Two Worlds

Chapter 1: Davis

Davis Jefferson stood up and looked into the toilet bowl. The vermiform formation that he had ejected from his body had sunk to the bottom of the bowl. Urine tainted his examination of the specimen but he was still able to get a relatively good view.

It was unbroken, that was good. The coloring seemed a bit off to Davis. A paleness that unsettled him.

However, his worry didn’t reach the level of when his movement had been so dark that Davis was sure it was black. He had called Dr. Hodges in a panic of sweat and screaming. Hodges appeared and examined the leaving. Assurances were made that the coloring was fine, but Davis had insisted that he take it down to his office for testing.

Testing had come back negative.

Davis continued to stare. He contemplated calling for Dr. Hodges. Pale, that wasn’t good. Almost a green hue, but not colorless. Not white, that would have been a major cause for concern.

Davis called up images of his meals from the previous days, looking for a culprit.

Had that big bowl of kale, Davis said. Probably that.

He flushed the toilet and then moved to the next station, the bidet, to clean himself off.

With that unpleasant job finished, Davis put his hand on the marble counter in front of his sink and stared into the mirror.

He pressed and pulled the skin on his face, checking, looking, searching out. He saw no strange moles. No freckles that he hadn’t already accounted for.

Davis stretched his face into a smile and looked at his teeth. They were white and seemed to reflect the muted light from the bathroom. He pulled down on his lower lip and checked his gums. Pink, no sign of blood, no sign of gingivitis.

After brushing his teeth, Davis exited the bathroom and entered the bedroom.

Brandy was lying sprawled on the bed. The white comforter had twisted and tangled around her legs, leaving most of her body exposed to the air. She wore a light pink nightgown trimmed with lace. Her flat stomach rose and fell with respiration. Her blonde hair, trussed up the night before at the party, now lay in a gold shower above her head. A straw bird’s nest. A short nasally snore escaped her.

Davis turned from her and looked out the window. He was still naked, but that didn’t bother him.

The world was below and no one was above him. No one was even on his level. He could look down at the roof of the building across the way. Anyone hanging out the window of even the top floor of that building would need a high powered telescope to see into Davis’s window.

He smiled as he looked down at the city. Cars were jammed on 8th Avenue. The yellow of the taxis, the blues and greens and reds of the unhappy motorists fighting all that traffic.

The people were harder to see. They failed to be individuals this high up and they had become a river of humanity flowing up and down the sidewalk. Every once in a while a small tributary would form as a few in the pack reached their destination, but the river seemed to flow on and on without end.

Davis turned from the window and walked to the twin closets. The set of doors on the right held his wardrobe while the one on the left held Brandy’s. Of course, Brandy also needed the closet in his study (which she had argued wasn’t being put to any practical use, so why not store her overflow of garments there) and the storage space in Astoria. He pressed the button on the wall and the doors opened.

His suits were separated by color. Black and formal to his right, fading in color as one moved to the left until you ended at white and formal on the right.

Davis selected a navy blue jacket with matching tie and pants. His shirts were starched and crisp and covered by a protective plastic.

He dressed quickly and quietly. Brandy had far exceeded her normal amount of consumption and had disrupted her circadian rhythm by insisting on accompanying him to the party.

Once dressed, Davis made his way to the kitchen. He passed by his study and paused just a moment to look at it wistfully. It had been long since he’d been able to sit in front of his fireplace with a book in his hand a glass of cognac on his table. Davis continued to walk and paused again at the Matisse hanging across from the entrance to the kitchen.

It looked slightly off. Davis approached the painting and adjusted the bottom right corner. He stood back and admired his work. Then he entered the kitchen.

Rebecca was standing in front of the oven. She worked with a spatula in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.

How is breakfast? Davis asked. His voice was cheery, almost melodic. He had sung in the choir in college and been roundly complimented.

Egg white omelets and turkey sausage, Mr. Jefferson, Rebecca said. Her voice was dry, professional. It showed no sign of approval or reproach and that served Davis fine.

Very good. Have you spoken with Helen? Are the children prepared for their day?

I have not, Rebecca said.

No matter, Davis said. I shall check on them myself.

Davis closed the door to the kitchen and turned a corner. The dinning table was perhaps a little much. He had argued with Brandy that they should have selected a slightly smaller one. She had counter-argued that if they bought a smaller dinning room table that they would be unable to entertain.

As this was one of the chief reasons that Davis had suggested a smaller table, he argued further, but Brandy defeated him as she so often did.

The children sat on opposite sides of the table. The boy, Henry, was dressed in the blue blazer and golden patch that constituted his school uniform.

Tiffany, the girl, was dressed in a white dress shirt and a dark blue jumper.

Davis looked at his children with pride. Then his eyes flicked to Helen.

She was forty-seven years old. Old enough to dissuade any talk of impropriety, yet young enough to see the children through school without becoming elderly in the process.

Her hair was black and cut short. It seemed to hug her head like a cap. Her dress was, as usual, formal. She wore a salmon blouse with a matching skirt that reached almost to her ankles.

Blue, icy eyes regarded him. Her hard set mouth did not flinch. The lines that had formed around that mouth didn’t tremble.

Good morning, Helen, Davis said.

He took a seat next to the girl. It was his custom to choose his seat on alternating days, in that manner neither child would suspect an incongruity in approval.

Hello father, Tiffany said. She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, awaiting her breakfast.

Hello, my children. Are you excited for your studies today?

Yes father, Henry replied. I believe that calculus will be most stimulating today.

Father I have been selected to perform a solo in our spring concert, Tiffany said.

I am very gratified at this news, Davis said.

Not only did the girl share his passion of music, but she had also inherited some of his talent. Though he had arranged for her to be chosen for the solo. She would no doubt have been selected in any case, but why leave things to chance?

Will mother be joining us? Henry asked.

I’m afraid our festivities last night have left your mother with a bit of a headache and an exhaustion which will take several hours to overcome.

That is unfortunate, Tiffany said. But we will enjoy our breakfast with you father.

I have a question that I think will stimulate your young minds, Davis said.

He rubbed his hands together as he thought of a way to phrase the question that his children would be able to grasp.

They looked at him with expectant eyes. Their enthusiasm was almost infectious. They knew that one day they would be in control of the vast and myriad machine of the free market. It must be so exciting for them.

Let us assume that each of you is in control of rival corporations producing the same products. You established at roughly the same time and your market share had been split fifty-fifty until Henry’s company discovered and patented a more cost-effective method for producing goods. This has allowed him to lower costs and he has increased his market share to sixty percent. How do you compensate?

Tiffany lowered her head and closed her eyes. When she thought deeply she affected Davis’s own posture. Such a genetic similarity filled him will joy. She did not even notice when Rebecca entered and set their breakfast before them.

Henry appeared to be in a sulky disposition. His head was also down, but not in thought and he merely picked at his eggs with his fork.

Do not despair, son, Davis said. I have a question of similar interest for you. Although I believe it may have to wait until tomorrow. Unless Tiffany can supply me with a satisfactory answer soon.

Where is our workforce located? Tiffany asked.

You both employ ten-thousand employees. Eighty percent of them are located in a series of factories in Shenzhen, China. Ten percent are located outside of Berlin and the other ten percent are located in Dayton, Ohio.

Can I move any of the jobs out of Ohio? Tiffany asked.

It would save you some production costs, Davis admitted. But not nearly enough. It also might produce public relations problems.

Davis shifted towards her and smiled at the girl.

But why didn’t you ask about the workers in Germany?

If we make a product that is complicated enough to require a patentable procedure then we will need the precision of the German workers in order to not suffer a drop-off in quality.

Bravo, Davis said. Very well explained. So if you can’t move the workforce what do you do?

And there are no similar processes that I can use that don’t violate the patent or no other products I can offer?

No, Davis said. And you cannot lower your price, because the stockholders will not be happy with a lower return on investment.

Stockholders? Tiffany said. Her eyebrows furrowed. Father, I was under the mistaken assumption that Henry and I were operating sole proprietorship companies. These are publically held companies?

Yes they are.

What is our current capital?

Five-hundred thirty million, Davis said. His smile broadened; he could see the answer in her eyes.

With Henry’s increased profits a large group of his smaller investors will be looking to divest themselves of their shares at considerable profit. Henry will have had to spend much of his capital on research and development for his new product. Can I assume that he was forced to sell a portion of his own holdings in the company to do so?

Yes, Davis said.

I would use my capital to buy a controlling interest in Henry’s company and then consolidate his factories and their new manufacturing practices with my own. It will leave the company cash poor for a few years, but the subsequent rise in sales will more than make up for the risk.

Very good, Davis said. He took a bite of his eggs. Henry took a gamble on developing his new methods and you capitalized on that weakness. But how did you know that would be the case?

You said we had been operating for five years. If Henry’s company had been researching a new process and developed one in that period of time he would have had to invest considerable capital into that venture.

Tiffany looked across at her brother and a wry smile formed on her mouth. You should have waited another five years.

Henry sulked back at her.

It’s time for school, children, Helen said.

Davis looked at his watch. Ah yes, I must also be on my way. Carl will be wondering where I’ve gotten myself to.

Chapter 2: Bill

Bill looked at the toilet paper in his hands. It was smeared with red.

He didn’t always look at his crap, or the paper he used to clean himself, but every once in awhile it just caught his eye.

The turd in the bowl looked fine. Just a brown snake sitting in water. The red on the toilet paper though. That might be a problem.

He threw the paper into the bowl and flushed it. Then he ran his hands under the faucet and walked to the bedroom.

The bed was empty. He could hear Sarah in the kitchen. Wrappers crackled from the other room as Bill looked at the ruin that was their shared dresser.

Most of his drawers hung slightly open, revealing wads of tee-shirts and jeans. Some of his clothes had made it to the closet, but not many. He glanced back to the open closet door, just to make sure, but all he saw were the blouses and slacks that belonged to his wife. Today was not a day for digging through the closet to find a non-wrinkled pair of slacks. It was Friday, time to get out of the house and back home as soon as possible.

He looked back to the drawers and pulled out a plain, white tee-shirt and a pair of jeans.

As he pulled them on, he walked to the kitchen and saw Sarah pouring syrup from a tiny plastic container.

McDonalds? Bill asked. He sat down at the head of their four-chair table and looked over at Dustin. He was playing his Nintendo DS. Bill could hear the bright chirps and dips of the music.

Just the dollar menu, Sarah said. She threw him two sausage McMuffins wrapped in their paper.

Bill unwrapped one and took a bite.

I didn’t have time to cook today, Sarah said. Candice has to be to school early.

Candice was wrapping one of her pigtails around her finger. We’ve got to do rehearsal for the play.

Bill reached over and pulled her other pigtail. And you’re gonna be the cutest Alice the school’s ever seen.

Candice blushed and lowered her head.

Daddy, don’t mess up my hair. There was a playful lilt to her voice though. She was still a few years from being a teenager when such a statement would probably drip with contempt.

Are we supposed to be playing with that at the table? Bill asked.

Dustin looked up. His pancakes were sitting in front of him, dripping with syrup, but they were untouched.

No, he said. His voice was sulky. He was closer to a teenager, but he was a boy and that meant that he would reject authority in whatever forms it came in. Bill wasn’t upset by this; he remembered all too well what it had been like to be a twelve-year-old boy. His son reminded him every day.

Dustin set the game on the table and dug into his pancakes.

Roger coming today? Sarah asked. She had finally finished unpacking their breakfast and had taken her seat at the table.

Yeah. This is his Friday.

Sarah looked at the clock on the wall. So that means he’ll be here in five minutes.

Roaring Roger, Bill said. But remember that clock is two minutes fast, he’ll be here in seven minutes.

What about that other thing we talked about? Sarah asked.

Don’t know, Bill said with a mouthful of muffin. Probably be posted later today, I guess.

And you’ll call me as soon as you know anything?

Sure will.

Sarah tilted her head at him. She had three tilts, all of them told their own tale. There was his favorite—the severely cut tilt. That one told him that love was probably in the mix. There was the pissed off tilt—either he or the kids had done something wrong. Then there was the worried tilt—the one he was getting now.

Is everything okay? You don’t seem like you’re all the way here.

Fine, Bill said. He was thinking about the streak of red on the toilet paper. Nothing, he was sure, so why worry Sarah over it. Probably go away all on its own.

He turned to Dustin. You ready for the game tonight?

A bright smile broke out on Dustin’s face. Dad, it’s the knights, we don’t have to be ready. They suck.

Dustin Robert Taylor, Sarah said. Don’t use that kind of language.

Don’t talk about the competition like that either.

You want me to give ‘em props they don’t deserve?’

No, Bill said. You don’t remember this, but the Rams took the Patriots for granted in the superbowl.

Yeah, but the Patriots rock.

Not then, Bill said. At least no one knew it.

Yeah, but the knights aren’t the Pats.

Then the Patriots took the Giants lightly, Bill said.

Go Giants! Bill and Dustin shouted together.

Candice and Sarah looked on. Candice in shock, Sarah just shook her head and offered a tiny grin.

You boys.

Bill and Dustin chuckled at each other. Then Bill turned serious again.

The point, buddy, is that you never take the other team for granted. You guys might be more talented, you might kill ‘em.

We’ll destroy them, Dustin said.

But you can’t count on it, Bill said. You still have to go out there and play the game. You can’t slack off because you think you can. Do winners slack off?

No, Dustin said. He sounded as if he had been reprimanded, so Bill smiled at him and tousled his hair.

Nothing wrong with being confident, son, but you need to be humble too. Anything can happen out there, you need to be ready for it.

I will be.

I know you will, because you practice hard and you take it seriously.

Sarah began grabbing papers and shoving them in the bag the food had come in. She got up and motioned Bill with her finger. He followed her to the garbage can. Her hand rubbed on his chest. She glanced over his shoulder to make sure the children were otherwise occupied. Then she leaned in close, her other hand headed south.

You know what I was thinking about all last night when I was at work?

She kissed him on his neck, right under where the strap of his beard cut off. It sent shivers up and down his body.

I can guess, Bill said.

His own hands found her hips and he pulled her closer.

I’ll bet you can.

He leaned in and kissed her. Nothing obscene, just a deep kiss between lovers, but that wasn’t how the children saw it.

Gross, Dustin said.

Why do you guys do that in front of us?

Bill and Sarah broke apart and laughed. Bill loved watching Sarah laugh. The unafraid way her face had of opening up and letting her emotion pour through. Her mouth opened with the force of it, her eyes crinkled at the edges, her cheeks reddened. She was beautiful.

How do you think you two were made? Sarah asked, still laughing.

Time for school, Dustin said. He pushed his pancakes away from him.

You finally found something he’d prefer school over, Bill said.

A car horn sounded in the driveway. Bill looked up at the clock.

Could set that damn clock by him, Sarah said.

Bill smiled and nodded. Roger would have given Mussolini a run for his money with the trains.

Sarah gave him a quick kiss. Love you cowboy.

Love you too babe.

She gave him a quick swat on the behind as he grabbed his other muffin and ran out the door.

Roger was sitting behind the wheel, tapping his hands on the dashboard. His face relaxed when he saw Bill and his hands went back to the wheel.

Bill hopped in and Roger was off before he even had time to put his belt on.

Jesus, Roger.

Just trying to keep us on time, Roger said.

Yeah, I know how much you enjoy that twenty minutes we get to stand around the time clock before we get into work.

Put your belt on before a cop pulls us over and we’re late.

Bill yanked at it, but it was stuck. He let it slide back and then pulled again, clicking it into place. He looked up and saw Roger glaring at him.

You know I’m not trying to make you late on purpose, right?

Sometimes I wonder.

Then maybe you want to carpool with someone else?

No one else lives out this way, Roger said.

Don Barlow does.

That slob? If I let him in my car I’d have to get it checked for bedbugs every night.

Bill laughed. So I’m the lesser of two evils?

Yes, you’re the Hitler to his Satan.

Love you too buddy.

Once they were on the freeway, Roger’s shoulders lowered from their hunched position and he turned the radio on.

So I got a nasty little surprise today, Bill said.

Dog shit on fire on the porch, Roger said. I have an alibi.

No, Bill said. He smiled. But it does have to do with poop.

Well then by all means. I love a good shit story.

Why do you think I saved it for you?

Bill looked out his window at the other cars crammed together on the expressway. The bridge looked bad today. It was probably not such a horrible thing that Roger was a nut about punctuality.

There was blood on my toilet paper this morning.

Uck. Fuck man, I don’t know what level of friendship you think we’ve built up here, but why the hell would you tell me that?

Just wondering what you think of it, Bill said. He was still eyeing the cars outside. He supposed that Roger was going slowly enough that they might have been able to meet eyes, but he didn’t turn towards him.

You been drinking any blood lately? Vampireing it up out there?

No, Bill said. Sarah won’t let me anymore. She says that too many girls take it as a come on.

The young ones probably do, Roger said. After all that Twilight crap.

Bill ventured a look at Roger, he had been staring out at the traffic, but he must have sensed Bill’s gaze