By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2008 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

Victor Soames and his only friend, attorney Charles Devon, stood in their boardroom doorway watching thirteen broken men cross the opulent reception area.  After nearly thirty-six hours of negotiations, they were heading for the bank of elevators that would take them to the garage level where a bus was waiting to shuttle them to their various destinations.  Long gone were the limousines, but that was the least of their worries.  Their real problem was Victor Soames’ utter contempt for everything but his bottom line.  The men moved slowly and in silence, never looking back, their shoulders rounded, their heads bent with fatigue.

“I can’t believe you blindsided me like that!” Charles blasted his old friend.  “And why?  Our accountants established to both our satisfactions that we were the most stable manufacturer in the state.  We’re in the black.  All you had to do was cap salaries for a year or two and we would have been laughing.  Instead, between the office staff, designers and warehouse and factory people, you just dumped about three thousand people onto the unemployment rolls.  How could you do that?  And on Christmas Eve to boot?”

“I didn't expect anybody to be happy with my decisions.  Not even you.  And I didn't tell you beforehand because you would have tried to change my mind.  Soames Design’s first and only mandate is to make money.  It wasn't making enough money.  Period.  I did what I had to do.”

“You did what you wanted to do.  And if making money was your father’s priority, this talented design division would never have been developed.  The old man must be turning in his grave!”

“Whatever,” Victor snorted.

They headed for the bar in the executive suite.  Both men stood over six feet and with their shared dark curly hair and piercing black eyes, they looked like brothers.

“Look, the board and the shareholders are used to profits they can buy more than lunch with and they were obviously disappointed.  But they were not looking to shut down the whole operation.  You manipulated the situation.  You managed to get everybody at each other’s throats.  The manufacturers were yelling at the retailers, the union and board members were threatening each other.  You whipped up a real Donnybrook and used it as a rational to call it quits.  You were fucking ruthless, if you ask me.”

“But, I’m not asking you.  You’re still my lawyer and on retainer.  You haven’t lost anything.  What’s your problem?  It’s not like I threw those folks out on the street.  What do you think unemployment, welfare and food stamps are for?  All this Christmas hype just encourages people to spend money they don’t have.  You’ve got to accept that the world isn’t fair and be glad you’re on the right side of it.”  He poured two neat Scotches.  “Come on, Charlie, have a drink.”

“A drink to celebrate what?  You’ve just sent people away with no hope for the future.  People who have worked hard for us, made us the strong fashion house we are.  How many times did your Dad tell us so proudly about how the designers and cutters and machinists worked long hours and for almost nothing to keep the company going during the depression?  And they’ve kept us on a pretty rich gravy train until now.  Have you forgotten all that?”

“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Victor said, sipping his drink.  “You know the difference between you and me?  Sentimentality.  And I can’t abide the stuff.  We’re involved in a business here and don’t you forget it!  We’ll see what the markets do in the next year.  When things change, we’ll be back in business.”

“After what you’ve done, you won’t have a business.  People can only take so much.  Our designers were here for your father, not you, and you’ve royally screwed them.  In the new year, they’ll send out their résumés and every one of them will be gobbled up.  Your money won’t do you a bit of good after that.  Your father would be so ashamed of you.  And stop waving that glass at me!  I don’t want a drink.”  Charles checked his watch.  “You kept all of us here, away from our families, until 8:30 PM on Christmas Eve.  All my wife asked me to contribute to tomorrow’s meal was a Carol’s Christmas pudding.  She reminded me over and over that the bakery closed at 5 and now I’ve even fucked that up.  I’m going to catch hell.”  Charles slammed his briefcase on the table, opened it and took out took a beautifully wrapped box.  “Here,” he said, passing it to Victor.

“You know better than to buy me a present.”

“Indeed, I do,” Charles snapped back.  “This is the gift you should have bought for Florence.  It’s an antique brooch she admired when we were walking past Selby’s last week.  I want you to give it to her.  Right now.  And then I’ll give her a lift home.  A woman her age shouldn’t have to suffer the crush of the subway tonight and she needs to get home to her family.”

“Give it to her yourself,” Victor said.

“I would, except that it would mean more coming from you.  Don’t you know how much that woman adored your father and now you.  You couldn’t have inherited a better personal assistant.  And you treat her like you treat the rest of us.  Like shit.  The least you can do is give her a nice Christmas present and I’m not leaving until you do at least this one decent thing.”

“If it’ll stop your whining.”

Victor took the box and buzzed for Florence.  He had hardly called her name before she walked in.  She looked at Victor, her handsome face beaming and her perfectly coiffed hair shining like a silvery halo.  But while Victor kept his eyes locked on her approaching face, all he could really see were her breasts.  They swelled out from under her red cashmere sweater, sending erotic currents surging through Victor’s body.  Her enormous bosom set off an almost forgotten tingling sensation in his balls.  Florence had been hiding her treasures for years under loose and bulky tops.  Now they were on full display. And for the first time in years, Victor felt completely out of control and vulnerable.  Her tits loomed bigger the closer she got and although Victor felt irresistibly drawn to them, he forced his eyes to stay locked on hers.

“This is for you,” Victor said, handing her the box.

“Oh my,” she exclaimed.  “I wasn’t expecting . . .”  Florence tore away the paper and opened the box.  She gazed at the yellow gold Victorian Bar Pin.  She reverently touched the old mine cut diamond that was its centered and crowning glory.  “Would you pin it on me?” she asked, moving close to Victor and patting the billowing rise of her upper breast.

Victor took the pin with trembling hands and pinned it onto Florence’s sweater.  She stood stock still for a second, but then flung herself into Victor’s arms.  All he could feel were her soft and spongy breasts pressing into him.  His cock surged and beads of sweat pimpled his forehead.  He could smell her perfume.  It was delicate and lady-like.  Victor clung to Florence and felt himself falling into a sexual abyss over which he knew he’d have no control.  Some realization, some past knowledge of his inability to control himself in the face of them was knocking on his memory’s door.  Struggling against his every instinct, Victor pulled himself away from her and from the demands of his own body.

“It’s beautiful,” Florence gushed.  “I’ll treasure it forever!”

“Get your things,” Victor said, “Charles will run you home.”

“Really?  Thank you.  I’ll just get my coat and purse and be right back.”  A grateful Florence rushed from the room.

“That was very interesting,” Charles grinned.  “More fun than I’ve had for many a day.  She really got to you.  You almost seemed human.”

“Don’t be silly,” Victor said, turning back to his drink.  “That’s just more of your mawkishness.

“Whatever you say,” Charles laughed.  “But, on a more serious note, I want you to think long and hard about what went on here today.  Money was meant as a means of exchange, some kind of commodity valuation.  Only fools consider its collection an end in itself, while life passes them by.  Idiots have the right to print it.  And bigger dunderheads make the decisions to distribute it.  At least consider the fact that people and their welfare might be more important.  Promise me you’ll reconsider.”

“Saved by the bell,” Victor said, as Florence came back into the room.

“Can I drop you off?  I’ll be driving right past your place,” Charles offered.

“I’ll walk,” Victor said.

He watched Charles and Florence head out to the elevators.  He was hungry after his drink and his head ached from negotiations that had lasted around the clock.  He felt like elastic bands were tightening around his legs and torso.  He plodded to the closet in reception and wearily dressed, placing heavy arms through the sleeves of his overcoat and sitting down to pull on his boots.  He had wanted so badly to accept Charles’ offer of a ride, but he couldn’t risk a lecture, especially in front of Florence.  He set the office security system, turned out the lights and locked up.  He felt alone, but grateful.  No more talk about poor people out of work and bloody Christmas.

He seemed to be the last person in the whole building.  Riding down in the elevator, he wondered what it would be like to be the last person in the world.  He felt suddenly very, very cold.  And afraid.  “Alone in the world?  That would be great,” he told himself.

Outside, a bitter wind crept beneath his scarf to bite his skin and the heavy snowfall impaired his vision.  Victor hated the snow.  It blurred the sharp edges of things: the architectural lines on buildings, the demarcation between street and sidewalk.  Between a Mercedes and a discount car.  Between the over-coated rich and poor.  Victor needed to know what differentiated one thing from another, where the power lay.  He leaned into the wind, measuring his speed by the sound of his footsteps crunching on icy ground.

Gratefully, he soon found himself in front of his Brownstown.  He hurried up the few stairs to the front door and unlocked it.  Once inside, Victor sniffed the air.  Something was amiss.  No, everything was amiss.  He hurriedly rid himself of all outerwear and strode down the hall.  A welcoming warmth and the delectable smell of a simmering stew greeted him.  Victor only used up firewood when he had special business guests.  And the housekeeper, Molly, bequeathed to him through his father’s implacable will, was off visiting family for the holidays.

“Who’s here?” he roared, to the quiet house.

He walked past the living room, where a fire crackled brightly and a tree that hadn’t been there two days ago stood proudly, decorated like a general of the highest order.  In the distance, he thought he could hear someone’s laughter, raucous and challenging.  And then again, the silence.

“Show yourself,” Victor demanded.

He continued along the hall to the kitchen.  A crock pot bubbled atop the stove and the aroma of freshly baked bread sent him to the oven, where a baguette sat, warm and waiting.

Victor was as confused as he was infuriated.  He would never leave a fire warming an empty house.  He would never spend the money to make such an exorbitant repast for himself.  Molly must have returned.

As tired as he was, he climbed the two flights of stairs to the attic, which had become Molly’s quarters.  While his father was alive, she occupied a suite on the second floor, but since then, with a lifetime interest in this house, she chose to move up and away from Victor.  He knocked on her door.

“Molly, I want to speak to you,” he said, to the silent and empty garret, jumping when that same shrill laughter pierced the air.

Victor opened Molly’s door and looked inside.  Nothing.  He checked every room on the second floor.  No one.  He checked every room on the first floor.  Everywhere a barren wasteland.

Victor’s fatigue was now crippling.  And he was hungry.  He might as well eat.  He wasn’t about to waste good food.  His ears, thawing from the cold, felt like they were on fire.  His nose dripped.  He pulled a handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket and blew loudly.  “What the hell is going on?” he asked himself, as he headed for the kitchen.  He felt like he was losing his mind.  Besides, he couldn’t forget the sight or feel of Florence’s breasts.  He couldn’t help wanting that reality again, wanting a woman in his bed, in his hands.  He pushed the thought away.

Victor fixed himself a plate and headed for the fire.  He sat in his armchair and put his meal on the television tray that he last remembered having seen stacked in the basement years ago.  Whomever was playing games was wasting their time.  Victor was too tired and too hungry to care.  He listened to the wind as he gobbled his feast, its howl punctuated by the laughter that seemed to be gathering force, coming closer like thunder heralding the onset of a tropical storm.  He felt thirsty, just before the carafe of red wine appeared on the table, the glass beside it full.  With trembling hand, Victor reached for the glass and spilled wine all over the tray when a loud cackle of witches exploded just behind him.  He turned quickly and thought he saw green, ugly leering faces, just before they dissolved.

Victor could take no more.  He abandoned food, wine and spillages and headed for the stairs and the safety of his sleeping quarters.  Breathing hard and fast, he closed and locked the door behind him against forces he didn’t understand and couldn’t control.  He cleaned his teeth, put on his pajamas and climbed, shivering, under the sheets.

He closed his eyes and made a mental list of what he knew to be true.  Molly was the only other person with a key.  She must have come home to prepare what she considered a nice surprise for him before heading back to her family.  An extravagant and wasteful effort, but he could live with that.  Two, what he had thought of as laughter, must have been the wind.  Period.  His breathing soon slowed and he soon found himself falling into a deep sleep.

But he kept falling.  At first it was pleasant, very peaceful.  But he kept dropping faster into a blacker and more swiftly swirling vortex.  It was a kind of psychic cyclone that left Victor breathless and fearful.  But he also felt exhilarated and totally alive.  The twister then subsided, became an eddy and then a gentle whirlpool.  Light was coming peacefully, like in the dawn.  Victor felt like he was being rocked in a warm, wet womb.  He felt safe.  It was making him horny.  Perfectly, deliciously horny.  And then a jolt.  He had landed, but he didn’t know where he was.  He wasn’t in his bed.  Victor shook his head violently, as if trying to reset his brain.  But the action, both crude and useless, only hurt his head.

“Think,” he admonished himself.  “What do you see?”

Women.  Beautiful women with incredible breasts.

“Some kind of beauty pageant,” Victor presumed.  Now, what did he hear?

The women are discussing a case, the Victor Soames case.  Saying there’s nothing complex about it.  That they can deal with his past, present and future all in one sitting.

Cancel the pageant.  Seems he was on trial in some women’s court.  Which meant he was still asleep and dreaming.  But why couldn’t he wake himself up?  Okay.  He needed more facts.  “What are they doing?” he asked himself.

Waiting.  There’s a judge and a jury already sitting.  And then there’s me.  I seem to be tied up in what looks frighteningly like an electric chair with all the bells and whistles.

Okay, Victor reasoned.  I’m having a nightmare and I’m too tired to wake up.  I have no choice but to go with the flow.  What are they up . . .

Sh-sh-sh.  They’re beginning.  The judge is addressing her court.

“These cases are always painful, so let’s make it as simple and quick as we can.” She turned to face Victor directly with a frighteningly stern gaze.  “You are here because you seem to have lost your humanity, which means you’ve lost yourself.  We’re here to try and help you find it.  Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, I have,” Victor said.  “Is this a trial and, if it is, who is counsel for the defence?”

“Don’t think of this as a trial.  Think of it as an examination of your life.  A tool to make it more meaningful.”  The judge leaned back in her chair and stretched.  Her breasts rose and expanded, pushing her black jacket open to revel a white camisole that set her huge breasts off to perfection.  Her voice was deep, sexy and richly toned.  Victor was surprised to find that he wanted to please her.  Wanted her to think well of him.  “And you don’t need counsel,” she continued.  You’re an intelligent man.  You need to speak for yourself.  The goal here is to have you understand yourself.  So, whenever you have something to say, just raise your hand.”

Victor raised his hand.  “There is something else,” he said, sounding whiney, even to his own ears.  “What’s with this chair?  It’s making me very nervous.”

The jury tittered, but fell silent when the judge looked at them sternly.  “The chair measures your reaction to things and I can read them off this pad.”  She held up what looked like a Blackberry.  “You won’t feel anything.  Try to ignore it.  Just watch the screen.”

Victor felt like he was looking down at himself and reasoned that this was the most real dream he had ever had.  He studied the giant screen that had magically appeared, a screen that was soon filled with the image of an eighteen year old Victor chasing his first love, Sarah, down a hill toward the river.  And Victor remembered as though it were yesterday.

Sarah was wearing white shorts on that blazing hot day, her long tanned toned legs racing like the thoroughbred she was.  Her white T-shirt, its fibres stretched to the limit, covered breasts that were humungous in proportion to the rest of her tight, lean body.  Her single thick blond braid flew and her full tits bounced as she ran.  Victor watched, feeling joy that took his breath away.

The scene changed.  He and Sarah were sitting on the grass beside the river, forehead to forehead.  They were poring over a sketchpad of dress designs that Sarah had drawn in her art class, creations so original that Victor had shown them to his father.

“My dad says you’re wickedly clever and talented,” Victor said.  He was as proud as if he’d drawn them himself.  “He says to come see him as soon as you finish school.”

“That’s amazing,” Sarah said.

Victor touched her cheek.  “I love you, Sarah.  I want to marry you someday.”

“I love you, too,” Sarah said, for the first time.

Victor took her in his arms.  He kissed her gently, but then pried her mouth open when he heard her soft groan of passion.  The kiss went on and on.  They couldn’t end it.  Their bodies were crying out too loudly for more.  They stretched out on the blanket, arms and legs entwining in a desperate need for closeness.

“Can we?” Victor groaned.

“Yes.”

They undressed with the hurried awkwardness of youth.  Victor tugged at her sweatshirt, pulling it over her large breasts, then her arms and head, until Sarah’s enormous orbs were left exposed, her white lacy bra stretching on for what seemed like endless miles as it fought to contain them.  At first sight, his face fell headlong into her beckoning cleavage and he lost his mind.  There were no condoms.  No thoughts of safety.  Only an afternoon of fucking and then making love, as they began to learn each other’s body.

Watching the screen, Victor’s cock grew rock hard and his heart beat crazily.  Sarah, his first and only love.  His eyes filled with tears, not only because of what he’d lost, but how he’d lost it.

The next sequence, about two months later, featured Sarah coming up to him in the cafeteria, grabbing his hand and taking him for a walk.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her eyes full of tears.

“Don’t worry,” Victor said, hugging her.

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.  I’ll take care of you.  We’ll get married.”

Sarah threw herself into his arms, her face awash in tears of relief.

Victor had to raise his hand again.  “I’m sorry, Judge,” he cried.  “I was a real fool.  Please, don’t make me watch anymore.”

“There are just two more scenes in this series and then we’ll be done,” the judge said.  “It’s your past and you need to confront it.”

Victor watched himself waltzing Dana Parks, the popular cheerleader daughter of the town’s wealthy financier, around the gymnasium floor.  It was their graduation dance.  He’d started to see Dana while Sarah was busy putting extra hours into her art, trying to please him, to better prepare for a good life together.  But he could take only one girl to the prom.  Dana was rich.  Her father had all the connections a young man fancied, so he chose her.  And when he did, Dana made sure that Sarah found out before he had a chance to tell her.  He hadn’t seen Sarah since that day.  She’d dropped out of school and disappeared.  He assumed she’d moved away and had an abortion.  And all he’d felt then was relief.  All he felt now was shame and loss.

He studied his own face during that dance.  He never stopped smiling, but the expression was fixed, guarded and without joy.  He’d already begun to climb the money tree, and as he watched, he realized that he hadn’t had an honestly happy day since then.  What he had was a ferociously greedy and consuming agenda.  He wanted the pictures to stop, but he knew there was more.  Just one more.

Sarah was on a podium receiving some kind of Design Award, ending her acceptance speech.

“But, I have to thank an old childhood friend for giving me my greatest gift, our son Gerard II.  And my husband, Gerard, for affording us our loving, healthy and happy lives.”

“I have a son?” Victor cried.  “I have a son.”

“You might have had, if you’d been decent enough.  But, no.  You don’t have a son.  Sarah and Gerard have a son,” the judge said.

Victor could feel years of suppressed emotions rising up and spilling over.  He’d felt happiness again, love again, and he wanted it back.  But he didn’t know how to get it.  So he channelled his feelings into something he could handle.  Aggression.

“I want my son.  He’s mine and I’ll get him back, no matter what it takes.”

The judge punched her pad and Victor felt a shock rock his body.  It shook his head and rattled his teeth.

“What was that?” he screeched.

“A warning,” said the judge.  “Remember where you are.  This is not a place to shout out.  And I don’t need to reference the jury.  You haven’t even begun to learn what your past was trying to teach you.  We’ll need to advance to phase two.  See what a look at your present can do for you.”

Victor slouched back in his chair.  His body felt slack.  His head empty.  He wondered what would be coming next.  He had no idea.  All he could do was wait.

“Proceed,” the judge instructed the court officer.

The film started immediately.  Tanya, his company’s head designer, had just reached home from her meeting with Victor.  Her husband was helping her take off her coat.

“I’ve lost my job.  The whole company has been laid off.”

“No way,” her husband said.  “Wasn’t the company doing well?”

“Brilliant for these times.  But the greedy bastard isn’t satisfied with his profits.  I loved working for his father, but I’m so over him.  He’s a mean, unimaginative, stupid asshole!”

“Well, we have no kids to disappoint, so let’s not let him spoil one more moment for us.  And don’t forget, you have that standing offer from Chanteon Styles.  Chanteon seems to really appreciate you.”

“Don’t worry.  I’ll be calling him right after the holidays.”

The next up was Florence.  She was sitting in a chair by the fire, a shaggy dog at her feet.  She was still wearing that same red sweater and Victor could still hear her tits calling his name.

“How about some eggnog?”

Her husband passed her the glass and then stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders, letting his fingers drift over her breasts.  Her nipples sprung to attention.

“That’s a beautiful brooch.  At least he thanked you this year.”

“That’s what I hoped, at first, until Charles gave me a ride home.  He didn’t say anything, but I know he’s the one who picked out this present.  Victor doesn’t care about anybody but himself.  He’s as crippled spiritually as a man with no arms or legs.  His father was a great man, but there’s all sorts missing from that man’s make-up.”

“Well, he’s not worth thinking about.  Let’s take that eggnog upstairs, my beautiful gal.  I’m going to make you feel sixteen again.”

Florence was already halfway there.  She bounced out of her chair and giggled as she took her husband’s hand.

Victor was feeling smaller and smaller with each film clip.  He was surprised at how much it hurt to realize how very little people thought of him.

“That’s enough,” he pleaded.

“Just one more,” the judge insisted.

Charles was in his kitchen, holding his wife close.

“I don’t blame you, baby,” his wife was saying.  “It’s that monster, Victor.  I can’t stand the way he treats you, the way he treats everybody.  Who does he think he is?  The bottom line is that trying to direct the course of an evil man takes it’s toll and you deserve better.  I want you to quit.  Look for another job.  We’ll manage.”

“I’ll think about it,” Charles said.  “I’m just glad to be rid of him during the holidays.”

Just then all three of his children dashed into the room.  “Come see what we made for the tree,” they exclaimed with excitement. “Just for you and mom.”

They had all crowded around their parents and were hugging whatever part of them they could.  It was a pretzel of a group hug, full of happiness and love.

“No more,” Victor said, his voice cracking.  “Even Charles hates me!”

“You still think it’s all about you,” the judge said, her voice full of sadness.  “I had hoped you’d have cracked by now, shown us some real comprehension of what’s going on around you.  But all you care about is how you are perceived, what people think of you.  What do you think, jury?”

“Well, the past didn’t touch him and the present didn’t move him.  I say we show him his future.”

The screen flickered to life again.  Everybody was in the office.  It seemed to be a thriving, happy place, but it was no longer Soames Design.  It was Tanya’s International.  Charles, Florence, Tanya, the union guys and everybody who had been at the meeting, even Molly was there.  They were crowded around a television set.  His picture was full frame, a voice-over intoned his obituary.

“The funeral’s this afternoon,” Tanya announced. “Anybody who wishes to go can have the time off.  Anybody?”

The silence was deafening.

“With pay.  Nobody will be docked,” she added.

Still no response.

“Are you going?” Charles asked.

“No, I’ve got things to do,” Tanya said.  “I have to deliver the profits from our sale to the folks over at the Homeless Kids’ Drive.”

That was it.  The chatting and laughter resumed as they all got back to work.

Victor heard the howling before he realized it was his own voice, crying out in a wilderness of loss, humility and pain.  It was as if he were seeing himself for the first time in years.  He was a wretched, ridiculous man.

“I’m sorry, dad,” he moaned and garbled through his tears.  “I’m sorry, mom.  I promise to do better.  I’ll do everything I can to make it up to those wonderful people you entrusted me with.  I’m so sorry.”

“Rest now,” the judge said.  “Good work.  Just rest.”

Victor awoke to a pounding on his door.  His pillow was wet from his weeping and he felt as though he was rising out of the ashes of his past.

“It’s me, Molly,” a voice called out. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Molly.  For the first time in a long time, I’m fine.”

“Alright, then.  See you in the morning.”

Victor checked his bedside clock.  Midnight.  It was still Christmas Eve.  There was so much to do.  So many mistakes to fix.  But first, some sleep.  Victor had never been so tired in his life.

It was 5:00 AM Christmas morning when Victor woke.  He washed, dressed and rushed downstairs.  His mind was blazing with things he needed to do.  But he wasn’t discouraged.  He was determined and felt more alive than he could remember.

Molly was already up and buzzing around the kitchen when he got downstairs.

“Good morning, Victor.  I know you’re angry about the stew, but . . .”

“Not at all,” Victor bellowed.  “It was wonderful of you to make it for me.  And thanks for the fire.  It was very cold when I got in.”

He looked at Molly.  She was staring at him as thought she’d seen a ghost.

“I came back because I couldn’t stop thinking about your father and I knew that it was time to have a proper Christmas around here.  I got all the fixings.”

“Cook away, Mary.  I have a bit of running around to do, but I’ll be home for your Christmas dinner.”

He checked the Yellow Pages, wrote down a number and rushed out of the door.  All Molly could do was smile.

At 6:00 AM, he called Carol of Carol Cakes & puddings.

“I wish I were not so desperate as to have to invade your privacy at this hour.  But I am this desperate,” Victor spoke quickly, but softly.

Slow down and tell me your troubles.

“I’m glad you’re laughing.  Without going into too much detail, I’ve just won the asshole of the century award and I need to make amends.  Yesterday my best and only friend was supposed to pick up one of your puddings for his family and he didn’t because I forced him and a whole lot of people into a stupid meeting.  I would do anything to be able to deliver one of your puddings.  The price is no object.  I owe that man more than I have.  Please help me.”

You’re on speakerphone.  I’m dressing.  Do you have my bakery’s address?

“Yes.  13 Lake Drive.”

How soon can you get there?

“I’m parked outside your door.  I’ve been here for awhile.”

I’m three blocks north at 971.  Pick me up.  I’ll be waiting in the lobby.

“Wonderful and thanks again.”

See you soon.  Bye.

Bye.

Before Victor could even stop his car outside 971, a tiny woman flew out of the door, long coat and scarf flapping in the wind.  He could hear her laughing as soon as she yanked the door open.

“Mr. Asshole, I suspect,” she said, proffering her mittened hand.

“And you must be the lovely Carol.”

Victor looked into sparkling blue eyes that managed a deep warmth despite their color.  The woman wore absolutely no make-up and her skin was as creamy perfect as a baby’s.

“How old are you?” Victor burst out.  “You don’t look old enough to go to the bakery alone, more less run one.”

“You do amuse me,” Carol said, “and that’s an invaluable talent.  So I’ll answer your insolent question.  I’m forty-nine and feel it after I’ve been on my feet all day.  I could ask about your age, but I don’t care.  I just want to know what makes you such a bastard.”

Once Carol was safely seat-belted, Victor pulled away from the curb.  She took off her woollen hat and rubbed her close cap of blond curls.  She was a stunning natural beauty and easy to talk to, which is what Victor did as he drove slowly along the slippery street.  He didn’t try to explain or excuse the facts.  He simply told all: about the meeting and layoffs.  About Molly and the stew.  Even about his dreams.

“You were old hell on tired wheels,” she said, climbing out of the car right in front of the bakery, “but we can’t change the past.  Let’s try and heal some of these wounds you’ve created.  I’ll help you.  I got nothing better to do.”

“What?  No family?  No Friends?”

“No family.  Lots of friends, but they’re all fine compared to you.  You, Sir, need help.”

They walked into the bakery and Carol turned on the heat.  She took off her coat and Victor was lost.  He stared at the jeans that hugged her perfect buttocks.  One cheek sized to grace each of his cupped hands, he mused.  But most of all, from her tiny frame came breasts that looked bigger than her tiny head.  And were they proud?!  Victor wanted to lie with her.  If he couldn’t touch, so be it.  He’d be happy to just look.  And while the black turtleneck covered every inch of her bosom, the mounds that rose up from beneath her sweater, the shadows they cast, the dreams they unleashed in Victor’s newly awakened soul, left his knees weak and his groin swarming with need.  He loved his new horniness and the vulnerability that came with a cock that grew in the face of the woman causing it.  And then he heard her tinkling laughter.

“Enjoying the view, Mr. Asshole.  Carry on.  I love that adoring look on your face.”

Victor could feel his face turning red.  He had never married and, for long periods in his life, had gone without any female companionship at all.  So, on this morning, in this bakery, Victor felt like this was well … Christmas.

Carol was packing her last two Christmas puddings in decorative boxes.  “Do you want to include a note before I wrap these up?”

“No, I’ll just leave it for them.”

“What about the rest of your company? All the people you laid off?”

“I’m going to give them a good bonus and rescind every stupid thing I said and did at the meeting.  I’m also going to invite them to dinner during the holidays to have a casual discussion about what’s best for everyone.”

“How many people are we talking about?”

“Thirteen at the meeting.  Sixteen including me, Charles and Florence.”

“We’ll make Christmas packages for everyone.  Your nice bonus, your abject apology, your invitation to the dinner meeting. . .  and a Carol cake!”

“I’ll certainly pay you for your time and generous offerings.”

“You can’t afford my time or my generous offerings.  Keep on this path and you’ll learn that it’s better to give.  And a hell of a lot of fun!”

Victor looked on amazed as Carol began to box cakes and cookies, all tied up with pretty ribbons.  When she was done, they packed up the car and drove to Victor’s.  Carol and Molly sorted out addresses and their delivery route, while Victor handled the bonus cheques and invitations to the dinner meeting.

They made deliveries all day.  Victor stayed in the car while Carol rang doorbells.  They didn’t get back home until 3:30 PM.

The house was full of the savoury aromas of turkey and ham and baked goods.

“The phone’s been ringing off the hook,” Molly exclaimed gleefully.  “You’ve sure made a lot of people happy today, Master Vic.  Your daddy would be some proud of you.”

Master Vic.  Molly hadn’t called him that in years.  Victor couldn’t help himself.  He rushed over and took Molly in his arms.  She patted him, cooing softly, while he cried.

“Enough,” Molly said finally, and held him away from her.  “You have one call to make.  Charles.  And he doesn’t seem at all happy.”

“I don’t blame him,” Victor said.  “I’ve treated him like dirt.  I think he’s going to quit.”

“You don’t know that,” Carol said.

“Only one way to find out,” Molly said.  “Put it on speaker phone.  You might need our help.”

Victor called Charles.

“So you think a bit of money and a cake is going to fix what you did?  How dare you?”  Charles sounded beyond angry.

“I’m so sorry! And I love you!” Victor repeated over and over as he desperately pleaded for his friend’s forgiveness. He said it so many times that Molly finally burst into laughter.

“I couldn’t resist,” Charles was saying.  “I love you, too, and never more than today.  Molly tells me you’ve finally met your match.  And she makes great cakes, too.  Thanks guys and drop by for a drink anytime.  I wanted you all to come over for dinner, but Molly told me that she wanted you all to herself.  Enjoy, friends, and Merry Christmas!”

“Same to you and yours.”

Victor ended the call.  Everyone was laughing.

“I think I need a nap,” Carol said.

“Is that what you young folks call it?” Molly said.  “Run along with you and nap away.  Dinners at seven.”

Carol waited while Victor climbed gratefully under the sheets.  She then began to hum David Rose’s ‘The Stripper’ as she wiggled provocatively out of her jeans and then her tights.  Victor stared, his eyes gleaming with lust.  He couldn’t believe what was happening.  This goddess who he’d met just this morning was stripping for him.  In his bedroom.  Now for the sweater.  He prayed that she’d take her time and she did.  When she revealed the first hint of her lacy black bra, Victor thought he’d pass out, he was so titillated.  But he didn’t because there was more and more lace and he didn’t want to miss a thing.  And then she revealed her creamy flesh inch by inch, the two massive mounds of her breasts forming a line of cleavage a man could get lost in.  Oh, how she danced and swayed and posed.  And just for him.

Victor watched his sheet rise with horror, and then resignation, and then pride.  He was too lost in the pleasure to care about this humiliation.  All he wanted was Carol, her optimism, her great love of life and her huge tits.  He could hardly remember life before her.  It was as if he had died and been born again.  Especially when she pulled back the sheets and said, “This is what happens to good and kind men,” and took his engorged cock first into her hands and then into her warm wet mouth.

Victor didn’t last long and that was fine.  Carol crawled into his arms and they both slept.  Sometime during the afternoon, they awoke, looked into each others eyes and then crawled into each other’s bodies, cock into pussy, tongues into mouths.  They made love and then fucked themselves to a memorable and mutual orgasm.

Molly had worked so hard, that Carol wanted to dress for dinner.  Victor drove her home and persuaded her to bring her three suitcases full of her clothes back to his house.  Molly was singing loudly and off key when they got back.

“Joy to the world . . .”

Victor hadn’t heard that dreadful sound since the Christmases of his happy childhood and he didn’t want it to ever end.