Revolt of the Rats - Reed Blitzerman (early readers txt) 📗

Niles. We’ve traded up our bus passes. This baby will take us where ever we want to go.”

He could feel the excitement rising in his chest. There were all the ice cream stands that the bus drove past that weren’t on the regular stops. There was the art supply store on Burkhardt Street. The possibilities made his head feel light. He’d stepped out of the real world and into the bedtime stories Mother read to him at night. “It’s a magical chariot! We’re going to tour the five kingdoms.”

“You know it, Tiger.”

Niles thought about it. He’d heard his mother on the phone last week with the attorney. He couldn’t reach Niles’s father, Julian, who was out of the country in France. “Could it take us to Paris?”

Her smile wavered then. Her head tipped forward, creating small shadows on her cheekbones. Her eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses. “Maybe we’ll go sometime, Niles. You and me. Until then, perhaps we’ll find some things here to paint.”

She kept her word. Beginning that weekend, they visited the bridges and farms around Frampton, hauling a wicker basket with his art supplies and their lunch. As summer turned into fall, his mother framed his best work and mounted it in the living room. She fussed with the alignment and then stepped back to survey it with her right arm wrapped around his shoulders. “We’re going to chase our dreams. Keep going. You’re good, Niles.”

It took ten years to receive a letter. It came by regular post, heavy black font on cream paper. He opened it in the kitchen and read it with his mother over his shoulder.

“A full ride scholarship. In Kansas. I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Her smile started large and faded. “You’re going to be an art professor after all.” She was still smiling when the tears came. “Kansas is a long way away.”

The Prince left. The Queen sickened. And their kingdom fell fallow. She rallied once to extract a promise on his behalf and then all was thrust into darkness.

The brush in his hand shook when his computer pinged, signaling an email had arrived. He ignored it, not ready for the moment to end. He tucked his paintbrush in a jar of water and sighed.

This past weekend he’d packed a zippered case of paintings in his car, and gone to see Mother at the rest home. It was the nicest place he could afford. It didn’t have the faint urine smell of some of the others he’d toured and the nurses wore pressed uniforms. His mother knew them all by name. She’d memorized the route to the cafeteria, the pool for swim class, and the recreation room for backgammon. If he took her out, she’d have to start all over again.

Cheryl at the front desk gave him her usual. “Good evening, Mr. Bodge.”

“Hi, Cheryl. How is she tonight?”

“She was pretty lucid the last time I saw her. And that wasn’t long ago.” Then she smiled and leaned closer over the desk. “Since you called ahead we helped her do her hair. What have you got there?”

“Just a few pieces.”

“That sounds just great. Looking forward to seeing them. Come on back.”

Niles passed the front desk and crossed the round entryway. The resident apartments started through the door on the other side. He depressed the lever, went to her door and knocked.

When it opened the old smile was there. Her hair was still full and long, but grey, the color of flaky wood ashes. It was brushed to lay straight, falling over her shoulders to disappear behind. She’d given up smoking, thank god, and her teeth were a brilliant white. He gave her a hug. “Mom.”

“Son. Good to see you, Niles. What have you got there?”

He threaded his arm through hers and they made for the cafeteria. “It’s a surprise, Mom. You’ll have to wait and see.”

The followed the signs for the cafeteria. Residents waved from walkers or saluted with canes as they passed, and Niles slipped back for a moment into childhood fantasy.

The Prince was grown, touring the gardens at the side of the Queen. Their subjects smiled, and gave heartening cheers. The evening city opened before them. They set in a restaurant on spindly legged chairs, their eveningwear resplendent in reflected light.

Hesitantly, Niles came back to reality. They sat near the cafeteria windows with their trays, enjoying the last of the day. Then the darkness returned.

She started and then drifted. “You know I was thinking...”

He could see the confusion in her eyes. It arrived without warning, rolling in like storm clouds on an ocean coast, marked only by the familiar divot between her eyebrows.

She asked, “Where am I?”

He felt cold as if the doors to a freezer had been opened behind him pouring frigid air across his back. “We’re in the cafeteria.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m your son, Niles.” The floor dropped away. He was falling. Must have stepped over the ramparts. Too close to the edge.

“You couldn’t be. He’s only eight. You’d really like him. He’s so creative. Someday he’s going to do something. I saw his work and just knew. I took him to the Ben Franklin that same day, bought him his own set of paints.”

Like the flip of a switch her eyes seemed to clear and she gave him a large smile. She was her old self again, confident and true. She turned her head to the side, exposing her neck and took his hand in hers. “Oh, Julian,” she said. “I knew you’d come. I never should have doubted you.”

Niles fought to maintain himself. Even like this, his tears seemed to imbalance her. His signal brought the nurse on duty and she helped get Mother back to her room. Then he sat in his car until he could stop crying and drove home. Weekend over.

He put on his reading glasses, sat down at the computer, and scanned the email. It was from Wesley Brummert. He started at the top and began scrolling. His throat tightened when he realized he would have to speak in public.

Niles assembled the entire management staff in the cafeteria that afternoon. Saffron, Bee, himself, and Ian Tatupu occupied a row of brown plastic chairs at the front of the room. Ian probably could have used two-he hung over the sides of his chair like a freckled man-mountain.

Niles stepped forward and leaned on the podium, spilling hair into his glasses. He cleared his throat and nearly lost his nerve. Fifty sets of eyes flickered, with emotions ranging from boredom to dread.

“We as the leadership of the Frampton plant set the pace for Motomax. We continue a history of success and faith that started with my father following World War II.”

Saffron’s gaze disquieted him. He could tell her mind was somewhere else. Once she’d seen something in him. Had believed he would make a difference. Now clearly what she felt for him was hatred.

Saffron saw Niles staring. She smiled and nodded, encouraging him to go on. Then she sat like a Sphinx, her mask frozen in place. It was hard to hear Niles and not think of his father. She'd accidentally called him Julian once and taken satisfaction in the nauseous rage that surfaced. It was the most passionate she’d seen him.

Bodge continued. “You may be aware that we’ve had some recent setbacks. Profitability has fallen and lead times are increasing. As a result, we are forced to undertake some measures to bring us back to the plan.”

She couldn’t believe she’d left a top-shelf accounting firm to come here. Upkeep had never been done or was done half-hearted. There was misspending of funds that bordered on fraud. It reminded her of the first house she'd bought with her now ex-husband: half death trap, half money pit.

They’d considered suing Julian Bodge and then he died. Torturing him was impossible now. She settled for Niles as the next best thing. Julian had described his middle-aged son as creative and introspective. He’d provide continuity; keeping the Bodge name and the brand that came with it. They’d signed an airtight employment contract, understanding only after the ink was dry that old man Bodge was universally despised.

Niles was less than a cad, he was some sort of artistic dreamer. His watercolors were actually quite good. One hung in her entryway from before things went bad between them. But they needed someone who could run a factory, and that was not Niles Bodge.

Clients had noticed. Their largest customer, French car maker Escargot, was in secret contract negotiations with their competition. If news hit the papers, Motomax would bleed out on the front page of the Wall Street Journal and she would die with it. No one would hire a Chief Financial Officer that ran a company into bankruptcy.

“Effective right now there will be no new hiring. We will be closing off climate control to the production area. Operators are allowed to bring one box fan to protect against the heat. To reduce expenses, we will be idling three additional furnaces. As part of this process we are decreasing corporate contribution to your insurance.”

“In order to improve efficiency, we will expect all machine utilization to be maintained above ninety percent. These policies will remain in place indefinitely. It is only through the direction of this team that Frampton will once again lead the field. Thank you.”

She watched Niles place his folded speech in his pocket, then wait impassively for the supervisors to leave. They filed out avoiding eye contact and returned to the plant floor to inform their employees. Every bar in Frampton would be full tonight.