It started with an anonymous note:
'Frank, Dan has been seen with your wife. Check it out.'
That was all it said. Did I need any more? Proof of my own, sure.
I work for a large corporate retail conglomerate. I'm VP of Distribution. Dan works in the same company as a regional manager who happens to be based out of the same corporate headquarters for the local chain. He's a boss of smaller bosses, but he wasn't my boss. Dan is a hot-headed Mexican with a lot of piss and vinegar on an upwardly mobile track of well-earned success.
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Brock Barry Peterson was the handsomest man I had ever seen. He was over six feet tall and had smooth clear skin, blue blue eyes and white white wavy hair. He was always impeccably dressed in expensive well-tailored suits, crisp ironed shirts, and tastefully colored ties. He wore a special cologne. I don't know what it was, but it was heady. Sitting across from his desk, taking instructions, I was breathing in his aroma and getting absolutely intoxicated.
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Ivana felt like a prisoner being forced to lock her own cell doors as she slid the deadbolt on the restaurants doors into the cold steel jamb. She then plodded across the room and shut the blinds on the windows. The room grew darker and more like a dungeon as each blind was closed.
The manufacturer had intended the blinds to be used to keep the sun out of the room. Keeping outsiders from witnessing what was happening in the restaurant was an unintended benefit of the shades. Ivana could remember a time when blinds weren't needed but that time seemed long ago.
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