A Bridge to Eternity & Centuries Old and New

By Steven McCann

‘A Bridge to Eternity’ and ‘Centuries Old and New’ both have as their starting point a work place in the modern American business world. The first is set in the posh headquarters of a large corporation, the second in a small Eastside restaurant. My heroes, Jonah Bellamy, the middle-aged assistant CEO, and Christoff Angelis, a teenager pedaling deliveries to midtown high rises with the dream of having his own restaurant, are equally honorable men. But whereas Jonah’s decency and well-meaning are betrayed by the dark politics of billionaire trustees, Christoff’s nobility is ultimately rewarded. Jonah is left to navigate the colder elements of our society, bereft of employment, family or friends, except for his loyal secretary, his old college roommate, and a good Samaritan he meets by chance. Yet Christoff, holding onto his dream and his joy of preparing food for others, finds love and companionship. The enduring devotion of his Greek mother adds a decisive ingredient to help him triumph over the pitfalls of starting a business and the vicissitudes of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781543497922

Steven McCann

Steven McCann is the author of novels, novellas, stories, plays and poems, and a 2021 recipient of a City Artist Corps Grant. He was born in 1948, graduated from Spring Valley High School in New York where he excelled in three sports. He enrolled at the University of Kansas, and later at NYU, majored in English and received a BA. His work experience is varied; nightwatchman at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, hotel detective at the Plaza, home renovator and shipping manager. In 2005 he was stricken with paraplegia and has been wheelchair bound since. He lives in New York City and remains passionate about Central Park, the Shakespeare festival, the Met Museum, Lincoln Center, the opera, and the people of New York.

Book preview

A Bridge to Eternity

Chapter 1

Joy and sadness, triumph and tragedy. We witness both of these eventualities in our short stint in this world, and certainly, the second holds equal frequency to the first. There are the big tragedies that take precedence in our history books, along with our greatest triumphs, and there are the daily tragedies appearing in the news every day; accidents, fires, violent crimes against the innocent, that linger in our consciousness. But then too, there are the silent tragedies of humanity that rarely make a news report, scarcely create a ripple in the surface of our collective conscience. And many of these leave us baffled about the nature of tragedy itself. Is tragedy self-inflicted? Is it everlasting? Can it be mixed with triumph? The story you are about to read is just such a case.

I will refer to the main protagonist as our hero, for to me he is no less than that. He had an honest, outgoing, and yes, noble nature. He could never have knowingly done wrong or hurt anyone. Was he born under an unlucky star? It is hard to say. I think the events in this narrative suggest something more insidious, even sinister, yet strangely mystical. I will let you, the reader, be judge. I will start with an idyllic spring day in late May, a day with the purest of blue skies above that promised to breathe fresh life into unlimited possibilities and dreams. On this day our hero, Jonah Bellamy, finished his breakfast and left the house by 8am, sauntered between rows of young marigolds his gardener had just planted, proceeded through a neatly trimmed hedge, got in and started his car, and drove to work.

It was not a long drive. For twenty-five minutes, he drove through well-to-do, well-kept, upper class neighborhoods where the properties had manicured lawns and gardens like his own. And since it was spring, he saw bright flower beds, azaleas in bloom, and sidewalks populated with residents out for their morning walks, a good proportion of whom waved to him with friendly smiles. He passed through the village center, neatly kept like the surrounding homes, with its bank, post office, shops, and restaurants announced with lacquered wooden signs and gold lettering. A grocer wearing an apron who stood out front receiving his morning delivery waved to Jonah. The owner and maître d of a French restaurant where Jonah and his wife Beatrice had eaten the previous weekend waved too, and a hardware store owner did likewise. The street lights turned green for Jonah, without his having to come to a full stop, and the sparse village traffic moved along ahead of him as if it, too, like the bright window displays and even brighter sky above, conspired to make Jonah’s world a pleasant, painless, and profitable world. Even officer Rydel, about to enter his parked cruiser and the last person Jonah saw in the village proper, gave him a respectful greeting like he might have given to the town’s mayor. Jonah drove on and arrived at the corporate headquarters of Harfore and Harring, a maker of perfumes and ladies’ beauty products, at exactly 8:25am, his usual time, and parked in his usual spot.

Jonah always felt an extra surge of adrenaline and high spirits entering work on Mondays, but this Monday offered something even greater. For the CEO of his company had retired a month earlier and the trustees were naming a new leader to be announced during their visit to the board room this very afternoon. That they would name Jonah as the new chief was almost a foregone conclusion. He had been second in command now for over a decade and had glowing reviews from individual trustees as well as from his small army of underlings; sales managers, tech center managers, and the general population of workers, from admins to security staff who greeted him coming to and going from work with a gratitude that bordered on servility. If it were possible for a man to be loved in corporate America, Jonah was that man.

He entered at the side employee entrance, swiped his ID card while Abe Chesterton, the security chief, saluted him with a robust, Good Morning, Sir! then he proceeded down several carpeted hallways, receiving a stream of smiles and similar greetings with something in each smile and each cheery salutation that seemed even brighter than usual, that seemed filled with the promise of even greater news ahead. When he reached the final hallway and turned to enter the suite of offices reserved for the president and vice president, his own secretary, a sprightly blonde with impeccable office skills and even more impeccable punctuality, stood up behind her desk and added some unexpected news with her cheerful blue-eyed smile, before Jonah had time to make his usual polite inquiry about her weekend.

Your broker, Mister Standish, called a few minutes ago, Mister Bellamy. He said it’s very urgent and would you please call him back as soon as possible.

Thank you, Margaret. Anything else of great import I should know before I sit down?

Nothing else that has transpired since I arrived. Only Mister Stone from maintenance to say that he had the board room and the video conference all set for this afternoon.

That’s good news. Have my presentation in one folder by lunchtime, will you, Margaret? I want to go over it before they arrive.

I have it almost ready. I’ll bring it into you by nine.

Thank you, Margaret. Wonderful. I hope your weekend was a good one?

Weekends in our house are always a perfect tornado. My kids have soccer, T-ball, and a hundred other things. But it was good. How was yours?

Fine, thank you. The weather was perfect. And it’s supposed to stay like this for the next several days. Well, see you in a bit.

Without another word Jonah strode past the other secretary’s desk, the one reserved for the corner office, and made a left opposite into a spacious room arranged with teak furniture and shelves covered with small bottles of the company’s latest products, beside yearly company reports in black leather binders. A large desk with a glossy surface, on which sat in perfect order a computer, phone, and more perfume samples stood in the middle of the room and there were several chairs for visitors along the sides. A wall of large windows looked out to the lawn and flowering dogwoods at the front of the company campus. It only took a minute to place his briefcase on the desk and turn on his computer, and while he did so, he called his broker’s number.

Dave, good morning. It’s Jonah. You called earlier?

I emailed you at six, Jonah. Big news.

I woke up late, Dave. Was out with the Misses last night and forgot to charge my cell. And I haven’t checked my emails yet, either. I just turned on my computer in the office here. What’s the big news?

Tringos is the big news, Jonah. Tringos, that fast food chain. They’re gonna take a big leap upward today, sometime this afternoon when their earnings come out. They bought twenty new properties in the last month and in another year, they’ll be controlling upwards of a quarter of the fast-food market. Big news. Big. I want you in on it. Just for a few days to catch the jump and then move out again to your other stocks.

How much should I go for, Dave?

Go for all you’re worth. This is as sure a bet as the brickwork holding up the exchange.

Jonah hesitated for only a few seconds.

Okay, put me in all the way. Sell my Apple and my Amazon and my Bausch and Lomb, and move everything over. If it’s that good, I’ll take my chances. And call me tomorrow on my cell early. I’ll be up by six.

Done, Jonah. Good as gold. Ciao, Babe.

Ciao.

The call ended just as the computer screen came up with a picture of Jonah’s wife, daughter, and son smiling their approval. Jonah’s work day began.

He immediately went to the sales totals from his company’s five primary districts. Four of them, LA, Chicago, Houston, and New York were up nicely, but the report from the Boston-New England area was down sharply, drawing down the overall totals to a little above average profit for a two-day period. Jonah quickly began checking profits from the ten major outlets in that district and pinpointed the problem even further. A half-dozen wholesalers there had no profit whatsoever. Jonah pressed a series of buttons on his desk phone and was immediately connected to Blake McCullem, the sales rep for the suburbs west of Boston.

Blake, Bellamy here at headquarters. What happened to your outlets over the weekend?

We didn’t get our deliveries Friday, Mister Bellamy. The trucker said they would arrive Saturday, and they still didn’t come. But we got them starting this morning at six of the stores. We should have everything on our shelves by lunchtime. I have my people on it, Mister Bellamy.

We can’t have this happen again, Blake. If you smell something in the winds ahead of time, let me know. We’ll hire another trucking service.

Will do, Mister Bellamy.

Call me back around two, Blake. I want to know before I see the trustees, if everything’s set there.

I will.

Good.

Jonah ended the call. For the next half-hour he perused more of the sales outlets from LA and Houston which promised to be his big gainers in the coming year. Then almost at 9am sharp, Margaret gave his door two light confidential knocks and entered with a copy of his presentation’s outline, six pages double spaced, tucked neatly in a folder. Jonah had the document on his laptop as well, but felt more comfortable going over his presentations on paper before he gave them, and it was his habit to have Margaret prepare them in this way for each of these events. Once he had the outline and his favorite phraseology to memory, he could rely on his power point and video screens for sales figures and forecasts.

Today he planned to introduce to the trustees a new facial cream which could be marketed to young adults. He had estimates already made up for production costs, the time it would take to get the product on the market, and felt a secret gush of satisfaction imagining how he would break this news to the dozen multi-millionaires seated in an oval around him at 3pm. When he quickly scanned the document opened before him, he took even greater relish in the carefully crafted phrases he had carried around with him for almost a year and was simply waiting for the opportunity to unveil. Softer than a sultan’s silk, Fragrance of enhancing chances, Cream to caress, cleanse, and dream. Perhaps he had chosen the wrong career, he considered with a self-satisfied chuckle. Perhaps he should have had his own ad agency, or better yet, a seat in the august senate chambers in Washington. Jonah went over his presentation for an hour and a half, reviewed a list of new hires for the month, and spoke to two of his managers at the company’s labs in a neighboring state. By then it was lunchtime and he hurried out of his office to keep a special, much anticipated appointment.

He felt the giddiness of a small boy, scurrying out to his car and wending his way through the noonday traffic for two townships, until he arrived at the hexagonal glass enclosed sales pavilion of, ‘Elite Auto,’ a dealership for high priced foreign cars. A lump rose to his throat as he stepped out again into the sunshine and skirted other departing customers, up the short walkway and through the entrance door. Ray Purring, his salesman, was talking to a retired couple on the other side of a wide showroom that housed half a dozen gleaming Mercedes and Lexus. But catching sight of Jonah, Ray raised a finger to excuse himself and moved towards him with an outstretched hand and a beaming smile on his mustachioed iron gray visage. Before Ray could say a word, Jonah, breathless with excitement, uttered,

Is she ready, Ray?

You bet she is, Jonah. You’re right on time and you’re steps away from being the proud owner of a prestige Maybach 5600 Mercedes. Right this way, Sir. Just follow me.

He led Jonah out a side doorway where at the head of a short driveway sat three Mercedes sedans, one black, one white, and the one in front, freshly washed and buffed and gleaming like a large pearl, a silver gray. Ray Purring didn’t break stride, until he reached the driver’s side door with Jonah just behind him.

She’s yours, Jonah. New plates and a full tank of gas. Registration and title in the glove compartment. We test drove it an hour ago. Everything fit for a king.

Need anything else from me, Ray?

Only your keys to the caddy, Jonah.

Here they are, Ray.

Jonah reached into his pocket and handed over the keys to his trade-in.

Is that it?

Not unless you want to step inside the showroom again and buy a second one for your wife, Jonah.

Both men laughed.

That’s a good idea, Ray. I might just take you up on that soon.

Any day you’re ready, Jonah. Well, what are you waiting for? Hop in! Here are your keys. Bon voyage!

Ray opened the door and watched Jonah seat himself. Without breaking the smile on his salesman’s face, he looked down as his new customer ran eager fingers over the posh leather seats and console, and after a minute’s pause, press the ignition of the precise German made motor that gave off the low roar of an awakening lion. Jonah pulled out of the driveway, so preoccupied with his new car that he didn’t even for a half glance look behind him in the rear-view mirror. Driving as slowly as a driving instructor and keeping more than ample distance from the other traffic, he made it back to Harfore and Harring only forty minutes after he’d left. He spent five more minutes seated in his parked Mercedes before regretfully leaving it, so excited that he forgot to get himself a bite to fill his empty stomach. No one saw him returning from the parking lot, except Abe Chesterton who greeted him inside the employee entrance with an identical voice to the one he’d used earlier.

Good afternoon, Mister Bellamy!

Jonah went quickly to his office, making an effort to control his rapidly beating heart, and busied himself with expenditures and new proposals from the maintenance staff. This took him to a little past 2pm, when he received a call from Blake McCullem who was sitting in a company car in a supermarket parking lot in Concord, Massachusetts.

Yes, Blake. How did it all go this morning?

Fine, Mister Bellamy. The shelves are stocked in all our ten stores here and sales are brisk so far for a Monday.

That’s what I expected. Good work. But we can’t have another slowdown like that. Stay on it, Blake.

I will, Mister Bellamy.

I know you will, Blake. Call me again tomorrow before five.

"I will, Mister Bellamy.

Thanks, Blake.

When Jonah looked at his watch again it was 2:25. He placed his presentation folder and his laptop in one case, straightened his tie, slipped into his suit jacket, and made way toward the corporate board room at the center of the building. To those he passed in the hallway, he said nothing, but returned their grateful smiles with gracious smiles of his own, without once parting his lips. He had already taken on in this short thirty second transit, the appropriate demeanor of the new CEO.

An agreeable and friendly board room awaited him. Two maintenance employees were there setting the video screen to its proper length and testing the video conference equipment one last time. Margaret was there also, conferring with them while two security people straightened the thirteen chairs placed in an oval around the board room table. Abe Chesterton had left his post at the side entrance to help supervise his men.

Jonah moved to a spot at the table that he knew would be perfect for looking to seats right and left and up at the video screen, without having to strain his neck. He opened his carry case, plugged his laptop into a table outlet connected to the video screen, and turned on his laptop. For good luck, he picked up his presentation and turned its pages, scanning phrases, names, and figures one last time. His watch read ten to three, perfect timing. The room was at a perfect temperature. The lighting was perfect. And just as perfectly, trustees began to enter the board room.

They came in three clusters, almost minutes apart, all tall men with grave humorless faces. Without conferring with each other, or saying one word to Jonah, they set their briefcases on the floor, seated themselves, removed folders, pens, and laptops, and almost on cue folded their hands on the table and looked ahead to Jonah. The spokesman for their group was a man in his sixties with a long narrow dour face, a thick shock of gray hair, and large unblinking dark eyes who sat directly across from Jonah. This was the billionaire Mr Greer who had made his fortune in real estate and the stock market. Jonah had sat in the board room across from Mr Greer on one previous occasion and could now look back at his imposing stare with ample confidence of his own, built up from twenty-five years of impeccable service to Harfore and Harring, from a month of running its daily operations by himself successfully, from a day of masterful managing, and from the glowing consciousness of his prized new Mercedes waiting in his appointed parking space to take him home under a clear untroubled sky. That confidence remained unruffled even as Mr Greer turned his head toward the trustee sitting next to him, and with a hand raised to the side of his lips to shield his utterance, shared a secret, before turning his stare back to Jonah.

Welcome, Gentlemen. Welcome, Jonah began in his pleasant tenor.

We have much to discuss today, but for starters, let me say that I have promising sales figures to report to you and a plan for a new product, only months away from its unveiling, a product that will leave our competitors far behind in our major markets and filled with envy. It’s a product—

Mr Greer spoke suddenly, cutting Jonah off like a judge to a courtroom lawyer, in his stone-cold baritone, from his stone-cold face.

Mister Bellamy, that will not be necessary. We will gather that information from other sources. Without wasting words, Mister Bellamy, let me be direct with you. We have decided on personnel changes to the upper management of this company. We’re bringing in someone from outside to take over the reins which you’ve been entrusted with since the previous CEO’s retirement. In short, Mister Bellamy, we are relieving you of your duties with this company.

Am I to resume my former role as vice president? Jonah asked, without any apparent show of upset, or the least loss of confidence and equanimity.

No, Mister Bellamy. I said your time with the company has expired. It expired a minute ago. We have a meeting to convene here, Mister Bellamy. Kindly leave the room. Security will escort you from the building.

Jonah blinked. A smile of wonder broke out on his face and his eyes glistened.

You mean you’re firing me?

We’ve dismissed you, Mister Bellamy. Please leave the room, Sir.

This is very sudden, Gentlemen. This is—

This is business, Mister Bellamy. We are here as businessmen, not as nursemaids. Leave the room, Sir.

Jonah stood up and began to close his computer with fluttering fingers.

That computer is company property, Mister Bellamy. And the information on it belongs to this company. Leave it as it is. Security will escort you out the same door where you came in today.

Can I go to my office and retrieve some things?

It is no longer your office. Any personal effects of yours will be mailed to you. You must leave, Mister Bellamy. Now!

Jonah looked around the room in search of a commiserating face, but almost as one the eleven other trustees stared ahead with pursed lips and folded hands. He groped his way forward and out the door, without even his briefcase to accompany him, his only remaining possessions the wallet in his pants pocket and his new car keys. Abe Chesterton walked slightly behind him down two hallways, until they reached the exit. At this point, Jonah turned to Abe and extended a hand.

Well, Abe, thanks for all your help to us.

Your ID card, Mister Bellamy, said Abe Chesterton, without a trace of good will.

My what?

Your ID card. You must give it back before leaving.

Oh, I see.

Jonah reached for his wallet and removed his ID card.

Is that all, Abe?

Thank you, Sir, said Abe. Good afternoon.

Abe glanced to his deputy, a strapping young security officer who had followed them down the hallway, then he looked out the glass doors away from Jonah.

Goodbye, uttered Jonah in a choked voice. Receiving no reply, he wandered through the sliding doors a last time into the unbroken sunshine of a perfect spring day.

For a minute he stood disoriented in the middle of the parking lot looking for his old Cadillac. Then suddenly, he remembered his appointment at lunchtime and seized on the image of the glossy new Mercedes just ahead that shone in the clear air so peerlessly above the other cars around it, including the black limos that were waiting for the trustees. Another man might have cursed the ingrates in the corporate compound behind him, or fretted over the daunting hurdles facing unemployed executives. But Jonah, remarkably, focused all his attention on his new vehicle, calculating places and highways where he could take a good spin, before going home. And then he had another inviting thought. He hadn’t eaten lunch and might go for a bite, and why not have that bite at a Tringos fast food outlet that would surely serve up abundant profits on his stock portfolio as well as a tasty burger. He knew of a franchise in a town nearby, only a twenty-minute drive away. Without wasting any more time, Jonah slid into the seductive interior of his new sedan, ran his hand sensually over its dashboard and steering wheel, pressed the ignition button, and uttered an, Ah-h-h! of pure satisfaction as it carried him out of the lot.

Chapter 2

One of the mysteries in this life of ours is that two people born into and growing up in very similar circumstances can have strikingly different, even opposite dispositions. One will be kind and gentle like our Jonah, the other mean and aggressive. The first may see the world as a friendly place, the second will find adversaries and enemies around every corner. A perfect example of this latter type was Averill Gruntley. If a photo of Averill at age nineteen could be held side by side with one of Jonah at the same age, they might look almost like