Before Washington - Gary's Story

Editor's note: This is another non-consent/reluctance tale, a prequel to my first three stories. It is told mostly from the perspective of the villain of those first three stories.

***

"Can I bring you a cocktail, while you peruse our menu? Some wine perhaps?" inquired the handsome man in an unidentified European-accent, smiling performatively.

Gary opened his mouth to respond, but Claire jumped in -

"Great! Yes! We'll take this one! The Veuve Cliquot Brut. We're celebrating!" She smiled brightly at the waiter then turned her dazzling wattage toward Gary.

Gary's lips pulled wide into the formal shape of a smile, even while his eyes remained unmoving. He didn't like her jumping in like that, cutting him off. And he didn't trust this waiter with the fancy foreign accent.

In his discomfort at being upstaged, Gary looked down at his sleeve and pulled on his left cuff sharply. Then the right. This had the advantage of reminding anyone watching - especially Claire and that foreign waiter - that Gary wore expensive cufflinks tonight. Also, it called not-so-subtle attention to the GAC logo monogrammed just below the left cuff.

The GAC stylized monogram logo was of course for Get-A-Head Cash, his lending empire. But also, not-coincidentally, Gary's initials. One of Gary Chisholm's favorite conversation pieces with new guys he met was "You know what the A stands for, don't you? Guess. Guess what the A is for!"

The new guy inevitably mumbled some lame guess like "Adam? Albert?" (The new guy, if at all perceptive, would silently start to wonder whether maybe it stood for..."Asshole?")

And then Gary would jump back with his version of a joke-plus-banter: "It's for Alpha. Cause I'm always the first. The top. The best. Everybody knows that."

Sometimes, if he wanted to mix it up, he'd say "It's for Apex. Because I'm the Apex Predator. You know what that is? Did you ever study that in biology? Did you?"

And then, regardless of their answer to that question, Gary liked to go on to explain that as the apex predator, he was always on top. He was always ripping people's faces off in business, never letting anyone get the better of him. Winners just win. Gary figured people should know this about him, if they were all going to get along. It was good to get that out there on the table, early.

So anyway, it bugged him that Claire, this girl just getting her business off the ground, had ordered the fancy champagne without even asking him. Ordering the booze at dinner was the guy's role. That was GAC's job.

Sometimes when he was feeling indignant, Gary referred to himself in the third person, as GAC.

Maybe he shouldn't have even said yes to this dinner. I mean, the girl was hot, he'd give her that much. And she had half of East Hartford's city government eating out of her hand by now. So it made sense, strategically, to align himself to her rising star. Be seen out with her. To have her think of him as some kind of older business mentor, more than just the guy who put together the loan syndicate for her new manufacturing plant build-out.

But there was plenty about her style he didn't like. She just rubbed him the wrong way.

Although, Gary thought, he wouldn't mind rubbing her the right way. Ha. She did have great legs.

The waiter returned to the table, displayed the label, popped the cork with a flourish, and poured an ounce into a champagne flute for Claire. She took a moment to eye the bubbles and then sniff, before swallowing a hearty gulp. She smiled at the waiter and nodded her assent. He refilled her flute, and then one for Gary.

Gary wasn't used to being semi-overlooked like this. Maybe because she'd made the reservation? So far the waiter had treated her like she was the boss.

After the waiter walked away, Gary decided to reassert control of the situation. He leaned across the table toward Claire, and with a conspiratorial sneer at the waiter's back he said in a half-whisper.

"That guy's probably a faggot, right?"

"What?" Claire looked pained.

"Look at him. I mean he's like French or Italian, right?"

"Who, Alex? He's Croatian. He's married. I don't..." Claire sighed. She seemed unwilling to continue this line of conversation.

Gary felt he'd regained the upper hand. "You know, it's all the same with those guys. It's like in Ancient Rome, they were always into doing each other. They were perverts, all of them. The wives and girls were just for show. I don't know where Croatia is but it's probably the same thing there. It's fucking gross is what it is. I know I'm not supposed to say that, because we're all so damned PC and feminist these days. But I just tell it like it is. That's what people like about me. You get the real Gary. Not filtered."

Claire looked down at her menu, seemingly engrossed in the detailed descriptions found there.

Gary felt better, like he'd regained the momentum of the conversation.

This girl. She was hot. And ever since she'd returned with the gold from the '92 Games in the 4x400 she'd been the celebrated Golden Girl of East Hartford. People fell all over themselves to help her. He had to admit, she had a pretty good knack for turning that buzz and good will into a great business. Olympic Sportswear made money from the start, without much capital. She took over the old empty factory space just off Main Street, and suddenly the Chamber and the local business community had decided she was everyone's favorite flavor of the year. Now, with the favorable zoning and tax abatements, and of course a sizable bridge loan from Get-A-Head Cash, Claire and Olympic Sportswear were about to become an even bigger deal. Like New York Times-featured and Connecticut Business Woman of the Year-nominated big deal.

Which, Gary thought on the one hand was cool, but on the other hand also bugged him. Like, even after her full build-out of Olympic Sportswear, his lending business would have about 25 times her revenues, and probably 100 times her profitability. But noooooo. People didn't want to celebrate his business.

The East Hartford elites - assholes, most of them, if you asked Gary - would never nominate him for the awards. They liked to have a woman to invite to the banquets and awards ceremonies. Fuck those guys. They didn't particularly like payday lenders and high-interest bridge loan lenders like Get-A-Head. Probably because the City of East Hartford government people were pussies.

The funny thing about the awards and recognition was that Gary actually didn't care that much about it. It wasn't what got him up in the morning. It also wasn't really about his profits anymore. Well, the money was great. He liked talking about his money and profits. It was cool.

In his heart of hearts though, he could live without as much money, and he could live without any awards banquets for him (as he always had.)

What he lived for instead, what got him going in the morning and even - he readily admitted - turned him on, was the power he held over other people. He loved the fact that by lending out his capital he held guys by their balls. By lending out his capital, he held the girls by the hair on the back of their necks. He got off on that feeling.

He fondly remembered his first payday loan shop. He worked behind the counter himself in the early days and he had a big smile for his customers when they took out their first loan. He grinned enthusiastically. Gary was genuinely good at the customer service and sales relationships.

"I own you from now on," he'd think silently to himself, as he handed out the initial loan amount. And it was true. Few customers, once hooked on the convenience of a Get-A-Head payday loan, ever kicked the habit. Every two weeks they'd come in to pay the interest and fees. Anybody stupid enough to pay the equivalent of 80 to 120% annual interest was stupid enough to stay chained to the financial prison of their own making.

That control he held over his customers - far more than the profits - got him up in the mornings.

-

When the waiter came back, Gary order steak au poivre and sautéed potatoes. Claire ordered the salmon and couscous with apricot and dill.

"Fish, typical chick order," thought Gary to himself. For once, he kept his thoughts to himself.

That's because he briefly reviewed a memory - of going fishing for bluefish with his son Chip off the Connecticut coast. A half hour out into the Atlantic on a Boston Whaler, with a guide who knew where to cast.

The kid was just eleven, and kind of sensitive. Momma's boy. Gary thought an afternoon doing some manly activity like fishing might improve him. He took the day off from work for this and everything.

But when Chip actually landed his first bluefish onto the deck, the guide asked the boy if he wanted to do the honors, extending the wooden club toward him.

Chip had hesitated. The fish rolled its eye wildly, its shiny body flipping from concave to convex parentheses, slapping the floor of the boat. Chip visibly cringed, moving his hand far away from the proffered club.

"Oh, for fuck's sake" Gary had muttered, snatching the wooden club from the guide.

Gary pounded just an inch above the eye, once, twice, a third time with authority.

Truth be told he would have liked to pound it another dozen times, but he knew it wasn't strictly necessary. Something about that moment, just as the fish realizes its dying, appealed to Gary's whole being. The final flop after it received the first whack, eyeball up, frantic and panicked. It almost made Gary hard.

But his son Chip was such a pussy. Gary's son would probably also order fish at a nice restaurant, just like Claire. Chip could never do what an Alpha needed to do.

But for Gary, damn how he loved that panicked eye-roll just as he bashed the stupid fish's brain. That's what made him an Alpha.

-

"More champagne?" Claire purred, tilting the bottle toward Gary's glass.

"Sure, why not?" Gary replied casually, although he would have preferred to be the one doing the pouring. Why did Claire keep trying to one-up him? It really started to piss him off.

"Let me tell you something Claire," he started in, with his best older-mentor-speaking-with-younger-woman-protégé voice. Claire raised her eyebrows, blinked twice, and looked attentive.

"I know you like those assholes in East Hartford city government, they're all blowing smoke up your ass. Talking about partnerships between Olympic Sportswear and the city, and their plan to have government and manufacturing working hand in hand for economic development."

Claire paused, with the champagne held up to her lips, listening to Gary.

"What they really do though - just so you know - is useless. Government is useless. All they know how to do is create regulations, fees, restrictions, and taxes. You work with them and they seem nice but all they know how to do is take, take, take."

Claire returned her glass to table. "Yeah, actually, they've been pretty helpful though, as I've been working to expand my business," Claire responded, trying to keep the tone positive.

But Gary didn't want to hear that.

"Have you ever read Ayn Rand?"

Claire admitted she hadn't.

"Read it. I usually don't read books by you know, women. But she's the best writer ever. Read Atlas Shrugged. You'd never know it was written by a chick. And The Fountainhead is even better. Tells you all you need to know about who really creates jobs, and who just creates waste. We're the job creators - you and me, the business owners, the risk-takers, the entrepreneurs. The government, including your friends at East Hartford - they're just parasites. They're just waste-makers."

Claire didn't respond.

Gary decided not to tell Claire about his favorite part of The Fountainhead. The part where the hero, Howard Roarke, just rapes the girl. It's written by Rand as a romantic plot development and was hot erotic literary sex for its time, but of course even Gary had recognized when he read it that it was just rape. Gary remembered reading that part in college and recognizing that Roarke was an Alpha. Just like he wanted to be.

Claire didn't follow up on Gary's Ayn Rand recommendation. She poured herself more champagne.

"Let me give you an example of how the government just taxes us and regulates us and charges fees, while it's us risk takers who help people and create jobs and opportunity."

"Ok," Claire replied, being polite.

"I had a customer Sandra, early on in my business. Like ten years ago. Mexican lady. Working under the table for a couple of rich East Hartford families as a maid. Sometimes yardwork. Whatever she could get. Two kids, no husband. Hard working lady. No papers either."

Gary began to smile as he wound up to tell the story. Claire seemed interested too.

"So what's the government ever done for her?" Claire didn't respond. "Nothing! All they've ever done is put someone like her on welfare. Paying her for her kids. It's stupid."

"So Sandra was a customer of your, um, lending business?" Claire prompted Gary to continue.

"Yeah, so I get to know her - I'm really good with the customers - and I notice she always pays on time. Responsible. Especially for a Mexican lady. Loves her kids. So what do I do? I gave her a job! She started out clerking in one of my first stores. Customer service. Worked her way up, and now she's in headquarters keeping my books, tracking finances for Get-A-Head-Cash. It's like a career for her now. You never see the government do that for anyone. They just want welfare queens."

Gary loved this story. He'd told it before. It was part of his standard repertoire on the difference between private job-creators and public parasites.

-

Only, he knew very well that things with Sandra were a lot more complicated than that. Like something about Sandra early on made him think she would be, well, willing. Starting with the fact, of course, that she was a single mom with no papers. And she was broke.

One time about ten years ago, when Sandra came in at the beginning of the month to pay interest on her cash advance, Gary had been behind the counter. Late in the afternoon.

"This is $37.50 short of the total," he told her. "Where's the rest of it?" The words sounded challenging, but he smiled his widest toothy smile.

"Ay no. I had to buy pants for my littlest one. She starts Kinder next week. Can I bring you the rest in three days?" Gary began to purse his lips in disapproval but quickly resumed his toothiness.

Gary seriously wanted to lecture her about having kids and not being able to pay for them. But he held back. For some reason, something he saw on her face, he decided to try a different tactic.

"Oh, hey listen, you need new pants for your little kid? I can help you. Let me do something for you. You can bring me the $37.50 in three days, but why don't we go right now to the store. I'm just closing down for the day. I'll take you there."

"You would do that for me, sir? You are too nice! But I don't have money for shopping."

"I got you. This is on me."

As he closed up for the day and Sandra waited outside, Gary's sense of power grew. He had a feeling about this one.

A few minutes later in his car on the way to the TJ Maxx mall, with Sandra buckled in next to him, he decided to test her.

"Did you ever have a man as nice as me, Sandra?" With that he reached over and placed his hand on her thigh.

"Um. Sir."

"I'm going to help you Sandra." And with that he began to slide his fingers further inward, inside her skirt.

He took his eyes off the road long enough to see her eyes go wide, with fear.

She grabbed onto his right wrist tightly with both hands, to hold him in place.

"Please. No."

"Do you want my help? Do you want a nice outfit for your kid?

Sandra said nothing. She turned to look forward, at the road. But she held his hand firmly in place with both hands, preventing him from sliding upward.

Gary smirked to himself.

Once parked and entering TJ Maxx, he was a gentleman again. He held his hand on the back of her neck as they looked around at the wide discount clothing store.

"Ok Sandra - grab a shopping basket. We are going to get something nice for your kid. How old is she? 5?"

"Si. Yes. 5"

"Great, let's go." He pushed her forward, his hand remained behind her neck.

Sandra picked out two pairs of pants from the kids' section. Her eyes lingered on the racks of women's clothing as they passed by. She furtively scanned the array of shoes against the wall. Gary could see her calculating how many houses she would have to clean to be able to afford a new pair of shoes. Gary understood, and smiled.

"Hey, Sandra. Let's find something nice for you, too."

Sandra's lips pressed together as she looked up at his face.

"Really. This isn't too expensive. It TJ-fucking-Maxx. I'm buying. It's your lucky day. You've been a great customer of Get-A-Head, and I take care of all my customers. Especially loyal ones. Are you loyal Sandra?" He looked straight into her eyes.

"Yes sir." Sandra met his gaze and then looked down at her shoes.

"I'm a good guy. Look at this! You want a new blouse? Look at this one. Try it on! Does it fit? Go over to that changing room right now and try it." He shoved a satiny white blouse into her hand.

Over the next 35 minutes Gary accepted and rejected a variety of outfits that Sandra tried on. She didn't exactly smile when she emerged from the fitting room, but shyly looked up to gauge his approval. He could see she was still running through some complex calculations in her head.

With her basket now full of two pairs of kids' pants, a blouse, two skirts, some low plain heels and three pairs of opaque pantyhose, they were almost ready to finish shopping. Gary really like pantyhose so had insisted on the three pairs. She tried to say they weren't much use, as she cleaned houses and did yard work.

"Listen, Sandra, I have another idea. You seem smart. And loyal. I like that. How would you like to come work for me, in my stores?" Sandra's eyes went wide. She looked down at her basket of clothes, breathing in. Then back to Gary. Her mouth twitched. She was no fool. She breathed out.

"You think about that, but don't take too long to think. And one last thing. Let's go look for a new winter coat for you, over at this rack." Saying that, Gary grabbed Sandra's upper arm, the one not holding the shopping basket. He pulled her abruptly toward the circular rack full of puffy clothes. She tripped but then managed to stay upright, hustling to keep up with his long stride.

Gary stopped her at the edge of the coats. It was time to test whether his investment of time and money in Sandra was worth it. He turned her to face the overstuffed brown and green nylon material. "You want one of these?" He didn't wait for her reply, but rather looked up and quickly scanned the store.

Suddenly, Gary pushed the top of her head down, hard. Her knees crumpled and she hit the floor hard. She felt him grab hold of the top of her hair in a fist. She was thrust completely inside the rack of coats, hidden from sight. Controlling her head with his fistful of hair, he started to yank her head around, twisting her inside the clothes rack to turn her body.

Responsive to the pain in her scalp and his aggression, Sandra slid her feet and knees around as quickly as she could. He had managed to shove her completely inside the rack of winter coats, but facing outward. She looked down at his shoes and could tell his body blocked her exit.

"Hurry up and show me how loyal you are," he hissed into the coats.

When Sandra didn't move quickly enough, he snapped her to attention with his fistful of her hair, gripping tightly and causing her eyes to water.

His hand parted two coats and he shoved the back of her head forward hard to his pants. Her face mashed against the zipper. With his free hand he unzipped. Then he reached in his pants and pulled his cock up and over his underwear.