19AD8 | A Short Story: The Details
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A Short Story: The Details

*This story is a complete work of fiction.*

One day I was sitting in my office, at the round table in the room. I prefer round tables because all of the chairs evenly surround each other to ensure that everyone has an equal involvement to a discussion, you know, equal parts of the total pie. The table is delicately constructed from cherry wood because I like the way it stains and sounds when writing upon it. It also has an interesting way of enhancing resonant sound; acoustics are important. The way people sound when they are speaking is extremely important to me.

There are limited windows in the office, as I prefer to illuminate the office with ornate light fixtures as it really allows me to control the mood lighting of each situation, meeting or gathering; whatever one likes to call it.

There’s a minibar located in the corner of the room. It is stocked with the finest of liquors, some imported, some distilled right here on the estate.  The glassware (including the drinking glasses) are custom designed and made from the finest crystal. You always know it’s good crystal, for when it’s tapped or clinked, it makes a very subtle, but harmonic, ringing sound.

I like that sound. I appreciate that sound. It’s an elemental sound.

There’s an ice bucket constructed from iron, as I like the way it keeps the ice chilled and the ice is re-stocked every thirty minutes, as I want to make sure every cube is always even. Details are important. How one presents an environment to another person has the utmost importance. It allows them to know that there is no detail that goes unnoticed.

 The main window of the room is separated into five panels; two on the top, two on the bottom and one in the middle. The top and bottom panels are artistically painted and stained, painstakingly if I might add. I had the designer re-do them five or six times until it was done correctly. For, when it’s not done correctly, there is either too much light or too faint of light that passes through.

The middle panel is left untouched, clear and looks out to a wondrous garden that has some of the most beautiful and exotic flowers anyone has ever seen. Proper care of these flowers is always regulated, as they demand a lot of tender attention. I purposely only had one panel that is see-through because I want that notion to not only remind myself, but other people that tunnel vision is important in understanding what is truly beautiful.

There’s a girl that works alongside me, she sort of behaves like the keeper of all my endeavors and I’ve known her for a very long time, to make a long story short, I trust her without question. There’s always been an erotic sense of love between us, however we’ve always treaded upon each other very lightly to ensure we don’t taint what is pure. She speaks with a very delicate, angelic-like, tone of voice… one of which I have always adored. She’s got the type of voice that no matter what mood I’m in, she somehow is able to infiltrate through my barrier. She also always looks insanely beautiful, dressed eloquently sexy, yet professional acceptable. I know what that means to me and whatever that may mean to you… I really don’t care to hear that particular opinion, observation or insight.

On this particular day, it was probably about mid-afternoon, but she walks into the room and says to me, “Avi Jay, there is someone here to see you.”

I smile and let her know that the person can enter the room. She leaves for a second and then returns with the man. He’s wearing a suit, a black suit, with a white shirt and a striped tie. He tries to walk into the room, but she stops him and politely says to him, “Can you please take your shoes off?”

The man gives her an obnoxiously strange look, one of which I didn’t particularly approve of. He proceeds to take his shoes off and she continues to speak to him, with an explanatory type of voice, “This rug, this carpet, was handmade by some of Avi’s dear friends in the Middle East… it took them almost fifteen hundred hours to complete this piece. I hope you understand.”

The man nods and then finally enters the room. There is about fifteen seconds of silence between us two, I presume he was waiting for me to initiate the conversation, but I did not.  He finally breaks the silence and says to me, “Do-do you mind if I make a drink first?”

I smile in acknowledgement and say, “Please. Be my guest. Make yourself comfortable.”

The man walks over to the minibar and grabs one of the drinking glasses. I observed that he didn’t take the time to examine how wonderfully crafted the glass was. He then chose clear liquor, vodka, which I found surprising considering that isn’t really a mid-afternoon type of alcoholic beverage. I also found it odd that he first poured the liquor in the glass and then added the ice, two pieces of ice. He used his hands to grab the ice from the bucket, not the tongs that were clearly visible and hanging off the side of the bucket.

He starts to walk away from the minibar and as he’s walking he took a sip from his drink, a telltale sign that he is a bit nervous.  He proceeds to walk past the round table that I am sitting at and decides to sit at a stationed recliner chair to the right off me. The chair is made from the finest of leathers and is hand sewed, stitched if you will, with silk threads. Why silk? Well, there’s an old lamp next to the chair that has a specifically crafted Edison bulb, set to the correct hue and wattage that really reflects off the silk and leather in such a way to create a calming atmosphere. That is the chair I usually read all my magazines, scientific studies, books and newspapers at. I didn’t particularly appreciate that he chose to sit there rather than the obvious table I was at. Next to the chair is a small side table, made entirely of mahogany and was refurbished from the workstation that my grandmother used to sit at and sew. In fact, the antique sewing machine still rests upon the table.  

The man takes a few seconds to get comfortable and then attempts to place his glass on the table, but my girl quickly enters the room and places a coaster underneath the glass to prevent residue damage on the table.

I give the man a disgusted look and say, “That’s an expensive table, do you know that?”

The man doesn’t apologize, but he leans over and says to me, with a slight quiver, “So, I want to talk to you about a potential business deal…”

I promptly interrupt him, raise my voice slightly and say to him, “That’s an extremely expensive table, I hope you know that.” 

The man, again, doesn’t apologize and proceeds to speak, “Right… so about this business deal…”

I stood up from my chair, point to the door and with a baritone voice I confirmatively say, “I don’t think there’s any business we can discuss here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man appears abruptly surprised, confused and forcefully responds, “Why?”

I sit back down in my chair, fold my hands, beamed my eyes towards him and slowly said, “There’s no business that I’d like to discuss with you… as the minute you walked in here you already started disrespecting the creative and spiritual integrity of this room. Again, please, I’m asking you to leave.”

The man quickly stood up and attempted to raise his voice, although his tone is not that commandeering, and he spoke loudly, “I don’t know who you think you are dealing with… or what type of power I have, but I think you should reconsider what it is that you are saying…” I look outside the window for a few seconds and then I turn, look at the man and say, “With all due respect, you entered my home to ask me about a potential deal. And, I personally don’t really care what type of power you think that you might have, but I am certain there is no business I could possibly do with such an untrustworthy type of person. A person that neglects and doesn’t pay attention to the finer aspects of life is not someone that I tend to do business with. Not to mention, you used your hands to pluck ice from the bucket and you completely disrespected my girl by not even saying thank you when she brought you a coaster. We are done here.”

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