The Rendezvous at Eight
Richard Lyle Mills nursed a glass of brandy while he waited. His membership at the Sunnyvale Golf and Country Club afforded him a few exclusive privileges. On a silver tray on the table beside his velvet and bronze wingchair, its sidekick kitty-corner to him, sat one of his most prized privileges, namely, a bottle of Napoleon Grande Fine Champagne Cognac. One of the world’s finest and most expensive cognacs, it was securely kept under lock and key when he was not present.
He breathed a sigh of relief and satisfaction. My day has gone well, he mused. This small and extremely wealthy slice of the population who attended my first meeting ponied up quite a healthy sum of cash; cheque books that make a formidable political weapon for the budding brand of politics that will serve first and foremost ourselves. I hope they fully understood their responsibilities to the collective. The virtue of comradeship is highly prized and will be severely enforced when the situation dictates. He sipped the golden nectar and glanced around the executive lounge.
The gas fireplace provided a semblance to an old wood burning grate. Every seating arrangement had a table within easy reach. Dark leather couches, sprinkled liberally with vibrant cushions, were artfully arranged on dark walnut wood flooring, while the upper half of the wainscoted walls contained more framed photographs and original oil paintings than visible wall-papered surface.
He peered at his Rolex Daytona watch. They are already ten minutes late. Restless, he walked to the window that overlooked the 18th hole. He swirled the liquid in his glass and stared onto the dark evening’s cloaked amorphous landscape.
The swishing sound of the lounge door opening and closing captured hi...