He forced himself to do the speed limit back to the mansion. It was difficult, even though there really was nothing to worry over – Gretchen was a capable assistant, a natural blonde, she had taken to dying it what she called “witchy red” in the bold assertion that it suited her. As usual, she was right.
It was a forty five minute drive out to Iggy’s place – he was a good kid, bright, enthusiastic, always there with that little piece of information he was too busy or distracted to remember. He didn’t mind taking him home, the wheelchair was a manual and easily stowed in the back of the SUV. After a month of not being there, Iggy looked relieved when he had finally waved his goodbye and the SUV nosed back into the night.
So that meant it was another forty five back. He figured he should be back by 11, take a quick shower, collect what he needed, and then on to the last business of the evening. He found himself both dreading and anticipating.
He distracted himself with satellite radio – 70’s on 7 was his favorite. Mystic traveler by Dave Mason was the first song when he dialed it up. He smiled.
Traffic was unusually light and he drove with only one eye and hand on the wheel. He wanted to go over all the steps, make sure there wasn’t something he hadn’t thought of. Something catastrophic. He was an unusually good planner, gifted both analytically and intuitively. He used the latter to whip the former into shape over a lifetime of extraordinary ambition and equally extraordinary failure.
Until he succeeded. He still sometimes couldn’t believe it. It was so fantastically unlikely as to beggar the imagination. Yet.
He had spent a great deal of the family money. This made him uncomfortable as he had other obligations and responsibilities besides his extraordinary ambition. Iggy. Gretchen. Rose.
Still, what he had learned in the process, when carefully spaced out and hidden behind the relevant corporate shells, ought to refill the coffers quite nicely.
Quite nicely indeed.
Before he knew it the forty five had dwindled to mere seconds and he parked the SUV by the front entrance rather than back into the garage.
Both Gretchen and Rose were asleep in the nursery. Her feet were up and her hair was down around Rose, held with all the delicacy of the flower. He crept past the nursery and took the steps three at a time upstairs. A scalding shower followed by an icy finish. His skin glowed when he stepped out.
He dressed in the appropriate clothes. Jeans. T-shirt. Sneakers. Ran fingers through still thick hair and winked at the fool in the mirror. He took a deep breath and went downstairs.
Gretchen must have heard him showering, despite the distance and his best efforts to the contrary. Witchy red indeed. The woman knew things. It was hard for him to decide who he needed more, her or Iggy. He decided it was a stupid thing to dwell on.
She knew the plan. Of course she did. Half of it was her idea. He probably ought to start calling them both colleagues rather than assistants. He resolved to do so at once.
Rose was in the bassinet. She smiled at him and gurgled. He kissed her on top of her head. This was the real reason he named her Rose, the fragrance of her cranium was as beautiful as the rest of her. And he had made sure of that.
Gretchen hugged him after she got Rose into the infant car carrier. He was amazed at how good it felt. He didn’t like to think about such things – it was often both a discomfort and a distraction. But he had to admit, she was…special.
He had picked the location well in advance, of course. He always did his research.
Traffic was still light. He arrived a few houses away, next to a large elm tree. He got out. He got Rose out. He walked to the door. He kissed her once more on her fragrant head. He left her. He walked back to the SUV and got in. He drove slowly until he got in front of the door.
And then he laid on the horn for 11 seconds. Lights came on. As the door started to open, he drove away. He smiled as he did so.
She couldn’t be attached to him you see. She deserved a life of her own, one in which she could bloom into exactly what she was meant to be. What he had created. Names were as much a blessing as a curse. They can bring money. Fame. Infamy. He would watch. From a distance. He would guide, from afar, with love and gentle humor. And when it was time, she could have her name, if she chose.
He timed it perfectly, the mom never noticed the vanity plate of the SUV.
FRANK
