"Seven hundred and twenty goddam dollars for this rig and the best it can do is four out of ten!" Percy Rudman hurled his new club behind his brand new, state-of-the-art putting carpet, taking a chunk out of the ornate plaster cornice part way up the office wall.

"Mr. Rudman, a call on your private line." The desk machine announced.

"Who is it?"

" . . . It's your private line, sir."

"Oh for Christ's sake!" He walked across to the desk and snatched up the receiver. "Yes, hello! Ah- hi, I know . . . I told you it would take strong actions and I took them . . . Well that's to be expected I suppose . . . that's right, yes . . . well I can't rewrite company policy . . . I know, but there are contractual legalities. Look you don't . . . yes I know, I said. . . . Give things a couple of days and see how they pan out. . . . Yes. Yes that's still the plan. . . . Right, yes. Yes! For heaven's sake let things settle a bit . . . no not a good idea . . . I understand but we knew that going in. . . . Okay, I knew. What do you want me to do?. . . Okay, good-- yes, goodbye."

"Jesus! Is it ever easy on this goddam planet?" Percy moaned loudly.

"Did you call, sir?"

"No-- Janet . . . no, I didn't"

*****

Percy sat back, lacing his fingers behind his head and frowning at the gouge in the office wall where his golf club had struck. Mathew's actions couldn't be predicted and he wasn't taking any chances with possible failure; he knew firing him would put the fuel in the fire but he wasn't about to waste his time on pussy-footing around the problem.

His Blue Shoals investment was gold but Percy wanted diamond and to that end he needed the last remaining, privately owned villa that stood in the way of a major expansion. That he had initially orchestrated its purchase by the man he just fired was a frustrating piece of irony. Still, not only had his own investment appreciated at that time, he had discovered the impressionable and malleable Lillian.

Now his plan was to get that property back without expending a dime of his own money. He lifted the receiver on his private line and dialed a number. Percy hunched over the phone, his voice low so as not to be overheard by any chance. The discussion lasted fifteen minutes, enough time to confirm his plan had gone into motion, the potential timetable and annoyingly, a reassurance of the price.

Next he called Lillian back. Prudence dictated keeping her calm and happy until the plan was concluded. He tilted forward and pressed the intercom button. "Janet, get me a table at Cicero's for eight tomorrow night."

"Having a party, sir?"

"Party? No-- for me. A table for me!"

"Very good, sir. Table for one, Cicero's tomorrow. What time, sir?"

"I didn't say for one, Janet and I said eight."

"Oh, sorry, sir. How many should I say?"

"Huh-- no what I meant was I didn't say I'd be alone."

"Very good, sir -- a table for eight. What time, sir?"

"Me, just a table for me -- at eight!"

"You could have just said that in the first place . . . oh, here's your private line."

"Just get me a table-- what? Who is it now?"

"Uhm- sir . . . it's your pri--"

"Oh for God's sake! Hello!"

"Sir, I'm still on the intercom."

"Well get the hell off, Janet. I'm on my private line."

"Lillian, Percy. I called back to confirm dinner." What the hell? She called to confirm? He slammed the phone down.

Remorse

Mathew tapped his glass on the bar and then held it up for a refill. The shift was changing and the bartenders exchanged some words then said goodbye.

"Not working today, Mr. Patton?" The new man tied an apron about his waist and poured another shot.

"This or any other day, Oscar."

"Sounds ominous. Well you're too young to retire so what happened?"

"Do you know the meaning of redundant, Oscar?"

The brown forehead wrinkled. "I think it's like not needed anymore?"

"Correct! Superfluous . . . or the latest definition, Mathew Patton." He raised his glass and drank.

"How can that be? I thought you were a manager or something?"

"I was, Oscar. I managed an office at PRIC, Percy Rudman Innovators and Consultants. Five people including me, responsible for invoicing and company payroll . . . a position that required attentive learning at first."

"At first?"

"Nothing changed in eleven years; I could have mailed my supervision in. Even the other four were simple clerical drones. Don't misunderstand, it was important to bill clients and pay employees but it was like caretaking. Routine. Nothing demanding. No special skills required."

"What changed then? Why suddenly . . .?"

"I was informed that one of our new clients made a deal to pay for our services with a software program that did everything we were doing and only needed one or two people to handle."

"I thought you said your company were innovators."

Mathew reached out and slapped the thick arm resting on the bar. "Bravo, Oscar. Those very words were in a memo I sent to Rudman after he announced his little feat."

"Oh-- and he didn't take that too kindly."

"Here I sit before you, my man. A PRIC Redundant. It seems since the software was a one-time expense Mathew Patton was expendable."

"That's harsh, man."

"It's also life, my friend."

The bar began to fill up and Oscar moved away to serve new customers, keeping an eye on the woman taking a stool next to his friend. Mathew stared at the damp rings on the surface in front of him and absently began making designs with his glass.

"Looks like the Olympic symbol." The voice was soft and pleasant with a touch of melancholy.

Matthew turned and beheld the buff, complexion of the very pretty woman wearing a tiny smile.

"Hah, yeah, it does kind of." He wiped the image away with the glass and finished his drink.

"I'm sorry-- I intruded . . ."

"No! No you didn't." He instinctively reached and grasped her arm then held his hands up. "Now I'm sorry."

The smile returned as the woman settled back on the edge of the stool.

"Uh, look, my name's Matthew. Matthew Patton. May I buy you a drink to make up for that--?"

"Constance Riaz and that isn't necessary." She held out a slim, small hand and Matthew accepted in a light clasp.

"Well may I buy you one as a token of our meeting?" Oscar drifted back down the bar, overhearing the offer.

"I'm not what you might think-- "

"Oh, hey. No. Nothing of the kind." He waggled his wedding finger in front of his face. "Just a friendly drink and small talk. I mean unless you have . . .?"

"I would enjoy a friendly drink, thank you."

Oscar cocked an eyebrow.

Matthew order his new friend a drink and a refill for himself, thanked Oscar then turned on the stool to offer a little toast.

"To small talk."

Constance smiled -- beautifully, raising her own glass in agreement.

"So . . . I just have to ask how come you are here alone?" His voice louder in his ears than necessary as he indicated the room with a short sweep.

"Just staying here in the hotel while I take care of some business and then I'm off home."

"You aren't from here then?"

"No." She sipped her drink slowly. "You?"

"Been here right from the cradle."

"Never been away?"

"Oh sure, holidays . . . you know . . ." He rubbed a hand down his thigh.

"Tropical isles?" Her voice joined her smile.

"Hah, yeah," he waved to the bartender, "my wife likes that stuff. I'd just as soon have a comfortable chair, a good book or a ball game and a few of these." He pointed to his glass and then hers.

"No thank you, one is fine for me." Oscar nodded, frowning slightly at Mathew.

"I wish I could say that."

"Oh dear, that sounded so sad."

Mathew swung back and leaned his forearms on the bar, hunching over.

"It is sad. Truthfully, it's crappy." Constance made a sympathetic sound and Matthew poured out the entire events of his day and when he was done he realized she had placed a hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry; you didn't deserve all that maudlin bullshit." He placed his hand on hers and she left it there.

"That's alright; it was probably good to get it all out to someone who could listen objectively."

Matthew turned back to her, their hands sliding away from contact and he experienced her features in detail for the first time. Dark chocolate eyes, wide spread over a smallish, blunt nose. Prominent cheekbones and a pair of pillowed lips, pursed in momentary concern. Her hair neither soft nor springy but a black cloud framing the ecru face. A smile formed on his face.

"Matthew?"

"Huh? Oh- sorry I-- I . . ."

"You're making me blush the way you're staring."

"It makes you even more beautiful . . ." He sat back abruptly and held up his hands.

She straightened and picked up her purse. "I think maybe you've had a few too many of those." Her eyes fell on the empty glass in front of him. "I hope you aren't driving." She glanced at the ever attentive Oscar.

"As a matter of fact . . ."

She stood from the stool as though preparing to leave, and then spoke loud enough to draw Oscar down the bar. "Can someone come and get you, or can I call a taxi for you?"

"Listen, you've been a breath of fresh air in a rotten day and I thank you but I'm fine; this is not your problem. You were great company and a very patient listener and I won't forget this . . ." His arm slipped off the bar and he started tilting off the stool.

"Help!" She grabbed his arm and he pivoted up against her, his balance deserting him.

Oscar hurried around from behind the bar and grabbed Matthew as he slid down the front of a staggering Constance.

"Mr. Patton! Whoa there friend." He eased him back onto a stool and propped him there with a beefy arm.

"You okay, Miss?"

"Fine. I'm fine. I think he's had a little more than he could handle."

"Life and liquor," Oscar said, straightening his customer up again.

"Yes, I heard what happened."

"Yeah, he's been here since noon apparently. Told his life's story."

"You shouldn't have let him drink like that." Her tone was only mildly accusing and Oscar gave a shrug.

"I suppose. Thing is what to do with him now."

A fumbling search of Matthew's pockets revealed no contents of any kind.

"Son-of-a-bitch! He doesn't have anything! No wallet no money-- nothing. No point calling a cab, I have no idea where the guy lives." Oscar looked up at Constance.

She fought to suppress the hint of a smile. Talk about luck!

"Don't look at me. I didn't order the drinks."

"No, but you didn't refuse either." Oscar straightened Mathew again and muttered to himself. "What the hell am I gonna do with him?"

"Uh-- uh well . . . we could put him in my room until checkout." Constance made her offer with a doubtful voice."

"That would work, are you sure?"

She shrugged. "I'll pay the bill and leave ahead of time so they won't bother him."

"Are you okay with leaving early and all?"

"Not a problem really. I'm just killing time as it is." She indicated the bar with her eyes.

"Well listen, Miss . . . "

"Constance."

"Right. Listen, you do this and I'll forget his tab and we can all move on."

"That's very generous, Oscar. Deal, if you will just get him to my room."

"No problem."