Coy - Part Sixteen - "Touch My Lips" - (C)

Coy

Part Sixteen 

"Touch My Lips"

(C)

            The word ‘Me’; its verbal deployment by I... its verbal toss by I, was just that; a TOSS, consciously done... by I.  I did NOT drive a spike home with that word and did not want to.  I had a problem with these two gentlemen... but I was also... an invited guest at Janet’s coffee table.  I did ...not... want to behave myself.  I needed to... by scruff of neck... DROWN the dumpy gentleman before he could FURTHER protract in his own capital-self-gain with a... ‘I capture YOUR flag’ initiative.  I sensed too... with the business-is-business crass-with-cash conversational ...speed deployment of EACH of our armies ‘before the other’ aligned... WE had ...lost Janet along the way.  She stood guard at her coffee tables...with the glass dish of ‘I made them’... untouched.

            I moved.  I picked up the fork again and... touched it to my lips.  This was in the seconds following my word said; ‘Me’.  Janet followed that touch my lips.  I held the fork in mid air with my left arm, rolled the fork over in my hand, then... with distant and theatrical gesture... looked at the back again and... looked at Janet.  She, intently watching this gesture theater on my part ...forgot (?) about the hostile military style business verbiage spoken ...just before.  “It’s sterling.” I said and then... pretended to poke... in a jabbing gesture... one of her ‘I made’... in the glass dish.  Contorting, her arms recoiled from the air space above the coffee table and she, looking at my eyes... smiled at me.  “I am not done PESTERING this man!” I said to her.  This notice to her I self-complicated, in this setting, by carrying with it... for I... the bother of ...I... noticing... the not-noted-before... that Crap Pile... was ‘still wearing’ his ... scrunched, dirty, faded and ALWAYS ON whenever and where ever I see him... ‘ball cap’... AT THIS ‘invited guest’ HE TOO... Janet’s coffee table.  Low rent begets low rent I micro-mulled as I ... ‘that cap’ and ‘that (1950’s glass serving) dish’... cancel each other out?  Tedious this theatre of unwashed self aggrandizement?  Canceling each other ...to remain ‘of their muck’?

            I skipped this inner-me notice, set the fork back down, raised my eyes to Mr. Dump’s eyes and... he too had sensed my ‘light break’ to our ...chat... and ...he too... saw me ready to continue so that ...he too... set his stance and ...allowed I to ‘fire at will’.

            “MY view of MY business should be clearly understood by you for we must VERY MUCH be the same.  I KNOW you are aware... that VENTURE CAPITAL is moving away from hedge funds and into private equity...”  Pause.  “I am quite SURE that you, LIKE I, have easily identified that THERE WE... find ourselves; each of us having our own FIRM of private equity that WE may turn our sight WITH ...at our own self created HEDGE FUND... WITH, here, your hedge fund’s MANAGER; your ‘SCOUT’.  Right?   YOU fund one from the other and YOU OWN BOTH.  IN their entirety.  Just like I DO with my own... firms.  RIGHT?  And our venture capital quest; our hunt... is in the traditional jargon of the financial service spheres titled... WHAT?  Yes we BOTH KNOW that they title OUR venture capital speculations... ‘alternative asset allocation’ (of funds)... with the HEDGE FUND being the FIRM that allocates the venture funds into and ...out of ...the alternative assets... commonly called ‘buying and selling by, well... I ...and you too?  He” ...I continued gesturing toward Crap Pile... “IS THIS manager?  NO... I believe not; he be just what... you say he is; a scout.  AND YOU are too, like I, the hedge fund manager TOO.  TWO FIRMS EACH in this venture of... alternative asset ...allocations... of capital WE EACH CONTROL in the highly volatile... unregulated... fully UNSECURED markets...I commonly call ‘antiques and rare books’.  You are only ‘IN’ the latter... with your... private equity and ...hedge fund FIRMS.  RIGHT?  And, LIKE I... you not only ‘understand’ ‘risk’; THE RISK, the risks, the UNSECURED.  The volatile.  RISK.  RIGHT?  BUT YOU REALISH the superior sense of self that YOU DO KNOW this risk fully... and with ...BUT YOUR WITS... only... enter this FRAY.  Other tame and mere 401K mortals stand by and WATCH?  YOU?  SO... now I must serve you notice... I... am OF THAT TOO.  Our swords hit each other’s sword in the ...unregulated speculation of alternative asset allocation FUNDS management that we... WE... find ourselves together on the field of assets... I call... ‘rare books’.  WELCOME and I PROMISE ...I do NOT want to buy your firm.  I mean that too.”  Mr. Dump eyes were fixed on my face.  His face was a little more puffy ...and a little more read.  “TWO more bits:  I... am not for sale.  I am sure you now understand this.  And... if he’s managing your hedge fund... SIR:  You need a bigger tank.”  I reached down and retrieved the fork without breaking eye contact with Mr. Dump.  I raised the fork and touched my lips.  Then held it between us and said “I can TASTE the silver’.

            “You can NOT.” said Janet.

            Crap Pile said nothing and did not move.  To me, he looked like he wanted to take his hands out of his fleece parka’s pockets and ...see if he could figure out what had just been said on his fingers’. Mr. Dump... rebutted... and he did a ...very good job of that.  He ignored and made no comment about anything I had said and...:

            “JANET told me... that YOU are WORKING in the SAVAGE family estate.  That estate is of interest to me.  The family, as you know is very old...”

            “Not THAT old”. I said.

            “WELL certainly OLD enough IN their mansion.”

            “1850’s.”

            “Right... so you are working in there I understand.”

            “Yes... of sorts... I suppose it is work... or will be work.  I suppose.  I have BEEN inside with the heiress”

            “Ms. Roth.  I plan to contact her.  Actually.  I’ve already tried and have not heard back from her directly.  She has an attorney.  THAT’S who I’ve gone through.

            “Yes.  That is a route.”

            “But you’ve actually been THROUGH the estate I understand.”

            “Through... is a word... I guess.”

            “WELL... DID you SEE MUCH?”

            “See much?”

            “A library?”

            “OH; see much... OLD PAPER?  Of course there’s... old paper.”

            “Well I know there are considerable BOXES of LETTERS.  I’m told”

            “I have seen those”.

            “So... THOSE ARE?”

            “I’ve seen them from a safe distance.”
            “Safe distance?”

            “Yes.  Now TWO people have spoken to me about LETTERS.  But I haven’t touched them.”

            “You looked at them?”

            “No... but she has.”

            “She?”

            “Helen.”

            “Ms. Roth?  What is she doing with them?”

            “Reading them.  I believe.”

            “Oh... of course.”  Dump shifted his footing.  “HAVE you SEEN very much?”

            “Old paper?”

            “Yes.  Is there very much?”

            “I am sure... we will ALL see ALL of it in good time.”

            “We plan to SPEAK with her about her family’s archive.”

            “Fine.”

            “Have YOU spoken to her about her archive?”

            “AT this point no.  Not specifically.”

            “She still holds it?”

            “Most certainly.”

            “I would WORK with you on this.”

            “Well.”

            “I am sure that WE could work WELL together.”

            “It’s not even there yet.”

            “Really?  I doubt that from what I know of you.”

            “She has extra features in play.”

            “Features in play?  What does that mean?”

            “She’s crazier than a shit house rat.”

            Mr. Dump looked hard at me.

            “HELEN ALWAYS says THAT” said Janet and ...giggled.

            May I say ‘V formation’ (Part Sixteen [B]) again?  For as FAR as I can ‘see’?  I, of this tale, has dragged the WE of this tale... from Herman Melville’s garret (Part Six [C]) to the ‘Angel of Hadley’ (Part Nine [A]) to the ...old salt in my pants pocket THROUGH the ...trees of the forest to the forest of the trees... of old New England homes... up side down, right side up... on to noticing the crass-grab-cash dark cloud (Parts Seven and Eight) by cell phone and ‘interested party’... TO THIS; Mr. Dump and his henchman Crap Pile.  I WANT THAT SILVER FORK ... for having to ...EMBRACE this current ‘this’.

            I can’t have it; it belongs to Janet.  Innocent of all this... is Janet?  NO.  Even SHE cannot be trusted EVEN IF she is innocent of the calibrated calculations ...that I have strung on string to include that EVEN HELEN IS SUSPECT (Part Eight).  Can’t... trust... her... because, AS I SENSE HERE, she ‘can be manipulated’ by a ‘by someone’.  To get to me.  “Great.” I say to myself.

            This couplet; Mr. Dump and his henchman and... their couplet of ... luring me to Janet’s to ... pretty obvious their ‘game plan’ ...that I have foiled?  I doubt that considering Mr. Dump’s MANAGED response to my ‘two commercial vessels in the same market pass at sea’ at night so IN THE DARK.  The sound of a tree falling in the forest?  WHY EVEN BOTHER to ... STEP IN THAT PILE of... dog crap?  BECAUSE THIS IS A VERY REAL ‘New England turned up side down’ that, as here shown is NOT ONLY HERE NOW in old New England but is... IS... in attack mode AT old New England... AND ME.  Remember... I CARE (Part Fourteen [B]).  As we see here... therefore... I am, at the least ‘in their way’.  Way to what?  TO PITCH the Savage family ‘old paper’ archive into the TRUNK OF THEIR CAR and ...drive away with ALL OF IT ALL OF IT ALL OF IT.

            See me?  Touch me?  Years ago... before this tale started... I... ‘read a paper’ before the THOSE of archival seek; research libraries, ABOUT boxes and garbage bags of  ‘old paper’ from... old New England homes.  This paper-read-before is actually long posted by its true title in full as “MICE, I HATE MICE” within the ...boweling... of this blog.  Yeah... it really is and it really is about... getting every tiny piece of paper in old New England homes into ...garbage bags and those bags... into the back of MY TRUCK and... the great wide world of archival collection ‘development’ and ‘management’.  This paper came to be read from... a book I wrote and circulated in the UPPER BOWELS of the rare book trade and the major libraries who ‘are players’... ABOUT THIS SUBJECT... in the context of ‘old paper’ related to ‘western (United) States development’.  THAT book is called IN A GIVEN AREA.  Good luck finding a copy of that RARE BOOK and NO I DO NOT HAVE ANY COPIES... because I do not need one because I LIVE THIS and that ‘old book’ is ... about ME LIVING THIS.  But it is a very real book that stands as a classic TO THIS DAY.  That’s right and... it is splendid profile of my ‘Go to Hell’ HISS... about... and within... THIS TALE... bringing us back to THESE TWO crap piles... setting their sights on the Savage estate’s ‘old paper’.  I mean... I WROTE the damn book ‘about this’; LOOTING old paper from old New England estates before THESE GUYS EVEN KNEW they could ‘do this’ and ‘form’ their ‘business partnership’ (read make me puke).  THEY DON’T STAND A CHANCE against me because of this AND... AND... (and they don’t even know one can be this)... I CARE.

            But they... like all of their ilk... do not...  will not... won’t not... THINK NOT and “DEATH TO YOU... and US NOT...:  WILL NOT go away.  They want to drown me in a bowl of moist dog food.

            SO:  Fork to fork... I got out of there; away from Janet’s coffee table power broker ‘options market’.  Sniffling over having to surrender Janet’s fork back to her... I did first put it in my shirt-under-my-jacket pocket with this ...provoking a  “HEY GIVE ME THAT!”

            “Yeah... ok.” SULK from I who... I really feel I EARNED the damn fork... AND, of course... I, with the fork...touch my lips... ONCE AGAIN in physical fact AND touch IT ‘knowledge-hard-earned GIVE AWAY...TOO:  “For yours to know... should you turn up a sterling (silver) spoon short at the end of an evening’s entertaining... that is NOT as bad as turning up a FORK short.  A spoon means an amateur stole it.  A fork gone means it is a professional who purloined.  Why?  FORKS are the heaviest of sterling silver services’ flatware; they have the most actual silver so are worth the most as ‘scrap’.  A spoon is much lighter.  I know the difference so would steal THIS lone fork from you and leave the spoons... for your lesser guests.”

            “I love the way you always KNOW SO MUCH about THINGS.” said Janet as I excused myself.  I see Janet all the time... and always mention the fork:  “WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THAT?”

            “Because it’s the only fork you’ve got and your too cheap to buy any real silver.”

            “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

            “It’s not about nice.”