Rocket to the Moon
Chapter Sixteen
Grace
….
The elevator doors opened at floor twenty six and Grace stepped out. She walked down the hallway check-marking rectangles in her clipboard and observing the place with evaluating eyes. She also took notes. It was imperative to schedule an appointment with the facilities management. Repairs couldn't wait any longer. She continued checking everything out as she went on with her jovial smile and proud gait.
It wasn't easy to be the person in charge of everything. To keep working at its upmost the group of offices settled in two different buildings in town could be the death for most people but for Grace it was a breeze; it was what she lived for. She knew Mueller like the back of her hand; she'd known it since forever, since back on the days when 'headquarters' was a term that came loose to the modest set of offices located at the second floor of a furniture store in Bismarck, North Dakota. She'd arrived long ago, when the company began to take shape. She'd been there when it expanded and diversified. And she'd been there when they moved to NYC. There was nothing she hadn't seen before, Grace thought as she turned around a corner.
"Hello, hello, Gracie!" a young boy came out from nowhere and took her in his arms, making her spin.
"Mark! Careful!" She giggled, her head actually spinning "Kid! Show a little respect for my gray hairs."
"There, there," the boy laughed, holding her secure until she was firm on her feet again.
"You're terrible!" she told the Human Resources young boy patting him in both cheeks.
"And you're so mean. You don't show up to pay a visit anymore!" The boy grumbled with petty complains. Grace laughed "Hey, how about you coming to lunch today, huh?"
"I can't" she pouted "I already made plans with Helga"
"Whew!" Mark's friend, John, who was behind them whistled "I see why you don't come to our spot anymore" he said "You like better your fancy friends!
"Oh, come on!" Grace dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
"Is the boss also coming?"
"No," she informed "Henry has other compromises today."
"Really?" Mark asked, blinking several times his eyes in false surprise.
"Compromises that doesn't include Helga?" John added with mock skepticism. "Thaaaat's weeeiiird! If I were Helga I'd be suspicious."
"Oh, kids, what could you know?" the lady replied with triviality.
"I daresay, he seems pretty possessive about her."
She smiled nonchalantly and turned around. These boys have been in here for what? Two years ? There was no way they knew anything about today. Henry was a discreet mourner.
"You think?" Grace shrugged them off "We can have lunch tomorrow, how about that?" she shifted subjects. "We can have some lasagna…"
"At Pepe's?" Mark asked.
"Where else?" She smirked, mimicking their expressive expressions.
"Sounds like a plan," the skinny stylish boy replied blowing her a kiss.
Grace winked and walked on, taking the stairs to reach next floor. 'You think?' she snorted, berating herself. She was losing her conclusiveness! But what arguments she had left when Henry himself seemed to get a kick out of wooing the blonde in public? She didn't recognize him anymore! Look what age did to a perfect old-fashioned gentleman! If only Helga could see him! Those good old days were gone…. She sighed deeply.
In other side, Grace continued thinking; this new generation of young men and women was different of every other seen before. Kids from ten years ago still showed respect for adults or their superiors, but these ones from nowadays… 'Holy mackerel!' her father would say. 'You raised them, now you manage them'. The saying was never more relevant than today.
. . .
"And then he said he never made a promise…" a girl said and then she started to cry. "Can you believe it?!" she added between sobs.
"What an idiot!" Her friend cursed under her breath.
Grace stepped into the storage / copy room and the two girls stirred uncomfortably. 'Here we go again' she thought as she smiled with sympathy to the one whose face was wet. She walked to the bottom of the place and checked for mold stains in the walls and the state of the electrical outlets. She moved boxes and stuff around. After writing down her findings she turned to face the girls.
The friend looked at her emboldened, as if ready to defend her friend not matter what, for not being at their workplace. Grace rolled her eyes inwardly. Sometimes girls seemed to forget she was one of them. Girls stick together, she believed it. She was aware the weeping girl had been seeing a guy from Finances; a married guy. The girl hid her face from her as she dealt with the copy machine.
"What is it? He didn't call?" she asked, sympathetic.
"Is not that!" the girl whined.
"So?" she insisted. The girl wiped her tears from her eyes as Grace waited.
"He broke up with her; just told her it was over and walked away." Her friend butted in.
"I see…" All through her four decades of experience - how many times she'd seen this very scene repeating itself? Grace wondered. Waiting for the girl to stop weeping, she exhaled.
"Is that it?" she asked. The girl nodded as new fresh tears fell from her eyes "Are you feeling alright? Wanna go home for the rest of the day or something?" She waited patiently until she finally put herself together and shook her head quietly. "You sure?"
"Yes," she finally let out a mumble "I'll be fine."
"Alright honey, if you're so sure…" she breathed deeply. "Then go to the bathroom and put yourself together. Don't show the bastard you're hurt; don't risk him trying to get you back…-" The old lady opened big her eyes seeing the hopeful expression in the girl's face.
"You think he might…"
"Of course he might and he'll do, but you're not gonna fall again, you listen?" she put an arm over the girl's shoulders "Look, I know it seems hard, but this is the best of the outcomes. You might not understand now but some day you will. You're so young and pretty. Don't waste away your life waiting for something that is never going to happen. The Mikes Davis of this world never leave their wives…"
"He's not Mike Davis…" both girls whined. Grace exhaled.
"Mike Davis, Chris Thompson, Enrique Molinar… I can fill a book with their names but that doesn't change a thing. Married men never leave their wives. That's something that life taught me and something that you must learn…"
"But he's different…" the girl started.
"Is he?" she asked "Then why he hadn't left her already. Why it's you who are left here crying her eyes out and not him or his wife?" the old woman spoke kinda roughly, but then softened a bit. It was something that came with aging; patience wore thin.
She left the girls by themselves saying she'd talk to their boss. Sometimes she surprised herself. Why she was being so sympathetic? Was it perhaps…
Perhaps because she still remembered how it felt to be young and a dreamer?
. . .
Exhaling and somewhat gloomy after a quick trip to the past she pushed open the door in 29th floor. With firm steps she walked down the aisles armed only with watchful eyes, a red ink pen and her reliable clipboard. Her lips pouted seeing the blond boy at the end of the hallway with tons and tons of paperwork covering his desk. She shook her head and looked around. Office spaces; 29th floor was lacking office spaces. They might as well interchange Operations and Legal Departments but that would mean a major distress. Maybe she needed to take another look to that storage room again. Or maybe send some people to the building located in 106th St and Madison?
She turned on her heels and instantly felt herself crashing against someone who walked close behind her.
"Ouch!" a girl moaned.
"Sorry," she apologized. A younger woman was in front of her, struggling to keep a grip of her papers. "Are you alright?" Grace asked; the girl nodded.
"I shouldn't be walking so close. I am sorry," a kind smile appeared on her freckled face.
"Don't be. It was my fault…" and with a forced smile she hurried away.
Once reaching her destination Grace entered the room and closed the door. Damn! She couldn't help it but she almost hated the girl with the freckles. And the poor creature was absolutely guiltless; she was even friendly! It was not her fault that she looked a lot like her; like a young Darleen. She had the same blonde, stringy hair; those pale blue eyes and her complexion…. Okay, she could admit that this girl wasn't the disgusting gum-chewer that Darleen was, nor did she have that trashy look, but still…
Seriously! She shouldn't be thinking shit about Dick's mother, Grace berated herself. She might have been vulgar, ill-cultured and whatever but she was the one who kept him afloat when he was a kid. She turned out to be a good mother after all.
Good old days, Grace sighed again. Or were they plain bad ugly old days? She remembered the flashy blonde girl swaying her hips as she walked down the aisles of the old furniture store. She and the rest of the secretaries despised the insolent little vixen from the sales floor. Old Mr. Mueller used to laugh at their expense. "Why you girls are so mean?" his question was followed by a snicker "Let the poor girl brighten this old man's days."
But little Miss Darleen from sales floor didn't go up to the offices to exhibit her bum before old Franz Mueller, oh-no! The target of her entire show was not other than Robert Pataki, the young, industrious and diligent storekeeper. And yet, to her disgrace, Bob Pataki ignored blatantly the sassy girl's act. He was always busy, with his full attention dedicated to his work, - and his eyes preoccupied in a higher place.
So, long story short, it was another Mueller who ended enjoying the charms of the blonde girl and it wasn't Franz, but Fredrick - Henry young brother and the black sheep of the family-. Grace breathed deeply again as she ended taking notes and gauging the room. Poor Darleen, she never imagined Fredrick's devotion ended when the sun rose. There was when the nightmare started.
. . .
30th floor.
The advantage of 30th floor was that it was always in the best conditions. At the moment a flaw was detected it was fixed right away. She would never postpone a repair in here. She approached the central area as she checked over the ceiling and walls. She greeted the secretaries and asked the usual questions as she walked to the coffee room to get some water. When none of the secretaries replied to her question she grumbled inwardly. Sometimes these girls loved her and were her best friends, and sometimes they didn't. She asked herself if she had done something 'offensive' to them lately; something that acted in detriment of their 'comfort', since this group of girls used to think they deserved a special treatment.
Acting as if nothing, as if she didn't perceive their blatant discourtesy, she mumbled something about the weather and headed for Henry's door.
"Mr. Mueller is in a meeting," the affected voice of his secretary's stopped her.
"Oh," Grace made a halt and turned around. "With whom?"
"Well," the secretary continued in her obnoxious style "It's not actually your business but an entire hour was booked to Mr. Wilson."
"I see," Grace nodded. So Jerry, huh? Then it wasn't properly a meeting, but a chat with a friend.
Jerry Wilson was Henry's best friend and partner. They've met in college and he was the first person to invest his money in Mueller. Jerry brought Glen Brennan and his old money along. Besides partners the three of them had been directives for decades until they retired after the reengineering five years ago. Glen had always been a pain in Henry's ass; always questioning his methods and command; always predicting his failure and the consequent bankruptcy of the entire enterprise. Fortunately his worst fears and projections were never real. Jerry, on the contrary, was always by Henry's side, having his back, supporting every one of his decisions. Grace could almost see them through the door, talking about the same old issues, and acting the same only old, grey and wrinkled:
.
. . .
"You can say what you want, but I'm sure that asshole is trying something. I don't like the way he is always whispering to Dick's ears…"
And Henry would dismiss him:
"My friend! You're paranoid." he'd smile with indulgence "What could he do? Tell him that I keep taking bad decisions?" he'd chuckle "I don't take the decisions anymore"
"My point exactly!" Jerry would open his eyes in a warning fashion. "I didn't mean he talks against you, but against Helga!"
"Glen trained Helga, for Pete's sake!" Henry would laugh openly. Jerry would shake his head.
"Sometimes I wonder what will be of this company when we're not around…" Jerry would grumble.
Henry would throw him some papers as he'd lean back in his chair.
"Just keep looking at those numbers my friend! I tell you, these kids are putting the rest of us to shame!"
. . .
Grace blinked and turned back to the secretary; a smirk on her face. The bitch! Then pointed to another door.
"What about Dick?"
"Oh…" Dick's secretary interjected; Grace laughed at her zealous expression "Dick is having an interview. A girl from The Wall Street Journal wants to know the secrets of one of the top ten COOs of the year."
"Really?" Grace smiled warmly. The girl nodded as if the merit were entirely hers. "Of course she does! Our Dick is something else!" she exclaimed proudly "Although… I wonder how she's putting up with him. God knows our kid is not easy…"
. . .
"Right," a red haired girl wrote something down in her little book and took air deeply before raising her sight "Do you aspire to, for instance, be the CEO of Mueller Enterprises at some point in the future?" she asked, struggling to ignore the monotonous drumming of his fingers on the desk and going on with her questionnaire without a pause "Do you plan to keep developing and / or improving the processes of manufacturing? How much affects or benefits to your performance the interaction between you and the head of Finances - Ms. Pataki? Do you…"
By the scornful smile that appeared on his face it was easy to say that the man in front of her had stopped paying attention to her litany of questions, even when politely he let her continue. The girl exhaled. She had never been more embarrassed in her entire life. She wasn't getting any real answer from him, only the minutely examination of her questions and serious doubts about her professionalism. She was a nervous wreck and all because of that intense scrutiny. Damn it! What kind of freak he was anyway?!
"Is it assumed… that I should remember all that questioning?" he smirked.
She shook her head and smiled bashfully "Of course not…"
"Do you expect a single answer? … I mean, can I speak extensively about my work or are you eager to leave?"
"Mr. Mueller…" she faltered, her face beet red.
"Dick," he corrected. There was a strange resonance in his voice that made her heart jump from her chest and constrain her throat. A whine escaped her lips. She tittered; her face flushed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Mr. Mueller…" she started with a squeak. His smile grew. Fuck!
"Alright," he chuckled "Take your time. I…" he shrugged and shook his head, still amused "I'll answer your questions, the ones that I remember, that's it," he made a pause, leaning back in his swivel chair "But first I have a question on my own…. Has anyone amongst your previous interviewees ever told you that he always wants to stay always the same…" he shrugged again "that his dream is being a COO forever?" now he directed her a friendly look "You're having only COOs, right?"
She gave a shy nod. He looked at her and then went on actually answering some of her questions; the ones that she'd made at the beginning; the smart ones. She bit the inside of her mouth as she took inferred notes. She was taping the interview. Dick Mueller had a sharp mind, she could tell. He answered generalities but not specifics; not a single secret left his lips. By his speech she inferred his mental processes were schematic, linear.
She also realized he was giving her the opportunity to regain control, to put herself together. She felt her cheeks flushing again and felt ashamed. She wasn't naïve. She'd interviewed hundreds of people before. She was smart, sophisticated. She couldn't believe she was acting like an hormone fueled teenager for Pete's sake. It was like the rehash of a bad movie; the cliché scene when the girl mumbled against the lips of the alleged hero: 'Take me now'…
. . .
Grace was brought back from her reverie when heard a door being opened and she could see Leo leaving Helga's office. He closed the door behind him and after smiling to the secretaries he came right to meet her.
"Gracie…"
She greeted him and they walked side by side to the staircase. It was nice to see a friendly face for a change. Grace knew her presence was appreciated by most of the personnel in hte office but there were always someone around full of something that only could be called envy. She knew it by the ill-concealed annoyance in the girls' faces. Alright, probably one of these bitches would be occupying her place some day in the future but for now she was the queen bee and they have to suck it.
"Well, that was nice," she mumbled to herself as Leo disappeared behind the staircase though not before kissing her cheek. Grace walked back to the sulking secretaries and before offending someone else with her assumptions she turned to Helga's assistant.
"Helga is…?" but stopped when the girl stood up from her chair holding tightly her agenda against her chest.
"She is taking a call. From Tegucigalpa…" the girl moved her head up and down, marking her efficiency. "It'd been waiting for a while."
"Perfect!" Grace gave up. Exhaling with exasperation she walked to the elegant waiting room and took a seat. Ignoring their scandalized expressions she checked her clipboard. She raised her sight every now and then. To Henry's door. Wondering how he'd spend the night of the thirteenth anniversary of his son's death. Pondering once again how deep it had affected him; if it was real that all his suffering had been left behind. Then she realized that Jerry's current presence was precisely because of that. She sighed.
She also threw glances to Helga's door. Grace fixed her green sight on the rectangular piece of metal that held her name. She really liked the girl. She had become an important part of the enterprise in a relative short term considering she was a stranger. And she had been accepted into the family circle even faster. Despite what it might look she was real and genuine. She was loyal; an invaluable help to late Mrs. Mueller and to Henry himself.
And still, sometimes Grace didn't know what to think about her. Regarding some aspects of her life she was really secretive. You never really knew what was going on in that little blonde head of hers. She was a good girl, yet sometimes as crazy as a loon…
.
. . .
Her breath hitched. She pushed hard. She had him right where she wanted. It was the reason why she was here after all; in his house, in his bed. She pushed again and he moaned, and the low, deep grumble thrilled her; made her tremble to the core. Despite its weirdness, having him inside her felt so right that sometimes she feared this was her reason for living; the one and only. She shunned every thought and thrust harder. He gripped her hips and hit on his own, mercilessly. She groaned. Softness didn't fit them. Theirs was rough contact… friction… hunger… lust. She squeezed. Him against the junction of her legs. She was burning…
Knock knock knock
Grace blinked at the sudden sight of Arnold knocking on Helga's door. She arched a brow turning to the secretary who had the decency to show an apologetic look. A thud followed by a grumble came our from the office. Grace stood. Arnold pushed open the door and disappeared inside.
"Geez! Do you want to give me a heart attack or what?" Helga grumble was heard, the last part was muffled by the closing door.
The stunned secretary turned to Grace, who raised her brow. 'Since when Arnold knocks on her door without addressing to you in first place' she was about to ask her when another door was opened.
Grace turned back to see Dick holding open his door to a red-haired girl. They stepped into the hall and after a quick interchange they shook hands. Grace was getting close feeling invited by Dick's nod.
"Oh, I almost forgot," the girl spoke again just before turning around "Do you think I could talk to Miss Pataki now?"
The cordial expression disappeared from the masculine face. Grace wriggled her brows at him, taking advantage of the fact that the girl had eyes only for him.
"Why don't we ask her secretary?" Dick pointed towards Kitty the efficient, who stood again shaking her head and started a lecture about appointments and whatnot.
"Why she has to bring Helga up when everything was going on so fiiiiiiinnnee?" Grace mumbled under her breathe, mockingly. Dick snorted.
"Tell me about it!" he replied. He asked what was she doing over there and she replied she was waiting for Henry. Then they waited until the reporter scheduled an appointment with Helga to the end of next week, then she came to say goodbye again, red-faced, and walked to the elevator. The sixty –some years old woman turned to her companion.
"Don't think I didn't realize you were flirting shamelessly!" she slapped his arm playfully.
"Who? Me?" he opened his eyes pretending offense.
"Yes, you! You totally did!" she exclaimed. "Playing the game of cat and mouse! Gee, you're so mean! " she shoved him again. He shook his head dismissively but Grace saw the awkward smile that showed he knew she'd caught him red-handed. He shrugged then and got close, taking softly her hand and bringing it up to his lips.
"Don't be jealous," he mumbled seductively against her skin "You know I always come back to you."
Grace giggled as she let herself be led to his office. It was pure bluster but she enjoyed it nonetheless. The girls must be seething. And the man whose arm rested on her shoulders smelled deliciously. She suspired. If only she were thirty years younger.
. . .
Well, end of the first part of this chapter. Second part is told by Arnold, and is already written but is having a major improvement. Still, I hope it to be posted in a few days. Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoring or just for being here. Special thanks to Nep2uune, CarlinJ86, Guest, José Ramiro and PresleyRox.
Disclaimer; I don't own Hey Arnold!
See you soon!
May 1st, 2015.