Of Talks And Tea (Ch. 7)

Bartley Sr., slammed his hand down on the desk. "What do you mean?.. They just .. dropped out?!"

"Sir. All is peaches, 'n cream. We go in to close the deal.. and *boom.* Without notice, we loose them like flies to a hook! ..They're dropping like flies, sir."

Mr. Bartley slouched over his desk, and In a monotone voice, replied rather calmly. "Phil..?" Raising his eyebrows, he continued. "Loose the antics."

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir." Phil wiped the sweat from his brow; using a handmade handkerchief, knitted from mom, complete with the embroidered initials, that read, 'P.W.'

"What on earth.. is that??, gasped Peter Sr., in disbelief, as he quickly caught a glimpse, of a rather large, wad of 'Pink,' Phil often referred to as, 'his security blanket.'

"It's a tissue, sir. .. I didn't do the laundry this time.. a red shirt somehow got mixed in with, and.."

"Phil?," Mr Bartley, glared, in an half eyed expression. "TMI, Phil. TMI."

"I.. should have let my mom do the laundry this time.." Phil said in a whimsical voice, having to get the last word in.

Bartly just stared long, and hard at Phil; as if he were going to just catapult out of his desk, and squash him, like a bug..

"Yes, sir. Got it, sir." Phil, attempting to once again, regain his composure, hitched his pants up, way over his waist line. This, in turn, sending his suspenders flying, and snapping back in his face. Pausing to recover from the hurt on his cheek, now a red mark, Phil wondered Why, he even did that in the first place. Shaking his face, as if to gain cautiousness, he quietly let out a faint whimper. 

Shaking his head, Mr. Peter M. Bartley, dismissed Phil, and continued on with his long list of 'Clean-Ups.' Dialing the phone, the receptionist from downstairs, answered the line. In a distracted tone, Bartley answered, "Sue?"

"Yes, Mr. Bartley. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes," he replied in a rather annoyed tone. "Remind me to use 'Norton' from now on."

"Yes, sir. He's in. Would you like me to send him to your door?"

"Yes. Send him on in. I am going to need some help in some urgent matters."

"Will that be all?"

"Yes. That will be all. Thank you, Sue." And with that, he ended the call.

The door rapped a couple times, before Norton took his entrance into the room. Complete with a hat, an overcoat, and Tony Lama's Cowboy Boots, Norton, removed his gloves, and slid a black, leather suit case, onto the desk. "You called," replied Norton in a low, raspy-voice.

Showing a bit of relief, Peter Sr., grabbed onto the newly found treasure, and gripped it tight. As though it would break, M. Bartley Sr., keyed in the codes to his volt, and gently placed it inside. "Yes. Thank you. I will be seeing you later."

"No," responded Mr. Norton, in a hush tone voice, "I- will be Seeing You- later," was his final word, before taking his leave, out the door.

Bartley shrunk into his desk. He didn't know whether to be relieved now.. or .. scared.