The Man with the Golden Touch

Warren Midas may be the Writer Favorite of this story. I dig him, and he does not put up much a fight when he's being written. Hard to tell from just one chapter, but we'll see how he measures up in the long run!

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“Warren, right?”

“Yeah! Jeff?”

Two men in exceptional suits officially met for the first time at a coffee shop near Union Station. They had exchanged emails, held conference call interviews, and when Warren finally came out to New York for the last interview with Wagner, Hobbs, and King Law Firm; Jeff Duke was unavailable to meet him. His attractive personal assistant had explained he was currently in court, and Warren told her she could make it up to him over dinner that night. Finally getting to meet Jeff King was the end of what had been a difficult chapter in Warren’s life.

Some divorces ended in paperwork, a mess of mediation, and in a way, Warren’s divorce had followed this path. Only, when Warren slept around, and when his wife stole money from him, it became much more complicated. The child support was more than she needed, but she insisted it was for “schooling and the child’s general well-being”. Warren knew, if anything, his son would see half of what he promised the ex-wife. Once the divorce had finalized, and once Warren was offered the job, he left as fast as he could, and had been living in a nice hotel for the last two weeks. The room service and luxury was nice, but Warren was ready for his own place, his own desk, and the next chapter.

Jeff motioned to one of the chair, and a pleasing smile peeled across his face. “Please, sit. It’s great to finally meet you.”

“You too, Jeff. This is great.”

“Hey, you eaten yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Good! They make their own marshmallows here. You wouldn’t believe it! They’re the size of your head, Warren! The size of your head!”

Warren laughed and silenced his cell phone. “Yeah? Guess I’ll try that.” Jeff looked exactly how he sounded. He was tall, well-dressed without being too flashy, and he was all smiles and jokes. There was a mischievous spark behind his blue eyes, and he kept a white beard well-groomed. He had to be pushing his sixties, but he behaved as if his twenty-first birthday was just around the corner.

A pretty waitress came to their table in a little red apron and tucked in green shirt. Her dirty blonde hair was swept back into a messy bun, and she smiled. “Gentlemen, can I interest you in something to drink?” Warren was instantly smitten. Over the last few years, he had developed a weak spot for blonds.

“Absolutely,” Warren folded his hands across his knee. “Now, my boss here says you’ve got marshmallows the size of your head.”

Jeff burst into laughter. “You can hear the Boston in him. Mahrshmallows.”

The waitress blushed, and made a square with her thumbs and forefingers. “They’re about that big, sir.”

“That is big.”

Jeff grinned. “Told you!”

She giggled. “Yes, it is, sir.”

Warren smiled. He was feeling on top of his game, now that the divorce was finished. He had thrown out every suit he had worn at those damn court attendances. He had chopped his hair short, started growing a beard, and bought new clothes. Inserting such renewing symbolism into his life left him fulfilled, and ready to tackle the next step in his life, even little steps like a fling with a pretty waitress.

“I’ll take one of those.”

“Just on the side, sir?”

“Just on the side. I’ll have a cup of coffee, and if you don’t mind, one of those apples you’ve got on the counter there.”

The waitress smiled and looked down at her notepad. “Yes, sir.”

He caught her gaze, and they smiled at each other. He held the menu out to her. “Thank you, kiddo. I appreciate that. Jeff, you drinking anything?”

“Just another coffee for me, please. I still got a couple more to go before I meet my quota.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, gentlemen,” she smiled, and left them.

“So,” Warren turned back to Jeff, who had started flipping through the screens on his cell phone, “when do I get to meet the famous Jason Warwick?”

“Should be coming in soon. Won’t have him too long, he’s got court today.”

The door swung open, and a well-dressed man strode through. His hair was slicked back, he was clean shaven, and his suit was pressed and crisp looking. He smoothed his tie down as approached the table, and held out his hand.

“You must be Warren Midas. Jeff’s been going on and on about you.”

“Didn’t know I was that interesting,” Warren took his hand, and gave it a firm shake. The gold watch on the man’s wrist jingled against his cufflink. “Jason, right?”

“The one and only. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Eaten yet? We’re about to have a marshmallow the size of our head.”

Jeff jumped in. “Can Jason eat? You should see this guy! He’s the stomach that walks like a man.”

“Hell, Jeff,” Jason pat his stomach, “I haven’t even put my briefcase down yet. Give me a minute.”

The three situated themselves around the table, and started discussing the job, how everyone knew each other, the gym everyone went to after work, the Christmas party, the birthday parties, the office 5K for High Fives, whose proceeds went to support pediatric research. At one point the pretty waitress returned to take Jeff’s order, made eyes at Warren, and then skipped off to add another cup of coffee to her tray. Warren leaned back in his chair to watch her. He liked the way she rubbed the top of her foot behind her leg. She reminded him of someone, someone who was definitely not his wife, and that had to be one of the reasons he could hardly keep his eyes off her.

“What do you say, Warren? We head out to the office after our coffee, let Jason show you around the place.”

Warren recovered from his bad case of wandering eye and took a moment to register Jeff’s suggestion. He leaned back over the table once more and gave them both a grand smile. “Sounds great. Didn’t get to see too much while I was interviewing.”

“Perfect,” Jeff was satisfied, and sat back in his chair as the waitress returned. He threw his hands up, and let out a celebratory: “And perfection! She has my joe, what-d-ya-know.”

“There you go, Mr. King.” The waitress set the cup of coffee in front of him. “And one coffee for you, sir,” she set the next one in front of Jason.

Jeff put his hand longingly over his heart. “I thought we’d never see you again!”

The waitress gave him a guilty, but devious smile. “I guess I wanted to take a little extra time on this one,” and she set the marshmallow and coffee in front of Warren. The marshmallow was bigger than a deck of cards. Not as big as Warren’s head, but still big enough for the waitress to scrawl her name and number across the top with chocolate piping. Jason and Jeff leaned over to see what had Warren’s eyes transfixed. Their eyes widened and jaws dropped. The waitress was cool, and to Warren, inviting. He grinned and rubbed his lips, before glancing her way.

“That does look good,” he touched the chocolate name on the marshmallow, and beamed up at her, “Sue. Thank you.”

“Is there anything else I can get for you, gentlemen?”

Jeff started laughing again, and Jason pointed at the marshmallow. “Yeah, I’ll get one of those, please!”

They had their coffee, but Warren might as well have been on another planet. On this planet, there were beautiful blond haired waitresses that brought him marshmallows whenever he desired them. They were perky, funny, and wrote everything in chocolate. They never tried to take his money; they never made their children the source of a greedy lie to get more of that said money after taking almost everything he had. They were fair, and they were nice, and – he only realized this as he bit into the scarlet red apple Sue had brought him – they only served him the finest, shiniest apples. He saved her number to his cell phone, and left her an encouraging tip before following the others into the street.

Warren, for the first time in years, felt like he was on top of the world. He was walking down the streets of New York, free as a bird, in a new suit, ready to check out his new office. Jeff kept going on about how “highly recommended” he was by his previous firm, that “all that crap” with the wife would blow over in no time, the “important thing to do now” was to keep moving, keeping growing, and to not “ever, ever stop, not till you’ve reached the top!” he always said. The office had decorations leftover from someone’s birthday. There were still bits of confetti hidden here and there among cubicles and near flower pots. All three marched up the carpet stairs to the next floor of the firm, and Warren was brought to his office.

The impressive office suite revealed the sprawl of New York to him as windows stretched all around a wide desk. There was a couch and some cushioned chairs for receiving whatever the legal system threw at him. Dual monitor screens on his desk were the high definition offspring of the large, flat screen mounted on the wall on the other end of the room. Warren was reduced to uncontrollable giggles, though, when he saw that a vending machine was waiting for him with a card attached to it.

“Look at that! I can’t believe he actually did it.”

Jeff clapped Warren on the back, but Jason was lost in the moment, and not in the sweet, nostalgia-building way. There was a joke here, and he just didn’t get it. In fact:

“I don’t get it,” he grunted.

Jeff rolled his fingers around in his pocket for some change. “His old boss called us. Said that Warren drank so much Coke it’d be easier on our finances if we just bought him his own machine. Didn’t cost that much, and even if it did,” he dropped a couple quarters into the machine, “the fact there’s a Coke machine right by my office instead of in the employee kitchen more than makes up for it.”

Jason smirked, but still was not on board with the joke. He hefted his briefcase in his hand, and shot a pointed gaze down at it. “Why don’t we leave Warren for a bit. Let him get settled in.”

Jeff offered the briefcase an uncomfortable look, but put on a good smile for Jason as he hooked his arm around his shoulders and made for the door. “Sounds like a plan. Warren, you let us know if you need anything. Don’t be a stranger now!”

Warren was alone in his office. Atlanta was far behind him. He had his pockets in his hands, and in one of those pockets, he was rolling his cell phone over and over again. He set it down on his desk, and went to the windows that overlooked the city that sprawled in front of him. The cars were small and slid by like toys on an automated track. The people looked even smaller, as if a plane he was on had just stopped to give him time to observe the world beneath him. He could see the beginnings of the big green patch among the tall gray buildings better known as Central Park. The steel and stone spires reached for the sun that was heading for noon. This was home, this was a kingdom he could call him, and he planned to live like a king.