Closing Time 02 - FTDS

"Did you eat supper?"

I shook my head.

"Come into the kitchen and I'll whip something up for you. My father's locked himself in his room, brooding. I doubt if he'll bother us."

I followed Albert and took a seat as he put together a sandwich for me. It was amazingly good. He set out a garden salad beside it.

"I have to correct some things you said just before. You're not going to have a baby; we are. You're not going to need a place to live; we are, together. We are going to pay for food, diapers, school."

"Marcia Jones had her analysts look into the leadership of the company. Their verdict was that there are "questions" about you."

He laughed. "I like that. They're spot on."

"Albert, it's not funny..."

"Finish your meal, Sarah. Would you like a tea?"

"Decaf, a bit of sugar please."

He brought me earl grey, hot, and a peanut butter cookie.

"You and I are going on a date Friday evening. A romantic dinner, then a vernissage."

"I'm not in the mood for art. Not even for a romantic dinner."

"You'll come anyways. It will be good for your soul."

"My soul is in pain."

"That's why you're coming with me."

Wednesday at the office was more of moping and gloominess. Not one significant investor had signed on to our IPO. It was heading towards a colossal failure. Thomas called Candy in for a meeting. "Why aren't your people doing more? What's going on with the promotion roadshow?"

"Oh, our team is working diligently."

"How many people do you have in New York?"

"In New York? None. We're Managua Capital. Our staff is in Nicaragua, diligently placing phone calls to major investors around the world. For some reason, nobody's interested."

Thomas shuddered and collapsed into his chair as if he'd received an electric shock. It seemed to me that he finally understood what he had started and where it was going to end. He put his head down on the table.

"Is something wrong with our prospectus? Don't the numbers speak clearly on our behalf?" I was angry.

Candy shrugged. "I'm not an accountant."

"What are you," I asked. "A politician?"

"That sounds better."

Albert let out a long, slow breath. Thomas lifted his head, then put it back on the table.

"Thank you, Ms. Ortega. Please go now." I didn't have the authority to dismiss her. I turned to our CFO. "Can you please have our real accountants analyze the current state of our business: assets, debt, cash flow. Is our liquidity at risk? Are there significant debts coming due?"

Thomas lifted his head again, sobbing loudly. He glared at me, then put his head back down. It seems he knew the answers to those questions, and they weren't good.

The CFO looked at Albert, who simply nodded. He delivered his verdict on Friday after lunch and it was not as catastrophic as I expected. Thomas didn't even attend the meeting, but rather sat in his office all day with the lights off, the blinds down, and the door shut. I had our in-house attorney draft his resignation as CEO and Chairman, appointing his son in his stead. Albert put it in front of him, said "sign," and Thomas signed.

"Want to sell?" I asked my new boss.

"Maybe. Let's go home and get ready for our date."

"I just have to make a call. I'll meet you in reception in ten minutes."

It was a nice dinner, at a moderately priced fusion restaurant. Arnold wanted us to share a bottle of wine and was genuinely surprised when I explained that pregnant women should avoid alcohol. "Thank you for looking after my child," he said.

The vernissage was weird. Albert flourished his invitation at the door. "Come in, please" were almost the last words anyone spoke to us all evening. The hostess glanced at us a few times, as if trying to suppress a grin, but remained silent.

"Why are we getting the silent treatment?"

"Maybe your friend at Greenrock told the people here there are "questions" about me."

The art was delightful. I'm not a connoisseur but was surprised nonetheless to see the prices posted on little tags next to each piece. The lowest was forty thousand dollars. "Who's the artist? He must be well known to get such high prices."

"Those are only the opening bids. His art is mostly sold privately. It's in high demand. He's kept his identity secret. Look at the date of the paintings, and then the signature on it."

The older ones, dating back a year or so, were monogrammed "AAF." A few pieces from recent months were monogrammed "ASTF." I also noticed that the later ones were in bright colors, while the earlier works spoke of darkness.

A lady behind us said, "there are lots of questions about him."

"Is the artist a 'him'?"

"That's one of the questions. With all this silliness about gender and pronouns, who the hell knows. I guess we'll find out tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?"

She raised her eyebrows. "The auction. He, she, it is supposed to attend and then give a brief talk. You didn't read the brochure?"

I shook my head.

She swatted my companion's arm with her brochure. "Albert, you should treat your guests with more respect. Make sure I see both of you here tomorrow."

"If my date wants to." Our questioner nodded, then drifted off to the other side of the gallery.

"She knows you," I said.

"I like this gallery, and so does she. We bump into each other from time to time.

Marcia Jones' assessment was spot on. There certainly were questions about my lover Albert Firsten, now the Chairman of the Board of First Pharmaceuticals. Chairman Albert thanked the hostess, and I headed home with him. Instead of getting answers, I had more questions.

We could hear the loud action movie on Thomas' bedroom TV as we tiptoed to my suite. Albert locked the door, we washed up and climbed into bed. I was surprised when my lover wrapped his arm around me and immediately fell asleep.

There was a nervous buzz in the gallery when we arrived for the auction. I was surprised by the size of the crowd and frightened when Albert registered to bid. "Don't you dare! We may have some very lean times ahead of us."

"Good art is an investment."

"Are you able to discern what constitutes good art?"

He chuckled. "Absolutely."

I thought back to the early days of our relationship when our conversations didn't go far beyond yes, no, maybe, and him asking me to take off my panties.

The nervous buzz intensified as the auctioneer stepped up to his platform. He was a bear of a man who looked more suited to being a lumberjack than an art dealer. He pointed to the first piece for sale. It was one of the earliest AAF works, and went for a small premium over the opening minimum bid. The next piece was a huge ASTF. It took a while to get the first bid, but then people went crazy, and the hammer price was more than double the minimum.

The last piece was an ASTF, a portrait of a woman. You couldn't discern her appearance. Rather, the artist depicted the joy she emitted, the happiness she brought to others despite her own troubles. It was awesome. My enjoyment quickly faded when Albert opened with the minimum bid. We couldn't afford it!

He put his paddle on a table and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as the bidding soared. When it finally closed over half a million dollars, the auctioneer looked at us and mouthed "sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Albert replied loudly and then pointed to the buyer. "He has the painting, and I have the woman in the painting." He leaned over and kissed me. What the hell was going on?

"Albert, come on stage and say a few words for us."

He pulled me up with him onto the little platform. "Folks, those of you who have known me for a while know that for a long time I was in a very dark place. The AAF, or 'Albert Alone Forever' paintings spoke to my expectation of a life of sadness and solitude. Then I met Sarah, and I briefly stepped back from my art to reconsider. Sarah has suffered a lot of pain in getting to be beside me. She cracked open the shell I hid behind, sacrificing a great deal to show me that I was worthy of love, deserving of happiness. I soon realized that it was ASTF, Albert and Sarah Together Forever."

I wanted to run and hide as applause filled the little gallery.

"My father didn't want me to paint. He wanted me in his business and yelled every time he caught me making a sketch. I had to cloak my art, my dreams, my heart. Sarah, my lover, my muse, and soon-to-be mother of my baby has brought me out of hiding." He kissed my hand, then turned back to his audience. "Thank you all for honoring me with your interest in my art."

I stared at him, unable to speak, my mouth hanging open. My shy, socially inept, on-the-spectrum lover was none of those things, except for the part about lover. People crowded around us, showering us with compliments and congratulations. I lost count of how many women offered Albert to take my place as his muse, saying they were younger than me. One woman offered to model in the nude for him. He politely declined all offers, repeating as a mantra 'Albert and Sarah, together forever.' I believed him.

After the crowd thinned, the auctioneer gave Albert a bear-hug. "You've easily netted more than three-quarters of a million dollars. That's way more than I dared hope for."

Albert returned the hug. "Thanks, buddy."

The auctioneer turned towards me. "Thank you for allowing him to emerge from his cocoon. The art world owes you, big time."

We stepped onto the sidewalk and I turned towards Albert's car. He took my hand and pulled me the other way. "Now what?"

We went around the corner stopping at a small, single-story building, whose bricks looked like they hadn't been cleaned since it was put up, maybe in the nineteen-twenties. He opened the door, picked me up in his arms, and carried me over the threshold.

"What the hell?"

He gave me a quick tour of his studio; quick because it wasn't very big. I was surprised by the sleeping area. It was luxurious.

"We can live here or with my father. This place has the advantage of keeping him away. The house has the advantage of comfort, and room for a baby."

"I'll think about it. What's next on our agenda?"

"We're going to visit my mother."

"That's great. And after that?"

"A wonderful life together, full of challenges, full of joy."

My phone beeped. I read the email and wondered how to present it to my boss / lover. This could either be one of the challenges or joy. "Greenrock Capital is going to make an offer for an outright purchase of First Pharmaceutical as soon as it's possible, without violating SEC regulations. I contacted Marcia before we left the office yesterday and asked if she'd be interested."

We climbed into his car. "Great! Candy inadvertently did the right thing by sending you to meet her. Sometimes the wrong action accomplishes what's needed."

"Does that apply to what your father did to you and me?"

"Only you can answer that question."

I shook my head. "Sometimes there are no answers."

And the moon is swimming naked

and the summer night is fragrant

with a mighty expectation of relief

So we struggle and we stagger

down the snakes and up the ladder

to the tower where the blessed hours chime...

© 1992 Leonard Cohen

FTDS Epilogue:

Thanks to Sarah's initiative, Greenrock bought out First Pharmaceuticals, paying next to nothing but keeping the business somewhat intact. Thomas moved into an independent living senior's project in Florida, where he quickly developed a reputation as a miserable grouch. Albert and Sarah, now married, sold his old house and bought a more modest one (with room for his studio) where they raised three kids. Albert's art career took off, and they lived quite comfortably. Despite Albert's love and devotion, Sarah remained emotionally damaged by what she did to Arnold, Caroline, and Kevin. They were also damaged, but not as badly. Sarah was invited to their weddings but only as a spectator. Arnold married his new girlfriend. He increased the circulation of his newsletter to six hundred subscribers, who now paid four hundred fifty dollars a month. Candy Ortega moved back to Nicaragua where she became Minister of Finance in the socialist Ortega government.

Any other loose ends? FTDS in your imagination.