Rocket to the Moon
Chapter Twenty Three
Night Walk
. . .
Arnold slammed the door. Just after he did, he stopped mid stairs already regretting it. He growled loudly, blowing out some steam. He was not like that; he wanted nothing else than being lying on the couch while watching some TV and drinking a cold beer but it was not possible. She made it no possible. She was like a Grinch; going from one side to the other, whining about everything and trying to pick a quarrel until there was no peace anymore. He couldn't live like that. He hated it.
He descended the rest of the stairs and then walked down the street, deciding to go for a walk. Certainly, it has to be Claire's longest sulk ever, he thought. At first he thought it was nothing but a tantrum, but it had almost been two weeks now. She didn't like that he kept to himself most of what he heard at Helga's. She just couldn't believe they've spent so many hours talking about the old neighborhood and the few unimportant things he'd already shared. Arnold could just not believe why she cared this much about other people's affairs!
.
.
As he crossed the street he tried to forget about Claire and all her nonsense. He looked ahead. It was dark, and cold, but the night was still young; his watch read quarter to eight. He breathed deeply several times expecting that the cold air would help him to clear his mind.
Well, if he was having a bad time at home, at least his job was a very different story. He was having the time of his life. First of all, his relation with Helga was perfect; it hadn't suffered in the least because of the memories and moments shared, or because the experience of getting to know each other more intimately and most of all, because of the almost kiss. She kept greeting him everywhere they bump into each other and continued being nice and friendly just like she did before. He sighed completely unaware of the goofy grin that was perched on his face.
In second place, even when he still did - let's say- 'general work', he had now become Dick's principal assessor; every legal document that went to Operations passed by Arnold's hands. Working close with him and his team wasn't the highlight of his life of course, but the fact that he'd become one of the heads of Legal Department and now had a couple of people working under his orders certainly was.
Unfortunately, it didn't mean that he already have his own private office.
Poor Grace! Now she had to hide her face every time she bumped into him and had to explain that she hadn't found a proper vacant space yet. Arnold understood the situation and didn't complain, unlike Dick. His boss was no happy by the fact that the man in charge of his legal documents worked in open space in the middle of the hall; and he was no discreet to complain loudly about it.
Fortunately, other than dealing with Operations team and Dick's uncomfortable visits to his work spot there were no other lowlights in his new job post. Being in the open hall had its good side, he thought. He was not isolated for one. He was able to keep updated in real time about the daily comings and goings of the office: from greeting people from all the departments to the breakup of the week.
It wasn't as he had become fond of gossiping all of a sudden, but it was kind of hard to keep himself from the idle chat that filled the time and lives of his coworkers and most passersby. In Daphne words: 'It's called 'Sharing Information' now, not gossiping Arnold, and it's not idle. It's actually meant to create healthy work environments. Every company worth its salt is integrating it to its system; just like they do with Lean Manufacturing, Zero Defects and all that bullshit…'.
As Arnold had already said, it wasn't easy to keep himself from the new 'know-hows', right?
In that matter, all he could say was that everything that happened in the office followed its usual course. Henry kept coming and going his way up and down the place, for instance. About twice per day, he stepped into his floor –either working or losing idling his time – and he never failed to greet people in his way around. Arnold observed him intently; almost wishing he mixed names or said something inappropriate, like confusing people's backgrounds or something of the like, but it never happened. It seemed as if he really knew closely every one of the employees because it wasn't only the thing with the names. In no few occasions Arnold saw him asking about sons, daughters, parents, pets or even diseases, for God' sake! How in the hell he did that, Arnold wondered. And for heaven' sake, why did he care?! In what way anything of this had anything to do with him? He berated himself. He meant, Henry knowing everybody's names… How this affected him? ... Why, by the way? But the truth was that it affected him. He almost hated that people seemed to have him in great esteem. He was the boss for God's sake! People hated bosses. He should be as beloved as Montgomery Burns!
. . .
. . .
Arnold raised his eyes to the darkened sky and exhaled. He should stop acting like a jealous teenager… but the truth was that he actually felt like that. Since the day spent with Helga he was feeling like a teenager again. He felt almighty, full of energy, optimist, a dreamer… but he also felt insecure, irresolute and hopeless. He was afraid to admit he was in love. He was afraid that being in love meant he had to suffer from unrequited love; that he had to see his heart going through the agony of knowing he'd never know what it is like to hold her in his arms, to touch her face, to kiss her lips. He'd never know what it was like to wake-up next to her in bed in the morning, bodies entwined…
He moaned…. No more thinking about that, he scolded himself. No more thinking about his guiltiness either. About why he still turned to Claire every night in search of her warmth and the balm she gave to his needs. He shook his head with force, almost getting himself a whiplash. The woman he wanted had another man; the woman he had wasn't the one he wanted…
God! What was it all? Was it a whim, an impulse? He wanted a girl just because he liked her? Was he unable to control his impulses?
Or was it love?
It was all so overwhelming, so unbearable. It was beyond his understanding. He didn't want to think anymore. He closed his eyes for a second as the tension in his shoulders reached its peak and then started to go down, in a slow, painful descent.
He should focus in the good, he thought after a while, looking out through the bus windows. He should better recreate the feeling of when walking by her side, or playing like small kids in the vacant lot. It was pure bliss, though he didn't realize at the moment. There was a subtle sensation of belonging. As if everything was in the right place and the right time; like if in those precious moments the universe was in synchrony. The memory brought a grin to his face; the remembrance of her hair and her eyes…. He'd found himself humming to Frankie Valli's old song quite often: as he went up and down at home, out on the streets, in the hallways, at work, not with little or unfortunate surprise, of course.
Because surprising yourself was nothing compared to having been caught in the middle of the sublime 'I love you baby, and if it's quite alright - I need you baby to warm the lonely nights – I love you ba…' when you're standing right in front of the formidable Vice-president of Operations who happen to be looking at you with a sneer.
"Get it together, Shortman!" the almost giant spoke with his thunder voice so the entire floor turned to see him and snickered. "I'm sure your girl is feeling just the same…" He'd patted his cheek hard. Arnold shrugged him off and pretended he wasn't ashamed as he kept going; cheek throbbing. He was happy. What was the big deal anyway? There was no reason to feel embarrassed… there shouldn't be. Of course later that day, when took his place at the meeting room, Stan brought everything up again and he had to endure being the butt of everyone's jokes.
.
.
Well, and now that he was thinking about the guys from Operations, truth was that they kept acting as the resident bullies, but they seemed calmer now. 'Gregwise' suggested Arnold that he'd already gotten over the first impression, and he may be right. Maybe once that you get to know the people around you, you stopped noticing their singularities.
His superior, Greg, was very smart and practical. So he must be right. Because once you're fully informed about people's background it was easier to understand them. Deb for instance, was one of them, Arnold thought as he observed her leaving Greg's office and heading for the stairs; a deep frown perched on her forehead. It was easy for Arnold to understand now what was behind her persistent sadness...
What would it be like? To know that the love of your life is gone forever and that there's nothing you can do about it? Arnold shook his head feeling a heavy oppression in his chest. He didn't want to get lost in such despair. Not now. He exhaled hard and looked both sides of the street before crossing to the other side.
Or Dick, seated right in front of him as they discussed the particularities of an agreement earlier that week. He pointed out parts of the document with his habitual authority and command; not admitting complains; getting annoyed with your suggestions; always seemingly surprised to realize you were only a human being with normal human skills, not an immortal demigod owner of the absolute truth like he was.
Arnold had ended following Greg's advices. 'The secret is in the approach', he used to say. In English? Drop the bad news little by little; never correct him in public; never point out something that he did wrong because he'll take it after you and you'll never see the end of it. What would be the point? There is no merit in unnecessary suffering.
If you want him to do something- for you or for himself- you cannot ask it directly. You should just drop the hint, plant the notion, and let him come with the idea. In one word: let him win, always, under all circumstances. 'There is a reason why Deb chose you, Arnold', Greg had ended. 'You have a way with people.'
Arnold puffed. He almost felt like Peter Parker. 'With great power came great responsibilities.' Uncle Ben would say. Arnold shook his head. 'Yeah, just your typical Spiderman!" He snorted. Truth was that this wasn't the first time in his career that he had to deal with bosses of the kind. Still, without taking merit, those meetings used to get to Arnold's nerves more than he liked to admit.
But even then, now that Arnold's perception had changed, it also did his tolerance. It was suddenly obvious to him that Dick had social issues. He didn't like company. He got annoyed when someone got in his way or spoke to him. He was always observing the surroundings with watchful eyes. Even that thing with his morning greetings: 'Hi Deb', 'Hi Grace', 'Hi Shortman' –please note than he was amongst the privileged ones these days - seemed to be a calculated mechanism to control his interactions with the rest of people. After watching him closely Arnold believed that even his hostility was nothing else but over-defensiveness in disguise. Mostly of course. Obviously he'd learned to be purely aggressive at some point in the way, and he enjoyed it.
Arnold was not a psychologist but he always had a way with reading people. Under this new understanding he saw that Dick was never warm and always kept his distance, even with his work team. Contrary to his initial opinion, he knew his relationship with the team wasn't as good as it seemed. The guys went with the flow; it was easier this way. When he was in good mood everyone chatted and joked and talked shit about everyone and everything; ordinarily they being the big shit and the rest of the people being mostly suckers. But when he was in bad mood they all remained quiet and only spoke when necessary. Yeah, you heard right. This group of tough guys could act either as the resident bullies or as a timorous group of preschoolers. Their boss' mood was the prompt. But in disregard of that, Arnold was sure the group was still faithful to their leader.
Maybe the only one person in the group who stood Dick's dominant presence was Stan. Four inches taller than him and about 100 pounds heavier surely made a difference. Even Dick had to think twice before messing with Stan. And of course there was also Henry, but there was not usual to see them out there together, which was great, and it was not only Arnold's opinion. It was a documented fact.
. . .
. . .
A few weeks back, Mueller Enterprises was considering changing their image. Henry Mueller's pic would be substituted by a brand new one that included both Muellers. It turned out that after several shootings nobody was happy with the results. Henry and Dick together looked 'too tough' to be the friendly face of a global company. In words of one of the members of the outsourced PR agency 'I wouldn't be surprised if The Valkyrie had started playing in the background.'
'Tell me about it!" was the extensive snort all around the office. How they resolved the issue? They brought Helga Pataki in. The photo now hung from the wall behind the receptionist desk, at 30th floor, and probably in every Mueller's office all around the world. Truth was that Helga being a blue eyed blonde didn't quite help them to look less –well - like a German stereotype, but it couldn't be denied that now they look nice, warm, welcoming… like a family. Helga brought warmness to the picture.
Warmness...
Helga?
Who'd have thought?
. . .
. . .
"Who'd have thought?"
Right?
Arnold repeated the question to himself when realizing he was standing in front of the 4?7 Park Avenue. He turned around. How he made it to this point? He could not remember for the sake of it. He recalled vaguely the dull rocking of a bus and … nothing else. He looked around again, and then to the interior of the building. There was warm inviting lighting in the interior and before he thought twice he gave a step forward. A uniformed man opened the door for him and a second later he was uttering Helga's name in response to the guy's question. The man's smile wavered for a second but then he nodded and took the phone's handset.
"Mr. Arnold Shortman is here to see Ms. Pataki…" he uttered rather formally "yes… yes… yes," he bowed helpfully his head even when it was obvious he wasn't being seen by his interlocutor "Alright, sir. I send him up straightaway."
"This way, please," the man preceded him down the hall and to the elevator that was already waiting. He pressed 17 "Here you are. 17B." he informed, and smiled again "Have a nice evening, Mr. Shortman."
Arnold barely realized all what had happened in the blink of an eye.
"Sir?" he said aloud. The person the guy talked to was… a 'him'?
Less than a minute later the he was standing in front of the –again - semi open door of apartment labeled 17B. These people never close the door or what? He grumbled, uncomfortable. 'Why am I even here?' He berated himself. 'I should have fled while I could', he thought as he looked around. 'Bah, this is ridiculous!'. He knocked the door and a muffled sound came from the interior. Frowning, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Excuse me?" he said aloud.
The cat with his tail high was coming his way to see his visitor. Arnold leaned to caress him but the feline ran away.
"Over here," a voice was heard.
"Uh oh."
It was no other but Henry's voice.
. . .
. . .
I don't own Hey Arnold!
As I said before, second part of this chapter will be here by the end of this week. You know I'm not much of a cliffhanger but I had to cut if off. It was a 24 pages Word document and it'd be a looong reading. Hope you enjoyed this. Next one is way longer.
Thanks for reading; particularly to those who follow/favorite this. Special thanks go to Nep2uune, José Ramiro, Carlin, Khaleesi and Trunkgirl85. You really make my day, guys. Your words are the best encouragement to keep doing this. : )
I'll come later to fix typos and so.
Sept 8th, 2015.