Not Feeling Well
Sly smile on his face, Michael watched Lucie until she caught up to her great grandmother. The prick on his thumb throbbed a little and he looked down at the little stab mark before rubbing it against the side of his index finger.
“Mmm Mirielle,” he muttered softly, envisioning the woman in his mind’s eye, though mildly disappointed he was without a flower to give her. Crossing the plaza, he entered the building bearing his family name, taking the elevator to the 34th floor.
Exiting the lift, “Hello Mirielle,” he said, charming smile on his youthful but handsome face as he approached her desk.
She smiled back, “Michael,” she replied. “Your father said if you were to stop by, he wanted to see you, directly,” she added, picking up the telephone.
“Oh?” replied Michael.
“Mr. Hearst, your son is here,” she said. Smiling and nodding, “I’ll send him right in,” she concluded dropping the receiver back into the cradle.
“It’s okay, I know the way,” he said, trying to be suave. He felt his stomach flop and it made a gurgling noise that made him look down and pause a step before going into his father’s office.
Mortimer Hearst was a tall man, nearly six and a half feet tall, but reed thin, his limbs almost bird like. Almost fifty, he still retained a full head of hair, though much of it had surrendered to grey. Piercing blue eyes, predatory, looked up and narrowed as Michael entered.
Dressed in dark gray pants, white shirt, subdued black silk tie, and suspenders, Mortimer pointed in the direction of the two empty chairs in front of his desk. “Sit,” he instructed, leaning back in the ergonomic leather chair.
Nodding, Michael walked over and sat down, crossing his right foot over his left knee and leaning back.
“I’m glad you came in today, your sister is having some of her friends over to the house for the weekend, if you are going to be home, do not make a nuisance of yourself,” he said, the stern expression on his face more pronounced than his normal countenance.
“Maddie is having a slumber party at the house?” Michael asked, dropping his foot and leaning forward.
“Michael,” cautioned his father, raising a hand.
Michael leaned back, sour expression on his face. He wanted to say something, but his stomach turned again, making him feel queasy.
“Are you alright?” Mortimer asked, persistent frown on his face making it difficult to tell if he concerned or just simply irritated.
“Fine,” Michael dismissed, shaking his head.
“Fine? As in you’re feeling fine or fine you’ll behave yourself this weekend?” asked his father.
“I feel a little something in my gut, I had Fugu for lunch, but I’m fine on both accounts,” he replied.
Mortimer nodded, “Good.”
“I’m curious though why does Madison get to have friends over, unsupervised, and like for a whole weekend?” he challenged, face almost pouty.
“Because, despite being younger than you, she has demonstrated, on numerous occasions that she is capable of entertaining her friends without requiring the necessity of constant adult supervision,” answered Mortimer bluntly.
Michael frowned. One little fire.
“I want you to let your sister and her friends enjoy themselves this weekend. Got it?” counseled the slender dour looking man.
Michael nodded, “Where will you be?” he asked, thinking probably work.
“I have a large contract that I’m working on due early next week and I am going to stay in the city for the weekend,” he explained. Facing his son directly, he turned his head slightly, “Michael, I don’t want shenanigans,” he warned.
“I said I’ll be good,” reiterated Michael, masking the exasperation he felt.
Mortimer held his son in his steely blue gaze a moment before relenting and releasing the boy.
“Can I go?” Michael asked, tone respectful.
“Yes,” Mortimer replied, eyes back down on the paperwork atop his desk.
Sulking slightly, Michael exited his father’s office, planning on saying something he thought witty to Mirielle, but the bemused smile on her face silenced him before he could utter a word.
“Have a nice weekend,” she said as he sauntered away.
“You too,” he replied over his shoulder, walking to the elevator doors.
Crossing the plaza, he didn’t see the old crone and her great granddaughter. Smiling to himself, she was cute, the great granddaughter Lucie, sexy.
Climbing into his car, his belly rumbled again, leaving him with the uneasy feeling he might puke or worse, shit himself. A thin sheen of perspiration covered his entire body, giving him a chill despite the warmth of the day. Starting the car and putting it into gear, he mentally made the decision to cross Fugu sashimi off his list of things to eat.
Throughout the hour long drive out to the family house, a multi-level structure built on a vista overlooking the Pacific Ocean, his condition seemed unchanged, persistent nausea with his bowels threatening to empty of their own accord at any time.
Using his smart phone to activate the gate control, he opened the barrier and drove onto the property, frowning slightly at the little white Porsche Carrera GT parked in his customary spot. He knew the car, it belonged to Gennifer Hamilton-Wynn, one of Maddie’s friends. Like her car, the girl was a racy little number, long dark hair, dusky eyes and firm little tits. The red Dodge Viper SRT parked adjacent was Amber Leighton’s, a sexy blonde with big green eyes and an ass that would make God himself cry it was so beautiful. There was another vehicle there, an old sage green Triumph TR6 ragtop in immaculate condition, but he didn’t know who it belonged to.
Catching his reflection in the glass, he looked like he felt, crappy. Strolling up the walkway, he entered the front of the house and kicked off his Adidas running shoes. Somewhere he could hear the sounds of female laughter coming from outside near the glass doors leading out to the pool. He thought about at least saying hi, especially to Gennifer, but looking and feeling like he was, he decided he was just going to go upstairs and lie down.
Crawling onto his bed, he flopped over onto his back, bringing his left arm over his face and closing his eyes. It better not be food poisoning he thought.