It's All a Matter of Choice Read online

  “It’s not worth it. I’ve needed a new car for the past year and a half, mom. I’m sure I can get a good deal on one. It won’t be brand new. I’m going to get a used one…a recertified car with a warranty. I can afford it. I’m tired of acting as if I’m broke all the time. What good is making money if I don’t spend any of it?” he asked her.

  “You…you have to put it away for your future, Emmet. You’re not always going to be young,” June replied.

  “I’ve worked since I was nineteen, mom. I’m always going to work. I’ll have plenty of Social Security benefits built up…then I’ve got my investments. I’m not going to touch them and always add more money. I’ll be fine…if I even live to be an old man. As it stands mom, I live like I’m an old man now,” Emmet said to his mother evenly. “I don’t go anywhere…I don’t do anything. I don’t date…”

  ”Date? Why in the world would you want to date, Emmet? You’re fine as you are,” June said, alarmed.

  “I’m not fine, mom. I’m a geek. A nerd. All I do is work and come home to mother. I have no life,” he said, his brown eyes going hard. “You cut my hair. You make my lunch. You lay out my clothes. I’m twenty-six years old, mom. Twenty-six! You might think it’s ok, but it’s not. Things have to change for me. And they are going to.”

  “See? See? One whiff of woman and your nose gets wide open, Emmet. It’s a weakness inherent in every man. I had hoped you would be more sensible. You see what happened today because you were just casually involved with a woman? You were almost killed,” she said angrily. “You stepped outside of your comfort zone and that’s what happened. If you had any sense you’d step back into it.”

  Emmet scowled at his mother, pushing up his broken glasses.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you mom? That I just stay the way I am, living here with you, giving you half my paycheck, bringing you sandwiches every night and waiting on you hand and foot? Right mom?” Emmet said to her, now angry himself. “You treat me more like a maid than a son, you know that? But even maids get days off. Even maids have a life of their own.”

  “Emmet! Emmet how dare you…” June began as Emmet stood up and walked out of the living room, down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

  June stared after him, her heart sinking. She knew the day was going to come when Emmet would start acting like a man…but she had hoped it would be much later. She thought she had him groomed so well. She liked having him around. He was a comfort, and he gave her something to do. Without Emmet, she’d be forced to take a look at her own life…where she stood. She’d been a wife and mother so long, she forgotten what it was like to be an independent woman. When her husband Joseph died, she still had Emmet to take care of, and to take care of her. It was as if she moved her son into the position of husband in a way. As long as she had Emmet to care for…she didn’t have to step into the full flow of life. Oh yes, she could get a manicure, shop and go to the casinos…but they were just distractions. Underneath all of her manipulative ways, June Barrows was afraid to face life alone. And because of her fear, she kept her son tied to her any way she could.

  Now it seemed she was going to have to face her fears like everyone else.

  Emmet was breaking away.

  *

  In his room with the door locked, Emmet slowly undressed, thinking about how he had addressed his mother. He felt a bit guilty talking to her in such a way. It was disrespectful. But the way she was treating him was disrespectful also. He was a grown man, and not a child.

  Emmet sat down on the bed and removed his shoes and socks, then stood up and pulled his too large shirt out of his pants and unbuttoned it, revealing a rather slim, pale torso. He had a nice set of rippled abs, but that was more because he was skinny, rather than muscular. They couldn’t help but to show.

  He unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of the loops of his pants, placing it on his dresser. He unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, then bent and pulled them down, stepping out of them. He put them on the dresser also. He straightened and stared at his body, and the white briefs he wore.

  “I’m so damn skinny and pale,” he said, adjusting his glasses, then turning in the mirror.

  Emmet then removed his briefs and looked at himself naked. His cock certainly wasn’t skinny. It was the meatiest thing on him, hanging lank and long from a curly patch of dark hair. He had yet to use it on anything other than his hand however. He tried to strike a muscular pose and winced. Then he took off his glasses and stared at the blurred image staring back at him. He leaned closer and his reflection cleared somewhat. He ran his fingers through his cropped hair. It was a pretty bad haircut, but it never mattered before. No one paid that much attention to him anyway.

  Until Anita, that is.

  Anita said she could help him present a better image. Maybe a new image would put him in a better light with her. He wondered about his willingness to listen to the young woman and do things for her and decided it was a mixture of June’s influence and his own desire to have a woman. Anita was so lovely and nice.

  Emmet began to harden before he could help himself. He sighed and looked down at his swollen cock. He had jerked off plenty of times, but it was only to imagined women. Constructs made of fantasies, or girls out of magazines. He never had anyone to focus on before. It seemed…well…wrong to use Anita like this. But as his cock throbbed, Emmet’s conscience flew out of the window. It wouldn’t hurt anything after all, and Anita wouldn’t know…would she?

  His mother always seemed to know when he was thinking something untoward.

  Emmet’s room had a small bathroom. He walked into it, took a bottle of mineral oil off the counter and a small washcloth off the rack, which he dampened under the faucet. His erection bobbing, the young man walked back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, looking a bit guilty as he pour a bit of mineral oil into his hand and set the bottle and washcloth on the nightstand by his bed. He slowly smoothed the oil over the shaft of and head of his cock, his head falling back and brown eyes going half lidded as he imagined Anita kissing him again. His hand began to slide slowly back and forth over his length, his member throbbing in his hand as he did so. Emmet tightened his grip and increased his speed.

  “Damn,” he breathed, falling back on the bed and going to town, his hand flying back and forth and hips bucking as groaned with pleasure. After several minutes and almost at his peak, Emmet struggled up from the bed and grabbed the washcloth, covering the head of his cock just as he came. He bit his lip hard as pulse after pulse of pleasure rushed through him, catching his come in the cool cloth. He had learned to do this after a while. It was much neater than shooting sperm all over his bedsheets and floor.

  Panting, Emmet fell back on the bed, spent, his thin chest rising and falling as he tiredly wiped the head of his deflating cock. He wadded up the washcloth and placed it back on the nightstand. He would wash it out later. As he lay there, June rattled the doorknob then knocked on the door.

  “Emmet! Emmet open the door so I can lay your clothes out for you,” his mother said.

  Startled, Emmet yanked his covers over his naked body.

  “That’s all right mom. I’ll dress myself in the morning,” he called back, his voice cracking a bit as he looked for his briefs. They were on the floor near the door.

  “Dress yourself? But you have no idea what goes together,” she said against the door, trying the knob again. Emmet never locked his door and that he did tonight disturbed her.

  “I’ll make due,” Emmet said. “I’m going to bed.”

  ”This early?” June asked, unwilling to leave his door.

  “Yes. I’ve had a long day, mom. Now good night,” he said.

  “All right Emmet…if you’re sure,” she said, not moving but standing stubbornly outside of his door. Emmet could see her shadow through the crack at the bottom of the sill.

  “Positive. Good night, mom,” Emmet said, rolling out of the bed, retrieving his underwear
and slipping them on before getting back into the bed properly.

  June could hear him moving around and frowned at the door.

  “Good night, Emmet,” she said, lingering a bit longer and listening intently. She didn’t hear anything else as Emmet stared at her shadow. Finally, June withdrew.

  She didn’t like what was going on with her son.

  Not one bit.

  Chapter 9 ~ Going for the Close

  The next day Brandon Luster was noticeably absent from work. He had taken an early morning flight to meet with Mr. Jonathan Grimes. No one knew much about the elusive CEO. He didn’t grant many interviews and kept an air of mystery around himself.

  Brandon was a bit taken aback when he found out that he would not be meeting Mr. Grimes in his office or in New York. He would be meeting him at a residence he had in Virginia. A driver would meet the associate at the airport and take him directly to Jonathan’s home. Brandon didn’t even have an address.

  Armed with his notes about the company and dressed to the nines, Brandon exited the plane and walked through the gates. He didn’t have any luggage. He would catch a flight back later that evening. All he carried was a briefcase with brochures and an initial contract agreement.

  Several drivers stood outside the airport, holding up handwritten signs with the name of their intended pickups display. Brandon read each of them. Hm. There wasn’t a Luster among. He frowned slightly as each driver met his passenger, loaded him up and drove off. Finally only one driver was left.

  He was holding a sign that said, “Barrows.”

  Brandon scowled as he realized Emmet made the interview under his own name. He really should start using his. Brandon did almost all the associate’s closings. It was as if Emmet was his personal scheduler. He decided right then to talk to Mr. Allen about exclusively handling all the nerd’s interviews after this. Landing the Hobson’s account would make his boss much more amicable. Brandon would be able to ask for anything.

  He walked up to the driver. He was a young, brown-skinned man with dark eyes. He wore a suit and chauffeur’s cap. He eyed the tall blonde associate.

  “I believe you’re waiting for me,” Brandon said.

  “Mr. Barrows?” the driver asked him in broken English.

  Brandon scowled.

  “Mr. Barrows set up the interview. I’m Mr. Luster,” he replied.

  The driver looked at him, perplexed.

  “Mr. Barrows?” he asked again.

  Brandon studied him a moment.

  “Yes, Mr. Barrows,” he said.

  The driver smiled.

  “I am Manuel. Please follow me, sir,” he said and walked toward a black limousine. Brandon followed and waited for the young man to open the door. He entered the car and Manuel closed the door behind him.

  Brandon immediately noticed a small refrigerator. Used to such amenities, he opened it and scowled. Only bottled water and several cans of smoked oysters were inside. He frowned and closed the fridge back. The limo certainly wasn’t equipped for the comfort of guests. There wasn’t even a bar.

  Brandon sat back and watched the countryside pass as Manuel drove him to his destination. There was a lot of open space, fields and pastures.

  Manuel looked sparingly through his rearview at the well-dressed man sitting in the back seat and shook his head slightly. He wasn’t Mr. Barrows. Knowing his employer, he wasn’t going to like that. It might have been kinder to leave Mr. Luster at the airport.

  Manuel turned off the main highway, passing between two wooden gateposts and driving down a long private driveway, bordered by trees. He stopped the limousine in front of a rather normal looking farmhouse. There were no amenities other than a large barn, a hen house and a few chickens pecking about. Brandon’s brow furrowed as Manuel opened the car door.

  “What is this?” he asked Manuel as he looked at the house.

  It was encircled by a porch, and sitting in a wicker chair on the porch was an older man with gray hair. He was dressed in work jeans and a plaid shirt, a bandana tied loosely around his neck. He adjusted his wire frame glasses as he watched Brandon exit the car. Hm.

  Manuel drove off toward the barn, the dust of his departure settling on the bottom of Brandon’s black pants. He tried to brush it off, but the dirt clung. He sighed, then walked up the porch stairs, looking at the door then the man, apparently a farmer, sitting on the porch.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Grimes,” he said to the man, who eyed him coolly with his green eyes. “My name’s Brandon Luster and I have an important meeting with him. Is he inside?”

  Jonathan Grimes studied Brandon, frowning slightly.

  “Nope,” he said, leaning forward a little.

  “Has he gone out? When will he be back?” Brandon asked the man sitting in the chair, thinking he worked for Mr. Grimes.

  “No, he hasn’t gone out. He’s here,” Mr. Grimes said, “I thought Emmet Barrows was coming. He was the one who talked to Mr. Grimes and set up the interview.”

  ”I do the closings,” Brandon said a bit heatedly. He was upset this guy wasn’t going to tell Mr. Grimes he was here. “Could you tell me where Mr. Grimes is, or go get him for me?”

  “Oh, you’ve come to close the deal eh?” the man said, picking up a glass of lemonade and sipping it slowly before putting it down.

  “Yes,” Brandon said impatiently, “And I have a return flight at seven tonight. It’s already two. Could you get Mr. Grimes for me?”

  “Why didn’t Barrows come?’ he asked.

  Brandon frowned.

  “Look, I don’t have time to have a question and answer session with you. Where is Mr. Grimes?” Brandon demanded.

  Jonathan looked at Brandon with his eyes narrowed.

  “I should have expected the old bait and switch,” he said evenly. “That’s why I don’t do interviews like this. I’m Mr. Grimes, young man, and more importantly, you are not Emmet Barrows. There was something I liked about that young man. He was quite inventive reaching my office, and he knew all about my company…even the names of the department heads and their secretaries. Not to mention he understood the difficulties I’m having in certain areas. He was on top of things. I bet you have a briefcase full of notes to refer to.”

  Brandon gawked at Jonathan. He certainly wasn’t what he expected of a CEO. If the associate had known this man lounging on the porch was the head of Hobson’s Financial Inc., he would have been more respectful. Brandon tried to recover.

  “I’m…I’m sorry you were expecting Emmet, Mr. Grimes. I handle all his closings for him. I am fully capable of answering your questions and explaining our services,” he said rather desperately.

  “But what do you know about my company’s past, Mr. Luster? How it began? Who started it? Is it a family-owned corporation? Mr. Barrows knew all of that. He did his homework beyond the usual. That is why I let him make this appointment. And I get you. Why doesn’t Mr. Barrow handle his own accounts?” Mr. Grimes asked. It seemed a shame such a sharp associate didn’t handle his own contracts.

  “Well, he’s…he’s untested sir,” Brandon said lamely, “B, B & B thought a more experienced associate should handle this account. It is a rather large one, sir, and as I said, I am more than capable.”

  ”Mr. Luster, I am very good at discerning exemplary people. In my line of work I have to be. Mr. Barrows showed great promise over the phone and I would like to meet him. Now, go back to your office and tell your boss or bosses that I want Mr. Barrows to contact me first thing next week and arrange another appointment. And I want NO substitutes, Mr. Luster. The only reason I’m not cutting your company off is that I think it might be able to provide better services than I’m receiving now…but I want to deal directly with Mr. Barrows, and Mr. Barrow only,” Jonathan said firmly.

  Jonathan waved his hand at Manuel, who had been standing by the limo near the barn. The driver got back in the car and wheeled it around, driving back toward the porch.

  “And Mr. Luster, your manners ar
e atrocious. You didn’t even give me a proper greeting when you approached me. Not all men in work clothes are peons and deserve to be treated with respect. You gave me the distinct impression you believed yourself to be better than I am. That’s another reason I dislike you. Now, good day,” Jonathan said.

  Brandon stared at the gray-haired CEO. He had dismissed him. He had failed.

  “Good day, sir,” Brandon said sullenly.

  He then turned, walked down the stairs and got into the limo, not waiting for Manuel to open the door. Jonathan watched him go with narrowed eyes.

  “I bet two to one that man won’t give Mr. Barrows my message. He would rather lose the account than have himself one-upped by someone untested,” Jonathan thought to himself. “Well, I’ll take care of that possibility personally.”

  Jonathan rose and walked into his farmhouse.

  He had a fax and knew how to use it. The CEO would make sure Emmet got his message. Jonathan Grimes was a hands-on kind of guy. All his success hadn’t changed him much. At sixty-six years of age he was still sharp as a tack, and he attributed this to staying out of the limelight and hiring competent people to work with him. Delegating authority to people who knew what they were doing was what he was best at…but he kept up with everything that was going on at Hobson’s. If there was a problem not getting solved, then he would step in and solve it. This was one of those cases. He knew there had been several costly mix-ups with payroll and benefits concerning the company they used, but Emmet laid it out for him so clearly and concisely, that he was next to convinced he should switch service providers. It was as if the associate actually worked for Hobson’s rather than B, B & B. He had been highly impressed.

  Jonathan sat at his desk, pulled out a piece of stationary and a pen. He could have typed his note on the computer but he liked to put a bit of himself in his business dealings. His penmanship was decent. It would be readable. He paused for a moment, then picked up the file on B, B & B he had compiled by his research department. He leafed through it and found the proper person to address the fax to.