11. Madman

No, not what I expected either.

11. Madman

It was a busy day at the office, phones ringing constantly and people walking to and from the meeting rooms.

Yes, it was a busy, busy day. Except for Adam.

Adam was sitting in his office, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, almost asleep, but not quite. It felt good to have all these people to do his job for him.

He enjoyed being able to hear them work, too.
That ring right there was his assistant's telephone and in just a moment she would pick it up, chirping her greeting to whoever was on the other side of the line.

“Madman Productions, CEO's office, how may I help you?”

“It's Patrick Thomas. Patch me through, Vanessa.”

“Of course, Mr Thomas. Have a nice day!”

Shit. Not Patrick.

Patrick would ruin the perfectly good day of doing nothing he was having. Patrick would make him work. That was the problem in giving film directors direct access to you. They wanted to use that access. Damn them.

Ring ring!

And there went his phone.

He left it a moment, as though he were in the middle of something and this call was disturbing his very busy workday.
“Hello?”

“Adam? It's Tom.”

Well, this was different.

“Tom? Hi! I thought you were someone else!”

A nervous chuckle from the other side of the line, “Yeah, I kind of told your secretary-”
“Assistant.” He interrupted.

“- that I was Patrick Thomas. Sorry!”

“Ah well. One of the names is close, right?”

“Right. I just needed to contact you, and I wasn't sure she would let me through if I wasn't someone important.”

I checked my mobile.

“You could have just sent me a text message, you know. That's kind of what mobile phones are for.”

I could hear cars in the background of the call.

“I know, but I wanted to tell you this by phone.”

“Alright then. Please don't tell me you're going to jump under a car, because I do not want to be the one to tell your mother that her darling son went and got himself squished.”

“What? No. I'm just in a hurry. I have to get to the station before eleven-forty-five.”

“Where are you going?”
The noise of the buzzes at a pedestrian crossing.
“I'm coming home, actually. I'll be back by four. I need to tell my mother something.”

“So you're going to tell her you plan on jumping under a car and getting yourself squished?”

“Oh haha. No. I'm going to tell her I want to ask my girlfriend to marry me and that I would appreciate her blessing.”

Adam shot up to sit properly.
“You have a girlfriend? Since when?!”

Tom sounded long-suffering, but he's never told Adam!
“A long time, mate.”

“You didn't tell me!”

“Yes I did.”

No he didn't.

“Liar. So, you're going to ask her to marry you, are you?”

A car honked and Adam heard Tom put the phone on his shoulder so he could shout at the driver.

“Hey! My light is green, are you blind? Who the hell gave you your driving license?!”

The driver was shouting something back, but Tom had clearly moved forward.

“Yes, I'm going to ask her to marry me. She's the one, Adam. I just know it.”

“That's great, mate, I'm happy for you. Did you call to inform me that you had a girlfriend, sorry, soon to be wife?”

“Well, er, yes, pretty much.”

“When do I get to meet her?”

“Oh, you've met her.”

Adam frowned.
“Lois? But I thought you broke up years ago.”

“We did. It's not Lois – ooh, two for one on Belgian Beer!”

“Stay focused, Tom. Girlfriend?”

“You know what, you'll recognise her when you see her. Just promise not to get mad. Or do stupid things, like you did when you met Lois.”

“I was right though, wasn't I? She was cheating on you.”

“Don't rub it in. Anyway, when you meet her don't do that madman routine you used to do.”

“Seriously? I have grown up since then. I would like to think I have matured since the age of sixteen, mate.”

“Whatever. Just don't.”

“And when will I be able to meet this lovely lass of yours?”

There was a knock on his door.
“Hang on, got to get this. One moment, yeah?”

He looked up, “Come in!”

It was Vanessa. She had come to bring him his mid-morning coffee.
“Sir. Just to remind you that you have a meeting with investors at twelve-twenty, meeting room 4.”

He gave her a curt nod, “Thank you, Vanessa.”

“Yes sir.”

She left.

“Mate? I'm back.”

He could hear loudspeakers saying things in the background.

“Who was it?”

“The assistant. I've got a meeting in half an hour. You got to the station on time, then?”

“Yeah, just waiting for the train to show up. It's late. Of course.”

“Of course. So when can I meet her?”

“How does tonight sound? At the pub, say seven?”

“Seven sounds good. I'll see you there, mate, I've got to go over the last meeting's notes. These people might be financing the next big hit.”

“I'm sure you'll be fine. See you tonight, then.”

“Yeah, tonight. Bye then.”

“Bye.”

So Tommy was going to propose. Wow.

When they had gone to university, there had been a period where they had discussed getting a bachelor pad in London or somewhere like it. Spending their lives with a different woman every night, enough alcohol in their kitchen to get drunk for a year and a huge TV screen to watch the football.
Those were the days.

Then he had got a girlfriend and Tom had got involved with the comedy society. But they had eventually got a flat together. Not in London, and not the fancy bachelor pad they had dreamed of, but it was enough. Until they had got jobs, and his had required him to move back into the city he had left to find his fortune elsewhere.
But he did like his job – he was good at it, had worked hard and had got promoted fairly quickly. Just look at him now! CEO for a huge company.
“Madman Productions, because we've got mad game with the bitches.”

Now that was a slogan he would love to present. He got the feeling old Larry, the owner, wouldn't be too pleased if he did.

Work went by without a hitch, apart from one of the fax machines breaking down, but they had others.

The investors decided they wanted to invest, the cafeteria had fish and chips for lunch, Vanessa told him that Patrick Thomas (the real one) had signed on for another year's work with them.

All in all, an excellent day. And maybe he was getting soppy in his (not quite yet) old age, but he was looking forward to seeing Tom again. It had been too long. Social networking just wasn't the same.

At six-thirty, he left the office.

He decided to go straight to The Dutchess instead of heading home to change. He would just be late, and Tom used to tease him about being late for everything. Besides, he should be on time for meeting his best friend's future wife.

Adam walked into the pub in which he and Tom had spent countless hours sober, and so many more drunk, and smiled. All the memories. It didn't feel the same when he came without Tom.
He looked around for his best friend, looking forward to meeting the lucky woman – even if Tom said he knew her already – and congratulating the couple.

He found Tom in a corner, hair shorter than it had been, sitting at a table in a booth.
He walked to them, loosening his tie, and stopped mid-motion when he recognised the woman.
Well shit.

“Hello, Adam.”

He turned to Tom, a scandalised look on his face.

“You bastard. My sister?”