office. A fixture purposely meant to conceal, the far left side of the very large room. “I don’t believe so,” the woman answered. Still grasping, the door’s handle. “But he has said, that he could bring them even in a moment’s notice.” She finished, regarding her boss in expectation. “Let him in then,” the executive decided finally. Subsequently lowering his head, to look at some sheets spread out on his polished desk.

As soon as his secretary had closed the door, he got up from his desk and walked briskly towards the other side. The hard-paper divider, still failed to suppress the incessant giggles and soft chatter coming from behind it. Pulling back the partition, he commanded almost immediately. “Go into the other room and wait.” He was pointing, his expression a mixture of fury and irritation. At his voice, four barely clothed and giddy females scrambled up. Almost stumbling over themselves, as they did. One of them began to protest, a look of confusion enveloping her face. “But you said….”

She was swaying unstably, at this point. And a small packet that she held between two fingers, spilled white substance onto the immaculate rug. “You, go into the bathroom and clean-up!” The executive addressed her, his eyes narrowing in obvious anger. Then with that, he pushed the partition back into its original position and headed back to his desk. Leaving behind hurried movements and aimless shuffles.

“How far, are you willing to go?” The man asked, leaning back on his chair. The meeting had gone on at this point, for about an hour. “Go where sir?” The young black youth asked, while turning to glance at his representative. Then he turned his attention, back to the questioning man behind the desk. The contact person, as if on cue from an unseen timer. Got up from his chair and headed, for the door.

The executive continued to speak, seemingly ignoring the exit. “What I mean is, what will you do, how far are you willing to go? To make your dreams, come true?” He paused, as if waiting for an answer, then asked; “I assume that you know, that I can make you famous and very rich. You do want that, don’t you?” “Sure I do,” the young man smiled happily. His eyes widening, in wonder and excitement. “Very good, very, very good indeed.” The man encouraged affirmatively.

Smiling widely, he lifted the phone receiver on his desk. He pressed one button and minutes later, he was speaking into it. “They can come to the party, tonight. I have decided, that the sooner the better.”

He paused and tapped a pen, on his desk top. Apparently listening, to the person on the other line. “Well then, go ahead and make it a weekend event. We might as well, also carry out the ‘initiation’ sooner.” With that statement, he hung up the receiver and observed the young man.

The three young and chosen men, marveled at the array of ‘who-is-who’, that they saw milling around the glitzy and ostentatious event. With each new refreshments, liquor refills, introductions, schmoozing and their own self-imposed and impressionable outlook. They were gradually separated, from each other. This was ‘the life’ and they were well on their way, to living it.

Delo first noticed her, on the arm of the famous producer and almost tipped over. Then he followed her with his eyes, until she walked over to talk to him. “Hello there,” was all he heard. As he smiled, at her moving lips. She was so pretty, he thought to himself. Imagining a bevy of the likes of her, at his every beck and call. Much like they always saw, in the music videos. He worked to hear even a word, of what she was saying. Because at some point, he knew he would have to stop staring and reply her.

“So whose ‘b---h are you?” She was giggling ecstatically. “B---h? You mean they call you that?” He was not sure, if this was the right response, to whatever it was she was asking. “Not me, you, stupid.” She confirmed and then proceeded to roll her eyes, in exaggerated boredom. “Whose b----h am I?” He repeated the question, now confused. “Yes,” she stated seriously. Her eyes widening, impatiently. “Who broke you? Or should I say, who do you belong to now?”

When he simply stared at her non-plussed, she began to laugh hysterically. “Oh, so you are still new?” She seemed amused and interested. But then, just as quickly as the smile appeared, it faded from her face. Her eyes suddenly became sunken and dazed. As she began to focus, on something or someone, behind him. He turned to see, what it was that had changed her demeanor so swiftly. But not before a firm hand, gripped his right shoulder and said; “Come with me….” He was going to ask a question, before the body with hand, brushed purposely against him. And then, he found himself complying.

The small table was quiet, with either an air of understanding and/or awareness. So much so, that Delo almost forgot, where he was and why. He wiped the sweat from his brows, while fighting back the tears starting to collect in his eyes. He would not cry again, now. In fact, he could not afford to cry anymore. Not as a grown and successful man. And definitely, not as a married man with children.