CHAPTER EIGHT

Mr. March smiled at the backside of a particularly eager intern. He was twenty years her senior, but she was still a little old for his tastes. Though, women in their twenties had their allure. They were much easier to break in than older self assured women, no longer handicapped by their daddy issues. He sat in his office 'on top of the world'. All he had to do was sit back and play the role of Charles March genius, philanthropist, and all around nice guy. The persona got him Man of the Year in '88.

He wore privilege like a silk glove and didn't make any apologies for it. Apologies were a waste when there was so much of life left to live. Money bought everything, even the silence of a few choice players that could bury him alive. And when money didn't work little girls having fatal accidents on the stairs did the job too.

It was messy. The cop was getting too close to little Sophia. His toy had to go. He caught some of his staff giving him looks. He hadn't fired them for looks. He kept them on confident they wouldn't speak. And three months later they were still silent cleaning his floors, making his meals, and tending to his garden. People weren't by nature good or bad, they were self preserving.

"Is there anything else I can help you with Mr. March?" the redhead asked suggestively.

His day had barely started he thought with a grin. March slid back from his desk indicating with one downward finger, that there was one more thing she could do before she left for the evening. No one could ever really say that he wasn't a man of compromise.

After the driver knocked he heard hurried moving behind the door. Waiting patiently with his package the door opened to a young woman with swollen lips. He wasn't sure if it was because she caught him staring or shame, but she lowered her gaze, and it didn't take a genius to know why. Remy walked in and handed over the package in his hand when the intern was dismissed by a reluctant mathematician.

Red lingerie hung from the arm of his chair. It wasn't like the man didn't know they were there. It took some effort on Remy's part not to fold his face in disgust. Jo hardly talked about him, but he read the papers and he had ears, putting two and two together bore duel sides of the computer genius. The drivers reflected on how strange it was for people to let go of their 'surface face' in front of people they deemed inconsequential. If they were to meet again he knew from experience people with March's disposition of wealth wouldn't recognize him. That kind of invisibility had its advantages. When rich people were fascinated by things they liked to toy with it.

"The darkest hour of any man's life is when he sits down to plan how to get money without earning it," he opened his drawer lifting out two yellow envelopes. "Horace Greeley," he offered before relinquishing his own package. Remy took them with carrying himself neutrally even though he could firmly state he was disgusted.

"Do you eat stupid for breakfast and let it digest through your day with the words that come out of your mouth?" Natalie was beyond offended. Max, a coworker, invaded her cubicle with the smell of after shave and coffee. The man was too much for her at the moment.

She had hardly slept the night before coddling Blair until she finally cried herself to sleep. Jo wasn't answering her phone calls to help and she was still working in a job she could safely now say she hated. She felt like a walking advertisement for creeps to shower her with below average pick up lines. She could be the 'it' girl for what one's life she never end up being.

A few choice insults later and Max the melon head had finally caught on that her insults weren't a kinky play of words. Behind her back they would call her uptight, a prude, maybe even a lesbian, but there was no invention to their surface insults. Bruised boys, with bruised egos had no imagination and yet they were the one's writing the lead stories. She groaned inwardly at her predicament of life.

She started typing when her phone started ringing. She glared at it as if she had the power to intimidate the phone to stop.

"Greene speaking," she tried not to sound too annoyed.

"Hey Nat it's me," Tootie smiled on the other end.

"Do you have any idea what the heck is going on with your best friends?" Natalie had the habit of giving Tootie the credit for their decade long friendship with the impossible duo. Today she was at a loss. Blair did nothing but cry last night and when she did speak her words were barely intelligible outside of one word, Jo.

Tootie shrugged on the other end adding that she was just as confused, "we need a plan of action."

Tootie and Natalie with the best intentions thought they could help. The very existence of either woman depended on the other. The codependent relationship that had first worried them warmed their hearts when they saw the love stemming from it. But now disaster was in the midst. It hung like a fog with no foreseeable end.

For the actress words were the only tools she'd need. Her friends would see reason eventually. They always had in the past. However, what Tootie wasn't taking in account were the years in between. There were variables on both ends that gradually took pieces of her friends, to be replaced by perceptions and beliefs that eroded the innocence of youth.

Everything was more complicated than stealing a van.

Natalie sighed when another coworker, Brian Himmel, strutted over with his hands resting coolly in his pants. He wore masculine clothes, dolled up his language to sound like some Casanova, but he was still the office slut.

He took liberties by shortening her name, a right reserved for people she liked. He leaned against the wall of her cubicle with one hand the other notoriously placed in his pants. She held her hand up to stop him, "I'm still not interested in having your cream in my coffee cup."

"I can open your mind to a whole new world Greene," he leaned in to whisper.

She followed suit, "I'd rather spend my evening tracing the outline of my iris with a toothpick."

A stack of mail ended up on her desk. The clerk smirked hearing the last of the conversation. He knew there was a reason he liked the weird chick in the numbers section of the paper. Too many women were focused on the wrapping no matter how bad the stench emanating from it.

Two insults and a successfully dissuaded suitor later Natalie could get back on task. She looked at the stack grabbing the manila envelope first. Her eyes looked around automatically. She never knew whether it was because he was her secret or because she waited to see if she was being watched. The reaction became reflexive when she received her first envelope three weeks ago. They were always from a L.P. King with no return address. She began research on the name when she realized that she had been mailed damning evidence involving corrupt police officials.

In no exact pattern she'd receive mail some with pictures and some were copies of official documents. Her job didn't give her the luxury of being patient, but she abstained, it wasn't unheard of for a reporter's career to go down in flames because of misinformation. She'd been studying the case files and notes given to her and gradually she was becoming more and more comfortable with her snitches credibility. The first door slammed in her face inquiring about official actions involving the murder of a little girl made her incredibly curious.

When she opened today's present she recognized the two men in the photograph. From the absence of people besides themselves, the meeting looked to be invitation only and in all caps scrawled on a sticky note, 'WHAT'S THE BIG SECRET?'

The men's bathroom had the same architectural design as the women's bathroom, it was a lazy observation only second to the first noticeable difference—the smell. Jo's nose twitched with the mixture of cologne and cleaning products. She sat on the counter waiting for March. She watched him walk confidently into his building after his lunch break. He spoke congenially to the people he passed. Their smiles gave away how little they knew about him. She could call herself paranoid, but following Remy was an impromptu decision. On happenstance she saw him in the street. A double take verified that the dressed down man who looked incredibly familiar was the driver. She had him checked out, but it was Dave she didn't trust. And by default Remy fell under questionable in Jo's mental catalogue of people she could and could not trust.

When she saw him disappear into the building she kept her distance, but it wasn't an applied science to conclude where he'd gone. Now she sat waiting. Frowning as the sounds of March relieving himself filled the otherwise quiet space. The click of the stall door unlocking triggered her into action. When he opened the door she rushed him pushing him back in, hitting him in the throat to muffle any sounds to warn someone of foul play. She grabbed his throat pushing him in the wall. He slid uncomfortably on the seat of the toilet eyes wide and scared. The part of Jo that enjoyed his fear pushed on his throat harder, but her reason wouldn't let her entertain it for long.

"De ja vu," Jo whispered. There was one other time they had been this close the last time he ended up with a concussion.

He tried to speak, but his response came out strained and hoarse.

Blair watched Vesper's mouth move. She managed to nod and speak and answer accordingly. She listened noncommittally to her itinerary for that day. When the secretary handed it to her she looked it over not paying attention to what the words made up. She entertained the thought of not showing up for work. Then, she thought better of staying home alone left to her thoughts. If Bailey had been there she would have had something happy to distract her. She kept Natalie up for most of the night until she cried herself to sleep.

She scoffed at the memory. Vesper looked up from the notes she'd made thinking she had said something to upset her boss. When Blair noticed her assistant stopped talking she looked at her in question.

"The Mulrone meeting is at five today would you rather it be transferred to Roger?"

Roger was a capable attorney that thought her employment was a joke. But as the boss's daughter she expected her coworkers to be a little bitter. Despite his shortcomings regarding his perceptions of her she observed his work with respect. He was a proficient lawyer and her father trusted him. Still, he relished in trying to make her look bad, which put him a category the blonde reserved for the jerks in her life. That left the thought of unloading the work to Roger and its suggestion null.

When she shook her head in negative, Vesper continued none the wiser until Blair stood and picked up her coat.

"I'll be back in time for the meeting," she heard herself say.

She nodded and smiled to passing coworkers and employees. She was astute keeping her real feelings far from the surface. If she showed a glimpse to the vultures, they would pick and prod and speculate. She wouldn't have an eloquent answer. Her normal witty ease had left her, replaced by awkward excuses and avoidance tactics that her mother would cringe to see. She was sure Natalie was full of questions after she came home last night distraught. Natalie was safe, a close friend whose shoulder was always willing to catch her tears.

But now, in the light of day, she had the reality of what happened the day before slamming into her at every turn. The pressure built up the evening before into the morning. The ringing in her ear informed her of an impending migraine. Her driver stood outside dutifully when she exited. She knew Vesper had probably arranged it. Like second nature she walked to the open door settling into the seat. Jo had wondered aloud how she could be so trusting of the people that drove her for a living. Jo's overactive imagination created scenarios where she was kidnapped for ransom. Scenarios, which Jo pointed out, could easily be avoided if Blair were more attentive to her surroundings.

The door closed behind her and then the driver asked where she wanted to go. It was a simple question she answered millions of times before with a cavalier certainty. Today, however, she was taken aback by the request and they sat there. The driver was anxious by her silence and Blair contemplated if the next words to come out of her mouth were wise.

Pushing her first response out of her head, she went with the second. The address didn't need to be repeated just the name of one of the most influential men in New York. The ride took longer than usual because of traffic. The city was doing more construction on the road. Everywhere one turned there was something or another being broken and built back up.

Blair's father owned several apartments in town. Her father was a calculating man. Each apartment had a purpose in the scheme of things. She often questioned if there was a purpose in his mind for her. As his daughter and heir to the Warner dynasty she considered her birth a necessity. She wasn't as naïve to think that she was a product of love and devotion. Her parents had stopped loving each other before she was born. It was paranoid to think like that, but they were thoughts she couldn't help indulge in.

Very few people were given access to the upper level apartments. Anyone with access was cleared through a rigorous security check. While Blair didn't visit her father regularly the concierge knew her face and name and immediately escorted her to elevator. She rode the top floor biting the inside of her lip. It was a nervous habit from childhood that revisited her in times of anxiety.

"Sweet heart," she heard him say when she reached the apartment. He opened his arms wide to her for a hug and she fell into them. When she was younger when the same arms closed around her she thought he could solve anything if she just asked.

A question was on the tip of her tongue as he led her further into the apartment. It had crossed her mind to talk to Natalie and Tootie about what she was feeling, but she already knew what they would say. They would tell her to cool down and forgive, but she didn't want to. They knew her better than most and were privy to her capacity to forgive, especially when it came to Jo. The bad-tempered part of the debutante that had been dormant since school arose with a vengeance.

"What do I owe this surprise my darling?" David sat adjacent to his daughter on the plush off white couch.

"I just wanted to see you daddy," she smiled, "we live in the same city, work in the same building and yet we hardly see much of each other."

He grasped his daughter's hand nodding the sad truth. The world of business had never allowed him as much time as he wanted with his daughter. He didn't feel guilty for the time he spent elsewhere. David knew without his commitment to his work his daughter wouldn't be the woman she was today.

"Well I'm glad you came. You've been doing an excellent job Blair I'm very proud of you. I've heard nothing but good things about you since you've been taken on."

"I'm your daughter daddy would you have expected any different?" Blair smiled. Her heart swelled at the praise giving her a boost of confidence, like air in her lungs.

David smiled quirking a brow, "no I suppose not," he admitted. There weren't many things Blair couldn't accomplish once she put her mind to it.

Blair noticed her father, like her mother, reminisced about her childhood with memories that didn't quite match up with her own. They took privileges with the truth, and since Blair had always been daddy's girl she was always more altruistic of her father's truth. She accepted the bias keeping it her secret. If her mother found out she would latch onto it like a leech and hold it over her daughter's head all the way to her death bed. And even after she died the woman would probably bring it up weeks later in the will. She could even see her mother doing something melodramatic, like mailing her a letter designated to be sent when she least expected it months after.

"Randall's been asking about you."

"Has he?" Her interested hadn't piqued at the sound of her 'suitor', but she played the part. The look pleased her father, and even older and wiser she still needed and wanted his approval.

"He has princess so why are you avoiding him?" He didn't wait for her to reply. "I like him; I think you'd be good together a good match."

"I like him too, but…"

"But?" he leaned into his daughter grasping her hand. He knew all too well what was on the other end of the 'but'.

"He'll be at the party and the gala. Perhaps with the atmosphere and the company you can appreciate what he offers you," David edged.

Blair obliged her father with a smile. Maybe she hadn't given him much of a chance.

She reminisced with her father. She sank into the familial banter between them. When he called her princess he meant it. She loved him for that. He gave her the confidence to take what she wanted and damn asking. This was why she came—to feel like her old self. The old Blair long before Jo Polniaczek showed her what it felt like to have a conscience, or look beyond the surface of things. She found solace in a superficial existence. While she knew it wouldn't last for long she would enjoy for as long as she could afford.

"You're a monster," she seethed. Spit formed at the lip as he struggled against her hold. She watched his face turn different shades indifferent to the varying pigments. She pulled a photograph out of her pocket and placed it at eye level.

It didn't surprise the mathematician that Jo held onto mementos of the case that got away. The picture of the little girl would have been a nice touch if he wasn't a sociopath. Though he did know what fear was and as he felt it now, he hated giving up that power. He knew how intoxicating it could be, but it wasn't an ideal turn in his fantasies to play victim.

"I won't let you forget her," Jo's pledge was barely above a whisper.

The older man tilted his head and Jo pushed harder on his throat.

"Ever," she reiterated.