Buck Thor Emberg and Joan Dehle Emberg
Pic: SB
‘Fred Fridley, Asst. President’ the sign read. It was only one slot away from the President’s spot in the cavernous underground parking lot of the Bellevue Vista America high rise, a sixty-five storey of glass and steel; a monument of fiduciary success. Fred’s sign was purposely smaller as was his parking slot, causing a permanent grumble each time he drove his red BMW into place next to President Brian’s bold black stretched-Mercedes. The president’s Hispanic chauffeur was lightly dusting the non-existent sediment on the hood. That was the wanted job…or so he thought. Fred had served the company well starting as a new, eager business graduate from Seattle University and general dog’s body field representative. With zeal and intelligence, graced with a charming personality, Fred had worked his way through claims, stultifying accounts and finally top management. Brian’s presidency was all that was left before retirement some few years hence. Retirement, however, was not on Fred’s mind that late spring morning. Retirement was for others. He had developed a love-hate feeling for the corporation and his job. He was only forty-nine and wanted the top spot because that was the only place left to go. Rumors abounded that Brian, the idiot president, was going to be given a plush overseas spot in Geneva soon and Fred was told he would naturally follow to the top job.
Fred had come to understand better than most executives the insurance business was not merely selling policies. Insurance means money to lend, money to borrow, money to slip out of corrupt governments in Africa or Asia and money to grease the corrupt skids of all extraction corporations. He discovered that insurance cartels were more important than most governments and arrogantly wielded more power. He had become aware that IGU was only part of a giant conglomerate and not even the people at the top knew how massive and rich the corporation was. Fred was smart and had long before figured out the corruption levels in the company. At first he thought it was clever to be part of such power but lately he became wary and sick of the fraud and sleaze he saw at the top and grown to not only dislike the whole insurance ‘industry’ but was moving towards outright hostility. His object of hatred centered on Brian, but he had learned to control his feelings so most people with whom he worked only knew a warm, caring and generous boss who gave his best for the workers. Because he was a bright and competent people-person, Fred had moved to the top easily. His MBA from Harvard gave him all the academic credentials needed. In his soul, Fred was not sure he really wanted the top rung of the greasy corporate ladder but the money and prestige was comfortable. Life was easy; the type of life upper class Americans had learned to expect.
The day moved quickly and successfully. He did not have to talk to Brian once. Lunch in the company cafeteria was talking, sharing and laughing with his fellow workers. He never ate in the boardroom unless there was a needed meeting. Fred was the only executive who ate in the cafeteria.
“Can’t wait for the first cold beer…and those martinis,” Fred said to the steering wheel as he slid easily on the deep leather seat. The BMW was his automotive statement that he was going places…big places. The corporation leased him a new one every year and he was allowed to sell and keep the money as the company had been able to fuzz the lines of income and gratuities. No one would have doubted that the tall, white, garrulous and somewhat overweight man in the fancy car was important. Today was Friday and tomorrow he would rise early and go play eighteen holes at the exclusive Bellevue Golf Estates. His seven handicap made him a man to be respected on the links as well as in the office. His favorite golfing t-shirt displayed two tigers devouring each other.
Bev would have his beer opened for him and would wait until he drove up to make the pitcher of dry martinis they both liked. Fred squeezed the steering wheel. Lately Bev had been a bit difficult.
She had enrolled in the community college course on Women’s Rights six months ago…Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem and the Ozzie Broad, whose name he could never remember, had made a big impact on her. Bev had started to argue more than usual. She contested politics now and was going to quit the Republican Party. She argued for free abortions, equal pay for women and minorities, hated McDonalds and KFC and demanded that more women should be given important corporate jobs. Her master’s degree in Commerce had only led to marry a man on his way up the corporate structures. As for the equal pay thing, Fred had tried to explain many times that equal pay for all would kill many businesses. Bright young men were laid off because of the new women’s lib movement. Fred wanted to believe in women’s rights but could not bring himself to agree with Beverley; after all, he was the head of his family.
Fred muttered about the week, Beverley’s changing moods and remembered he had forgotten to pick up his new putter. “Ah, well, forget it” he said loudly, “This is a long weekend…good weather coming, good golfing buddies and a good party at the yacht club tomorrow night. Those martinis are already half down my throat.”
Since the corporation had built their sixty-five story monolith in downtown Bellevue he did not have to worry about the traffic jams on the Mercer Island Freeway. Interstate Five could be a bastard of a drive at any time. The section through Bellevue was never going to get done. It was almost always clogged but at least he did not have to go the Mercer Island route. Fred was pleased to have at least an hour’s extra per day. Going into town was not difficult as he had full access to the company helicopter.
Fred eased himself from the underground parking lot and pointed the car toward the freeway. Today he was in luck; Interstate 405 was clear for a change. He would be home in five minutes. He gloried in his BMW as it almost drove itself. “Class, pure class!” he whispered to the CD player as he turned the air conditioning lower.
In less than five minutes, Fred was pulling up to his house. The gates swung open wide and enticingly under a white painted sign with gold lettering which arrogantly announced, ‘Canterbury Estates Where Only the Best Exists’.
His home was too grand, too big and too expensive he thought many times. From a room far back in his mind he remembered his hard rock mining father from Cle Elum and how it took him five years to die from lung afflictions. “I will never live like my family!” Fred told himself often. He knew it was necessary for a man in his upward position to have a home the corporation considered ‘adequate’.
His status demanded such ostentation. The house was his and had been for three years, paid by the corporation as a little Christmas bonus. Fred became aware that the city taxes for his house for one year would probably run a Mexican village for four years. Another niggle. Fred had never been truly comfortable in the elegance that shouted upper class status.
His garage door opened quietly and Fred opened the door to the enclosed courtyard and moved easily to the kitchen door. The house was unusually silent. Normally there would be a talk show blaring, one of those new women’s shows decrying all things male. Fred was sure that Marlene Black’s ‘Women Today’ was a large part of the blame for Beverley’s growing unrest. He felt a deep irritation that Beverley was not home. He called out anyway, “Bev, I am home…you here?” Of course she was not. She had been skipping out quite frequently lately. No cold martinis today. He would have to be satisfied with the beer he promised himself. “Bud time” he whispered in tune to the air coming from the can. Television had taught him well…ICU owned almost all the television companies in the Puget Sound and he knew the jingles as they were part of his portfolio.
Fred peered intently into the fridge and looked inside the cheese drawer. Beverley kept at least fifteen cheeses in the mammoth double sided chrome refrigerator. He liked the cheap ones best. “Lovely…Longhorn”. Not waiting to take a knife, he ripped off a large chunk from the corner. Bev would have him for such brutishness. She hated anything that was not tidy or square or perfectly round. Her home was impeccably furnished with the most recent Japanese furniture possible. Black lacquers and rice paper screens were her passion and beautifully sectioned off the various parts of the house. The superbly finished home was spotless. She prided herself that she had not once had any house help. Even when the two boys were in high school and at their most demanding she would not hear of help coming into her home. “It’s my job. You have yours. I have mine.” It would be a few weeks before Fred realized the importance of that statement.
As he chewed a generous cud of Longhorn Fred noticed the envelope. It was in Beverley’s perfect hand and flawlessly aligned with the margins of the envelope. It read simply, ‘Fred’.
Fred opened the expensive, perfumed envelope with casual interest. He wondered what women’s lib lecture she was attending. “Probably something at that ultra liberal church…damned Unitarians…” he muttered, tearing open the envelope with deep irritation. It read:
Fred!
I have spent twenty-five years of my life cooking your meals, cleaning your house, entertaining your clients, washing your socks and raising your kids. I have spent half my life in the same town, inside the same walls, waiting for the same husband to come home at the same damn time for the same bottle of beer and the same martinis and tell the same stupid stories about the same great deals he has made…how many times he has broken the company record, how he’s next in line for the Big Job, how the corporation would fail without him…in short, how terrific he is. YOU ARE NOT!
I have watched you grow a gut, lose your hair, lose your teeth and lose your urge. I’m sick of seeing underpants dropped in the corner, your towels dropped on the bathroom floor, your teeth left on the kitchen sink. I’m tired of cleaning your drips off the toilet seat and the shit from your underpants. I cannot stand your snoring!!!
By now you have caught it. I AM ANGRY!!! I’ve been angry for twenty years. I’m a person too and by golly I’m going to BE one. My twenty-five year sentence came to an end last week. Now I AM OUT! Don’t come looking for me. You will not find me. I’m going to live the rest of my life for ME!
Beverley!
p.s. I’ve taken what I need. My lawyer, Craig Stephens, says I’m entitled to half of EVERYTHING. Call him. At least I’ll end up with SOMETHING to show for the past twenty-five years.
p.p.s. I really mean it. It is OVER! Find yourself a new life.
p.p.p.s. No! I do not have another man. I’ve had enough of all of them. Never again.
IN SHORT FRED, GET FUCKED!
Fred’s first response was to laugh…a loud belly laugh. This could not be from quiet, pretty, petite Beverley. It must be part of her creative writing class at Adult Education. That Walden guy was behind it all…he probably wanted to get into her pants. But it WAS her writing.
Fred got up quickly to see if her Mustang convertible was in her garage spot. It was not. He ran upstairs to the bedroom. Everything she owned…clothes, shoes and jewelry were gone! Even the posters on the wall…GONE!
He ran to the bathroom. Towels, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, sheets, deodorants…GONE!
A strangle rose in his throat. It started in his belly and ended in a muffled incantation. “Bev! For God’s sake…what have you done? Where are you? WHAT WILL I DO!
Fred covered his face with his hands and sobbed.
End of Part 1
