Rocket to the Moon

Chapter Thirty-Two

And then Friday Came…

. . .

AN. Because at the end would be none. ;)

I don't own Hey Arnold!

I don't know -of course - any of the cars, songs, or other TMs mentioned here. Only own my trustworthy Highlander.

I'm gonna take a couple of days to catch up with some stories in here that I love and are escalating to my top favorites: 'The Shadow Around His Heart', 'L'Affair' and 'Ever After'. If you haven't read them I strongly recommend them. They are quite the reading.

Anyway, I appreciate you reading me and didn't want to go on before telling you how much I love receiving your reviews and feedback. They make my day and give me the encouragement to keep going.

Spanish version would be here this eve.

Where were we?

. . .

"So you didn't get fired, right?" Rhonda asked as she leaned in and looked at him with interest. "Right?" she insisted.

"Nope." He let out a soft chortle. He had to blink twice at the excess of light in the actual cafeteria. He'd been telling a story about being stuck in a dark room "It turned out that Deborah blessed Dick's tantrum. She needed me elsewhere."

"Great." She took a sip of her grapefruit juice. Arnold had to contain himself from puckering his lips at the –supposed - sourness of that thing. He grinned goofily then. His lips still tasted like her.

"Well, my friend. I have to say it. WHAT A DAY!" She exclaimed, leaning back again "I guess you had enough for a day, huh?"

Arnold straightened and got serious then. The bitterness coming back to his taste buds.

"Oh, I wish."

Rhonda smirked knowingly.

"It wasn't the half of it, right?" Arnold shook his head. Not even a bit "And then Friday came."

"And then Friday came." he repeated. "Indeed."

And he took air to start telling the happenings of last night. The Ball. An adventure full of discoveries.

.

.

Arnold took air and prepared himself to start the adventure of Friday evening. It wasn't much of an adventure; but in fact he didn't actually know how else to call it: A tale? An event? A nightmare? An affair?

Oh, how he wished it was just 'an affair'! But something in his guts –and in Rhonda's reaction – told him it was more serious thing than a mere affair. He expected that after his recollection she'd be up to further explain what the hell was actually happening.

Although it was just so clear! All so clear now!

He'd already experienced something like this; after his and Rhonda's talking of last time at Helga's. Back then when he learned something that made him see everything under a new light; a new perspective. Now it was all the same. But it was a different situation.

He wished going back in time; but deep down he knew it has no point. Was the unawareness preferable? Was ignorance bliss? He shook his head. A heavy lump was compressing his throat; also causing the sensation of a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach; and a hollow, nebulous cloud in his mind.

"You know?" he started "My mind keeps replaying that scene. Like if it is a punishment. A punishment because I might've been…"

"Shhh," Rhonda shushed him with an understanding smile "The beginning, Arnold. The best place to start is always the beginning."

He smirked. Who was he to protest? It was Rhonda Lloyd after all. She expected a well-narrated tale, abundant in details and sparing no facts. He snorted then. He should've learned from Gerald at some point. He had been an expert narrator all through their childhood.

"The beginning," he repeated "Well, I spent the morning at the office; I guess that's as good beginning as any other." He smirked; she nodded "Friday uses to be a busy day but since I wasn't doing my ordinary job..."

"Because you've just stopped working for Dick the day before-" she continued, letting him know she was giving him her whole attention.

"Right." He bowed his head with parsimony "Because I've stopped working for him the day before." he made a face "Anyway, Deb was – hmmm- letting me know what other things they had been working on; the usual; you know. She told me she wanted me working in those for a couple of weeks before pointing me to my new assignation-"

"Which was?" she asked, rising her hand to call the waiter to bring them more coffee.

"She didn't tell. A new project I guess-" He shrugged. Arnold paused as the waiter refilled their cups "Anyway," he went on reluctantly "That's how it all started. Henry came to my office around noon and told me I should leave early, you know, since-"

"Since you have to get ready to the Ball." She ended for him. He nodded again. It seemed that she was getting impatient that he reached the juicy part of the tale.

"The Ball," he repeated her words again, leisurely. Rhonda rolled her eyes and he chortled "So, I left the office about two and a half; I stopped in my way home to get lunch at the Subway that is located at…"

"Arnold! The BALL!" Rhonda whined.

"You were there!" he retorted.

"Yeah!" she slapped her hand on the table, theatrically "But I was working, duh! I wasn't with you!"

Arnold laughed to himself. They both were over thirty now. People their age still made those whimsical expressions?

"Duh!" he agreed; if only to tease her.

"ARNOLD!"

He raised his hands as a peaceful signal as he chortled. But only a second later the image of a luxurious sport car flashed on his mind and he stopped laughing. Altogether.

.

"The Ball…" he sighed deeply; closing briefly his eyes to go back to the opulent Hall where the Second Annual Charity Ball of the City of New York had been host. What was what came first to his mind? There were no tables. People stick around in small groups. hosts, companies' executives and representatives -like them-; organization's reps,- like Claire, Brenda and himself were last year - filled the place. He didn't know if Claire was around here today. Not that he cared.

And once again, last year's thoughts came to his mind. Even when he'd thought his opinions about the matter had changed in the course of a year span of time, it still surprised him. He'd stopped being a dreamer at some point. World's problems were neither going to end anytime soon nor ever. Hunger, education, nutrition, unemployment, pollution… there was no end for that. Not even in Utopia. Organizations focused on a problem at a time; trying to help a limited number of people suffering just one condition and that was it. Even the association Henry was launching was the same. The organization he was being part of.

So, looking around he saw nothing but desperation. Too much need in the world and so little will to help. They looked like a lot of people but did little in the end. He shook his head to sweep off those thoughts. It was still better than nothing. He better focused on people. Hurried people, committed people, worried people. Happy people. He frowned. Henry Mueller was a few feet away from him. Very well accompanied by his close – or it was intimate? – friend –or was it girlfriend? - Dr. Wong.

The woman had observant, intelligent eyes and a kind smile. She greeted him warmly when Henry introduced them. She was everything but what you'd envision an important businessman's date. Lisa Wong was on her sixties, slightly overweight and didn't dress to impress. She wore a modest black dress and low heeled shoes. But they still seemed to be having the time of their lives. Henry was the image of attentiveness and she laughed a lot.

They were the chirpiest of their group. The rest of the party of six wasn't that content. Dave McMahon was on a working day, judging by his expression, and he took it very seriously. The same could be said about Nancy Hill, their PR representative. Arnold, who was a simple invitee; Henry never said what was expected for him to do at this event. So Arnold dedicated himself to observe everything; focusing in the administrators of the biggest charitable institutions and foundations.

The remaining member of their group was nowhere to be seen at the moment, something Arnold was perfectly comfortable with. Dick looked glum and had been already rude to everybody. He'd reacted to Dr. Wong's affability with a sardonic smirk; attacked Dave's fraternal greeting with unnecessary rudeness and failed to acknowledge Nancy's presence. Arnold was glad his reaction to him had been the most agreeable to the bunch so far. He ignored blatantly his existence. After what happened the previous day, the gesture had been almost endearing.

Smirking, Arnold continued watching his surroundings; trying to see beyond the appearances; to double-check everything just in case he'd be asked about this or that later. And the one thing that could distract him from his observations happens to cross his line of sight right at this moment. Luke Briaschi, renowned benefactor, President of some Swiss bank and…

.

"The man who has promised himself to make Helga his wife." Rhonda ended for him, letting out a devious smile.

"Is that true?" she nodded widely "Why?"

"Why?" she shrugged her shoulders. "Because he loves Helga?"

Arnold frowned. "Does she love him back?" Rhonda opened big her eyes, in a way that said so much and nothing at the same time.

"She does," she hummed "But maybe not in the right way…" she added, puzzlingly.

"In the right way?" he wondered if he was being too intrusive.

"The way a man like him deserves to be loved." She made a flourish movement with her hand.

Arnold smirked. "A man like him?" he raised his brow without masking his delight for the –still disguised - revelation.

"Oh, come on, Arnold! You know what I mean!" she pouted; an amused smile appearing on her face again.

"Why a man 'like him'" he mimicked her expression "-would like to be married, anyway?"

"Social conventions?" she shrugged.

Maybe he'd wronged the question.

"Why a woman like Helga would like to be married to a man like that?"

"Oh! That's the question, Arnold dear." she raised his brows with mockery. "Why indeed?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they're not actually married. Helga hasn't accepted him yet." She stated matter-of-factly. He leaned back and took air moodily. Rhonda snorted condescendingly and then added. "But I think a man like Luke can take care-" she pouted "-let's say- splendidly of a woman."

"Splendidly?"

Rhonda rolled her eyes "Position, wealth, security, a family…"

"But not love?"

"Who says he can't?" she looked pointedly at him.

"Well, you just said…" he hesitated, not knowing how to call it "that he's ga-"

"Well, Arnold, the fact is that I never said it," she took air again, seemingly amused by his coyness "But, just to let it clear, Luke is a gentleman; he's charming. He's perfectly capable to make a woman happy; more than happy, I'd say. Give her a solid family and make a terrific husband. If he'd proposed to me I might as well accept him."

"You WHAT?!" Arnold choked.

"But he didn't. He proposed to Helga. He doesn't waver. He loves her. She's the one he wants, but-"

"But she doesn't want him." Arnold ended for her.

"Mmmmm…. Helga still dreams with Prince Charming." She exhaled tiredly "Which it´s a shame."

"A shame?" he chortled "Why?"

"Because Prince Charming doesn't exist." She turned to check the in her cellphone. "So, are you going to tell me how the rest of the evening went or not?"

Arnold grumbled. Truth was that he didn't want to go back there. But maybe he needed it to tell it in order to start exorcising any feeling, any thought or whatever that was still left inside of him and polluted every single second of his breathing time.

.

The Ball went on. Every now and then Luke Briaschi happened to cross his range of vision only to annoy the heck out of him. Had he known the futility of this irritation he might have had a nicer evening.

If only for a while.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wait patiently until the four charitable groups that were assigned to them made their presentation – God! What a bunch of pathetic dreamers! Did they look like that last year? Arnold was happy they paid little attention to him because he knew his embarrassment was evident.

Why did they choose to help them anyway? He remembered it being a big mystery to him a year ago. Not only to him, to tell the truth. Thinking about last year experience made him wonder about Claire and Brenda again. Were they in here? He looked around, watchful, but didn't spot them. No sense in worrying about them, probably; he decided he'd stop caring.

He chose to spend his moments of solitude daydreaming about last day's confinement in the janitor closet located by the staircase: about the soft skin of certain blonde; about her delicacy. Recalling the taste of her soft lips; her alluring smell; her waist. Her smile when he finally got to see her face; her intense blue eyes. That moment when they parted ways; sneaking their way out of the secluded room, one at the time, to avoid being seen together. Gentlemanly, he offered her to go first. He remained behind and about five minutes later he cautiously left their hideout. An impish grin glued to his lips.

Their hideout. The smile returned to his lips.

The memory was powerful enough to make him forget about Luke, Claire, Brenda, or whomever appearing before him trying to spoil the mood. Henry was having a good time on the dance floor with his friend. Dick appeared for few moments only to disappear again; a glass of scotch in his hand. Nancy and David making their upmost to leave a good impression, since Mueller Enterprises' good name had been left on them.

.

.

Soon enough it was time to leave. Arnold couldn't help but feel that it was one of the longest evenings ever. People started disappearing at quick rate and he wondered if everybody felt the same. He decided to wait a bit. No point in going out only to spend a good amount of time waiting for the valet.

Talking to Dave and Nancy was illustrative. There was a reason why Social Assistance and Public Relations existed after all. Arnold listened to them attentively as they explained terms as Social Profitability, Social Responsibility, Ethical Framework and some other locutions that made his mind wander. He observed by the corner of his eye that Dick walked out of the place and decided to wait a little longer given that he didn't want to come across him and risk a scene. He'd succeeded at avoiding him so far. No need to push his luck.

Finally it was time to leave. He said goodbye to his coworkers and then went to find Henry and companion. After biding farewells he finally turned on his heels and exhaled long; eager to leave the place and call it a night.

On his way out he couldn't help but think that Henry and Lisa looked pretty much comfortable together; almost as if they were longtime friends… or partners. He turned back briefly before crossing the threshold. Had been they together for a while? Why then Henry pretended he and Helga had some kind of understanding?

He recalled Rhonda saying something of the sort last week, so he made an effort to remember. It was almost to the end of their conversation. When Arnold commented about…

He cursed under his breath barely putting a foot outside. The valet waiting area was crowded. It seemed there were not sufficient personnel to bring the cars up. People were complaining, calling it service ineptitude and whatnot; wanting to have a word with the manager. The few valets Arnold saw around looked harassed. There was a young girl in there; taking the tickets and trying to keep order.

"What model is your car, sir?" She asked struggling to hide the anxiety of her juvenile face.

"Camry… Toyota," he watched as she wrote it down on the ticket "Beige." He smiled sympathetically. He didn't need the valets looking around for all the Camrys parked down there. The girl smiled with gratitude and he walked off, making room for the next guest.

The blond young man made his way to a clear. Looking back he wondered how long it would take. Deciding it has no point filling his mind with inane calculations since there were too many people in there, he went back to recall the image of Henry Mueller happily swaying to the music played on the dance floor. Lisa Wong was obviously the psychologist Helga had talked about; a woman she had in great esteem. Did it mean Helga knew about their 'romance'?

He shook his head because of the nonsense of the situation. Up to only days ago he sincerely thought there was something going on between Henry and Helga. At least that was they pretended. Then he remembered Rhonda always hinted it was a just a sham; but it had always been an ambiguous affirmation. Until last week when she disclosed there had been an intended target. He'd been thinking over and over and couldn't imagine who could it be?

Feeling tired of all this craziness; he raised his sight and took a deep inhalation. His eyes fell on the insufferable Luke-Whatever hanging out at the place where the cars were being handed out to their owners. Making a face, Arnold observed the man attentively. He was quite a sight, Arnold had to admit. An attractive man in his own way; wearing head-to-toe Ermenegildo Zegna and acting like only a carefree teenager would do. He was accompanied by a male friend who copied him in style and high-spiritedness. Arnold couldn't hear what were they saying but realized people around them seeming to enjoy their wit.

Soon he realized part of their banter consisted in admiring, deploring o plainly ignoring the cars delivered; from precious Bentleys to old beat-up Pontiacs. He grunted to himself, hoping whatever their car was, it'd be delivered before his. He didn't want to endure the walk of shame towards his excellent but unpretentious Toyota whose color was officially named 'Crème Brule'.

Deciding he wouldn't enjoy the show, Arnold made his way to the end of the tiled area and towards the gardens. Taking in the fresh nocturnal air he closed his eyes. The voices behind him died down and he struggled to relax. There was no way the waiting would take less than fifteen minutes so it has no point going back; not for a while. Besides, this was a –kind of - peaceful place and the cool wisps of wind felt nice on his face.

Minutes went on. A rush of visions went through his closed eyes as it used to be always that he'd get rid of everyday concerns and worries. It'd been a rough couple of days at work, really. Fortunately he'd been prone to daydreaming; spacing out was always easy for him.

So now, the scent of wild flowers, a green open field…

The vision of the nightly sky through his old skylight,

Mickey Kaline's All Natural Casings Dog Pound –he didn't know why but this place always came to his mind in peaceful moments-,

The rumble of the motor of a small plane gliding through the air,

Above the planet on a wing and a prayer,
My grubby halo, a vapour trail in the empty air,

The peace that the reverberating sound brought to his heart,

Across the clouds I see my shadow fly
Out of the corner of my watering eye
A dream unthreatened by the morning light
Could blow this soul right through the roof of the night

All what this meant to him…

There's no sensation to compare with this
Suspended animation, a state of bliss

Can't keep my mind from the circling skies.
Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I

.

Maybe his destiny was to become an explorer, not a corporative lawyer. He continued enjoying the sensation. The smells brought by the crisp wind; the images he was able to see through his closed eyes; across a windswept field, the shadow of his plane morphed into the one of a bird:

Was it a falcon?

A golden eagle?

A phoenix?

He turned up. The brilliance of the sun preventing him from seeing the bird, but still being able to discern his striking yellowness; a twinge of pink…

"So here you are. The man of the hour." He heard a single clap just before a cold, sluggish voice reached his ears. He froze. His eyes shot open a second later.

He took air before acknowledge the man standing in the dark, a few feet away from him. "Dick." He greeted him reservedly. They hadn't talked since yesterday morning. An exchange Arnold doubted he'd ever be able to forget.

Dick observed him through narrowed eyes. "Who are you?" his voice was harsh; belittling; demanding.

Arnold frowned. He took air before speaking. Of course he expected something like this. There was no way they'd greet each other with a pat in the back; like long time friends. They've never been like that, in fact. Not even cordial coworkers.

The bunch of mixed feelings he'd been experiencing since the previous day fell suddenly over, making him feel rather uncomfortable. He didn't quite like Dick, but had accustomed to his moods, to work close to him, to gain his appraisal; to –let's say- enjoy it. Truth be told that he didn't know what his position in the enterprise would be now that he'd fallen from his grace.

"Who the hell are you?" he repeated "You just come in, escalate to a place that only few reach; now all of a sudden you're Wonder Boy. The enterprise won't work without you-" he spat accusatory "You work with Henry in his forsaken Foundation… and on top of this all you were Helga's boyfriend." He ended with a mutter.

Arnold threw a glance to his right hand where he was holding a half empty glass of Scotch. "I was never Helga's boyfriend." He informed, as calmly as he could. Was Dick drunk? "All what I know is that she once felt something for me back then." He paused "If it was ever true, I never got to know it."

Dick made a face "Right" he snorted, skeptic.

"We were kids;" Arnold went on "We stopped seeing each other about twelve."

"About twelve?" he grimaced in disbelief. "She asked you to say that?"

Arnold hesitated. Truth was that she'd asked him to say that. They actually stopped seeing each other at fourteen.

Back then he never thought it'd be that definitive…

"I knew it," Dick puckered his lips and threw him a last glance before tossing down the last of his drink. Looking around for a place to set his glass, he suddenly directed his sight to the driveway.

Arnold raised his head too. There were some whistles and excited claps over there. An old, elegant couple grinned as they boarded their car; a classic thirty-something Duesenberg Model J – What?! He loved vintage cars and knew everything about them. He even owned one.- Dick set his glass on a wooden garden planter and walked away.

"Wait!" Arnold called after him. Why? He didn't know. Truly. He felt like he needed to fix this stupid misunderstanding. Dick ignored him. "I don't know what you heard, but that's the truth." Arnold followed him. Reaching the place where the crowd followed with admiration the historic car driving away, he lowered his voice. "We went up to elementary school together. That was it."

"I don't give a shit." Without directing his sight at him, somewhat obstinately, Dick reached for his wallet and drew out a fifty. Arnold faltered for a second. A fifty? He'd thought a twenty would do it. Then he blinked twice when the taller man turned to him and poked him in the chest. "I don't know yet who the hell are you; who hired you, who brought you here or what their intentions are, but I'm going to find out; and when I do-"

A new round of claps called their attention. He stopped all of a sudden. There was a new arrival. They both raised their sights. A Bentley of some sort made it to the raised area. Arnold noticed Dick cursing under his breath at the sight of Luke and company. Luke also noticed him. An almost a perverse smirk appeared on his lips. Dick's lips became a straight line. He held his gaze; then suddenly he stormed off and marched towards him.

Arnold remained quiet observing the scene. Luke straightened and got away; stopping to stand precariously at the narrow space between the two lanes of the driveway. Two cars stopped at once at each side of him. A white car was on the first lane. The conductor got out and spoke to him. Luke replied quickly before rushing a walk around the car; an appreciative walk. His friend cheered. At the end of his turn, the dark haired man stroked obscenely its rear side and patted it twice, in an obvious sexual connotation. Arnold held his breath. He'd seen him doing this gesture before. To Helga. In a park.

He looked at the car then and recognized it immediately. He felt like being miles away; like watching an unreal movie. Luke rushing his way off Dick's path. Then the blond man charging towards him; hitting him marginally in the shoulder before rounding the car and interchanging a word and the tip with the valet before getting in.

Then he drove off with a screech of tires.

'It's a Porsche 911 Turbo S.' The memory of his friend's voice - August's - echoed inside his skull. 'My favorite car in the entire world'.

. . .

25 de Junio de 2016.