Hoffers Greenfield writhed in pain while he stood on his trembling knees and listened to the announcement on TV. News had it that Charity Intercontinental had been awarded the two million dollars cooking contract for the banquet birthday party of Mr. President.
I ensured this news wasn’t swept under the carpet. I made sure all the newspaper and media homes broadcasted it so well that it became the trending news; at least Hoffers would never hide and shy away from the news.
With trembling hands and sweating brow, he paced up and down in his office, gulped down strong wine for quite uncountable times, grinned, and hugely stroked his hair as he tuned the TV to different channels to see the news was everywhere now.
Lost in the gloom of loss and failure Hoffers was interrupted by a knock on the door and the entrance of his aide who was having handy a newspaper. He shot a frustrating look at the aide and settled his red gloomy eyes on the news paper. “What are you doing here? I can’t remember inviting your dirty ass!” his voice seemed nothing less than quarrel and scorn. Although he lost the verve to query the newspaper in his hand, he knew certainly his aide had come to discuss his failure of the moment.
“Boss this is becoming unbearable,” his aide sounded before he noticed the tears that welled up the dark chocolate eyes of his boss. He just noticed he had been crying silently. “I thought we clenched on this cooking deal. Why would the world richest man treat us in such manner?” the aide placed the newspaper on his desk, with a page of Charity Campbell smiling cheek to cheek as she aired her gratitude for being availed such fabulous cooking contract.
Hoffers turned around, tucked his teary face to the wall with the intent to avoid him from seeing as he wailed to his satisfaction, “I don’t know what I did to the world richest man, dear.” He sniffed and sucked in a sudden deep breath. “He denied me a cooking contract already awarded to me by Mr. President and gave it to that mushroom hungry-looking charity Campbell.” His fingers molded to white knuckle as he gnashed his teeth.
His aide sounded, “Everyone is as surprised as you, boss. Who is Charity Intercontinental in this industry ? Everyone knows that we are the best when it comes to food business.” He tossed his head in pity, “I just wondered what came over the world richest man. Something is fishy somewhere.” His gaze came upon the news paper in one thoughtful moment, “This is not ordinary. There is no smoke without fire, boss.”
Finally Hoffers turned his face to him, “I am yet to understand what I did to this mogul, huh.” He had a sip at his wine and steadied his nagging quarrelsome gaze on my image on the TV now, “I have never known Mike Don from Adam. We have never met. I don’t think I did anything against Mike Don that would warrant him to blow hot at me…”
His aide fought back the urge to say stuff that could earn him a query or sack. But regardless, he hardly could hide the shame,
“Boss, two million dollars is so much a money to wave goodbye. That money is enough to give me the guts to slap every goddamn person in Rio Hondo…”
Hoffers shot his gloomy eyes at him and those thunderous looks on his face may never house a twinkle for the rest of his life. “If anyone could reach to the world richest man, please inform him that he has succeeded in ruining me. He has ruined my career. For over twenty years no restaurant has snatched a contract from me until recently…”
His voice snapped and gave room for the thudding of his heart beat. He lowered his gaze and tossed his head in peril.
“But boss, I suggest you return to the world richest man and convince him to see the milestone of success we have covered and how outstanding we are from the rest of this mushroom restaurant that has got no name.” He stood up and those popped up veins under his brow was evidence of the fury boiling in him. He gestured his hands across the office which had set of trophies scattered all over the wall, “We have won trophies and established our name in the sand of time. For Mr. President to have awarded us the contract it shows we have been the domineering game changers…”
The aide was yet speaking when a clamoring knock on the door interrupted him and their gaze shot at the door instantly. Hoffers gave an offensive look that meant to ask; who the hell was that.
“The door is open!” the aide answered anxiously and when the delivery boy walked in with newspaper handy, he perceived it was all about the ridicule of the moment.
Hoffers’ lips curved in fury.
The delivery boy bowed, “Greetings boss. Apologies for disrupting your discussion.” He started flipping through pages of the newspaper, “I just came to confirm if this is true.” He raised it, opened to a page and brought it to his view. “We just lost the contract to Charity Intercontinental…”
He had barely finished his statement when Hoffers yelled at him, “Yes, yes, is that the reason you brought your poverty-stricken face to my office, huh? Can’t you see I am in no mood for nonsense?” anger was knotted in his throat as he focused his go-to-hell, gloomy eyes on him, “I don’t know why delivery boys are annoying and dope! Could you please leave my presence with that newspaper, you moron!” he barked and pounded his feet on the floor.
The door creaked and banged; the boy had left.
Hoffers emphatically stated yet again, “I don’t know if delivery boys have a common tie. He is just as daft as Brian Patrick, my former delivery boy…”
Hmmm. …Hoffers never knew Mike Don, the world richest man; my very self was Brian Patrick
He was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.
His aide paced to the phone and shot a widened gaze when he saw who was calling, boss, “It is the world richest man,” he sounded.
Hoffers raised an anxious brow…
Something was about to happen…