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Chapter 1

Trouble walked in wearing high heels and attitude.

Shoulder-length brown hair framed her smooth, high cheek bones. Stopping well shy of the register, she scanned the tables as if looking for someone to buy her a drink. When her eyes caught mine, they lingered a second too long. A half-smile creased her lips, disappearing so quickly I was unsure I saw it at all. Strolling casually to the periodicals rack, she picked up a Vogue and began browsing.

I sipped my coffee and tried refocusing on the Journal article in front of me, but there’d been something unsettling in her glance. Was I supposed to respond? Offer to wait in line so she wouldn’t have to? If this were a bar, with its clear, unspoken rules, the choice would be easy. I was unaware of such protocols at Starbucks however, especially ones located inside a bookstore on a rainy, September afternoon. I folded the paper and laid it down. Her dark walnut-brown eyes stayed glued to whatever page she’d turned to, her long lashes barely blinking. She wore a white silk blouse and dark-blue, knee-length skirt which showcased her slim figure and shapely legs.

Without warning, she looked up and our eyes met once more. Flashing another quick, half smile, she replaced the magazine in its rack and strode past me, the scent of Chanel mingling with the soothing aromas of cappuccinos and lattes. I watched, transfixed, as she entered the bookstore, ambling down the nutrition aisle, fingers lightly caressing the shelves.

Suddenly disinterested in the slowdown in international gold production or the market turmoil due to the aftermath of a nationwide shut down, I followed her. There was something familiar in her smile, but what? Michelle had never smiled at me like that. Nor Helen. Nor any of the half-dozen others since the divorce.  I racked my brain, trying to place her. College? No, I was still too married and too naïve. My internship at Smith-Wesley Securities? That would have made sense, but by then I was too devastated by the divorce to even consider finding someone new.

She crossed into the “Relationship” section, where self-help titles like, “What to Look for in a Woman’s Eyes,” “How to Interpret Her Body Language,” and “How to Get Laid Every Night of the Week, and Twice on Sundays,” were prominently displayed. These were all written by self-anointed experts, of course, who never had any of these problems. They’re about as useful as a Stephen Hawking physics book. They make perfect sense, but the minute you try to practice their techniques, you trip over your own ineptitude and fall, face first, into a black hole, never to be heard from again.

Lost in thought, I nearly tripped over a stroller with a sleeping infant as it intersected my path, appearing from the aisle between “Cooking” and “Early Childhood Development.” I apologized, but only got a scowl from the young mother as she picked up her crying baby. Pivoting to see where my mysterious lady disappeared to, I found her standing several steps away, facing me with arms crossed and a broad smile on her face. She obviously witnessed my close encounter with infanticide, and I couldn’t help but smile as well. Holding my hands out to the side, I shrugged to acknowledge my embarrassment and closed the distance between us.

“Hi, Steven. Long time, no see.”

Excerpt from Chapter 1… She lifted the shiny handset. “Hassayampa Inn, how may I help you. One moment while I connect you.” With her free hand, she grabbed one of the many twisted wires. Tracing the second line of small, round holes, each marked with a room number, she plugged it into “1016” and waited. Apparently satisfied with a completed connection, she returned the handset to its cradle. “She’s really good, isn’t she?” I said. Laura didn’t bother looking up. “Who is?” I nodded toward the woman operating the phones. “The girl at the switchboard over there.” Laura lifted her nose out of the sports section and looked around, eyes furrowed. “I don’t see anyone.” “Her—right there—the girl in the red-checkered dress.” I pointed at her. Laura looked at the switchboard, back at me, then at the switchboard again. “Who?” Laura asked again, hands up in the air in frustration. “Her—right there—are you blind? You’re staring right at her.” “Are you hallucinating? There’s no one sitting at that dusty old fly-trap. There isn’t even a chair or bench in front of the damn thing.” Exasperated, I got up, walked over, and tapped the young woman on the shoulder. “Excuse me for interrupting, but would you please say hello, or at least wave, to my wife over there?” She looked up and flashed a smile full of perfect teeth and compassion. Swiveling on her stool, she waved at Laura. then turned back at the jingle of another incoming call. “There. Are you satisfied?” “Have you lost your mind? There’s no one there. What are you trying to pull?” I looked back at the console. “Miss, would you please…” But there was no one there. No stool, no checkered dress, no young woman with penetrating eyes playing hopscotch with the wires. Only an old, dingy switchboard, which hadn’t been dusted in weeks, or used in decade. Excerpt from Chapter 7 When the shouting and applause subsided, Martin Luther King took charge of the podium and the day. “I have a dream…” The words echoed around us, the jubilant response abundant and sincere. Listening as if for the first time, I experienced in real time a drama I could only have imagined from grainy black-and-white videos of a once-distant past. “I have a dream…” Mississippi, Alabama, and a nation still mired in discrimination being chastised by a masterful leader. It began on a quiet morning with a brave woman, Rosa Parks, refusing to give up her seat on a bus as the law required, and burgeoning into a Ghandi-inspired civil disobedience movement. “I have a dream…” If only he could have seen the results. I looked at Talia and tears streamed freely down her cheeks. I put my arm around her shoulder and she leaned into me. “Free at last, free at last, I thank God I’m free at last.” Excerpt 3 from Chapter 13 “Mr. Medina?” I asked as he approached. “You Russell?” “At your service.” “Call me Tazo. So, what’s this project you have for me?” “Have you ever heard of Simon Eckstein, or, Ergonometrics?” “Can’t say I have. I don’t read much science fiction.” “It’s an economics theory, meant to shore up our lagging economy.” “Like I said. I don’t read science fiction. What’s this got to do with me?” “I was hoping you’d be willing to help me make some contacts in Washington, get legislation drafted to implement his ideas.” “And, what makes you think I can help you? I’m not even interested in this sort of thing.” “I don’t need you to be interested in it. I need your help in get me in front of the right people.” “And, for these introductions, you’re prepared to pay my price?” “If the congressmen you introduce me to are in positions to move my cause along, yes. I suppose I should ask what your fee is.” “How much are you willing to commit to this wild goose chase of yours?” “I have a war chest of several hundred million dollars at my disposal,” I said, not ready to use the “B” word yet. “That’s good, because you’ll need it. My fee is $10 million, half up front, the rest when the meetings have been arranged. Travel and expenses are extra, and I travel first class, understood?” “Understood. What do you mean, ‘I’ll need it?’” “Aside from my fee, each senator and representative you meet will expect a sizeable campaign contribution. In addition, they likely will need certain… additional monetary incentives.” “Meaning?” “Can you spell bribe?” Howard Gershkowitz – Chandler, AZ – gershwriter@cox.net

The Operator

All Things That Matter, Publisher 263 pages Publication Date: October 2018 Suggested Retail Price: Print Edition, $16.99; Kindle edition $5.99 Author: Howard Gershkowitz ISBN: 978-173272374-0 Available from Amazon.com in both print and kindle editions or by contacting the author directly.