A Closet Opened

By J. Michael Storm

An essay contest sets Destinee Gerard on a path that will change her life forever. Her intended subject, the town’s bum is not the nobody townsfolk believed him to be. The superstar athlete she has a crush on is chasing a ghost from his past. The two-time Academy award-winning actress, being extorted and plotted against is closely guarding an ill-advised decision, potentially detrimental to her future. A classmate will discover he has an emotional attraction to Destinee, but is about to embark on a journey of his own. Her father’s mysterious past is about to catch up with him, putting their lives in jeopardy. The West Coast mafia wants millions of dollars back that vanished over a decade earlier. The past and the present are forced to confront each other by an unforeseen ally, who is busy manipulating everything in cleaning out the closet.
Warning: Don’t open this closet, unless you are ready to get entrapped in its secrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Michael Storm
• Release date: May 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310908569

J. Michael Storm

J. Michael Storm lives with his Principle Partner, Lynn in a quiet and secluded, heavily treed neighborhood in Ohio. The Storms enjoy target shooting at Lynn’s Parent’s farm, movies, sex clubs, documentaries, wineries, dining out, hosting parties and vacationing. The Storms have had a polyamorous relationship since day one and have a healthy, creative, kinky and active sex life. Their motto is: Do it often but do it safe and get tested regularly. J. Michael Storm has been writing for years, winning his first award at age nine. He had only recently delved into the world of erotica but as with all things he does, he going at it full force, holding nothing back, censors and puritans be damned! To contact J Michael Storm or find out more about him, visit him at: j-michael-storm.tumblr.com

Book preview

The Assignment

Chapter 1

Ominous dark clouds, heavily laden with angry mist started casting their crystal tear shaped daggers of life sustaining substance upon the insignificant city of Gloryfield, Texas. Once the sun’s golden tentacles of light were severed by the raging storm, the inhabitants of the small town sought shelter. They understood they were well protected in the cinnamon hued brick buildings which housed businesses along Main Street or in their solid constructed homes throughout their community. Only the bright red painted metal and glass monstrosity known as the Jessie Young Memorial Library remained unperturbed from its regular routine. The builder’s boast of the place being the most modernized library in the state, ready to withstand anything Mother Nature threw its way, was fully prepared to handle the liquid assault.

Destinee Gerard had been parked and reading for hours while peering into one of the newest flat panel 3-D computer monitors. She was totally oblivious to the rain that pelted and marinated everything in the dwarfed town just southwest of the metropolis called Dallas. Her teacher Ms. Vera Myers had given her students an assignment to complete over the summer school break. Being a very intelligent, shy, yet highly inquisitive youngster, Destinee was determined to write the best story possible. Conducting her research for information first, she worked extra hard.

As she started to tire, she could hear Ms. Myers’ instructions echoing in her cerebral.

Write an essay on someone’s actions that might change history. The choice of whom to write about will be your decision. Whoever has the best paper will win a $1000 shopping spree, redeemable at the Hess mall in Dallas.

A wish list filled her imagination with all the wonderful things she could buy if she won. Destinee enjoyed competition, yet before she could claim the essay’s prize, she had to get past the tough task of selecting the perfect person to write about. She had whittled her choice down to 3 possibilities. There was Barack Obama, the first black man elected to the presidency of the United States. Second on her list saw T. Boone Pickens and his plan to harness the wind, converting it into usable clean energy with the use of wind turbines. Third was the philanthropy of Bill and Melinda Gates illustrating wealthy people giving back for the betterment of society. Taking a deep breath after completing her exhaustive research, she dismissed all three. She speculated everyone in her class would probably choose those same three people to base their essays on. What she needed was journalistic star power if she intended on securing that shopping spree.

Packing her things before leaving the library, Destinee began to feel dejected, and upon hearing rumbles in her stomach was reminded she’d skipped both breakfast and lunch. With the downpour complete, activity in the community resumed its normalcy. Wanting to pick a few magnolias from the tree in the vacant lot behind the Gramp’s drug store, she stumbled upon the worst dressed man she’d ever seen in Gloryfield. After stopping her trek, she stared as he looked inside the garbage dumpster behind the drug store. His long brown uncombed and tangled hair flowed freely under a dirty, oil stained, bent billed baseball cap. The once white t-shirt was permanently soiled with a color resembling a rusty brown, having holes in various places. The outfit was accompanied by a pair of dark green khaki pants resembling his air conditioned shirt. No socks were present, causing her to view the caked soil between his toes through the rehabbed sandals he wore. His face, covered with thick unruly silver and brown facial hair, towered over the trash bin. Turning, he looked at her for the first time. His sparkling sapphire blue eyes still possessed a glow enabling him to captivate anyone’s attention. Suspending his search, she became aware he seemed embarrassed over being caught dumpster diving.

Times like these were hard on the man town folks labeled a bum. Glancing at the pretty little girl watching him, he froze. She was a petite angel, with a pure honey tone complexion, a slim face, majestic brown with hints of purple iris’s, wearing a striped polo styled shirt sporting three shades of brown. Her shorts, which hung down to her knees, were also brown. The child’s hair was braided, brushing her shoulders, with each plait adorned by 3 color coordinated beads matching her shirt. Both of them stared at the other, sizing up the situation.

Are you hungry sir? she inquired.

No answer sprang forth. He bowed his head in shame while turning away from her gaze, in order to break eye contact. A tear wanted to fall from his watering eyes, yet he refused to blink. He fully understood should the first one fall, they would continue unabated.

Being frugally raised, she didn’t have much money to spare. Yet following the teachings from both her father and the church, she realized it was better to help someone in need than to be selfish. Destinee only had one dollar in her pocket, which she intended on using to buy a bag of chips and a juice pouch, however morality called. She approached the man and put the bill in his hand. At first he didn’t want to grab hold of the currency. Her adamant insisting convinced him she expected him to accept the money.

In taking her gift, he flashed a smile from a perfect set of pearly whites, along with doing a quick two step.

If you’re here this time tomorrow I’ll bring you something to eat, okay? she asked, with a wide smile showing the small gap between her two front teeth.

Without answering, he bowed his head and walked away.

Destinee sensed she had found the person she would write her essay about. Why she felt that way she wasn’t sure. There was a story there for sure; she could feel it with every bit of female instinct in her 13year old body. The angle for the story would need work, but her intuition had always served her efficiently in the past. She trusted herself, believing in her God given talent to write.

***

With the help of her newly hired image consultant, she prevented herself from applying the usual plum tinted lipstick in favor of a more neutral tone to adorn her pouting luscious lips. Then, to achieve a height of 6 feet, depending on which pair of hand crafted Jimmy Choo stilettos she wore, only enhanced her marketability in Hollywood. Her face had become a constant, being featured in the tabloids, magazines, talk shows, and of course on the silver screen. She was Silver Summers, who reigned as both diva supreme and movie star extraordinaire. Silver possessed a pair of passionate violet eyes which spoke more effectively than any script she ever uttered. They’d helped her earn 2 Academy Awards for best actress, and rumors were running rampant, hinting that she again was leading the race for a third Oscar for her latest role in Higher than an Angel. Silver’s portrayal of a crack addict who saves the president daughters lives when they become trapped in a submerged vehicle was so convincing, people in political circles were fielding calls for her to receive a medal for her bravery. Even her harshest critics were raving her performance, as were other prominent actresses who were blown away by her theatrical talents. She adjusted a lock of her long blond hair which cascaded around her slim oval shaped face that supported soft dimples whenever she smiled. Taking a peep into the mirror, she liked the new color. Her lips seemed to flow with the rest of her flawless beauty.

KK, I hate to admit it, but you were right. I don’t need any additional attention to my mouth. This color, topped off with lip gloss, makes my face appear years younger, Silver remarked to her consultant Karen Tarts.

Karen (KK) had the knack of being able to provide little tips to enable her clients to stay on top of their game. At 58years old, she had worked her way from being a rookie, at the beginning of her career, slowly separating herself from the talentless wannabees, rising to the top of the A-list of Hollywood’s mega stars. KK understood a long time ago that extras didn’t always enhance a person. Working with Silver was sure to become the pinnacle of her life’s work.

Silver, the senator will be here in a few minutes, you need to put on your pearl necklace. Karen reminded.

I don’t want to wear them they always get caught up in my hair.

Let me show you a trick to alleviate that problem.

Karen placed a strip of transparent tape across the underside of Silver’s thick mane, where the problem usually occurred. No one would see the tape nor would it restrict her hair’s natural movement.

Without your help, I don’t know how I’ve lasted in this town as long as I have. The actress expressed in thanking Karen.

Being a star affords certain advantages most people could only hope to obtain at some stage in their life. There are also the disadvantages associated with fame most never realize. Silver loved being recognized, always gaining entry into the upscale restaurants, clubs, parties, sport events, and being included with the in-crowd. While the perks were great, she hated the fact she couldn’t go to an eatery without being disturbed; the same applied to the parties, clubs, and sporting events. Although she appreciated and respected her fans, just once she wished she could go shopping forsaking her many disguises. She wondered what it would be like to be ordinary, with no one asking for an autograph, photo opportunity, or advice on how to become the next Silver Summers. The worst of all were the hair yankers. Those who wanted her golden locks for either posterity or to sell online. She had to employ so many people for security during public appearances that her nerves were constantly frazzled.

Dating also became a challenge. She could still remember the early days in the business when she could fall head over heels for someone just for the romance. Now that she possessed wealth and fame, dating assumed added scrutiny. In Hollywood, one could only be seen in public with a certain class of men. Mainly wealthy, powerful, or on the list of who’s who. Silver found out firsthand what happens if one veers away from the unwritten protocol. Straying from the norm, she had gone out with a very handsome guy who delivered a pizza to her changing trailer. The rag papers, along with the television tabloids had a field day at her expense. She became the punchline for all the late night talk shows.

Silver Summers was last seen leaving the set of her latest movie in a Yugo, as her date delivered his last pizza. They then dined at Dollar Burger.

Who needs to go looking for a man? Do like Silver Summers and order one with your pizza.

Did Silver Summers order extra pepperoni on her pizza…um man?

Those comments hurt her deeply. She actually enjoyed the time she spent with Danny, the notorious pizza deliverer. He was kind, well mannered, and owned a very over powering kiss. Silver would have endured all the criticism if not for what she overheard on their third outing. While waiting for their meal to arrive, she excused herself from the table. Halfway to the ladies room, she realized she’d left her tube of lipstick on the table and returned to retrieve it. Danny’s back faced her return route, so he never knew she was privy to hearing his phone conversation.

I’m going to make a fortune as soon as I write a tell-all book, right after I finish putting the loving on her, he bragged.

Silver became heartbroken. She hailed a cab to take her home, leaving him sitting there. As she reflected on the incident, she found humor in the fact that on their first date, they had eaten at Dollar Burger. Danny didn’t drive a Yugo nevertheless his old Ford Pinto worked just fine.

The new man in her life was the senator from California, Gregory Colonay. Born into a wealthy family, he fit into her life perfectly. So, why was she so unhappy?

Gregory knew all the rules of dating and staying inside the correct circles. He also understood having Silver on his team would be a boon in the world of politics. Plans had been laid to use her celebrity status to garner millions of votes when he announced his candidacy for President of the United States. The hiring of Karen Tarts had been his father’s idea; although he was aware Ms. Tarts had been advised in advance as to what was expected of her in reshaping Silver’s image. Gregory’s bottom line was easy to decipher, he needed Silver’s popularity more than she needed his misguided love.

Chapter 2

Believing he’d never attain peak condition or ever be fully prepared for the upper echelon of the sports world, he worked out until perspiration saturated every thread of his outfit, then he'd push further. Truth be known, he’d become probably the premiere athlete on the planet. Dorian Riley, with his intelligent brown eyes connected to a face most imagined would be reserved for a Greek God. His golden sandalwood hued skin radiated whenever he unintentionally flashed his gleaming and flawless white smile. Having long mid-waist dark brown hair, which was usually worn braided, loose, or pulled back in a queue, caused his height of 6 feet 2 inches to appear deceptively shorter. Most of his teammates envied his chiseled to perfection muscular body, developed from years of dedication to sports.

The year had unequivocally been his to shine. He led North Carolina to the college basketball national championship, scoring 42 points in the final game against Duke University. He possessed both an inside and outside game, having the rare ability to see the entire floor, anticipating every teammate’s move a nanosecond before they initiated the action. After the championship game, reporters compared him to another of the school’s great alumnus. The majority concurred, affirming Dorian was far superior at that point in his career. Their conclusion was based on his being named the most valuable player in the tournament. He’d burned the Duke defense for 42 points in the game, where he obtained a 100% shooting average, scoring 15 for 15 from the field, including 10 three pointers from well beyond the arch. He was also 2 for 2 from the free throw line. Statistics would also include his 13 assist, 10 steals, 11 rebounds, and 4 blocked shots. Yet in interviews after the conclusion of the competition, he gave enthusiastic accolades to his coaches and teammates.

For most athletes, winning the basketball tourney would have been the summit of their college aspirations, not Dorian. In the modern era of college sports, where an athlete only specializes in one sport, he became the exception from the norm. He fought the system which impeded him from participating in basketball, football, and track. Although competing in each sport caused his coaches fits, each made as many concessions as possible to have the highly talented player on their prospective squad. Dorian had also been offered scholarships in golf, baseball, and tennis. Those coaches could only hope for a chance at a concession. Before winning the Naismith award, acknowledging him as the nation’s best in college basketball, he was fresh from receiving his second Heisman trophy, leading all players with 5712 yards of total offense, 3920 rushing and 1792 receiving. Again he gave credit for his gridiron success to his teammates and coach’s philosophy of teamwork always outshining individualism.

Dorian strived to become even better. After establishing himself as the best in football and basketball, he set his sights on track. He pushed himself to his limits in winning titles as the top 100 and 200 meter sprinter in college. He set new collegiate records in both events. While he cherished accomplishing the new college standards, he felt he could run much faster.

His training became more stringent after viewing a documentary on Jim Thorp’s Olympic dominance. Having qualified for the summer Olympic trials, he dreamt of winning a gold medal. Regardless of what transpired, he wanted to be in elite form. He trusted his abilities, having complete confidence in his preparation. At the trails, he not only performed above expectations, he set new American records in both his victories, securing his place on the U.S.A. Olympic team.

Representing America was a humongous responsibility for him to carry. Especially so, once Dorian realized he would be challenging the world’s top tier sprinters. That fact caused him to intensify his regimen to attain maximum performance. Never settling for less than his best had always proved successful, was the way he surmised it to himself. That’s why he became numb when hearing the top sports annalist speculate how the great athlete Dorian Riley didn’t have a chance at winning a medal, much less making the finals of the medal round. The Jamaicans, Russians, and Chinese all commanded world record speed, constantly vying for the prestigious title of World’s Fastest Human, amongst themselves. Dorian felt if he could just medal, he’d prove the sports broadcasters wrong.

During qualifying in the 100 meter semifinals, he had to lean at the tape, just nipping a German to gain the final slot in the Olympic medal round. He had a chance, which proved the annalist wrong, even though his posted time was the slowest of all the 100 meter contestants. Crossing the finish line in the 200 meters, his speed was only better than 2 other runners in reaching the finals. Dorian didn’t feel like the preeminent athlete on the planet, he felt like a looser, something he’d never felt before.

Walking with his mother outside the Olympic village on the eve of the 100 meter finals, Patricia Riley noticed her only son seemed troubled.

What’s wrong Dorian? Why the long face?

Mom, I’ve never felt this way. I don’t know if I can win.

Dorian, you’re an amazing athlete, most people would be ecstatic to have as much success in one sport. I’m so proud of you. You’re just being too hard on yourself. Why are you so worried?

It’s just – just I’ve got to prove the critics wrong. I’ve got to win a medal.

Mothers possess a special 6th sense, seeming to always know when their children are skirting the truth.

The truth Dorian! Why? she demanded in a tone he recognized as one not to toy with.

Tears were falling off his face. For the first time since he was a small child he spoke aloud his reason for always trying to succeed at everything he tried.

Because he’s watching; Mom, dad’s in heaven watching me. I – I can’t let him down. I want to win – for him.

In an instant Patricia became enshrouded with guilt. Such a long time had passed since Dorian spoke of his father. Now she fully understood his grief. Having always used his father’s past to motivate him; time to face the consequences of her actions was at hand.

Your dad was the best athlete ever. He could play any sport.

He ran faster than anyone else.

Dorian, you’re as smart as your dad.

You get your good looks from your dad.

You’re getting as handsome as your father.

Those were the sort of statements she’d used countless times. Now she realized the lies she told him was causing his plight. How could she reverse her story after all those years? She’d informed him his father died in an auto accident. She conjured up the story to hide the divorce, which caused the separation between Dorian and his father.

Dorian now is not the perfect time for this, but I need to tell you something.

What mom? he inquired, feeling better after admitting his problem to his mother.

Hum – well – Dorian, your father is not dead. I only told you – we got a divorce when you were only 3years old. I’m sor…, she started, as the sobbing began.

He listened, yet was too stunned to respond.

After your stepfather – we moved on. Your dad is a good man, and very much alive. He tried to contact us over the years, but it’s not that simple. So much happened – you were too young to understand. I’m sure he’ll be watching you run tomorrow.

Patricia waited for questions, accusations, or any venting he might want to voice. None came. Dorian simply hugged his mother, placing a kiss on her cheek before releasing her. No words were exchanged. He quietly left her standing there watching as he jogged in the direction of the practice track. She sensed his sadness; nevertheless as she had informed him on so many occasions, Dorian, you’re as smart as your father, left her with no reason to worry.

***

The Jamaican sprinters were ready to sweep the 100 meter race, having qualified 3 runners in the finals. The Russians and Chinese each had 2 entries in the heat for gold. Racing for his pride stood the lone American, who by the expert’s predictions didn’t stand a chance at winning anything. Only no one informed little David (Dorian) that the mighty Goliath (the others), had to be victorious. His dad might be watching the race. His dad might have seen him score 6 touchdowns when North Carolina won the national championship. His dad might have observed him win the M.V.P. award, along with the trophy at March Madness. However, now knowing his dad was alive, Dorian rationalized that his dad might witness him run in the most important race of his life. With that thought zipping through his brain, he removed the weighted training shoes he’d worn in every heat leading to the finals. Glancing at the old pair of featherweight track shoes his mother said once belonged to his father, he slipped them on. The fit was perfect.

The contestants were ready to start the race. Dorian was in lane 5, sandwiched between Jamaicans assigned to the adjacent lanes. They both glared over at him, smirking with an air of superiority. Dorian was fully aware of the Jamaican’s remarks to the press about how he should stick to playing ball since they couldn’t be out run by the slow superstar. In fact no media personnel even bothered to interview him before the finals. Why should they? By their account he didn’t have a snowball’s chance to last one second in Hell, much less win a medal.

Then the call came.

Runners take your mark.

Dorian relaxed; mentally he could imagine his dad’s smile.

Set.

Far in front of him, Dorian envisioned his father opening up his arms, holding them out for his Doo-man to run into.

The starting gun sounded with a loud explosion. Every participant scrambled out of the starting blocks except one. Alas, Dorian wasn’t running in the race. He was sprinting back in time. He was chasing the last memory he possessed of his daddy hugging him. The Jamaicans, Russians, or Chinese athletes never had a chance. Dorian’s father was just beyond the finish line. He broke the tape holding his arms out to the quickly vanishing mirage. Dorian became blinded by the plethora of lights, flashing from the many cameras that snapped photographs of the new 100 meter world record holder and Olympic gold medal winner. Yet all Dorian wanted at that moment was a hug from his back from the never been in the grave father.

Spectators were going berserk over his total domination throughout the race. Reporters were physically chasing him around the track as he enjoyed his victory lap. A smile crossed his face as he realized he was the sole owner of the title, World’s Fastest Human. And if the media wanted a post victory interview, they too would have to become faster, because Dorian had no intention of stopping until the medal ceremony.

Two days later, Dorian gave a repeat performance in the 200 meter finals. He smoked the field of runners in sprinting to another world record, along with securing a new piece of gold. He would also anchor the 4x100 and 4x200 meter relay teams to first place finishes. Packing his 4 gold medals, he finally patted himself on the back.

Well done Dorian, I’m sure dad would be proud of me.

***

No athlete in the history of sports had ever won a Heisman trophy, the Naismith award, and four Olympic gold medals in the same year. The biggest buzz in the world of sports was Dorian Riley. Without a doubt the fastest man alive and possibly one of the pound for pound strongest. He had the so called complete package, good looks, physically fit, with broad range appeal to all nationalities. He possessed a strong, intelligent, well-spoken voice, yet still displayed an innocent charm which was accented by his humbleness. Major corporations were lining up, offering endorsements deals on everything from sports drinks to luxury automobiles. His marketing potential seemed limitless.

Adding to his financial lure, Dorian was a young man of great awareness. After winning the first 2 of his Olympic medals, he announced that he would give them to the 2 little girls he met when he volunteered at the local cancer center for children. The girls, Mya and Rayna had been diagnosed with health problems associated with lead poisoning after years of eating the peeling paint off the walls in their substandard state subsidized home in the slums of Dallas. True to his word, when he returned from the Olympics, his first stop was to put a medal around each of the girl’s neck. The media reported the act worldwide. Dorian became more than an athlete; he was seen as a great humanitarian.

When Rayna died a month later the whole world mourned with Dorian. Bobby, Rayna’s mother, mailed the Olympic charm back to Dorian. When he attended the funeral service, viewed the child who appeared as if she were merely sleeping, placed the award back around her neck. Bobby made no attempt to argue or remove what Dorian deemed belonged to her daughter. He had done the gesture strictly from his heart, believing his father would have approved of his decision. Once the media reported the story, the world loved him even more. At that moment, Dorian could have been a candidate for King of the World, and won by a landslide, if such a position existed.

Greed has a habit of showing its ugly head when and where ever possible. Undoubtedly Dorian became a prime target for the rapacious. Every sport agent and manager wanted him as their client. They offered almost any and everything under the sun in exchange for signing with their agency. Only one maneuvered his way through the shark infested waters by using Bobby, who Dorian cared for dearly. Brent Sure Shot Moore, one of the older agents who knew all the tricks of the trade, slithered his way into the athlete’s world. Without first obtaining a signed agreement, Brent simply took over. He oversaw any plans pertaining to Dorian’s direct or indirect future. He aligned the top sponsor’s on a list before submitting it to Dorian. Sure Shot boasted how with his help, the fastest man, in all probability was destined to become a multimillionaire before becoming a professional in any sport. With the promise of millions of dollars dangling, most athletes would have signed with Brent in a heartbeat. Not Mr. Riley. Brent quickly realized his unofficial client wasn’t motivated solely by money, so he changed his tactics.

Dorian, there are some issues that need to change. I know we haven’t entered into a formal contract, but time is of the essence.

I appreciate what you’ve done for me Mr. Moore, but I’m just not ready to make a binding commitment yet, Dorian replied.

I understand completely. However, if my hands are tied, there’s no way I can address specific stipulations with companies that want you to endorse their products, Brent responded, baiting his hook.

What do you mean? Dorian inquired, like a big mouth bass about to bite into the lure.

"Well, without any authority I’ve been able to line up paramount financial offers on endorsement deals. I’d love to structure a clause whereby a percentage of the contract would be placed in a charity called the Dorian Riley Relief Fund. Just think, families like Bobby’s would never have to live in rat holes or their children need to get sick from eating lead based paint to satisfy their hunger. They would receive help from an organization you sponsored. As a condition of your representing a shoe company for example, we could have the manufacturer provide free footwear to needy kids. Most of the businesses that desire you on their team will concede to all sorts of concessions in return for you representing their brand. Right now I don’t have the ability to function in that capacity. You know I really admire you; almost like the son I never had. Every young man in our great nation should try and emulate you.

I’ll help you in any way possible, but timing is everything in this business. Right now everybody wants to sign you, but next week someone else will do something amazing and they’ll become the hot new commodity. All the benefits that would avail themselves from properly constructed contracts would vanish. All those kids, all those poor suffering kids might never receive any help. I’m at my limit on what I can legally do. The ball is in your hand, pass it or play ball," Brent relayed with tears streaming down his face, setting the hook and slowly reeling Dorian in.

I never thought of it that way. You’re right Mr. Moore, let’s get the papers signed. I want you as my official agent. Thanks for being so patient and understanding, Dorian expressed, never realizing or seeing himself as the seasoned fillet, cooking in the frying pan for Brent Sure Shot Moore.

Chapter 3

When difficult decisions require a series of enlightened answers, one has to search from deep within to find the truth. There are times when answers to the riddles of life can elude one’s grasp. In Destinee’s case, the town’s bum had to once have been someone. She was unable to believe anyone would aspire to become a homeless nothing. Maybe some terrible incident delivered him to Gloryfield, but what?

Trying to avoid letting her overactive imagination best her common senses, she became annoyed about the fact she possessed absolutely zero information about the stranger. She had already unknowingly committed her first mistake of assuming without corroborative evidence about the man. Destinee mentally developed a title for her essay "How I Became the Bum of Gloryfield," and believed the writing phase would come naturally.

She understood constructing an angle would become easy after interviews were initiated and completed, thereby ensuring people would want to read her story. He could be royalty, maybe ousted from another country. The hobo might even be the elusive Batboy all grown up. The possibilities, along with her hopes of victory in the essay competition were growing with each tick of her watch. The same Timex timepiece she won at the county spelling bee the previous year, when she wanted to empress her father with her knowledge of the dictionary.

She lost out on the $100 first prize and had to settle for second place; hence the watch. Having lost was embarrassing, but losing to her classmate Reginald Robinson; unbelievable. Although she knew how to spell the word incorporate, she tried to employ the instructions given at the commencement of the bee.

Listen to the word as the orator annunciates its proper enunciation, then spell the word accordingly.

That’s exactly what she had done. She spelled the word just the way the judge, who had a deep Texas drawl, pronounced the word.

Speal the word incorperate, he instructed.

I-n-c-o-r-p-e-r-a-t-e, incorperate, she said, quite sure of herself.

Then as she prepared to sit, hoping Reginald would misspell his word, since they were the last two remaining participants, she was informed that she had incorrectly spelled the word. If only she had requested a definition. That was then, the spelling bee in retrospect seemed like water under a distant bridge. She had a new goal, one she was determined to win.

Hearing her father enter the house singing an old rhythm and blues tune, indicated it was after 6 o’clock. Rushing her way to the front door, she embraced him.

Did you have a good day daddy?

Yes I did. What about you?

I had a wonderful day. In fact I think I may have found someone to write about, Destinee replied, flashing her daddy’s little girl smile.

What, you mean you’re not writing about me? he feigned in a mocking fashion, before grinning.

Oh daddy, she said playfully. You know I have to write about someone who changed history.

Please don’t make the mistake of misconstruing what history really is. What we’re doing right now, today, is important. Tomorrow, when we reflect back on the events of today, it’s history, he explained. Besides Desidoo, I’m going to be remembered forever in history, addressing her by her family only spoken sobriquet.

For what? she asked, trying to figure out his great gift to society.

Well, I helped create you, and you’re going to be famous. So in essence, I made history.

They shared a moment of laughter, breaking any stress the day may have caused. She then broached the subject of her essay.

What can you tell me about that homeless man everybody calls a bum?

He informed her how the guy just showed up one day. No one knew why or for what reason. Not much was known about him except he wasn’t like most derelicts. The man never caused trouble or begged anyone for handouts. Last Easter, when the good citizens of Gloryfield tried to give the man some money and a place to stay, he politely refused. No one had ever heard the stranger utter a word, causing most to believe him to be a mute. His name was still a mystery. With the passing of time, people just started calling him the unofficial town bum.

Where does he live?

No one knows, but I’m sure the whole town will know everything about him when your story is finished, her father expressed, before issuing a warning. Use caution Desi, for all we know he could be bad news, a criminal, or just a waste of your time and talent.

Yes sir, I’ll be careful, but my gut instinct thinks he’s got a great story to tell, She replied, giving him his daily kiss.

***

With all the legalities of their contract in proper order, Brent took to the task of procuring his client and himself a profusion of lucre. In Dorian’s moment of trust, he didn’t exercise due diligence in having a competent attorney examine the obligational papers he freely signed. Brent would have been elated to collect a 5 to 10% fee in exchange for his services, instead of the 20% the contract specified. He realized how fortunate he’d been to latch on to the motherlode of all marketing vehicles, which caused his horns to expose themselves on the sides of his fat head. They quickly retracted again, the same way demons evade detection in everyday life. The endorsement deal for DeBeers alone promised $5 million a year. For Brent that translated to a cool million dollars. Yes, Dorian was his golden cow, and he planned on milking him for every drop of profit he could get.

Signed, sealed, and locked away in his safe, Dorians contractual enslavement insured a new beginning for Brent. Earlier in his career, he had become one of the supreme agents in the business. Traits like honesty, dedication, hard work, and pride were once the foundation on which his principle stood. Whether his client’s occupation involved sports, music, television, or the silver screen, he’d always found a way to negotiate and receive top dollar. At one time in his life, one call from Sure Shot guaranteed results.

He once settled a touchy situation whereby a producer wanted a famous pop music star, who had been accused of child molestation and a new teenybopper with four songs resting at the top of the charts to perform together at a fundraiser for orphaned African children. The press condemned the event