Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I) (12 page)

             
But as they say: "There are exceptions that prove the rule," Eddie Withers proved to me that strong confidence of New Yorkers is not always deserved.  Catherine and I arrived on time and had to wait with Edith in a ratty conference room.   Edith was nicely professional, quiet and unaggressive, but not fawning in any fashion.  She validated my opinion of the self confident New Yorker.  "Mr. Withers will be here shortly.  He told me to let you know that he is in another meeting that has run over."

             
I noticed that Edith was clever enough to let us know that it would not quite be a lie if he was just taking extra practice swings with his office putter.   After fifteen minutes, a nice egotistical time for an executive, he breezed into the room and shook our hands vigorously to show his authority and looked at Catherine in her yellow dress and then at me.   I could almost read his mind as he was trying to figure out whether she was meant as an offering to him, or a piece of folly for me, or whether he was dealing with confident people on their own.   In retrospect I suspect that since most egotistical people fail to appreciate any other people as their equal, leave alone their superior, he sold Catherine, and me short in this regard.  "Edith tells me you are the best.   We only want the best here." (Challenge thrown out.)  "We bought this building with that in mind.   We want you to design and install a front lobby that tells people who we are and what we are all about.   I want it to be us and only us."

             
"Who are you and only you?" Catherine asked, quite wide eyed.  He looked stunned.  I knew what he was thinking.  "Who are these people coming into my meeting without doing their research?  Shouldn't they know exactly how wonderful we are?"   I also knew how clever Catherine was.  We had thoroughly discussed this company, so I knew she was asking about his self image.   She might have also been trying to figure out what he was thinking of us.  So I decided to give him a bit more rope.

             
"We have researched your company the best we can from afar.  But we have found the true nature of a company can only be found in the minds of the people who come to work each day.  So how do you see your company?  Who do you know yourself to be?"

             
That seemed to work well.  His head held higher and like a bantam rooster at the henhouse door, he launched into a spiel of classic mission statement.   "We are a customer focused, process optimized company that uses innovation and integrated end to end processes with a team oriented dedicated workforce to deliver value added services and products."   He stopped to allow the grandeur of his statement to sink in.   He smiled and stood.   "I expect that should be enough to get you started.  Edith is the Project Manager on this and she'll be your contact for all the day to day stuff.  I'll be monitoring it all the way,” he concluded with his hand on her shoulder.  With a head tilt, he swiftly left the room.   Edith chased after him, looking back at us with a finger raised indicating she would be back in a minute.  As soon as she left, Catherine swiveled in her chair and asked angrily, “Did he say
anything
?"

             
"Oh yes." I replied.  "He said he was full of himself, got the job on height and a full head of hair, and possibly nude photos of the CEO.  And has no idea how to run anything.   I suspect we'll find a lot of competence in Edith.  Guys like him know how to find their ‘Ediths’ or they discover that even nude photos won't carry the day.  If we do the job, the next time we'll see him will be at the closing meeting."

             
She looked at me, paused and nodded with a laugh.  "Then we'll need Edith to share a little bit more productively."

             
We could see Edith intently trying to get Mr. Ed Withers to focus and answer some questions.   When she returned she asked if she could freshen the coffees she had supplied earlier and produced some specification sheets and answered our questions on what intangibles we could expect to have to deal with.  She basically outlined the typical impossible dream, something cheap and something powerful, and quickly.    Upon discussion she admitted that Mr. Ed had a hand in the spec sheet and that something less than impossible might be considered.  We got a better picture of what they wanted and we left at mid-afternoon to discuss our strategy. 

             
It was hot and muggy.  Maybe there were clouds, but it was mostly sunny.  We had stopped at a Gap store, Catherine being attracted by some shiny object or colorful garment.  I, frankly, don't remember.  What I do recall was being in the store when suddenly all the power cut out.   We waited for a few minutes expecting the power to return.  When it did not we went out into the streets where people ambled about aimlessly.  We heard speculations.  The first came and went quickly, that some terrorist had done some sort of damage.  After 9/11, that was always everyone's first guess and greatest fear.   Fortunately, the City government got on it quickly and announced that it was some sort of lightning strike in Canada that caused a series of trip switches causing major shutdown across the Northeast.   Eventually, the truth came out that it was something on the American side near Detroit, but the damage to Canada's reputation was done with the first reports.  I am sure a Senate Investigation Committee was launched to determine how blame could fall somewhere other than Washington D.C., preferably Canada.  But if nothing else would work, Detroit would do just fine.

             
The tourists on Fifth Avenue refused to believe that anything could shut down mighty New York for long.   Eventually, as store after store shuttled their customers out the door and sent their staff home, the impact of the lack of electricity began to sink in.   The subway was out of play, the bus lines were over-packed and taxis were too few and too far between, even if you could afford them.  Catherine and I returned to the Ritz-Carlton and found that, unlike many other hotels, we could actually get back into our rooms, so we would not be forced to sleep in hallways, streets and lobbies.  But hot food was out of the question and we found ourselves paying extraordinary prices for a cold plate food.   Prices all over the city were becoming impossible.   Snack food, water and flashlights were scalped when they could.   Other times, integrity became more important and sane prices and even free water was given out.  People trudged past the hotel like refugees fleeing a war zone.   They would stop and ask where the bridge to another borough was.   Though they had lived and worked in the city their entire life, they knew their home as one end of the subway, and their work as the other end.  When the electricity ended, they took the word of strangers and plodded slowly home in the heat.

             
Eventually, we headed up the stairs where, due to the emergency generator, there were dim hall lights and the capacity to read our little magnetic room keys.  But there was not enough capacity for air conditioning or hot water.  "Stay with me."  Catherine said and my heart nearly stopped.  "What?"  I stuttered.   "I'd feel better if I had someone staying with me.   And since you are the only one I know in town....If you think I should ask a stranger...." She said with a smile. 

             
"No,” I replied.  "No, I'll be glad to be your knight in shining armor."

             
"More like knight in his underwear."  She said.

             
"What?"  Again, I stuttered like an idiot.

             
"The room is going to be hot." She said, matter-of-factly.  "We'll both be lucky if we don't swelter on the sheet, leave alone under them, even if we are only wearing underwear.  You must have never lived in the South."

             
"No, but I thought they had running water and electricity there of late.  When did you ever sleep in the heat?"  I asked.

             
She laughed, "As a kid, in the summer time we'd go camping.  It was too hot in the tent and we'd sleep in the open hoping to get some breeze.  As you have noticed, there is little breeze to be found on the sixth floor of the Ritz."

             
Per her suggestion, we went to my room first and I grabbed a fresh change of underwear and we went to her room.   There we propped the door open to get a glimmer of light from the emergency lights lining the hallway.   We set the little metal clasp so no one could peek in.  She showered first, as I chivalrously hoped she would obtain the last vestiges of the hot water.   She came out wrapped in a terry towel, pulling a comb through her hair.  "There are absolutely no warm molecules left, I'm afraid.   It is also a lot tougher to shower in the dark than you might think.   You can leave the door open while you shower."

             
I did so and after drying off and putting on my underwear, came out shivering.  Catherine stood up and rubbed her towel on my back.  "Men never dry off well enough."  She said.

             
"And that's why women need all those moisturizers.  They rub all the water out of their bodies." I retorted.

             
I jumped in the bed and pulled the sheet over me, hoping to warm up quickly, but my teeth kept chattering.  Catherine stood there, in the soft dark and I realized that I was seeing her in her lingerie again and rued the fact that it was so dark.  While I would have loved to have had better light to see every detail, I had to admit, that like every other woman I had ever met, the dark added a mystery, an illusion of even more perfection.  It appeared that she wore a lacy dark red bra and panty set.   She stood there for a second and realized how cold I was and she slid under the covers and into the bed beside me.  "Here, snuggle with me.  I run hot," she said.  I had to agree, but I didn't say anything.  But wrapped my arms around her from behind and pulled myself close.  Very quickly I found out what she meant by running hot.  Her skin was almost a fever.   I rapidly lost my chill and found myself enjoying the feel of her. 

             
"More Bi than gay, huh?" she asked.  I was glad it was dark as I turned red.   

             
"I think if you keep it up, you'll convert me to the other team full time."  I suggested.             

             
We both rolled away and kicked off the sheet, since we were now suffering from the muggy heat.  We both lay there in the dark, me thinking of her so close.  "You ought to take care of that."  She said in a whisper.

             
Again, I was the idiot.  "What?"

             
"You ought to take care of that.  You know what I mean."

             
"I'm at least a little embarrassed."  I said.

             
"You'd do it if you were alone." She said, encouragingly.

             
"But, I'm not alone."  I said, quietly.

             
"I want to see.  I've always wondered how you did it.  You can always imagine you are with one of your guy friends, if you want.  Do you want me to speak in a guy's voice to make it more realistic?" 

             
"That'll be okay.  I'll just pretend you aren't there." I said in a resigned voice.  I knew when she got in a persistent mode, she wouldn't relent.

             
"Oh goody!" she giggled, propping herself up on one elbow to watch.

             
"Is the light sufficient enough for you?" I asked dryly, "Or will you need a flashlight?"

             
"Oh, no." She replied, oblivious to my sarcasm. "The light is perfect."

             
I pulled my underwear down to just beneath my balls and began stroking.   I looked at her in the faint light, her breasts heaving with each of my strokes and I took all of her in.   It took nothing for me to release.  How could it?  One of the most beautiful and exciting women I had ever known and here she was encouraging me to perform for her.   How many times had I done this alone in my room? 

             
It didn't take long before the orgasm surged from my body, wave after wave, as I looked into her face, her eyes growing wide as the spurts splattered on first my chest, then belly, then dribbling across my fingers.  I lay there, panting with exhaustion and suddenly she popped up and returned shortly with a hand towel and she clinically cleaned me off as if I was a baby with a dirty diaper.  "You came so much!" she exclaimed.   I chose to remain silent at this point, as I had no idea on what just happened really.

           
   "I wondered if small cocks came less than big ones.  You know, proportionally."

             
"Even more Bi than Gay guy’s egos can be hurt with implications like that." I said, dryly.

             
"Oh, I'm sorry."  She said, sincerely. "I thought you were pretty strong about stuff like that.  It's not like you hadn't noticed."

             
"No.” I laughed. "I have always been well aware.   It is one of the reasons why I like thinking about sex more than actually doing it."

             
"Well, you know I didn't mean anything cruel about it." She said contritely.

             
"No offense taken,” I replied. “Let’s gets some sleep." I continued, as the tryptophan kicked in.  We ‘starfished’ out to get as cool as we could and soon we both were asleep.  She actually started snoring before I drifted off.