Love After All by Celeste O. Norfleet Page B

smiled, having apparently known all about the celebration.
    Singing two tone-deaf verses of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” his coworkers made him sit, listen and enjoy. Jackson turned away, embarrassed by the torturous performance. His hope to slip out quietly had evidently gone up in smoke. So, for the next forty minutes he listened to wisecracks, jabs and jokes about everything from his once bad-boy image to his DJ Love persona to his wealthy family.
    Three bottles of champagne and half a cake later, he said his final farewells. He gathered his briefcase and slipped out the side door, leaving virtually unnoticed. As soon as he walked to the front lobby he spotted his father and the two night security men standing at the main receptionist’s desk. No one spoke as Jackson walked toward them.
    Both guards, senior in the position, recognized the moment and nodded to each other. They grabbed their computerized security checklists and glanced at their watches. Though it was clearly too early to make rounds they still made themselves scarce, nodding respectfully to Marcus as they left.
    As Jackson approached, the guards shook his hand. Then after a brief conversation he told them to stop by the booth for cake, and they readily accepted. As the two guards walked away, Jackson turned to his father who had turned to watch the friendly interaction.
    â€œYou really understand them, don’t you?”
    â€œWho?” Jackson asked.
    â€œThem, the employees. They work for us.”
    â€œThey work with us and we work with them.”
    â€œYeah,” Marcus said, obviously not contemplating the subtle difference.
    â€œWere you waiting for me?” Jackson asked, his voice echoing in the large space.
    â€œI have an appointment coming in,” Marcus said.
    â€œThis late? Who’s the appointment with?” Jackson asked.
    â€œYou still leaving, huh?” Marcus responded, not bothering to answer the question. Jackson walked over to the receptionist’s counter and placed his briefcase on the floor and the envelope on the counter.
    â€œYes,” Jackson said, now standing beside his father.
    Marcus snorted and sucked his teeth, something he did whenever he found himself head-to-head with his son, which was often. Since taking over as division head, Jackson had battled his father on every front. Old ideas versus new ideas. They didn’t agree on anything, the latest dispute being the proposed partnership between Daley Communications and Cooperman Enterprises. Jackson slid the manila envelope across the counter to his father.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Marcus asked.
    â€œOpen it.”
    Marcus opened the envelope and quickly read through the eight pages. His eyes grew wide in shock as he flipped through each. “What is this?” he asked again.
    â€œYou tell me.”
    â€œAre these the originals?”
    â€œI doubt it. Do you recognize them?”
    â€œWhere did you get this?” He looked up at his son for the first time since they’d stood at the counter.
    â€œIs it true?” Jackson stared at his father as if seeing him for the first time. Marcus turned to him, and their eyes met. Marcus quickly looked away, averting his son’s accusatory stare. Usually a man of many words, he fell uncharacteristically silent. “It is true, isn’t it?” Jackson surmised.
    â€œWhere did you get this?” Marcus repeated in nearly a whisper.
    â€œIt was a gift. Someone left it upstairs at the executive suite reception desk earlier this evening.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œHe didn’t stick around, obviously.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t say anything earlier.”
    â€œLike what?”
    Marcus didn’t answer. He looked at the eight pages again and began flipping through and shaking his head steadily. “So this time you’re taking off, this personal time—”
    â€œHad nothing to do with this at the time,” Jackson