“Happy birthday Sarah Canon!”
“Oh it is your day Sarah! We can’t wait to cut the cake and give you our expensive gifts!”
A female voice sounded from a Masarati, once the car halted by the side of Sarah
Sarah blushed, had her soft, well-toned, hands on her mouth in awe.
I perched behind a tree, staring at Sarah Canon hoping my help was going to come from her, as she was the last resort that struck in my head.
Sarah Canon was the only child and daughter of the oil magnate Canon Johnson. No doubt she was the daughter of a billionaire whose outrageous arrogant character I got to know when she visited the Morgan Group to clench an oil distribution contract with Morgan Harris. At the time she had concluded her conference meeting with Morgan and his stake holders and didn’t know how Lala, a mastiff and our security dog got released on her. She was helpless; all she did was scream at the tops of her voice.
I was at the account department at the time, collecting documents which I would deliver at the other branches of Morgan Group, when I ran to her rescue, repelled the mastiff and led her to her yellow Lamborghini before her security came through.
She had appreciated me with a smile, a few introductions and hopes to be acquaintance before I went to jail.
At another time before I went to prison, when she came to clench an oil merchandizing contract with our Spanish client, Mr. La Makaze, she had issues with translation as Makaze was an ardent native Spanish speaker. No one at Morgan Group could do her translation for her. And while passing to deliver the food to staff of Morgan Group, I overheard her nagging. I volunteered and did her translation meritoriously at no fee.
Sarah had given me her complementary card and promised me vividly, “Anytime you can call on me, I would be of help,”
Right now Sarah was all I had and this was the time I needed her help. She was the only person that could be of help. She never came on my mind all this while. Her father, Canon Johnson was the wealthiest oil magnate in Rio Hondo.
A few years back, he maintained the number one spot in the Rio Hondo oil market with a gross net worth of sixty five billion dollars; that was huge at the time. And this had infuriated Morgan Harris who at the time was worth thirty billion dollars.”
Minutes dragged by and I was still perched behind the tree observing as Austin Martin, Rolls Royce, Masarati Cadbrio, Lamborghini and Ferrari of different colors drove into the Fanny villa with children of moneybags, multimillionaires, capitalist and Croesus of Rio Hondo alight from them, having handy luxurious gifts amidst smiles as they approached the celebrant , Sarah Canon.
Sarah was donning a super model polka-dotted mini-gown from the Italian Fashion Stock. She had a pink pur across her shoulders with curls of diamond bracelet and necklace glistening on her neck and wrist. Hefty heavily armed security flanked around her.
This daughter of a fat cat was just going to be of help to me. I perched at my spot, breathed hard and felt depressed as her rich cronies celebrated her with their luxuries.
“Heh, Sarah ,” a guy that just alighted from a Benz Maybach sounded, “Happy birthday,” he said and flashed a pearl of diamond bracelet.
“Wow. This is fabulous,” Sarah appreciated and left her mouth even wider when she seemed to have seen the POS slip, “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! This is worth fifteen million dollars. Damn! Thank you Fredrick.”
I swallowed hard, rubbed my eyes of the unbelievable sight.
“Today is your day. You deserve more. I just concluded my world tour, so I stopped in Saudi Arabia to buy you this.”
Sarah opened her embrace and they hugged.
“Heh, birthday, girl! Every twenty fifth of August must get my bank account balance weeping for your sake,” a chubby Caucasian girl sounded from her Porsche as soon as she halted.
Quickly her security alighted, opened the trunk and started unloading the money tree. They were about seven of them; I couldn’t believe wads of dollars were gathered into ten layers just to form a tree.
I rubbed my eyes in astonishment. Depression set into my head.
Sarah was still hugging the chubby. “This must have cost you much, Abigail,” she said, her eyes blazing with joy.
“Ten million dollars isn’t much, Sarah. Your next birthday I am going to make it twenty million,” the chubby assured Sarah.
“Have you forgotten in Abigail’s birthday, you gifted her that Posche car, uh Sarah,” an ectormoph , tall girl sounded and stretched out her hand to present a diamond bracelet, “Happy birthday, Sarah from me to you.”
“Oh thank you dear, Sarah,” said Sarah with a hug and a cheek brush.
“I have seen my helper,” I mumbled within myself, glanced at her complementary and got ready to approach Sarah Canon.
The party was about to steam up and Sarah was about stepping away into the crowd when she heard her name twice from somewhere behind.
“Sarah! Sarah!” I scuttled hastily. I believed she thought it was probably one of her affluent friends calling her to give her birthday gift. But the moment she swirled around and saw my unkempt, muck looks, she started gliding away to her security.
“Who the hell are you? Hold on!” she snapped as I caught up with her fast enough.
“It is me, Sarah. Brian Patrick,” I said and shook my long hair behind my neck, since it was masking my face.
“Brian Patrick?” she scowled her face, probably contemplating, “Who is Brian Patrick?” she asked, covered her nose and kept at her distance.
And I was reminded of my body odor. She sized me from head to toe, with emphatic gaze on the torn, ragged cloths that clad my lanky body and my scraggly beards.
“Who is Brian Patrick?” she pulled back her face yet trying to recall.
I reminded her “At Morgan Group, the delivery boy that saved you from the mastiff fifteen years ago, also I did your Spanish translation when you did business with La Makaze.”
With the gloom on her brow, she seemed to be lost in remembrance, and then I added, “But at least you know Morgan Harris.”
She gave a nod. “Yes, I know Morgan Harris because he is a billionaire and an associate. All I know about you is an unkempt, smelling ragged boy standing before me and mentioning Morgan Harris he barely knows.”
I protested, “No, no Morgan was my former boss. I was his delivery boy. I thought you would recognize me by mentioning him,” I said coldly and lowered my gaze in shame. You gave me this complementary card to always seek your help.” I flashed the card in her face.
She dragged a frown, “So what do you want from me, Mr. Delivery boy?” she queried very arrogantly and winked at me.
I smacked my lips, thinking it was already a lost course, “I …um… am out of prison. Nobody has agreed to employ me. My mother is down at the hospital with a kidney disease, our house rent is due. We can’t even feed, please can you loan me at least half a million dollars. It will go a long way to keep my mother alive. I will work hard and pay back …”
“Can you listen to yourself? Half a million dollars? First you look unkempt and smell. Who would employ someone with your looks and body odor?”
I interposed, “That is the problem. I can’t even afford two cents to shave. Like I said the loan will go a long way…”
She interrupted me, “Excuse me, Mr. Delivery boy. To start with, you don’t belong here. You are embarrassing me. I wouldn’t want my rich friends to see us together. Go to the street, stand, and beg that is where you belong,” she beamed and started drifting away.
“Hold on, Sarah, please don’t do this to me. I know you and you know me. This is your card. If I don’t know you how then did I get your card?”
She swirled around, “You are embarrassing me. I don’t know men of your class. Security!” she called once she turned her gaze to the party of security standing by, “Please bundle this ragged boy out of this villa. I got a birthday,” she ordered.
“No, Sarah, no,” I protested as her security carried out her orders.
“Go to the street, stand and beg that is where you belong.”
Those words of Sarah hung in my head as I walked down the busy road in depression and thought.
Suddenly fleets of Lamborghini, Rolls Royce, Ferrari, Masarati, Posche, Benz Maybach started zooming across the road in convoy. Merry voices sounded from the cars and I recognized some faces. They were Sarah’s friends, who had come to celebrate with her.
And then I saw her. She was wearing sunshades now and staring out to me from her yellow Lamborghini. I paused to stare sternly at her flamboyant lifestyle.
Like every other person, Sarah Canon stigmatized and disappointed me.
I looked in the sky for my next consolation and then my wife jumped in my mind.
“Melissa Fanny! What would become of her now?” I mumbled within myself, and walked away to visit her in their villa, the Fanny Villa…