Chapter 2

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The huge living room in the extravagant penthouse gave onto a three-cornered view across the top of the sprawling city. It was like looking down from the deck of a space ship. Sparkling lights of the buildings and endless traffic contrasted with the black shadows of the twisting river and the adjacent parks. Barton leaned his head on the cool glass and groaned aloud, gaining no pleasure from the scene.

"God, I hate this business some times."

"Then why you spend so much time at it?" Moira scolded from her seat on the long, leather sofa.

"Don't start, okay?" He turned from the window and sprayed her with a warning look before heading to the bar. "You want another?" He held up the bottle.

She shook her head and finished what she had. "I'm going to bed. I hate the business too... all the time." She stood and swept past him down the hall to their bedroom.

Barton started after her, his face red and angry. "You like it well enough when it pays for all your needs." He called after her.

"Good night, Barton." She said with a taunting singsong.

He heard her slam the bedroom door and he hurled his empty glass down the hall at the sound. "Bitch! Ungrateful bitch!"

Barton Weston, in the words of Steve Martin, was a wild and crazy guy. From his early ankle biting years through the hell raising days of high school, which was as far as he got in his uninterested quest for formal education, Barton was the definitive rebel; quick to finish debates with his fists if the opposition didn't buckle when expected and equally quick to share any deserved praise or the shirt on his back.

Only a naturally acquired technological insight and ability, channeled by a need to eat and have a roof over his head after leaving home, provided Barton with his ticket into the world of commerce and ultimately, financial reward. Armed with an ornately bordered, letter-sized certificate that documented his completion of four years of high school, a truckload of wild ideas and more confidence than Custer, he began his assault on the technological sector.

In a few years, absorbing necessary data like a sponge, he launched his personally developed program for the protocols required in inventory management systems, packed with applications for a full range of businesses in their target markets, Barton's ingenious software design struck with an almost tsunami-like force when he demonstrated its power.

In an extremely short time the young Barton Weston was the flavour of the year among the nation's major businesses and well on his way to becoming an international player. The Weston Company, as he named it, grew and the opportunities along with it, eventually demanding more than Barton alone could provide.

As the company's program continued to gain in popularity he took another big risk and borrowed heavily to expand and set up an elaborate head office manned by a carefully assembled staff including a newly acquired partner, Brian Cathcart, several years junior to Barton. Together they formed a new company under the name WesCat Alliance and with Brian's expertise in data management, gave the company a well-timed charge into the growing global marketplace. Barton's relentless, energetic promotions brought them to the attention of powerful multi-national businesses and WesCat's products were adopted as absolute must haves.

Doubters and naysayers were blown away by his limitless enthusiasm and energy and when the battles were over, WesCat Alliance had managed to acquire the business of almost all the major players. The media that salivated at his penchant for massive product promotions, where they swarmed like summer gnats consuming his proclamations along with treats from his generous larder, followed his repute closely, featuring him in every business article and on the covers of all the financial magazines.

If Barton Weston had a fault it was his volcanic temper, carried over from his youth. Blazingly quick to appear and just as quick to dissipate, it left his opponents reeling. When his outburst was over they were immediately presented with Dr. Jekyll and rarely, if ever, had a chance for rebuttal -- and as with his wife -- they rarely tried.

Business bloomed and there was nothing but joy in WesCat. When the decision to issue stock was made, only fifteen percent was allotted for outside the company. Brian received fifteen of his own and when two additional officers were appointed to the board, Myles Forbin, lawyer for corporate affairs and Peter Delacourte, Financial Advisor, they each received five percent.

Both men shared the vision of the founder and were cut from similar cloth -- tough yet resilient but dramatically different in personality. Where Barton was hale fellow well met, Myles Forbin was a married, tailored, precisely stuffy snob with stereotypical mannerisms to match. He affected what he perceived as his interpretation of a British, public school alumnus.

Peter Delacourte was single, suave, smooth and casual chic, the Hollywood image of the alpha male. A ladykiller. With Brian falling somewhere in the middle both in personality and attitude, the company's general meetings spawned a considerable amount of tap dancing to placate the abrasive mix. Nonetheless, the business continued to flourish and with expansion the goal, the full allotment of shares set aside was distributed for additional financing.

A number of influential businessmen and women joined the WesCat board, opening opportunities for still more money for additional promotion and research. Long days. Long nights. Short shrift was given for friends and families.

Seeing their own survival in danger, overseas competitors gradually began merging and throwing their combined weight into the market, seeking to regain the territories WesCat had conquered.

It was at this time Cybrus Corporation took an active interest; Arnold Chang wasn't keen on more competition. Miriam Spenser-Forbin was Arnold's first avenue for such an approach. Introductions were created to probe the possibility of dividing up the WesCat Alliance empire and to glean whatever inside information might be available.

The lives of the WesCat family were about to change dramatically.

*******

Moira heard the glass hit the door and the muffled curse from her husband. She kicked off her shoes, removed her jewellery and sat at her dressing table. The growing atmosphere of doubt and discontent that accompanied her husband home every night from work, she realized, was becoming a routine that she was sick and tired of facing.

The incessant political maneuvering, the long nights alone while he attended work and the endless round of company cocktail parties where she was forced to knead potential clients into a malleable form that Barton could shape to suit himself and WesCat's needs. Moira found herself spending more and more time in front of the mirror as if to assure that she was still real and not some party prop dragged out two or three times a year and closeted for the rest.

As much as she and Barton, in the past, had shared a good yet steadily declining relationship, it was further hindered by the fact that their social life didn't take them into the venues where Moira wanted to be. She craved the spotlight and the attention it spawned. Just being the wife of Barton Weston didn't cut it any more.

The early years, when he was almost electrically charged, driving himself up the ladder of prominence and power, she clung to him with awe and the thrill of the exciting risks he dared to take. Now, his electricity was a mere sputter by comparison and she felt trapped, needing more of an edge to keep life interesting. Several times she'd dared herself to step boldly out on her own and taste some the life she constantly read about or saw on TV -- the glamorous affairs and satisfying infidelities -- but doubt and fear held her back; it was a dare she couldn't accept.

Moira slouched in front of her dressing table, too lazy to remove her makeup. Too depressed to care. She drew off her slip, tossed her bra on the chair and crawled under the sheets with just panties. She dimmed the light so that it didn't bother her but would allow Barton to find his way around without crashing onto her when he finally came to bed. Things had to change. Something. Anything.


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