Here is my submission for Fiction Friday VI. Rita Bourland's prompt for this week was Poetry & Pie in the Garden. Thanks, Rita. This was fun.
This Friday around three in the afternoon, I was called into the boss’s office.
“Simon!” he said in his rapid fire manner of talking, “We need to close the San Miguel account by Tuesday or it’s going to be both of our asses! It’s that simple. Revising the proposal should be as easy as pie. Just sweeten it a little not too much because you know those losers in Accounting don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” he chuckled amused at his own wit however dim. I just stood there and stared at him.
Of course, by “our asses” he meant mine. That snake on two legs would throw his own mother under a bus and run her over if it meant keeping his job with perks like courtside tickets to all the Miami Heat home games and VIP access to the Heat’s Clubroom where the “cheerleaders” really turned up the heat. As you can tell, I hated my boss and the stupid little word games he did with my name.
The San Miguel account was like the Holy Grail for us. But getting it had become something like the “Odyssey” and the “Aeneid” rolled into one with the “Seven Voyages of Sinbad” tossed in for fun.
Of course, finding a way to bag this elephant meant I was going to have to work this weekend. My birthday weekend no less. Tonight, my wife had planned a quiet dinner at home for the three of us. On Saturday, my wife and daughter were going to take me to the beach. For Saturday night, my seven year old daughter was going to sleep over at my sister’s while my wife and I spent a night on the town. Nothing too crazy, just some dancing; a walk along Ocean Drive and then check into one of those swank South Beach Hotels for a night of …well you get the picture. I’m glad you do because as it stood I wasn’t going to get it.
With slumped shoulders, I walked back to my desk. For the umpteenth time, I reviewed our proposal to San Miguel Enterprises. I noticed the red message light on my office phone. I ignored it. I then noticed my iPhone had a message. It was from my wife. I dreaded listening to it. I grabbed the cell phone anyways and checked the messages. It was text message with a photo. The text read “Can’t wait 2 tomorrow…” the image was of some sexy lingerie laying flat on our bed. She still had some of that “I’m –going-to-drive-you-nuts” tease in her from when we first met.
I buried myself in the proposal and started to come up with an angle. By now it was five o’clock, I decided to go home. It is always better to salvage some of the weekend and disappoint later, than to start the weekend in discontent. The Palmetto Expressway was as its usual worst. The weekend crowd heading to the Keys made it worse.
On the way home, the unanswered message at work started to gnaw at my head. It was probably nothing. Most likely, it was Jimmy the up and coming new hotshot bragging about some client he just landed and how he scored with the client’s secretary, wife, or college-age daughter. I told him if he wasn’t careful that one day he was going to lose his job and his balls. He just laughed the laughter of the young and stupid.
Finally, I got home. As I pulled into the drive, I noticed that the daisies we had recently planted were missing. At first I thought the neighbor’s German Shepard had trampled them. Right then and there I swore that if I ever caught that stupid dog I was going to pepper spray his butt. I got out of the car, walked over to the desecrated flowerbed and noticed that only the daisies were missing. The Mexican petunias, the impatiens, even the marigolds were all there and intact. A dog could not have done this. But who?
Before I went inside to disappoint my family, I fished out of my shirt pocket the iPhone and called the office. Using the access code, I retrieved the message. I listened. It was from our contact in the San Miguel office. She seemed very cheerful. She wanted me to call her first thing Monday morning and not to change a thing on the proposal. I smiled. This only meant one thing.
Proudly, I walked into my house. My wife and daughter greeted me with hugs and kisses.
“Daddy,” my little girl said, “I have a surprise for you, but first you have to read my poem.” She handed me a letter-sized sheet of paper folded so it looked like a greeting card. On the front of it scrawled in crayon were a bunch of daisies. As I looked at the card my wife gently nudged me into walking over to the dinning table. I opened the card. It read:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I made this daisy pie
Just for you!
Happy Birthday! Dadddy!!!!!!!!
As I approached the table, I noticed that in the middle of it was a pie pan filled with mud and daisies sticking out from it. It was going to be a great birthday after all.
Text by Trudge164 ©Trudge164, 2011