Date: Mon, 5 Sep 2011 10:26:41 -0400 From: Sean Williams Subject: The Trap, Chapter 1 The Trap Dramatis Personae Colby Fitzpatrick, heir to the Fitzpatrick fortune Gerald Fitzpatrick, former President and CEO of Fitzpatrick Chemical Stephen Gruder, Interim Chairman of Fitzpatrick Chemical Thorsten, Norwegian model Arun Agarwal, Intern Veronica Tweed, Princeton student Heidi Fitzpatrick, whorish matriarch of the Fitzpatrick family Hank Collier, board member of Fitzpatrick Chemical George McNamara, President of Kobe-McNamara Pharmaceutical, Inc. Troy McNamara, son of George McNamara John Grossman, Chairman Gruder's secretary Chapter 1 "It didn't work, John. The trap didn't work. What the fuck happened?" "I don't know, Mr. Gruder. Everything went according to plan. Colby took the Norwegian home after drinks. We had a car follow them and then, one hour later, I got a call saying that nothing happened." "Can the Norwegian be trusted? You know what they say about Norwegians..." "That they liked pickled herring?" "No, you idiot, that they fall in love easily. Could the Norwegian be lying to us?" Mr. Gruder covered his face with a brutal hand so that the other board members in the room could not hear their covert conversation. "It's possible," John replied, "but Scandinavians are usually exceedingly honest. The only way the Norwegian would lie would be if the sex was really good and he wanted to keep it going. But in that case I probably would have detected a note of apprehension in his voice, but all I heard was..." "Save it, John. What I really want to know is..." "Mr. Gruder," said the weasel-like John in a loud whisper. "Here he comes!" The glass doors into the conference room flew open and there he stood, at the door. Time seemed to slow to a standstill and all faces turned to the door in stifling anticipation. The board members waited with bated breath, and a hush passed over the room. "Mr. Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Gruder, rising to his feet to greet the newcomer. "I was not expecting you today. Can I get you a frappucino?" and several members of the Board of the Directors covered their mouths with their hands to hide their laughter. "What about a bagel made from organic yeast with a light cream cheese?" The young man that stood at the door smiled. He knew how to play this game. "I would love a bagel, but the kind I want they only make on a commune in Washington State. Mind hoping on a plane to Seattle and getting one for me, Mr. Gruder? And yes I would like a light cream cheese." "As you can see, Mr, Fitzpatrick," Mr. Gruder continued, ignoring the comment, "we are just about to start our meeting. I shall have Arun here get you a bagel from the cafeteria and a frappucino from the Starbucks across the street and you can come back when the meeting is done. How does that sound, kiddo?" Colby Fitzpatrick knew that the company skyscraper had a cafeteria on the ground floor, but he had to keep the repartee going. "That's one option," he said, walking toward Mr. Gruder's seat at the head of the Board of Directors table. "Let's call that Plan B," and Colby sat in Mr. Gruder's chairman of the board chair. "What the Hell are you doing?" asked the salt-and-pepper bearded Mr. Gruder. "That's my seat, you upstart!" "You see the name up there," said Colby, pointing behind him to the atrium of the skyscraper where they conversed. "It says Fitzpatrick Chemical. I am a Fitzpatrick, the last male Fitzpatrick not certifiable, in fact. This is my company." "You mean, your father's company." "No... my company, which makes you, Mr. Interim Chairman of the Board, the upstart." Colby's declaration was met by the icy silence of the board members, gentlemen who all seemed to have been hatched out of pods from the same corporate executive alien spaceship. One of the board members, a strongly-built redhead by the name of Hank Collier, turned to the board member beside him and said: "This kid's got balls. He might be just what this company needs!" Arun, the Stanford intern spending his summer at the multinational chemical company, Fitzpatrick Chemical, returned soon after with a toasted bagel and, naturally, a frappucino. Colby had seen that Arun was in the room as soon as he entered, and he calmly took the bagel and coffee from him. "Do you need anything else, sir?" asked Arun, straightening his Dolce and Gabbana skinny tie. He looked up timidly, expectantly at Colby. Arun knew that he looked good today, he wore the tailored black suit that he always wore when he wanted to impress, and he wore mahogany-colored cuff liks that brought out the color of his eyes. "Arun... you know..." Colby began, but something in his head told him: "Not now. Not here. Any place, but here!" and Colby finished the sentence with a "Thanks" and turned away from the twenty-year old intern, with a scoff. Arun swallowed, crushed, and walked away. "So where were we?" asked Colby, twisting open the vanilla frappacino and taking a swig. "Well, first," Mr. Gruder began, "you are going to get out of my seat, you twerp." "Now, is that anyway to talk to your future President and CEO?" Colby asked the Chairman of the Board. Chairman Gruder did not reply, but he thought to himself: "What the fuck happened? The Norwegian was perfect!" The board members watched the interchange between the two - the budding, young heir to the throne, and the aging chairman - wide-eyed and in awe. Some of them wanted to punch the insipid Mr. Gruder, others wanted to fuck the bejeezus out of the tanned Colby Fitzpatrick... it made for good entertainment all around. But that was tomorrow. The time is now. Colby Fitzpatrick, son of Gerald Fitzpatrick, third-generation head of Fortune 500 company Fitzpatrick Chemical, Inc., flew back to sunny Santa Clara County, California after completion of another successful year at Princeton. Eating club parties, rugby matches, formals: all of this he put behind him to spend the summer with his family. Perhaps "family" isn't the right word. The social unit of which Colby was technically a part had more in common with a rejected pilot for a cable television show than an actual functioning American family. Colby's father was declared by doctors to have developed early-onset Alzheimer's disease five years ago, his younger sister (who lived in France) spent her time blowing every unkempt artist in Paris in the guise of studying "fashion", and his mother was sleeping with the gardener whilst learning to speak "Mexican", so family really did not signify. Fresh off of his junior year, Colby Fitzpatrick, for all intents and purposes, should have been only a year away from taking up his rightful place in the family business and assuming the position of CEO of the corporation, since his family controlled the voting shares. There were a few obstacles in the way of this happening, an overzealous Chairman of the Board was one of them, but Colby had no reason to believe that he would not lead the corporation when the time came. And yet, thoughts of power and prestige were far from Colby's mind. He took things for granted, to be sure, and he wanted solely to be a normal twenty-something dude from California. All Colby wanted was to come home, go to the beach, enjoy the sun, get laid twice a day (in that order), and hopefully see his Mom without also getting a glimpse at Santiago the gardener's penis in the process. At this juncture, the glory that came with being Crown Prince of Fitzpatrick Chemical - with the private jets, the helicopters, the smoking hot Asian secretaries, and the VIP suites at hotels and clubs - did not register in his brain. He just wanted to be a college student on summer vacay and have a crazy summer. But things seemed set on happening differently. As soon as Colby arrived home, he found a letter on his bed at the Fitzpatrick mansion. The Fitzpatrick "country pile" (if there was such a thing in California) sat on fifty manicured acres, surrounded by a working vineyard. The place was tended by dozens of servants, of which most of the men had bedded Mrs. Fitzpatrick now that her husband was in a nursing home. Colby was surprised to find the note. Not an e-mail in his inbox, but an old-fashioned letter. Initially he believed that one of the staff wanted to blackmail him, but the letter was along very different lines. Colby dropped his book bag on the bed, the rest of his luggage was brought in by the maids, and he picked up the letter. He tore open the thick parchment envelope. The letter read: Mr. Colby Fitzpatrick, The Board of Directors of Fitzpatrick Chemical Corporation, along with the President of Kobe-McNamara Pharmaceutical Company, are pleased to welcome you back home to California with a formal reception at Les Grandes Tetons bar in San Francisco. We are immensely proud that you have successfully completed another year at Princeton and look forward to the hour when you should become a part of the Fitzpatrick and McNamara corporate families. A corporate helicopter shall come to your residence to pick you up at 8PM, and your Porsche shall be made available for you to drive back home. If you require anything further this evening, please let my secretary, Natasha, know, as I am, as always, at your service. Sincerely, Stephen Gruder, Ph.D. Excited as he was about a night out, after a year spent among teetering bobblehead bluebloods at Princeton, Colby winced at Chairman Gruder's typical condescending style. I am "at your service" he said, and "Les Grandes Tetons Bar", a decidedly low-brow establishment in San Francisco. If that was not enough, Gruder hinted at the upcoming merger of Fitzpatrick Chemical and Kobe-McNamara, something which his father would never have agreed to. With Colby away at college and his father in a nursing home, Gruder could act essentially as the spirit moved him and Colby was left as a powerless future head of state. As the only functioning member of the Fitzpatrick family (with a slutty mother in the arms of the gardener, or the pool boy, or the pilates instructor, or the dog groomer...) the youthful Colby must have been perceived as someone easy to remove from the picture. So when the helicopter arrived to pick him up, all he could think was "Gruder is up to something. I know it." The evening passed as evenings at these sort of events usually do, at least in Colby's experience. There were the usual irritating yuppies and greedy businessmen toasting to "future success" and "long life" when all they really wanted was to get you out of the picture as soon as possible. Colby had experienced it all before and he knew how to handle himself. He needed to beat Gruder at his game, play by his rules. He could not let on that he knew what the chairman was up to. Gruder needed to conciliate Colby somehow (or remove him from the picture entirely) in order to facilitate the merger of Fitzpatrick Chemical with pharmaceutical giant Kobe-McNamara. If Colby played his cards right, he could garner resistance among the other major stockholders and block the merger. And as Colby sat, at the bar, alone, trying to formulate a plan to trick Gruder into revealing his plans, "He" walked up. Well, "He" is not the right word. "He-Man" might be the better term. A blond gentleman, wearing a tailored suit that could barely contain his bulk, walked up to the bar and sat down beside Colby. He had chiseled features, a square cleft chin, and a strong physical presence. Colby could smell his masculine cologne as soon as he sat down and could feel the electric shock of his physical power as his muscular form set itself down on the bar stool. The Princeton student detected the faint hint of an accent as the man asked the bar tender for a cognac double with Coke. A strange thing to ask for. Colby spoke first. "You're not from around here, are you?" "I'm from Napa Valley," said the man. Colby laughed. "Is that Napa Valley, Switzerland, maybe?" The man laughed, as well. "Actually, I am from Norway," he said. "Just flew in today... and boy are my arms tired." "That's not a good joke in English." "Yeah, it's pretty bad in Norwegian, too. What are you watching up there?" the Norwegian asked, pointing up at the television behind the bar. "A rugby exposition match. The All Blacks against the South Africans. It just started." "You play rugby," said the Norwegian, giving Colby a manly pat on the chest, sizing him up. "You have the build for it." "I'm the captain of the Princeton intramural rugby team. Well, co-captain. But I think you already knew that." "No, I didn't," said the Norwegian. "What's your name, rugby co-captain?" and the Norwegian flashed Colby a million dollar smile. Colby shrugged. "He already knows my name," he thought to himself. He knew something was up as soon as the man sat down beside him. "Colby. And let me guess, your name is 'Thor'?" "Thorsten, actually," said the Norwegian. "No one really calls me Thor. Everyone says Thorsten." "Alright," said Colby, shifting on his stool: turning toward the Norwegian. "Let's see: we'll talk for the net thirty minutes or so, maybe watch some of the match, and then you'll ask me if I can give you a ride back to your hotel, right? On the way there, you'll put your hand on my thigh, maybe accidentally brush your hand across my dick. Then you'll swallow your pride and squeeze the head of my dick a little; you'll look me dead in the eyes. That look means: 'I'm game for whatever you wanna do, buddy'. I've seen it before. I'll go back with you to your hotel and we'll fuck. It'll be incredible. Then, the next morning, you'll show Chairman Gruder the hidden cam video from the hotel, he'll give you $400,000, maybe $500,000 and that's it. The vids and screen grabs will be released to the press and there goes my chance to head my father's company. Do you really think I'm that stupid?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "Don't play stupid with me." "Play stupid? I don't know what any of this means." "Of course you do, Thor." "Thorsten." "Thorsten," said Colby. "Gruder's paying you to blackmail me so he could get me out of the picture. I knew it as soon as you walked up." Thorsten took a couple sips from his double cognac; calmly, with not a single blond hair falling out of place, and Colby watched him. He thought: "Maybe I should just go back with him and fuck, trap or not." "I know you just met me," said Thorsten, "and there is no reason why you should trust me, but I'm a good guy. I saw you sitting here by yourself and I was by myself so I decided to come and talk to you. You told me you play rugby, right? I love sports too. I used to be a powerlifter: I competed in Olympic qualifiers and then, I'll be honest, I became a model. That's what I do now. But I would love to come to one of your rugby games. Can, I come one day, Colby." "You're good." "This is not a set up," said Thorsten, and the next thing Colby knew, he was standing in the hotel elevator, beside him. They both looked at their joint reflection in the bronze elevator doors. They were both big men, Colby came in at 6'2 and Thorsten must have been two or three inches taller than that, and they both filled out their suits nicely. Colby's tailored suit was made a size too big (the way he liked it) so he could have a little more mobility, while Thorsten's Prada suit clung tightly to his huge, muscular form. It was strange that no one called him "Thor" because this Norwegian was the spitting image. And Thor was horny. As soon as the elevator doors opened out onto his floor, he pulled Colby by the collar of his suit, took off his tie, opened the top button of his shirt, and kissed him greedily on the neck and the cheek. "Careful, people are watching," Colby wanted to say, but the first moments of ecstasy, the surge in testosterone as dick jumped from semi-hard to fully erect and tenting his trousers, blurred his common sense. Colby was caught up in a storm and he did not really know what was happening. "Oh well," he thought. "I guess I'll see the footage tomorrow at the board meeting." He followed Thorsten to his room; next thing: the doors were opened, then closed. Thorsten was pulling off his trousers. They had only been in the room for ten or fifteen seconds and Thorsten was getting down on his knees; this huge, powerful Norwegian model prostrated himself for the American rugby player, ready to take his cock into his Scandinavian mouth. Colby tossed his head back in a daze, he closed his eyes. He felt Thorsten grab hold of his dick and give it a squeeze and a jerk. Thorsten leaned his head forward and opened his mouth. "No..." said Colby. "I can't. No! Stop!" Colby pushed Thorsten back by the shoulders and the man stumbled. "What is it?" he asked, in his curt Scandinavian English. "What... what is it?" "I can't do this," said Colby, again, pulling up his suit trousers. "I'm sorry, I just... I don't know what's going on," and Colby pulled out his smart phone and began making a call. "And you left, just like that?" asked the young man driving the car. "I couldn't do it, Arun," said Colby, lying flat across the two seats in the rear of the car. He had told the intern that had come to pick him up, Arun Agarwal, everything that had happened. They had met last winter, right after Arun had started with the company, and formed an instant friendship. They were both college students and, though Colby was poised to succeed to the head of an enormous and influential corporation, they had a lot in common. "I'm sorry to call you so late, but I didn't want to get a cab. I just went into panic mode. Sorry, Arun." "You know this isn't my job, right?" "I know." "I'm a chemical engineering major," Arun continued, "and my minor isn't in Yuppie Services." "Yuppie Services? Was that supposed to be a joke?" "Yes," Arun replied. He sighed as he drove the car. "Yes, it was." "Wait, you think I'm a yuppie?" asked Colby, instantly sitting up in the car. "God, here we go..." "No, I wanna know," said Colby, leaning forward in the backseat of the car, trying to get a look at Arun's eyes as reflected in the rearview mirror. Their eyes met. "You really think I'm a yuppie, don't you?" "Can we just drop it?" "No, we can't," Colby replied. "Yes, I think you're a yuppie. I think you're a spoiled little rich kid that takes everything in life for granted, even to the point of asking the engineering intern to drive you home from the hotel of the Norwegian model you almost slept with. Amirite?" "But..." "And if you give me one of those: 'But I love Bob Marley, or I have this Che Guevara t-shirt that I wear when I'm hiking through Yellowstone or having lattes at Seattle's Best'..." "But..." "...Or 'I'm friends with all the Black kids at Princeton: both of them'..." "Wow, Arun, it sounds like you have me all sized up," Colby said. He looked out of the tinted window of Arun's '82 Datsun ("God, these cars are still on the road?" Colby had asked when he got in). He shook his head. "I didn't know you knew me so well." "Are you really gonna take it that way?" Arun asked. "Why don't you just accept that you're rich and have a lot of perks in life? Just accept all that and laugh along with me. Do you really think you have it rough, I mean, like a Mexican migrant worker in Idaho or something?" "Well, maybe not like a migrant worker, but it's not like my life is all sunshine and daisies and shit like that. I mean, I have problems, too. This quack says my Dad has Alzheimer's, but I don't really think he does. I think the Board of Directors just wants him out of the way. My Mom is basically a sex-crazed banshee, like a MILF to the thousandth power... maybe the board of directors is slipping some kind of sex hormone into her food..." "Dude, are you serious?" "Yeah, of course, I am," mumbled Colby "...And I'm pretty sure the chairman wants to either blackmail me or straight up kill me. I mean, no, maybe that's not as bad as being some poor kid in Ecuador or something, but I'm not just some entitled yuppie." "You sure?" "Arun, I called you because I needed help. I thought we were friends. If I knew you were going to be like this..." "Listen, we're just having grown-up talk." "If you say so..." "So what's this about someone wanting to blackmail you?" and Arun looked up into the rearview mirror. His brown eyes met Colby's gray-blues and he swallowed. He started to sweat. "Are you talking about Chairman Gruder?" "Well, do you know another Chairman of the Board at my company? I'm pretty sure this whole thing with the Norwegian was a set up. I mean... 'Thor'? Really? Do they think I'm that stupid? They couldn't come up with a better name for a Norwegian than 'Thor'?" "...short for Thorsten." "Bullshit!" Colby shouted. "He's a mole. He's a rat. A very, very hot one, but basically he wanted to catch me with my pants down, and my dick out, so that Gruder could discredit me and pave the way for a Kobe-McNamara takeover of Fitzpatrick Chemical. It's a fucking trap." "I think you're jumping to conclusions." "...I'm sitting alone at the bar and all of the sudden this blond model, who looks like he was made in the lab by a mad scientist, sits down next to me and wants to suck my dick? I mean, does that happen everyday in your life, Arun?" "I mean, you're hot, too, maybe he was genuinely interested." "You think I'm hot?" "...that's beside the point," and Arun looked away from the rearview mirror. "I'm just saying that I don't think you're thinking rationally... Where to, by the way? I can drop you at the train station. I'm definitely not driving your spoiled ass all the way to San Jose. You're going to have to call for the helicopter..." "What about your place?" "What about my place?" "Can I crash there?" Arun sighed. "Sheltering yuppies is not in the job description of my internship, asshole." Colby laughed. "Please, Arun..." and, sure enough, Arun reluctantly agreed. About half an hour later, Colby was walking around Arun's 8th floor studio walkup, with a wonderful view of the brick wall of the neighboring building, wearing boxer shorts and one of Arun's t-shirts. Colby walked over to the fridge. "Dude, I'm so hungry," he said. "I have a serious case of the munchies." Arun, who sat on the couch, looked over his shoulder at Colby, who rifled through his fridge, in a very spoiled bratty/entitled asshole fashion, throwing things hither and thither. Colby was leaning over and Arun got a view of his beefy ass through the thin fabric of his plaid boxers. Colby turned around and smiled at Arun. "It looks like ninety percent of the shit in your fridge is expired, bro!" but he turned a round and kept looking for something. Colby had a baby face, with dark brown hair, and deep-set eyes, but he was built like a professional rugby player, with a husky muscularity. Seeing Colby bending over like that, with his meaty backside sticking straight out immediately took Arun in a direction he was not intending to go and he had to cover his hard-on with one of the throw pillows on his convertible sofa. Colby, who had found something to eat with the declaration "Sandwich! Yay!" sat down beside Arun and put his arm around him. "There's, like, an eighty-five percent chance that eating the cheese on this sandwich will kill me, since I'm pretty sure it's been in there at least a month. Who leaves half a Subway sandwich in the fridge that long?" "...and what kind of dumbass would actually eat it?" asked Arun. "Me, obviously. You're the best, Arun." They sat like that for an hour or two, until Colby began to fall asleep with his head on Arun's shoulder. It felt good to Arun, the feeling of this big, strong, but childish man, falling asleep against him, but he could not let it continue and he nudged Colby awake with a stiff poke in the ribs from his elbow. "Wake up, bro," he said. "What is it, Arun?" Colby asked. "I can sleep here, right?" "Yeah, but... not like that. You can take my bed and I'll sleep on the pull-out." "I'm not taking your bed, dude. That's fucking ridiculous. If anything, we can both sleep in the bed." "Are you crazy?" asked Arun, jumping up off of the couch. "Why is that crazy?" "I don't think I understand what's going on here," Arun said, shaking his head. "I think you do," said Colby. "I'm not giving you a blow job!" "Who said anything about a blow job?!" shouted Colby, and he jumped up, too. "Maybe, you should go." "Are you seriously kicking me out in my boxers, Arun? ...and I'm wearing your t-shirt. Don't you want it back?" and Colby slowly peeled off the white shirt, revealing a meaty set of pecs with big pink nipples; he handed the shirt to Arun. Arun, eyes popping out of his sockets, reached for the throw pillow and positioned it over his crotch. "Um..." he said. "You can stay, but, like I said, I'm not giving you a hummer." "I don't want a hummer from you, Arun," said Colby. "Can't we just lie down in the same bed? What's so weird about that?" "For one thing, I'm not into that." "You're not into lying down in a bed?" "You know what I mean," said Arun. "Do I smell bad?" and Colby lifted an arm and smelled one of his hairy pits. Arun had to look away because that just made his dick harder. "I can't smell you from here, but I wouldn't be surprised if you smelled like an elephant." "Stop, Arun," and Colby walked over to him and put his arms around him. "Stop this. I know you want it, too." "Want what, too?" "This," and Colby reached up and grabbed Arun's hand and brought it down to his semi-hard cock in his boxers. Arun could not help but grab the thick meat that his hand was placed over. Seconds later, he released it and looked away. "You've got some fucking nerve," he said. "What? Don't you want it?" "Dude," he began, face already set in a sarcastic pose, "you mean I might actually get some white dick today? This is the best day of my life." "Give me a break, kay?" "But this is so much fun." "I know you want to paint me as some sort of evil rich yuppie, but I'm not so bad." "Well, I have a serious issue with yuppies, I run into them all the time at school...and I don't want to be added to your collection of minorities. You probably have a skull of a savage from Borneo in your study." "Yes, I do, but... Collection of minorities? That's ridiculous. Arun, I think you're beautiful. That's all. That's it. You have, like, a permanent tan, and the most awesome brown eyes I have ever seen. You're just so damn cute. It's as simple as that. It's not some evil white man plot to subjugate you, bro." "You sure?" "I'm about ninety-nine percent sure." Arun shrugged. Colby walked over and put his arm around him as they walked over to Arun's unmade bed. Colby thought Arun looked nervous, almost guilty, but he didn't care. All he wanted was for Arun to look at him with those brown eyes; he wanted that connection, a look mutual affection, and he got it. They did not do anything that night, they merely fell asleep in the same bed (with Arun's head on Colby's chest), like two young men scared to do anything more. [TO BE CONTINUED] [Alright, guys (and girls?), this is a different sort of story for me. Some of you know me already, but anyway, e-mail me with errata, comments, even bitchy complaints. I'm so... so lonely. I need someone to talk to! My e-mail address is above and my ridiculously absurd blog is here: [http://robotsinmasquerade.blogspot.com/] Thanks for reading this far, and I'm kinda busy so I can only keep going if there is a genuine interest. Thanks again.]