THE PLANNING
I am yet to introduce myself. My name is Celestine Mary Clever, the CEO and sole owner of Cleverstine Industries. I am thirty-six years old, or will be on the 1st of April. I am the first of two children, and my parents are still fully alive and bubbling. My younger brother, Charles, is the Director in my company, and we are a perfect team. I was not born with any spoon, both golden or silver, but I made sure I got mine and right now, I don't even know the exact figures in my bank account. Though I'm certain my personal assistant, Bob would, but enough of me for you'll get to know me eventually. It's time to organise my steps.
First, I picked up a black ball point pen and a brown leather covered notebook. It was brand new and costs a quarter the amount of the shoes I wore on New year's. Then, I turned into the first page and lowered my pen to begin, but froze. Looking up, the very diligent Bob was standing all muscular and handsome like a bodyguard ready to kill the dust that would threaten my view. He didn't look like an Ivy League University Master's degree graduate, but he was a genius, although he looked less like one now as he stared into my book. Yesterday I had come into the office alone, and I had written on the header of the first page,
"DIY: FIVE EASY STEPS TO PAY BACK BULLIES", hence the sight of the heading must be foreign for Bob. I would say the look on his face was understandable since the heading was not something the head of an empire would write on any normal day, neither was it a topic related to the activities of the Cleverstine Industries. No one knew my past, except for my family, I didn't even have friends in high school. Who would want to be seen with a target of bullying? I wouldn't, it would be too much of a risk and I would only call trouble to myself, if I did that. Therefore, although I couldn't blame my classmates, they were all cowards.
"Bob?" I called.
He looked up at me, and with a nod I gestured to the sofa he always sits at whenever I instruct him to. He bowed and walked to the sofa, and I followed, book and pen in hand. The man was half a decade older than I was, but he obeyed my every single instruction, worded or not. I slumped into the soft but firm cushion, then he followed and sat down. I carefully dropped the book on the glass table in front of us, once again I opened it to the first page. I saw his eyes drift back to the words, and I'm certain I could read the words his eyes were fixed on from his glassy pupils. Bullies. I couldn't help but smile. Bob was a father of two, and I felt he would be genuinely interested in this if ever his babies were bullied, which I doubted.
Although he was my PA, he was paid hefty thousands of dollars. It was difficult to keep a Harvard Graduate as a PA with small change. If he was in another company apart from mine, he could be a Manager or higher, so I made sure he was paid like one. Moreover, he looked like a pro wrestler. No kid in their right mind would want to mess with such a man. But then again, bullies were never in their right mind, were they? I had to break the silence, although I preferred it that way when I was dragged into the world of economics, finance, and hospitality but now was not about work it was about stellar planning, and I needed his input in this.
"You can go ahead and ask." I knew he had millions of questions, but I was already sure he would ask only one. It would be the most important and the one that would answer all other questions. So I waited. He looked up at me then back at the boo, then up at me. He cleared his throat as he arranged his mind. The next time he looked at me, I felt like one of his kids. I love my dad, but occasionally, I wonder if I had someone like him as a father, would I have passed through the nightmare that haunted me in the day? I couldn't be certain, I can't go back in time, and again I love my dad. Likewise, I wouldn't wish to replace him because of those vile creatures.
"Lady Clever, were you a victim of bullying?" His question carried the when, why, how, where, and what happened all at once and I smiled. The perfect question, I must say. I nodded.
"Yes Bob. Throughout my high school years from Junior high to senior high…" I began.
Although I knew it was important to tell him everything about my teenage years in school, since we were going to work together on this eventually, I felt sorry for him. It was the second of January, it was meant to be his holiday, but he was here listening to my awful story of how pathetic I lived, instead of being with his family. I'm sure I could be sued for employee maltreatment, even with the generous overtime I was paying him if he were someone else, but Bob was Bob, so he listened to my story, silently interrupting me when he needed to get water for both of us. It was still too early to drink, although I needed it, I ignored the urge to ask for it.
Then I went on with my tale, I still remembered every detail, every painful blow, every cracking sound whenever one of my bones broke. I could not forget the unsympathetic words from my teachers, the pitiful stares from my classmates, I could feel it all once again. Occasionally, I paused to gauge my voice from quavering, to stabilize my mind, the pictures still frightened me. Therapy had helped, but it didn't heal me, couldn't, but I survived. I moved on by my will, and I became what I am through that solid will.
"After I recovered from the jump, my parents decided it was best we changed cities. My mum resigned from her hospital since she was a nurse and my dad requested for a transfer. I finished my final months of high school in a new school and I moved on until now." I finished.
I hadn't realised I was drawing circles on the page I had opened when I was narrating my experience, until I looked down at the book. Seeing it was ruined, I stopped, and dropped the pen.
"Until today." He said, and I nodded,
"One final question, Lady Clever." He wasn't asking for my permission nor was it even a question, but I nodded in consent.
"What made you remember?" Hearing that, I sat back and relaxed completely into the cushion. It wasn't because I was standing on the roof yesterday, neither was it because I saw one of them, or read about bullies in a journal, or listened to a topic about them on the radio, television or online. No that was not the reason. I didn't even see any of them, I haven't seen them since I left that school, nor did I come in contact with anything relating to them, hence the answer to Bob's question was easy.
"Bob, I never forgot." Was all I said. There was silence for one minute, then two, then what felt like ten before Bob responded with a nod. He rose, checked his watch, and reflex dragged me to check mine too. It was 3:05 pm and I realised I have been talking for almost five hours, more amazing was the fact that Bob had listened for all that time. I decided I must increase his overtime, for this was beyond his job description.
I watched him walk to my desk, he lowered and picked up the little black gauze trash can aside my desk and with it, he walked back to the cushion set. He dropped the bin next to his seat before sitting. Then he dragged the notebook to himself.
"It's ruined." He said and tore out the first page, then dumped the crumpled page in the trash. He reached into his breast pocket and took out a similar ball point pen. It was the one I had gifted him on Christmas day, and with a click on the top, then a cross of his long legs, he looked up at the baffled me, and smiled.
"Must it be limited to five steps?" He asked, and I heard the excitement in his voice. I looked up at him, and in that instant our eyes met, I could clearly see he would enjoy this as much as I would. I cleared my throat and pretended to think as I tapped my index on my matte red flamethrower lips.
"There's always a provision for adjustment. But the bottom line…"
"The bottom line, is that they would pay with every drop of blood they have running through their views." He completed in my stead.
"Yup." There was no need to be formal, not when we were planning something so private.
"Well no need to pay overtime." He said and wrote down words I couldn't see on a new page, and I smiled, although he was unable to see me. Of course, I would still pay him, I was the boss here, and I am entitled to decide what I do with my money. When he was done, he turned the page to me, and it read,
"HOW TO PAY BACK A BULLY." With a smile, I approved, and he turned the book to himself. The heading allowed more than five steps, and it also gave room for less.
"Lady Clever, we should begin. We have only three sixty-three days and nine hours, left." He pointed and I laughed. I was going to need that whiskey, so I stood and walked to the bar and got a bottle of Macallan Valerio Adami 1926, with two glasses and walked back to him, before I sat, I said,
"Well then Bob, write this down. Step 1…"