Alexander's Gift

The Playboy- 2

It was just Dean's luck to have to go down to the bank to meet some new financial advisor on his day off. He had just been lying in bed comfortably wrapped in the sheets, dreaming up all of the perfectly ridiculous ways in which he could spend these next 24 hours, when the task occurred to him. But out of the disappointment that rose within him, and perhaps out of rebellion against the task itself as if it had planned itself that way, Dean relaxed the muscles of his face and decided to continue to imagine what he could do that night.

First off, he had a standing invitation to just about every good-looking doll in the city, so he might check out a few of those offers until lunchtime, at which point lunch and an afternoon spent golfing would be . . . Well, more than fine. Then, as every one of Dean's evenings inevitably ended, he'd wind up wasted in someone else's bed.

Without looking, Dean swiped a cigarette from his nightstand and lit it, all at once annoyed because he couldn't have the day off, and annoyed because the ideas he came up with didn't particularly thrill him- except for golf.

Pushing the thoughts from his mind like a shopkeeper sweeping the dust from his floors with a satisfying finality that wasn't really final, Dean took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke slowly through his nose, tilting his head to watch the billows caught in the sunlight. Soft, white curls floated leisurely through the air that he suddenly desperately wanted to hold, and he felt like a twelve-year-old child for a moment as he lay there transfixed. Dean abruptly violently wanted to stay there and never have to see anyone else again, but he didn't feel at all like thinking about why. So, with exasperation Dean propped himself up on one elbow and knew like soldier raising a white flag in war that he must get dressed to meet that advisor.

###

Dean caught a glimpse of Mr. Petula's office through the glass pane in the door, and was surprised to find a warm, homey combination of couches, family portraits, and even a dart board. Already this Petula fella was different. Dean's been to enough offices to know that it was very indicative to the type of person someone was. His last advisor, an insufferable bore who was not only conniving but deathly afraid of Dean, had a bare closet of an office consisting of only a desk, on which a lonely typewriter sat.

He knocked twice on the thick oak door before stepping inside of the office. Petula sat working with a focus that set two deep lines on both sides of his mouth which made Dean feel guilty. Like he was intruding on something deeply personal. He reminded himself that the man was just crunching numbers, for goodness' sake, and what the hell was wrong with him?

However, Mr. Petula's expression shifted in an instant when he caught sight of Dean, and, rising to his feet, he suddenly looked so happy it seemed as if he must have always been that way.

"Mr. Russo, it's a pleasure to meet you at last. Please, sit down." Mr. Petula said kindly, and it struck Dean that Mr. Petula was genuinely glad to see him.

"The pleasure's mine, Mr. Petula." Dean drawled with an appreciative nod as he sat in the golden leather chair facing the desk.

"Call me Dick." A broad smile that stretched across Dick's whole face appeared when Dean answered, "Only if you call me Dean." Deftly unbuttoning his tweed coat with one hand as he went to sit down, Dick was a wiry, tall man who moved with a nimbleness and grace that hinted at an athletic prowess.

The meeting was quick and concise, with Dick being almost eerily organized and prepared. It was hard for Dean to understand Dick, as he didn't at all seem like the other bankers he had known. Being young, good looking in a goofy sort of way, very personable, and athletic weren't exactly well-known traits in that business.

It wasn't until they were standing up to say their goodbyes that Dean realized what it was that made him feel a natural warmth of friendship toward Dick. As they firmly shook hands, there was a widely unassuming innocence to Dick's bright, doe-like eyes that assured Dean not a treacherous thought had passed through his head to prosper himself at the expense of another.