Thanks to Mickey- Redux

Kyle smiled on the inside. He knew his sullen and cold manner was intimidating. His outward appearance was the perfect suit of armor. He was at the top of the food chain. Nobody could see the wounds that led to this. Unlike his few peers, Kyle did not rise from old money and Ivy league pedigree. He rose from poverty and abuse to become more powerful than presidents, dictators and generals.

Others cowered in his presence. They did not dare challenge him or even share some banter and small talk. Unlike most people of rank, his office walls had no pictures displaying trophy wives and preppy children skiing, sailing or mountain climbing. There were no handshakes with movie stars and no embraces with world leaders. There was no expensive artwork or sculptures collected in world travels.  There was no evidence of intriguing hobbies and skills acquired by only the wealthy with time and money to spare. Kyle was a mystery. He had no family, no children, no pets and no roots. He liked it that way. It gave him power and leverage. 

The only evidence of humanity was a gold plated wiffle ball bat which was hung above the private jet plane door. Nobody dared to inquire. There was speculation that it was an illegitimate child’s last possession before a tragic death. Or it was used to beat a rival to death in a neighborhood dispute. Some thought it may have been acquired in his first hostile takeover of a giant toy company. Each of the five presenters and their two aides passed under the golden bat as they entered the jet. They were too preoccupied to worry about a bat. 

It was a short flight from Boston to DC. There would be five presentations exactly 10 minutes in length. They quickly reached cruising altitude. Kyle was a man of few words. He simply said “The data”. Martin, the first presenter, had an uneasy half smile. His armor- an insanely expensive Armani suit and his weapon- a laser pointer, were no match for Kyle. A small bead of perspiration formed on his forehead. With a click, the graph appeared on the 72 inch screen. Kyle insisted on this large screen format. He leaned forward to examine the scales represented on each axis. He thought “Numbers can be squeezed or stretched into many realities”. 

Each of the five presenters had exactly ten minutes to make their pitch. No snacks. No drinks. No small talk. Just business. In the short flight from Boston to DC Kyle would hear from executives representing major industries of the world. In the moments between each presentation Kyle glanced out the window to observe the towering cumulus clouds pass by slowly below. For a second he thought of how lucky he was to be flying above the storms below as his private jet took him above it all.

Kyle sat back in his wide, deep leather chair. He did not touch the handouts and brochures that were offered at the opening of the presentations. Those paper pleas for attention remained ignored on a table nearby. Kyle showed no emotion. His body language was zero. Kyle’s brain was in a closed session. His eyes remained shut reminding others- do not disturb. Finally, as the plane was gently jostled by passing clouds Kyle’s eyes opened and he sipped a scotch that was poured at exactly the right time by a smartly dressed male attendant. 

The jet landed with hardly a bump. It sped quickly to a small runway strip near the terminal. A small fleet of limos awaited with doors open. The meeting was over and the presenters and their staff quietly departed without a word. They all knew the rules- don’t talk, just go. Kyle sat quietly as the others departed. Kyle closed his eyes, as was his custom, and he sat motionless. Nobody would disturb him. 

Even Kyle’s suit obeyed. This perfectly tailored soft wool suit stretched and moved in complete harmony and obedience to Kyle’s every gesture without signs of any disorganization or confusion. It seemed to be self-pressing somehow. The pure white linen shirt, open at the collar, was also impeccably tailored and impervious to any hint of a wrinkle. After the usual five minutes or so, Kyle rose and he walked to the exit nodding to the captain. 

Sinking into the fine Corinthian leather seat of the limo, the door was closed with barely a sound. As the limo pulled away into the Business World, Kyle closed his eyes again.  He was transported to the backyard of 50 years ago.Young Kyle was alone in his personal World Series. The markers in the small yard- the trash barrel, the line of sad rose bushes with few leaves and mostly thorns, the bent clothesline, a rusted paint can, an old grill- all signaled an outcome- single, double, triple and home run. Failure to clear the bald tire sitting on the pitching mound was an out. Balls landing in other areas were fly outs. 

At the end of a busy work day it was Kyle’s custom to return to the Big Game. It was the bottom of the ninth in the 7th and deciding game of the World Series. Two outs and the bases were loaded. The Yanks were down by 3 runs. Mickey was at the plate. The ball was tossed into the air. It seemed to hang and spin slowly like the bone in the opening scene of 2001. As it slowly dropped the mighty wiffle ball bat struck the ball. The blast saw the ball rise nearly to the edge of space. It almost disappeared as it soared over the neighbor’s two story house to the field beyond. 

At that moment Kyle was sure, anything was possible with the help of Mickey. He opened his eyes and dictated his plans which will change the world.