Fallen Too Far Read Free Page A

the kitchen sink and turned on the tap to rinse his bloody hands. The whore tonight had been older than the others.
    He dried his hands on the greasy dishtowel and trudged up the creaky wooden stairs to his room.
    ****
     
    Tom Eldon stood on the balcony of his hotel room overlooking Central Park, savoring his victory. He had risked a lot to land this deal, and he’d won. The five year contract was in his briefcase. Along with the check for the first ninety days. It contained a shitload of zeros.
    They had been dicking around on this deal for six months and it was time for Targay to shit or get off the pot. He had insisted that he be the last guy through the door. He didn’t give a shit how tired everyone would be. He showed up alone, carrying his briefcase. No entourage, no spear carriers like all his competitors no doubt had brought in for their presentations.
    Calling out the CEO with a veiled challenge to make up his damn mind worked like a charm. The room cleared in less than a minute. So what if Targay was more than a thousand times the size of Tom’s company? Tom’s employees earned twenty times more on average. The two men sat down as equals, and in forty five minutes made a deal. The CEO (‘Call me Greg, Tom’) was actually a little grateful to get this project finally off his desk.
    Everything. Every flyer, store sign, shopping bag, TV ad, newspaper ad, credit card insert, every single thing that Targay wanted to say to the world would now go though Tom’s shop. For five years. Five Christmas seasons of television commercials alone was going to put about ten million into his pocket. Forget about Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Thanksgiving, Spring Clean up…
    He called the office when he hit the street after the meeting, and gave everyone the next day off. They were probably still in some bar or restaurant celebrating on his dime.
    He celebrated alone.
    He ordered room service so he could watch the evening slip into night as he ate.
    Christ, it was beautiful. The golden sunset made the buildings flanking Central Park glow. He ate his supper during the period of about twenty minutes when everything was a flat gray.
    He had been standing at the balcony watching the lights—those beautiful, sparkly city lights. First the ones in the buildings peeked out. They were always there, but appeared more intense as darkness fell. Next were the streetlights. In groups of two or three they flickered on. He loved watching them march north. The pathway lights in Central Park must have been on a longer delayed switch; they came on last.
    He glanced at the sky. From twenty-seven stories up, the strongest, the most powerful stars shone, nearly invisible if one were at the brightly lit, street level. The moon was full as it rose over the horizon, yellow orange.
    Eventide in New York City. Forty five minutes of wonder every night. All you had to do was look up.
    The biggest night of his life and the only person on the planet he ached to share it with was a hooker. He laughed out loud at the absurdity.
    “Not a hooker, Tom. Not an Escort, call girl or even prostitute. Let’s call a spade a spade. I’m a whore.” She had said that to him over two years ago, on their second meeting.
    “So I guess that makes me a John?” he had asked.
    She had nodded. Silently, but with her chin set. They were lying in bed sharing a bottle of wine. He had just complimented her. Not on her ability to get him to come; that was a given. He had complimented her on how she was such a professional. She laughed out loud at him. And told him exactly what she was.
    He replied that she better get her opinion of herself out of the gutter; because it reflected on him. He spent the next hour giving her a crash course in marketing professional services. He told her that if she treated her occupation with the same level of respect as any lawyer or doctor would, she’d command top prices and be as busy as she wanted to be.
    She was smart enough to hang on