Lizzie and Charlie stroll up to the front of a modest two-storey office, warehouse, and factory mill housing the Le Fleur Paper Company. Always one to separate duty from passion, Lizzie pulls away from Charlie as they approach the front door. She marches in as if she owns he place, although Philip Castile actually does now. Even though Charlie intends to open the door for her, she storms in without giving him the chance, not even holding the door open for him. But Charlie does not mind at all.
As she walks to her father’s office on the second floor, people magnate to her with forms and contracts, clip boards and manila file folders, all beckoning “Ms. Le Fleur this,” and “Ms. Le Fleur that,” trying hard to conduct business as usual in order to avoid the obvious. Charlie lags behind.
When Lizzie nears her dad’s office, with Charlie faithfully behind like a Chinese bride, Philip Castile and Axel Le Fleur walk out of the office. Albino triplets flank Philip as his bodyguards. Mr. Le Fleur chatters to Philip who marches commandingly out of the door. He looks up and sees Lizzie approaching and his son behind her. Philip freezes, which causes everyone else to halt. It is a flash moment, a very still life like a Watteau portrait that indicates the motion previous and promises complementary actions to follow.
Philip resumes his victory lap with Mr. Le Fleur still in his ear. Philip has his eyes down and his hands in his pockets. Either Philip ignores him or listens intently with great concentration. He flashes a quick glance upward toward Lizzie as he passes her, and little further down she pats Charlie on the shoulder as he walks by him. He blurts a low, “Son” in salutation. The parade bottlenecks at the office door and Charlie starts to catch up to Lizzie.
“Long live the King,” says Charlie to Lizzie, who looks through her mercantile entourage and blows a kiss to Charlie and mouths to him, “I’m so happy!” As if all of Lizzie’s comotioners wear an electric shock dog collar that disallows travel beyond a certain point, each of them stay in the hall and fail to follow her into her father’s office, even though their business communications with her grow louder as they remain outside. Only Charlie comes in with her.
Her father’s office is spacious, but only because the entire back wall is a window divided in half, each segment of necessary length to see the floor of the warehouse and the paper mill. Along the top are various monitors that show closed-circuit feeds of specific places. There is one long metal desk, very old, and sundry file cabinets and shelves, all metal and old. Everything has unorganized piles of paper strewn on top of it. Lizzie closes the door and silence fills the room. The couple embraces and Lizzie sighs. She pulls away and stares Charlie in the eyes as she takes his shoulders.
“Charlie, I’m scared to death. I don’t know what’s about to happen.”
They embrace again, and Charlie reassures her, saying, “No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you.”
Mr. La Fleur enters with a flutter of woodpeckers about his head. He doesn’t notice Charlie, or at least he fails to acknowledge him. He rushes to his daughter and kisses her on the cheek. He leans his backside against the front of his desk with a mass of papers haphazardly gathered in his hands and scuttles through them in a quest for the secret of life.
“So, what’s gonna happen, daddy?”
Mr. Le Fleur glances at Charlie for the briefest of seconds with a ‘Can we speak in front of him?’ look, then says, “Everything is going to be alright.”
Lizzie rushes her father and hugs him tightly around the waist. In so doing she makes him drop about half of the papers though which he is shuffling. He vainly hides the frustration he feels with a shallow sigh and a low and twitching bow. Charlie picks up the papers and hands them to Mr. Le Fleur. He takes Lizzie by the elbow and pulls her from her embrace so that she might listen to him better.
“Not all the details have been hammered out, but there is a general agreement. Mr. Castile will not break up the company.”
Lizzie resumes her embrace, but again, Mr. Le Fleur pulls her away.
“There is one stipulation he insisted on. And this is non-negotiable.”
Mr. Le Fleur sets the papers on the desk and puts his hands on his daughter’s shoulders.
“In order for this company to stay as it is, Mr. Castile insists that you marry him.”
A trembling hand covers her mouth and tears well up and plummet in an instant.
“Marry him? Marry him?!”
Lizzie embraces him again, but not with the joy she had before. She sobs aloud as if she had just lost her grandmother.
“Hey, what’s going here?” shouts Charlie. “This, this ain’t the old world. This ain’t Bible times.”
Mr. Le Fleur offers parental conciliations while waving off Charlie.
“Hey, you can’t put that in a contract. It won’t stick.”
“It’s just a gentlemen’s agreement, Charlie. Nothing else.”
Charlie mumbles something inaudible with the only distinguishable word being ‘gentlemen.’
Again, Mr. Le Fleur takes Lizzie by the arms with a sign of strength, as if he wishes he can force her. But in an instant, knowing the impossibility of this prospect, he softens into a pleading posture with a corresponding frame of mind and tone of voice.
“If you ever loved me, if you ever had even an ounce of compassion for me and your mother, do this one thing for us. I know you don’t what to do this.” He looks toward Charlie, and continues, “You probably want to marry this man some day. I don’t know. I’d be proud to have him as a son-in-law. You have to believe me on that. But this is one thing I know. If you don’t marry Philip Castile, he will dismantle this company. I’ll be out of a job. And do you remember that brilliant tax advice we got when we moved to LA? The business owns the house. We’ll be homeless, or at least we’ll have to move. That’s our home. Elisabeth, you grew up with these people. They are your family almost as much as your mother and I are. All the company picnics and Christmas parties, and all the things you’ve done with them, and now you work with them. You’re their boss. I know you’re young and this might not mean as much to you now, but you’ll be out of a job as much as the rest of us will.” Mr. Le Fleur starts to cry, then adds, “You know your mother and I love you more than anything, and we only want your happiness. But if you can do this, do this for me, for us, for everyone here. Marry Philip. He can’t be that bad. You know he’ll be a good provider and you’ll never want for anything.”
“Except happiness.”
“Oh, come now. This is not the time to be selfish. You’ll find happiness. You always do.”
“That’s because I’ve always had Charlie.”
Lizzie cries and reaches a hand out to Charlie, who takes it and uses it to pull himself into her, and they embrace as mourning the death of the other. Mr. Le fleur puts a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. He spins and looks at Mr. Le Fleur, who is looking down and begins pacing about.
“Sorry, Charlie. I know you’re fond of her, and I know you’ve always made her happy. Maybe you’ve even thought about a future with her. But you have to look at this from my side. This is our jobs, our homes, our livelihood we’re talking about. You have to respect that.”
“You forget, Mr. Le Fleur, that I also work for my father. He’s a billionaire and I am quite well off myself. Let him have it all, and I’ll take care of Lizzie. I’ll take care of you and Mrs. Le Fleur.”
“Will you take care of all of them?”
Mr. Le Fleur points toward the giant window giving sight to all of the workers about to be sliced like deli meat by the processor of selfish gain and the homogeny of illicit lucre.
Lizzie looks to Charlie, and sobs as she says, “Charlie?”
Charlie turns to Mr. Le Fleur, and says, “Will you give us a minute, please?”
Mr. Le Fleur nods. He coughs and clears his throat to cover his own choke-upedness. He leaves and the pair embraces with a tightness that rightly fears it may be the last.
“Oh, Charlie, what am I going to do?”
“Shh, what are we going to do.”
She pulls away only to look him in the eye.
“We? We are not being asked to marry your father. Only I am. There’s no we in this.”
“There will always be a we with us. Do you remember what I told you when we first got to your father’s office? I said, ‘No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you,’ and I mean that.”
“What can you do for me in this?”
“Well, first of all, let me advice you. You listened to your father, now listen to me, will ya?”
The embrace melts and the two stay close for fear of eminent separation.
“One of the things I love most about you is that you are never rash. You think everything through. Kinda like my mom in that. Funny, never thought about how similar the two of you are. I guess that’s why I love you both so much.”
“Charlie get on with it.”
“Okay. This is me being reasonable with you. Not pleading with you. I’m saving that for later.”
Charlie slips a chuckle totally abortive of any jesting. Lizzie stares back at Charlie with a desperation approaching anger.
“Okay. Your dad said you should do this because of your love for him and your mom. Well I say you shouldn’t do this because of your love for me. That’s gotta be on the top of the list. And you will be miserable. My mom had the sense to leave him because of how bad a husband he was. I wish you could talk to her now. She’d tell you some things.”
Charlie strolls about the office with heavy feet as he strokes his chin. Lizzie stays her hands fastened to her face like one in the theatre of a horror movie, yet she is living the horror, and she fears her hero will not be able to save her from the monster.
“And what about me?” says Charlie. “I’ll be miserable without you, and you know it. I can take care of you and your family. And besides, it’s just wrong. I mean, do we live in the old days of arranged marriages? Maybe my dad really thinks he’s a king, and he can include marriage in a war truce. That’s not what marriage is supposed to be about. It’s not just having a wedding with him. It’s being married to him. And everything that entails. Do you get what I mean? Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Don’t say it,” says Lizzie through progressing tears.
“I’ll say it. I saved myself for you. We saved ourselves for each other. And for this? For you to end up having sex with my father?”
Almost inaudible for the sobbing, Lizzie says, “Please, stop. I can’t hear this.”
“You need to hear this. Are you gonna sleep with my father? A man you don’t love? A man who will never love you? He’s older than your father. Come on, now. I must be making some sense here.”
Lizzie rushes Charlie and holds him again, bawling worse than one mourning, for this is a suffering that continues, one she must continue to live with, and Charlie, as well. She suffers further in her mind knowing how he will agonize in his own torment alone. Volcanic distress erupts in her heart and melts her eyes in tearflows.
After a knock Mr. Le Fleur pops the door enough to peek in, then further to poke his head in. He sneaks in like he’s about to steal something.
“Never had to knock on my own door before.”
“It’s not yours, remember?” says Charlie. “And neither is Lizzie, you hear? She’s not yours to give away, especially to keep something that is definitely no longer yours.”
“Charlie, be nice.”
Charlie shakes his head, and says, “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ve always liked you. I’ve always respected you, too. But really, that was all for Lizzie’s sake. And if you insist on this, I’ll no longer like nor respect you. How a man can ask his daughter to do something like this. It’s absurd. It’s appalling. It’s, it’s disgusting. You disgust me, Sir.”
Lizzie grabs Charlie’s arm in a desperate plead for peace. Charlie turns and looks at her.
“Sorry, Sir. I think I’m mad at the wrong person here. It’s my dad I should be fuming at. In fact, where is he? I’m about to give him a piece of my mind. And boy it’s been a long time coming. I’m gonna like this.”
“Please don’t, son.”
“Son. That word worked on me before, but not now. I’m about to have my say.”
“Charlie, please don’t,” says Lizzie.
“You too? Wait, you’re not thinking about doing this, are you?”
With fresh tears, Lizzie pleads, “Charlie,” and shakes her head.
“If you love me and your mother, you’ll do this.”
“Lizzie, if you love me, you won’t.”
“He’ll take care of you.”
“I’ll take care of you.”
“We’ll lose our jobs.”
“I’ll give you jobs. Lizzie, I’ll give them jobs.”
“We’ll lose our home.”
“I’ll buy them a new house. Your folks can live with us. It’s not even the home you grew up in. They sold that back down in Sac-city to come up here and get rich, and look what it got them? Just another mule in the Castile stable.”
“And them?” says Mr. Le Fleur as he points to the window.
“Listen to me,” says Mr. Le Fleur to Lizzie, “I started this company for you. Something I can give you when we are old. I can’t do that if you refuse to marry him. I worked hard for this business, for you. You are both my labor of love, but the paper company only means anything to me because I did it all for you. If not, I’d let him have it all and retire.”
“Lizzie, I promise …”
Philip breaks into the room with the speed and force of a tiger with two extra legs slicked with a jar of Vaseline. In a line behind him marches his triplet albino bodyguards. He shakes hands and grins with Mr. Le Fleur, and mumbles, “Axel.” He makes his way to Charlie and shakes his hand, and adds, “Son.” Charlie burns inside, but fakes a curled smile. Philip turns toward Mr. Le Fleur’s daughter and grins broadly. The albinos wall behind him.
“Elisabeth, you look lovely.”
Philip takes her hand and kisses the back.
“You know, you somewhat favor my first wife.”
“So I have heard.”
“Well, I guess you know why I’m here. And I know your father has told you what hangs in the balance here. But Elisabeth, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I want you to marry me of your own free will. So, Elisabeth Le Fleur …”
Philip starts down and the albinos help him to steady to one knee. He pulls a large and gaudy diamond and platinum ring from his pocket. He looks at it and chuckles.
“You know, this was my mother’s ring.”
He holds it out and looks up to Lizzie.
“But it can be yours if you will marry me.”
She looks to Charlie, who shakes his head, and then to her father, whose eyes are down, and he won’t even meet her gaze. She loves Charlie, and that weighs heavy on one end of the balance. But she also loves her parents and the company they built for her. She loves all the people who work for the Le Fleur Paper Company, who like family help raise her like favorite uncles and aunts. That leverages the other end of the scale.
The work in the mill, the warehouse, and all the offices halts with the reentry of Philip into the office, and the sounds of commerce quiets. No one in the office notices for what is going on is ever-present and deafening. Lizzie doesn’t realize until she reaches for a tissue from the box on the desk. When she does so, she happens to see out of the large window. Everyone in the mill and the warehouse are staring up to the office. Even those on closed-circuit feed can be seen gazing up at the cyclops of a camera. She hears in her heart each of them wishing, “Marry him. Marry him.”
Her mind is torn between what will happen if she does and doesn’t marry Philip. If she marries him, then the company and all the jobs will be saved, but she will be utterly miserable. If she doesn’t then the Le Fleur Paper Company will be shredded. Her parents will lose their jobs and their homes. Plus, her father’s entrepreneurial heirloom will have been taken away from him to give to her, but she’ll be happy being married to Charlie.
Now looking into the mass of workers, not a single face among them distinguishable by sight, and yet they form one solid character in her mind representing them all. She is responsible for their jobs and homes, their security and happiness. She begins to doubt if she can truly be happy being married to Charlie knowing that many, many people, each of whom she adores singularly, over 900 souls to speak of, are suffering and she could have stopped it all with one simple choice, which by now is clearly not simple at all. The more these thoughts churn through her head, the more convoluted the decision seems to be.
“Come on!” shouts Philip, “Hurry now! I can’t remain down here all day!”
Philip takes her hand to offer her his mother’s ring, when he recognizes she is wearing Bonnie’s claddagh ring Charlie has just given to her.
“What the devil is that doing on your hand? How did it get there?”
“I gave it to her,” says Charlie.
“You what?” shouts Philip as he turns and stares at his son.
“Yes,” says Lizzie as she forces a single laugh. “Charlie has told me many times about this ring and I wanted to see it, and well. He brought it and I was fooling around with it, and I put it on to see how it looks. I guess I forgot it was there.”
She looks to Charlie, whose ears bleed when he hears her say this. Philip seems satisfied with the reason, and calms down enough to face Lizzie again.
“Well, heh, I guess that’s okay. But I can’t put this ring on with that one there. So take it off, will you?”
Lizzie is unable to breathe and feels as if she will faint.
“Come on, now. Take it off and give it to me.”
Lizzie removes the claddagh ring from her finger. It slides off so effortlessly, it is as if it never is worn in the first place. Philip puts the ring in his pocket in the company of some loose change, a receipt, and a piece of Dentine. He takes her hand and Lizzie starts crying.
“Again, dear girl, I only want you to agree to this of your own free will. Do you want to marry me?”
She closes her eyes and cries some more. Even with her eyes shut there is more to see than before. In the same continual instant she can see her parents and their home. She can see Charlie and imagine herself as his bride. She can see every worker and their families, and how each of them is dependent upon her. She realizes that she cannot be happy if she is causing such misery. Despite what this will do to her, what it will do to Charlie, she opens her eyes, looking only at her beloved, and says, “Yes.”
Charlie has to clutch the wall to stay upright. His senses go beyond dizzy, wondering to himself, “So this is how it feels to have a stroke?” Mr. Le Fleur lifts two fists and shouts, “Yes!” like his favorite team has just scored. A shout soon begins in the hall outside of the office. It careens like floodwater down to the floor area of the mill first, then the warehouse. Shouts of celebration raise themselves as word spreads. Over nine-hundred people cheer in super-abundance as two mourn silently.
All this happens as Philip tries to fit the ring on Lizzie’s finger, but it is far too big and will not stay on. It’s like fitting a hula-hoop onto a toothpick.
“Oh well, mother was always a big sort of gal,” says Philip.
He raises his elbows like wings and his albinos lift him up. He smiles, shakes hands with Mr. Le Fleur, then puts a hand on Lizzie shoulder. Charlie almost vomits when he sees this.
“Let’s all go to my Bel-air mansion. That’s where the wedding will take place. Sometime soon, I believe. Beginning of February, first or second. I’ll pay for everything, of course, but you have a lots of plans to make. With you mother and father. We’ll pick her up on the way. Well, let’s get going.”
As the assembly departs the office, Lizzie looks back to Charlie and extends her hand to him with a gesture that imitates someone desperate for rescue. Charlie hands her the strip of photos. Lizzie takes it and holds it with both hands against her chest. She does this for the remainder of the day, even in Philip’s mansion, and no one seems to notice.
Charlie leaves long after everyone else. He goes for a long drive along the coast for most of the sunlight portion of the day. He stops for a fast food burger at dusk. He takes one bite and throws it out the car window. When he gets home he heads straight for the wardrobe in his bedroom and removes a metal box with a lock on it. He unlocks the box and pulls out a gun, a WWII German Lugar.
He enters his bathroom and sits on the commode. There he wails in the room most perfect for acoustically echoing and amplifying his wretchedness. He still hold the gun, but ignores it. It is simply something in his hand, something to hold. He is in increasing physical pain over his despondency. His face has long been deep red, and now even appears purple. He can feel his pulse as a shock all over his body. Each tremor amplifies the hurt.
He wants to die, and feels as if he will. After hours of agony he stares at the gun in his hand, and his pain turns to numbness. He goes to his bedroom and sits at his desk. He takes apart, cleans, and reassembles his pistol three times. With every action he imagines taking that very gun to his head and ending his life. After the third time, he stares at it and thinks how his misery can end by using this same gun on his father. While in his delirium, he can grasp something like killing himself. But as soon as he considers murdering his father, he puts the gun down. As much as he loathes his father, especially this day more than ever, he is still so psychologically dependent upon his father and for a sense of inclusion he has yet to receive, so that killing him screams of unreasonableness so loudly that it shocks him back into coherence. Charlie is still moored to his father and it will take a tremendous happening to break him free of that.
Charlie will never again contemplate suicide. In his Jobian lowliness where he loses all in a day, he ponders it in his weakness. But because it is a sin before God to kill yourself, he repents and decides he needs to learn to live with this struggle all the rest of his life, as long as God may allow it to be. Charlie removes all the bullets from his gun and locks it back up again. He replaces the box in the wardrobe. Charlie strides to the fridge, takes out a bag of cherries, and leaves his house. He is heading for his grandfather Charles’s burial site, where he remains until morning in prayer.