Prodigal
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I had done a few smart deals that had caught the eye of Bruce McKenzie, the renowned corporate raider and asset stripper. He wanted me to join his outfit and he offered me a deal I could not refuse.

He was one of those larger-than-life Wall Street characters who could never be found reading anything but seemed to know everything. He preferred to sit in an armchair in his office and tell us all how rich he was and how we could all be rich too, if we followed his direction. He was full of opinions and stories of past glories, and phrases that sounded good, but never really stood up to analysis. Still, it was hard not to like him. He was a big bear of a man, but somehow despite his ruthlessness, a cuddly one.

I felt that only the inner coterie of his younger pack would receive an invitation to visit his ranch, so I was flattered to get the call. The fact was that he had injured a knee and he had decided to recuperate in the country rather than in his penthouse apartment which was on two levels.

I say “ranch” because he did, although that word would better describe something further West, and with livestock. His property would be better described as a country estate, with a mansion built in what might be called “mock ranch style” and sprawling grounds with only a horse paddock and stables as any farming activity. I think there were three ponies.

Above the stables was a small guest house. Other guests were accommodated inside the main house, but I was happy to take what was assigned to me when I arrived late on a Friday with papers and a report of the work done in the week he was absent. There were sandwiches and a cold beer in the room and a note from Bruce that he was getting physiotherapy in the morning and would not be available until lunch. He loved lunch meetings.

I decided to look around the grounds, but I did not get very far. I heard a noise in the stables and I walked in the find a young woman brushing down a pony. I guessed that she would be in her late teens. She was not dressed for riding. She wore a dress and had her blonde hair in a high ponytail with a ribbon – almost a little girl look. But she wore makeup as if she was headed to a ball.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” I said. “I am up for the weekend meeting with Mr. McKenzie. My name is Tom, Tom Erwood.”

“I’m Tain McKenzie,” she said. “Bruce McKenzie is my father.”

The moment that she did I could see that she had a likeness to Bruce’s second wife, whose photo had been removed from his desk only a day or two after I started working for him. It was a nasty divorce I had heard, after a 20 year marriage. But he had never spoken of a daughter.

The name “Tain” meant nothing, but I later learned that it was a town in Ross-shire in Scotland where Bruce’s grandfather had been born. Her voice was soft and unremarkable. But there was something about her that drew me to her, even before she told me who she was. Then I started to think about what kind of girl she might be, to be the daughter of my mentor.

“Do you ride?” she asked me.

“No. I am a city slicker,” I laughed. “I wish I could.”

“It is not hard,” she said. “Especially with these horses. They are used to beginners. I could teach you? Maybe after lunch?”

“That would be great, but only if I have time. Your father can be demanding.”

“Tell me about it,” she said with an ironic sigh. “But if you can find the time … you would look good in the saddle.” She was eyeing me up, and I liked it.

“I will make sure that I do.” I was starting to feel that there was something more between us than mutual curiosity. She had a manner that was fascinating. Even with just a few words between us it seemed as if we knew one another, or we ought to. “How do I contact you when I get clear? It’s a big place.”

Put your phone number in my phone and I will buzz you,” she said. So I did, and she did. I labelled her “Tain” – she spelt it for me. I told her that I liked images on my contacts, so she smiled and I took a shot of her smiling face and added that.

There were other girls on my phone – plenty of them. There were pretty images and exotic names, and some I had called more than once, and some not at all. She could have been one of those. But she wasn’t. Those other names did not draw me to just bring up her image and look at it, with a smile on my face almost matching her.

But I had to collect my papers and head across to lunch.

It was Bruce’s fashion to get straight down to business with no time for small talk. I went through the business of the prior day, and we talked about what was coming up for the week following. And we ate. It was just quiche and cold meats and salads, washed down with a craft beer.

It was only when I felt we were done that I simply mentioned her – “I met your daughter Tain earlier today.” It seemed like a simple statement, so I was surprised by the fury that appeared on Bruce’s face.

“My daughter? I have no daughter. The person you met is my son. My son Tain. The greatest disappointment of my life.” It all just spilled out of him. “With all that I have achieved in my life, and I can still achieve, I look at my family and I see that I have failed. My son wants to live as a woman. How can this be? Sometimes I think that he just does it because he knows that it drives me crazy. Why does my son have to do that to me? How have I wronged him? I have given him everything.

I was still reeling from the shock of learning that the woman I had fallen for, because that was what it seemed to be, was not a woman at all. Maybe there was confusion, or revulsion, or both. To be honest I could not tell you, as I was in such turmoil.

“Perhaps she really is a woman,” I said, like some expression of a crazy but forlorn hope. “I mean one of those people born in the wrong body. That means that it has nothing to do with you. It is a condition. It is just bad luck.”

“It is madness, that is what it is,” he said.

“She doesn’t look like a man,” I said.

“Hormones,” he said. “Chemicals that undo the work of God, not that I am a particularly religious person. But there is some evil in the way that these drugs can take a perfect male body and do what they have done to Tain’s. He has breasts, you know, and all the muscle he had as a high school athlete is now soft flab.”

I had a vision of her female body, in my mind with an empty groin, the way it should be.

“She seems happy in her skin,” I said.

“Would you stop calling him her!” Bruce was getting mad with me now. He could be a fierce boss, so all good sense told me that I should back down and then change the subject back to work as soon as possible.

“Well, I think that she makes a very attractive woman, and she seems self-assured and quite happy as she is.” I found the words coming out of my mouth despite any survival instinct. “And if we have finished with the briefing, I will pack up my stuff and head back to town.” Time to retreat.

He just sat there red in the face. Maybe he would have pounced on me but for the injured knee. I gave him enough time to give me a verbal spray as I put the papers into my folder and rose to leave.

“I will send you the email reports but let me know if you need me back.” It looked as if he had a golf ball in his mouth. He was still unable to speak so I left.

I got to the door closest to the stables and Tain stepped in front of me.

“Forgive me, but I didn’t ride far – instead I followed you inside stood on the other side of the door. I caught the end of your exchange with my father. I heard you standing up for me. It must have been a hard thing to do. He can be quite intimidating.”

“Do you get into town often,” I said. “I ask because I would like to give you my phone number. Perhaps the next time you are in town I could take you to dinner? Assuming I still have a job.”

“That would be nice,” she said. “And don’t worry, you will still have a job. I may be the prodigal child but I still have influence.”

She was right, and it has worked out well for both of us.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2023