One April Morning
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One April Morning
A BigCloset/TopShelf Story Challenge Presented By
Erin Halfelven and Authored by Jenchris
The street sign pointed only one way, the little lane met the larger street but did not continue on the other side. A large Craftsman-style home occupied one corner, converted years ago into a sort of rooming-house-cum-residence-hotel-cum-bed-and-breakfast. A big square building with gables and porches, the one-time mansion bore it’s demotion to commercial property with the dignity of a bankrupt financier operating a hot dog wagon.
A woodlot sat on the other corner, a clutter of neat stacks of firewood and seemingly random piles of jumbled logs. The randomness, the owner would say, resulted from the necessary moving and turning of the piles of curing wood. A regular array would be less efficient at the task and would have to be unstacked and restacked to be sure the wood cured evenly. Simply moving the pile from one place to another once a week with an ancient forklift turned all the logs over and assured that each got enough sun and air to turn into perfect firewood.
The lane did not continue past the end of the woodlot or the small row of outbuildings behind the mansion. The house, being the only important building facing the street, bore a singular number and the name of the lane as its address. One April Morning.
On this particular morning, a resident of the former mansion woke to a life-changing discovery....
The radio which had been the reason for him waking was announcing the lottery numbers from the draw the night before — it was a big draw — a monster draw in fact.
It had jackpotted twice and the resulting fortune had whetted our hero’s lust for cash and he’d bought a ticket — the ticket being announced was just a series of numbers, because he had ‘ticked not for publication’ otherwise they may have mentioned his name.
But as he listened, he realised that the numbers were his.
“Well folks,” the radio blared “if you have,” the DJ paused as he read out the numbers, “three, fifteen, eighteen,” Peter’s (our hero) eyes narrowed, “twenty four,” eyes a little wider, “thirty one,” mouth opening now.. “and finally, thirty seven, with supplementaries four and twelve.”
Peter lay there, his heart pounding.. thirty seven… thirty seven — yes it was his numbers all six of them — he’d won — a jackpot, a big jackpot — no, a massive jackpot — 42 million dollars — then a slight slump unless someone else has the numbers too.
Then the realization that even if there were four people which was unlikely he’d still get 10 million dollars — his mouth twisted into a grin that got wider and wider.
“And just to let you know folks the single winner lives in Northern New South Wales.”
Peter could hear the words through the blood rushing in his ears — ‘ohGod OhGod — it’s me- single winner — right here in sunny Pottsville.’
I could barely breath properly — my head hurt from the realization that I was now a multimillionaire.
I stumbled to my feet, not thinking about the day ahead, the work I was expecting to carry out — I looked out the window across the neatly mowed paddock to the road; not a car moved on that little country lane though it was a hundred years old.
No longer would I drive my little sales rep car up that little road to the hinterland to sell my wares. Those days are over. I picked up my phone and speed dialed the office.
“Carl please,” I spoke quietly when Sandra the office girl answered.
“Oh good morning Mr Bright,” I’ll put you through a click and the boss’s phone started to ring.
“Good morning, Carl here, who am I speaking to?” Carl sounded quite affable.
“It’s me Peter, I just called–“
“What do you want you bloody pansy, why aren’t you out there selling instead of bothering me?” Carl sneered down the phone, his affable alter ego switched off.
“Carl, I just phoned to say I won’t be working today–“ I started again.
“Well it’s coming off your holiday pay, and you’ll have to make it up.” Carl interrupted again.
“No Carl I won’t, I am just---“ I tried again, yet again I was interrupted.
“Are you talking to me you piss ant? How long do you expect to keep your job talking to me like that; or get another when everyone knows about your pretty underwear.” I could see his lip curled in distaste as he added the rider that explained why I was still working for him in the first place.
“It’s too late for that asshole I quit.” I put the phone down — I was going to offer to finish the round before I dropped is car off. But now I decided just to check out and drive back to the Gold Coast and drop the car off and post the keys to it up his backside with a shotgun.
The phone rang back,
“Peter, I don’t know what you’ve been drinking, but if you don’t get your pantied backside back into that car, you ---“
I just told you I quit. I wasn’t joking and I’ll pick up my pay in about 3 hours after I’ve sorted myself out here.” I clicked the phone off again.
It rang again. “Peter, I’m warning you.” Click off again. I turned the phone off.
After I dressed and packed, I checked my lottery ticket and sighed with relief — no I wasn’t mistaken — all my numbers were there — I had burned my bridges already — I would have been on the street in a jiffy without a job. Now I’n going to get my own back.
The only reason I’m working for Carl( for minimum wages at that) was that he caught me literally with my pants down when he walked into the work toilets and the door which was supposed to be bolted opened to his push.
I was sat there in some pretty swish frillies with my pants round my ankles. I like to wear the stuff, so what?
But to him it was the excuse he wanted to get someone to work for basically nothing and work hard and all hours God sent at that.
Now it’s over.
I rang through to the office on the Bed and Breakfast’s landline and told Sandra to get my regular pay and leave-pay sorted out and put to one side, I’d be picking up my pink slip before lunch time. “Put my pay in my bank account please Sandra, don’t tell Carl until it’s already in there.”
“Peter, what’s going on?” Sandra squeaked.
“Never mind now, I’ll tell you later.” I put the phone down.
I slurped a coffee, checked out and drove into town.
The newsagent where I’d bought my lottery ticket was on the main street and I drifted to a stop in the quiet street. I was just about to get out when I realised there was a pair of guys with journalists cameras in the doorway. I backed up a little and went into the solicitor’s office three doors up.
“Is there a solicitor I can see for a few minutes?” I asked the girl on the desk out front.
“Mr Gillespie is in, and he’s just having a coffee so he’s not busy right now, can I get your name sir?”
“Peter Bright.”
“And it’s about?”
“Oh just to verify some paperwork.”
The girl looked across to the office door and buzzed the intercom. “A Mr Bright to see you about some paperwork Mr Gillespie.”
“Send him in.” came a disembodied reply.
He shook my hand as I leaned across the desk “How can I help you Mr Bright?”
He smiled and offered me a seat.
I produced the ticket and asked him to photocopy it and swear on the photocopy that it was a true copy of the original.
He leaned across the desk and looked at the counterfoil — “Oh MY GOD!”
He pointed to a copier on the sideboard. “Just lift the glass and pop it on the tray and press the button. I don’t want to touch it!!” He smiled.
After he’d made a certified copy I shook his hand again and asked him how much I owed him.
“I think we can forget that one, I’ll drink on it for weeks!”
I smiled and walked down to the newsagent with the copy- I passed it over the counter to the girl and asked what I should do with the original.
She looked at the copy for a moment until she realised what it was.. “Jeesuz.”
She picked up the phone surreptitiously and said “He’s here”
The photojournos obviously knew someone was going to pick up the prize and probably from the shop it was bought but they had seen me pass an A4 sheet over the counter rather than a lottery ticket so weren’t paying me much attention.
A door opened in the back of the shop and a nice looking guy in a business suit beckoned to me, using the door to hide from the paparazzi. The girl slipped my copy back to me and I walked over to the back door as nonchalantly as I could.
The suit grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the alley where a limo sat idling softly.
“Good morning, I’m Gerry Sullivan, I represent the Lottery Group.” He held out his hand and a wide smile. “Come and sit with me while we go over the paperwork.”
He opened the back of the limo and sat me down, closed the door and walked round the other side.
The limo softly eased out of the loading bay and we were onto the street passing my car a moment later — the Paparazzi were inside the shop remonstrating with the shop girl.
The limo stopped briefly and the passenger in the front seat turned and asked me for my car keys. “What for?” I asked frowning.
“I’ll pick it up and we can convoy up to the Lottery Building in Brisbane.”
“Oh, could you do me a favour and stop on the way at Video Land in Surfers Paradise? I’ll drop off the car at my office and pick up me severance pay.”
“My you don’t waste time do you ?” The guy smiled as I handed over my keys.
In an hour we were over the paperwork and pulling up outside the shoddy warehouse that housed the Video business.
I took the keys back and walked into the office. I smiled at the surprised looking Sandra and dropped them on the counter.
“Hi pet, you got my pay ready?”
“Yes Peter, but you’d better be sure, Carl isn’t amused and he’s spitting feathers.”
“Tell him I said hello,” I smiled again as I took the envelope from Sandra’s hand and walked out.
I waved as I got into the limo — I could see Sandra standing in the doorway with her m mouth wide open.
That part of my life was now over.
One April morning - part 2
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April morning Part 2
Jennifer Christine
“Could you drop me off at the bank please?” I asked my benefactor’s representative.
“Of course, but your money is already in the bank it was transferred a few minutes ago, your Visa card will allow pretty much any size purchase up to a reasonable sized house.”
-Now that’s what I call a credit card!- I could feel my mind humming in overdrive.
“I think I’m going to need some help here, I need to set myself up and I’ve barely grasped the fact that I’m now rich enough to be in the top 100 in Australia.” I turned to look at Gerry, trying to guess what he could help me with.
“I know,” I said, after mulling over the options for a minute while we sat comfortably sedate in traffic, no sound penetrated the capsule and climate control kept me cocooned as I pondered.
“I want to thank you for your kind assistance and wish to be dropped off at my apartment if you would please, then I think I will assess my options and if I can’t come up with a plan, might contact you further.
Is that a suitable action Gerry?”
“Eminently Peter, it fits in nicely with my plans for the day — which is to secure these papers and complete the office end of the paperwork.
I shall contact you on this Galaxy SIII,” he smiled and passed me a box which when opened revealed a nice new smartphone.
A couple of hours later I had made a little list — things to do.
Buy a new apartment.
Buy some furniture
Buy a new car.
Buy a new vagina.
Sorted, I felt a lot better.
I thought of ringing my mother in UK but it seemed a pointless exercise as all she’d do is blast my ears with her complaints and then cry when I said I had to go.
I’ll go and see her in a few months and that way I’ll get to tell her of my plans.
I can tell my brothers at the same time.
I ended up going downtown to a nice little café, after I’d hit the ATM for a few dollars.
Habitually I drew a few dollars midweek and a few at weekend for my food. I entered 300 in the machine and asked for a balance just to check — the numbers made me feel dizzy.
Funds available: $230.34
Funds in account $42,350,211.34
Credit available $6,004,923.00
I tucked the piece of till roll in my wallet and headed down to the café.
The waitress in the eatery was pleasant and I smiled at her as she wiped down the tables after the breakfast rush — it wasn’t even late enough to be setting up for lunch and I’d gone from oppressed pauper to independently rich.
On the way to the café, I had passed a real estate agency and picked up their booklet of domiciles available for sale or rent.
I idly flicked through framing what I felt I’d like and how much I should spend. It wouldn’t do to tie up too much capital — who am I kidding- real estate here was a sure fire certainty to give good returns.
It suddenly seemed irrelevant — I just wanted a nice little 2 or 3 bed modern apartment with secure parking and a nice view. Maybe a shared BBQ/pool area.
There were a few at around a million or so and I read the articles with a remote feeling of being ridiculous. Until I pulled out the slip and read it again ….
Funds in account $42,350,211.34
The waitress smiled at me.
“Buying a new place?” she nodded at the brochure.
“Oh, umm, yes, I suppose so, my old place sucks and I feel the need for a view.”
“Well it’s a buyer’s market at the moment, don’t forget to haggle,” she smiled again and disappeared behind the counter. I sipped my coffee and read some more.
She reappeared a moment later with my breakfast which consisted of a muffin flecked with blue berries and glowing a soft brown of perfection as the sun caught it.
“Thanks, it looks beautiful.” I was going to add, ‘so do you’ but thought better of it.
Another smile and she was gone.
I felt totally becalmed on a sea of indecision.
I returned to my flat and looking around, decided to pack the few things I wanted to keep and get the hell out — I’d go and book in at the nearest decent Hotel. Pines Resort seemed propitious. While I was in the mood I rand the letting agent and told them I was gone — they were quite rude.
“You will have to pay til the end of the month and could lose your security deposit if the apartment needs cleaning.” I put the phone down before she could say any more.
A quick visit to the bank turned into a marathon. When I walked in and asked the lady on the enquiries to stop my direct debit for the apartment she excused herself after bringing up my account and 2.3 milliseconds later returned with the manager.
“Mr Bright, how nice to see you, could you come this way please?” Obsequious toe rag…
“I guess so, I only have a minute,” I lied.
After offering me his congratulations on my windfall he offered to put me in touch with all sorts of advisors and leeches. I rebuffed his wares and warned him that I wished for no publicity and nor did I give him permission for him to contact his cronies to point them in my direction.
His false smile told me that he’d already thought of it.
“If you have already contacted anyone, I shall be very annoyed and I shall move my money elsewhere” It was the only punishment I could think of.
I could see his face fall, “I suggest you contact them again and tell them to expunge my name from their target list.” He grimaced.
“Now would be a good time — while I’m sitting here.”
It took five minutes — then it was all done.
I left the bank after transferring 42 million into a savings account and advising my plans for using the cash and so on, and assuring the bank manager that if he was a good boy, he would retain my account.
My interest amounted to $4,600 a day so I wasn’t going to quibble about peanuts.
I’d get into investing later.
I returned to my flat and put my small box of mementoes and my suitcase full of clothes (various) in my tiny 10 year old Ford.
Time to go buy me a decent car.
I wasn’t interested in anything gauche or nouveau riche, I wanted a decent fairly quick largish motor. I ended up with a Mercedes E350 wagon.
I asked the guy how long it would take to get it ready.
“And how will you be paying for that sir?” He smiled at me with a toothy ‘as if’ grin.
“Cash” I looked him steadily in the eye. “Unless you don’t want to sell me one in which case I’ll go somewhere else.”
I watched the blood run from his face, $140k is a nice commission bonus when you get a cash sale.
I was asked for my card and it was sorted in a few minutes.
My card was returned to me with the reverence that open ended credit deserves.
I was to pick up the car next day, I asked them instead to deliver it to my hotel and leave the keys and paperwork with the concierge (that would sort them out for sneering at my old Ford when I drove in.)
It was a treat to drive and so quiet and powerful that I felt very satisfied.
Time wears on and it was only a few weeks later I drove into my parking bay under the block where my penthouse apartment looked out across the Coral Sea.
I was still up over the $40m — but only just.
Now I could relax.
I was sitting enjoying my new found peace considering my next list.
Reinventing myself.
I had often thought about my body/mind fit. They didn’t really.
The reason I was on my own and bullied bymy erstwhile boss was because I was different.
I’d thought I was a transvestite and wasn’t very happy about it as a kid, then as I matured and realised that I stopped growing at 15 and kept my willowy soft appearance that maybe I was a bit half and half.
I realised when I graduated that I was at the apex of the bell curve, I had a decent female figure and a reasonable sized meat and two veg. Horns of a dilemma.
I tried to ignore it knowing I didn’t have the time or the money to do anything about it. Then Carl had seen me in my underwear which had a decidedly feminine nature about it — it would, they were all marked with Elle McPherson’s logo.
It was a personal preference and was quite simply warm and comfortable underwear for almost anyone — except Carkl was a bigot with a penchant for bullying and that was my life over — until now.
I wondered what Carl was up to — I phoned the office and chatted at length to Sandra.
“How’s Carl taking my absence?”
Sandra tittered, “I shouldn’t laugh, I’mup to my neck in his bulldust, but it’s funny watching him try to cope in a week with what you did in two days.
He’s been trying to phone you but your phone is never on.”
“I do apologise Sandra, I have just been so busy enjoying myself.”
“What did you do, win the Lotto or something?” Sandra sounded intrigued.
“Well as a matter….” I hesitated. “Sandra, dear sweet thing, how would you like to come and work for me?”
“Sorry?” Sandra sounded like she was looking at the earpiece in case she was holding a banana instead of a phone. “Did I hear you right?”
“No Sandra, I mean it. If I guaranteed you a job for the next 3 years, would you come and work for me? Proper wages not that stupid wage he pays you.”
I could hear her smile before she spoke. “You’re serious aren’t you?”
“Absolutely, never more serious.” I chewed my bottom lip for a second.
“I couldn’t take you on as a receptionist though.”
“Oh?” She sounded crestfallen
“You’d have to be my personal assistant. No, my executive personal assistant. How does that sound.”
“Where are you Peter, I’m going to come and see you.”
“Ok meet you at the Lobster restaurant in Surfers. You know, the one on Elkhorn Avenue.”
“It’ll take me about 30 minutes to drive there, ok?”
“Perfect, I can walk there in that.”
“What from you apartment in Southport? No way.”
“Oh I don’t live there any more, I had to leave.” I sounded sad — I’ can mislead with the best of them.
“You’ve got me really confused.”
“Good, see you in 30 minutes, or else I won’t hire you.” I smiled and hung up as she said. “You’re on.”
I sat in the Restaurant and watched the passers by, Sandra rolled up after about 10 minutes and waved as she spotted me.
“Well you’re looking ok, new duds?”
“Yes, I couldn’t get any credit at the bank unless I dressed better so I invested in a new T short and shorts….” I grinned and offered her thechairnext to mine rather than across the table. I rose and gave her a hug — as I’d often done at the office. She knew it wasn’t anything more than sisterly.
“So what’s going on then?” Sandra got down to brass tacks.
“Well I felt sorry for you working for that idiot and being a flunky so I thought you could work for me for a year or two and maybe get some quals so you can get a decent job later.”
“I’m confused Peter, what will I be doing?”
I sat back for a minute watching her face as she looked quizzically at me.
“What, stop staring at me Peter.”
“I’m going to require something of you.” I reached out and put my hand on hers reassuringly. She almost flinched
“What?”
“A promise.”
“What sort of promise?”
“Confidentiality.”
She grinned like I was pulling her leg. Wha-at? She said, making two syllables out of it.
“Promise”
“Ok, I promise.”
“Promise what?” I urged her.
“Ok, I promise that anything you say to me will remain confidential between you and me. Hey, it’s nothing illegal is it? I won’t promise if it is illegal.” She frowned.
“No it’s not illegal — far from it.” I gripped her hand. I was dying to tell someone about my change in circumstance. Sandra was almost the only person I knew properly enough to tell.
“Ok then: I promise that anything you say to me will remain confidential between you and me.”
“Right, I want you to take a deep breath and let it out.” I waited until she did that and she looked at me even funnier.
“You know the lottery last weekend,” I waited for her to stop shaking her head and then nodding it.
“Don’t tell me you won some money?” She looked excited.
I shook my head, she looked disappointed, “All of it, I didn’t win some of it, I won all of it.” I smiled like a kitten would on discovering the door open.
Here eyes went from one side of my face to the other, “You didn’t….?”
“No screaming, yes I did. All 42 million. Shhhh” I could see her drawing breath for a biggy. She flared her nostrils and blew out staring at the table.
“Wow wowowowow.” Quietly.
The waiter came over, “can I get you something?”
I looked at him and said “ A decent Chardonnay and two glasses please.”
“I’m driving,” Sandra put her hand on my arm.
“Not for an hour or two and if you succumb to my charms and wine.- longer.”
“You’re not allowed to seduce employees.” Sandra grinned as the amazing possibilities opened up in her mind. She held up two fingers “Two glasses.”
The waiter grinned and walked off to get the ice bin and bottle.
“No seductions I’m afraid, in fact when I’ve finished you may not want to work for me.”
Sandra looked at me,” You look terrified, what’s wrong?”
“My win has opened up a possibility for me that I’ve pondered all my life, and I’m asking you to help me because you are my friend and I respect you. I hope that what I tell you is acceptable and we can work together.”
“Now you’ve really got me worried.”
“I can afford to make myself complete now Sandra, and that involves some surgery and some other stuff.”
“Surgery?”
“I’m not doing this very well Sandra, I’m going for a sex change…” I looked at her as she digested this very awkward phrase.
She smiled at me and then grinned. “Oh my God, I never guessed, but I should have.”
She paused for a few seconds. “I accept the job.” And stuck out her hand.
I smiled, shook it and the waiter returned with the wine.