An Island Unto Himself, The Novel (1) CHAPTER 1 Stu sang lightly to himself as his morning shower encouraged him back to life. "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Stu... YEOW!" The sudden shudder in water pressure, accompanied by the sudden drop in water temperature was the result of Stu’s wife, Mary flushing the commode. "Sorry," she sang out as Stu scrambled to dodge the icy droplets of spray. "That’s freezing! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Stu queried from the shower stall. "I said I was sorry," Mary answered as she tied her robe and checked her hair in the medicine cabinet mirror. Mary Stewart had been a real looker in her day. However, two children and twenty years of marriage had left her looking decidedly domesticated. "Besides," she continued, "the cold water will wake you up". "I don’t need to wake up," countered Stu, "I’m already awake! What I need is soap! There’s never any soap in here!" Mary exited the bathroom to the top of the stairwell in the happy oblivian that was her trademark. "It’s in there somewhere" she calmly returned as she descended the first few steps. Stu pivoted in the shower stall searching for the derelict bar of soap, stepped on it and abruptly executed an impromptu prat fall that Charley Chaplain would have envied. "Found it", he muttered sarcastically. Stu managed to conclude his shower without further incident. He opened the door to the linen closet but almost hated to take a towel from Mary’s uniformed stack. They looked so perfect. Each one had been fluffed and folded into a perfect geometric square and stacked in an alternating color scheme; yellow, green, yellow, green, yellow, green. This of course, matched the rest of the bathroom decor; the green and yellow striped wall paper, the yellow toilet seat cover, the yellow throw rug, even the yellow roll of toilet paper. Mary might not look like Julia Roberts anymore, but she sure could hold down the homefront. Taking care not to disturb the rest of the pile, Stu selected a green one. He always picked green, because green was more manly than yellow. When you live in a house totally decorated by a female, you have to take every opportunity to establish your masculinity. Stu dried his face and the scent of springtime freshness enveloped him. That Mary didn’t miss a trick. He lingered in the aroma for a moment and then finished drying off. He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed for the master bedroom. Looking in the bureau mirror as he combed his wavy, dark hair he couldn’t help noticing how gray he was getting on the sides. "Oh well, better for it to turn gray than to turn loose," he said to himself. "I guess Mary’s not the only one showing her age," he thought. He sucked in his stomach, "Ah, you don’t look so bad for a man celebrating his forty-fourth birthday. Buck up, old boy". The reflection of his digital alarm clock in the mirror caught his eye as he combed. "Seven - fifteen", he exclaimed, "I’m ten minutes behind schedule". According to Stu’s carefully planned and practiced morning routine, he should already be heading downstairs for breakfast. Seven - fifteen wasn’t hair combing time, it was tie tying time. He scurried to make up for lost minutes. By the time he appeared in the kitchen he was knotting his tie but hadn’t accounted for much of the squandered time. A quick look at his wristwatch confirmed he was still nine minutes behind schedule. Of course, truth be known, that was pretty typical for Stu. The rest of the Stewart family was already seated at the kitchen table and were busy devouring the last remnants of a hearty breakfast. Mary was spooning out the last sections of her pink grapefruit. Brad, the quintessential eight year old boy was mopping up the last puddle of maple syrup with his cinnamon, French toast and Tiffy, Stu’s sixteen year old daughter, was eating Cap’n Crunch cereal from her favorite, over sized bowl. Tiffy was a real piece of work in her retro sixties, hippie attire; tie died shirt, patched bell bottoms, granny glasses, long, straight hair held in check by a braided, leather head band, the works. Stu greeted everyone with a heart felt "Morning everybody!" Mary returned Stu’s cheery salutation with a smile as she continued chewing her citrus, but the kids didn’t so much as look up. Stu took his place at the table. "I’m famished, big occasions always seem to make my appetite work overtime," he said as he checked everyone’s faces to see if they picked up on his hint about his birthday. Nobody did. "How was your shower dear," asked Mary. "Risky." "That’s nice," she replied without really listening. "You know what I was thinking?" asked Stu. "We never shower together anymore." "Please," pleaded Tiffy, "I’m trying to eat". "Stu!... I suppose next you’ll want me to give up my twin bed," giggled Mary. "It was just a thought," said Stu. "Where’s my breakfast?" Mary handed Stu a plate containing three burned strips of bacon. "You don’t have time dear. Eat this. It’s not like I don’t love you anymore," she continued. "We still have sex you know." Stu poured his coffee and retorted under his breath, "No we don’t, not even on my birthday". Disgusted, Tiffy dropped her spoon into her big cereal bowl with a splash. The cereal was mostly finished but the bowl was still full of wasted milk. "That does it, I’m outa here," she said as she got up from the table. "Finally," said Brad, "I thought you’d never leave, Stinko. I was getting tired of holding my breath". "You brat..." was all Tiffy could get out before her mother cut her off. "That’s enough," she said. "Tiffy, you’ll be late for school. Brad, finish your breakfast." Tiffy exited in a huff as Stu considered the burnt offering before him. "Maybe I’ll just have coffee. Where’s the milk?" he asked as he tried to feed the burned strips of bacon to Manny, the family Cocker Spaniel. Manny cocked his head to the side, whined and backed away. "We’re out," answered Mary. "As a matter of fact, you need to pick some up on the way home tonight. Oh, and the washer’s broken again." "Again?" asked Stu as he eyed Tiffy’s bowl of wasted milk. "Again," answered Mary. "Can you fix it tomorrow?" Stu poured some of Tiffy’s cereal milk into his coffee and a stray morsel of Cap’n Crunch came along with it, twirling and bobbing in his mug. "Not tomorrow," moaned Stu. "I was going to go fishing with Mike tomorrow. I haven’t been fishing in months." "Stu, the laundry is really backing up," countered Mary. Brad interrupted his parents, "Backing up... that reminds me, the commode in my bathroom is overflowing again". "Since when?" asked Stu. The words had barely left his mouth when a droplet of water fell from overhead and plunked into Stu’s coffee. In unison, the trio slowly looked up to discover a big water spot on the ceiling above them. A second droplet formed in the middle of the stain and followed its predecessor’s path of descent into Stu’s coffee mug as Brad beat a hasty path out of the kitchen. "Since about an hour ago", Brad answered as he ran out. CHAPTER 2 Tiffy had just trotted down the front steps of the Stewarts’ two story, suburban abode and was heading for the family car in the driveway when Stu and Mary exited the house onto the front porch. Stu’s sleeves were rolled up. He was holding a plunger and flicking water off his hands. Mary was holding his blazer, brief case and sack lunch. Tiffy hopped in the car and backed it out of the driveway. "Hey, where’s she going?" asked Stu. "School?" answered Mary. "I mean with my car," Stu said, raising his voice. "I told Tiffy to drive it. She said her car is jumping," explained Mary. "Jumping?" "That’s what she said. Maybe the clutch is slipping or something." "Perfect, and how am I supposed to get to work?" "Take Tiffy’s car. Maybe you can figure out what’s wrong with it!" said Mary as she curtly traded Stu his jacket, briefcase and lunch for the plunger and stormed back into the house slamming the door behind her! Stu just stood there bewildered and holding his belongings for a moment until Manny came prancing up the steps to the porch. "Hey ya, Manny old boy. At least you still appreciate me," said Stu. Manny paraded right past him and scratched at the front door. The disgruntled Mary opened the door for the family pet. He entered the house and Mary slammed the door behind him causing Stu to wince. Stu came down the few stairs to the lawn and turned back toward the front door. "Just see if you get any more bacon from me, you no good flea motel! See how you like them apples!" yelled Stu. Then he turned toward the detached garage, stepped in dog poop, slipped and fell flat on his back! Frustrated, "Oh, poop," was the only comment he could muster. About that same time, Brad tore out of the front door on roller blades, jumped the steps and stopped on a dime next to his downed father! "Dad, I need lunch money," said Brad. Sitting up with a grunt, Stu retrieved his wallet from his back, pants pocket and withdrew a lone twenty dollar bill. "All I have is a twenty, Brad." "Thanks, Dad," said Brad as he snatched the twenty and skated off, nearly mowing down the approaching mailman in the process. "Morning Mr. Stewart", said the mailman as he handed Stu his bundle of mail without even seeming to take notice that he was sitting on the ground. "Morning Sam, thanks," replied Stu. "Don’t thank me, they’re all bills," said Sam. As he made his way to the garage, Stu enlisted a piece of junk mail as a makeshift rag to remove as much of the smeared dog poop from the seat of his pants as possible. When this was accomplished, he tossed the soiled letter into one of the trash cans next to the garage. It took all the self control he could gather to keep from tossing the collection of bills as well. Stu tugged on the roll up garage door and it arose with a rattling clatter, bathing the dank, gloomy interior with sunlight. He tentatively entered the small, musty building and stared at the monstrosity that was Tiffy’s car... that is, van, to be precise. "Oh brother," said Stu. The vehicle before him was an old, dilapidated Volkswagen bus with faded orange paint and a rollback, canvass sunroof, the likes of which hadn’t rolled off the assembly line since the sixties. Stu walked past the bus and set his briefcase down on his cluttered workbench. He opened it and pulled out a glossy magazine. Sitting on a stool, he flipped through the mag to the centerfold and turned it at different angles trying to achieve optimum viewing pleasure. "Oh mama, one of these days, just you and me," he said. With that, he carefully tore out the centerfold and pinned it to the pegboard over his workbench. It was a picture of a lush, green, tropical island, surrounded by crystal clear, blue water. Stu could almost smell the salt air wafting on the Caribbean breeze. Stu donned his jacket, collected his lunch and briefcase and opened the bus’s driver’s door. He poked his head in. He looked around, hesitating. "I thought these things were extinct," he said out loud. Gathering his courage, he climbed inside and looked around. What a mess. There was a discarded order of McDonald’s fries on the passenger seat that looked to be at least a couple days old. There was trash and empty soda bottles on the floor. Stu inspected the vehicle from front to back. Magazines were scattered about; Cosmo, Vanity Fair and the like. True to its owner, the bus was decorated with a retro sixties motif; tasseled window dressings, a tied back curtain of beads, Dead Head stickers and colorful, tie died seat covers, a macramé throw rug, a red bean bag chair and black lights. A hula girl figurine, replete with grass skirt, mounted on the dash completed the decor. There were a number of stereo speakers, both mounted and unmounted, connected by a web of speaker wire strung throughout. As Stu followed the jumbled trail of wire toward the back of the van, he stepped on the macramé rug and abruptly fell through the floorboard to the concrete, garage floor below. For a moment he just stood there in stunned silence, visible only from the knees up. "Good grief," he finally said as he pulled himself free and threw back the rug to reveal a large hole in the bus floor. Deciding that any further exploring of the bus would best be left to braver souls than he, Stu cautiously made his way back to the driver’s seat and started the engine. "I hope nobody sees me in this wreck," he thought as he backed out of the garage. Driving past his house, Stu opened a fresh pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips. This was the first thing he did every morning on the way to work and the last thing before arriving. He used to smoke just one cigarette on his commute, but since his office had become smoke free, he had to get in as many smokes as possible when he had the chance. He pushed in the bus’s cigarette lighter and turned on the tape deck. An Aerosmith song blasted forth nearly shattering an eardrum. He quickly clicked off the stereo and popped out the tape. "Aerosmith?" Stu questioned. He opened Tiffy’s cassette case and rummaged through her collection; Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Jethro Tull. "My daughter listens to the same music I used to listen to twenty - five years ago," he said out loud. "That’s just not right." The cigarette lighter didn’t pop back out. Stu tugged on it, still nothing. It was stuck tight. "Ah, come on," grumbled Stu. Finally, he gave up and searched for his handy Zippo lighter, finding it in his right, front, pants pocket. With one hand, he deftly maneuvered the brushed chrome lighter into just the right position between his thumb and first two fingers, squeezed and voila, it popped open with a clink! "Just like I learned in high school," said Stu as he struck the flint wheel and lit his smoke. He flipped the dashboard ashtray open and a small pipe dropped out onto the floor, Tiffy’s marijuana pipe. Rolling to a stop at the corner, Stu bent over and picked up the small pipe. He turned it over in his hand as he considered it. "I knew it," he said. "She is smoking... a pipe?" Smoke and noxious fumes drifted in through the open hole in the floor of the bus as Stu idled at the stop sign. He decided it was best not to linger in one spot longer than necessary. It was better to stay on the move, in order to outrun his own exhaust. He rolled down his window and started off again. The bus lurched and jumped as he let out the clutch, startling one of his neighbors, elderly Mrs. Skinner who was out for her morning constitutional. "Hi, Mrs. Skinner. Don’t be afraid, it’s just me, Stu," he assured her. Mrs. Skinner returned his guarantee with a dubious glare. The bus jumped and pitched causing the tasseled curtains and hula girl’s skirt to shake as Stu continued his commute to work. The empty soda bottles rolled to the front each time he stopped and then rolled back again when he accelerated. Stopping for a group of elementary school children being let across the street by a crossing guard brought looks of disdain and contempt from the surly munchkins. Stu cowered under their intimidating stares as they filed over the crosswalk. By the time he arrived at his employer’s parking garage, Stu was glad to finally be out of the public eye. He and the bus skulked into the dark, interior chambers of the structure and lurched to a stop in an unoccupied parking space. Stu killed the engine, relieved that the unsavory journey was over. Pow! The lighter finally popped free and ricocheted around the bus like an errant gunshot! Stu bailed out to the bewildered stares of his co - workers also arriving for work. CHAPTER 3 Stu was an agent at the offices of Fisher and Fisher, a real estate company specializing in big commercial developments; shopping malls, country clubs, theme parks, etc. The likes of a strip mall contract was considered small potatoes in this place. The company was originally started by the elder Fisher brother ( the good brother ) in 1971. A few years later he let his younger brother ( evil brother, as it were ) come on board as a partner. In the old days Fisher and Fisher was a people orientated company. The elder Fisher took great pride in the number of small businesses he had helped get off the ground and the family atmosphere he nurtured among his employees. But, he had died a few years ago, proving the proverb: all good things must come to an end. After that, the younger brother took the company reins and things were never quite the same. Oh, the company was a tremendous success, no doubt about that. The younger Fisher was a savvy businessman who concentrated the company’s assets on the big deals. But, along with the big gains came a big loss, the feeling of family and allegiance among the employees. That probably didn’t mean a lot to a man like Mr. Fisher... but, it meant a lot to Stu. The office that Stu toiled in was a modern maze of cubicle work stations, saturated with the sounds of telephones ringing and keyboards clicking and printers printing and adding machines adding. Stu was hard at work in his cubicle. Well, actually hard at work may be overstating things. Okay, actually he was taking a break. He had logged onto an on - line library and was reading Robinson Crusoe, complete with colorful pictures of his island paradise. Pictures of Stu’s family adorned the cubicle partition above his monitor along with a wall calendar that featured pictures of tropical islands on each page. The current month’s caption read, "No man is an island unto himself". In the cubicle next door, Stu’s best friend, Mike, was also logged onto his favorite web site; pornorama.com. Mike was an all right guy but a little rough around the edges. As they viewed their respective sites, the two couldn’t see each other over the shoulder height partition that separated them. However, as if by cue, they both leaned back in their chairs with their hands behind their heads, fingers interlocked and uttered the same phrase simultaneously, "Oh, yeah". Mr. Fisher just happened to be passing by at that precise time. Have you ever noticed how some people, like Mike for instance, goof off all the time and never get caught? While on the other hand, some people almost never do anything wrong. But when they do, they get caught every time. This was a prime example. "Stewart!" bellowed Mr. Fisher. The startled Stu spun around in his swivel chair. "Mr. Fisher..." "Planning a little get away, are we Stewart?" asked Mr. Fisher. "No, I was just..." Mr. Fisher cut him off. "Let’s see, you’ve already had your morning break... and it’s not lunch time yet," he said as he mockingly looked at his watch. "No sir," Stu answered. "Then if it’s not too much trouble, I strongly suggest you get your lazy, mooching, slack ass back to work on the Craig Industries deal!" Mr. Fisher’s voice grew increasingly louder. "You can be replaced you know!" Before Stu could reply, Mr. Fisher stormed off into his office! Stu stood so that he could see over his cubicle. "But, I finished the Craig contract..." Mr. Fisher’s slamming door interrupted him mid sentence. "...an hour ago." Mike also stood in order to make eye contact with Stu over their shared partition and was quick to lend his observation, "You really know how to make an impression with ole Fish Face, buddy." "Boy, do I," said Stu plopping back down in his chair. Mike leaned over and propped his crossed arms on top of the partition wall. "How do you do that?" he asked. "Do what?" "Sit without tipping over." Mike paused for dramatic effect. "You know, after getting such a big piece of your ass chewed off like that." "I’ve had plenty of practice," Stu replied. Kimmy, another co - worker poked her head over the partition on Stu’s other side. Kimmy was twenty - five, brunette, big, brown eyes with matching olive complexion. She would have been drop dead, gorgeous if she wanted. Instead, she opted for the more professional look at work; hair up, glasses, knee length skirt and matching blazer. If Mike was Stu’s best friend then Kimmy was Stu’s sounding board. Even though he didn’t realize it, he always went to her when he had something on his mind. She was a great listener, plus she was able to give him the female perspective on issues of heart and home. He could talk to her about things he would never tell the guys. Oh sure, there was sometimes a glimmer of attraction between them. But, it was the harmless kind. It wasn’t anything Stu couldn’t keep under tap. As a matter of fact, Stu felt that the attraction was probably mostly on his part. As a matter of fact, Stu was sure that Kimmy wasn’t attracted to him at all. Well, at least she was a good listener. "You okay, Stu?" asked Kimmy. "Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, Kimmy." "It’s just a shame, that’s what it is!" said Kimmy. "Fisher knows how hard you’ve worked on the Craig thing. Boy, you take five minutes of company time to reward yourself for a job well done and the old man goes postal." "It’s okay, Kimmy," said Stu. Kimmy continued, "I didn’t hear him bitching when you worked late all this week or when you skipped lunch..." Kimmy’s harangue was interrupted by Mr. Fisher’s voice barking over the intercom on Stu’s desk phone, "Stewart!" Kimmy and Mike ducked back into their respective cubicles! "Sir?" answered Stu. "I’ve got meetings all day," snapped Mr. Fisher. "But, I want to continue our little talk after work. Be in my office at five o’clock sharp!" "Yes, sir," Stu answered. But, it was in vain as Mr. Fisher had already clicked off without giving him the common courtesy of waiting for his reply.
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