by Ben Lewis

Created on: June 11, 2008

THE PASSING OF URSULA

"Van Landingham properties", cooed the receptionist. "I'm sorry, he's in conference. . .Yes, I'll give him the message", she whispered with all her charm course seductiveness.
Beyond the receptionist's desk was the door to the inner sanctum. Beyond that stood the aquarium with its foot long sharks and the wall full of African masks that Van senior had collected in his world travels. Beyond that was the glassed in bookcase that held the gilt edged Harvard Classics bound in Arabian horse hide and gold leaf. Beyond that a wall held plaques and awards for outstanding achievements in business, and football photos in living color. Beyond that the nine by five desk and behind that desk, in a high backed leather covered swivel chair, reclined Reginald Edward Van Landingham IV.

"Mr. Van, your car is ready, but they say you have to pay cash when they deliver it", reported the receptionist.
"SHIT!", cried the man behind the desk. "Send Shultz over there, he can talk to them."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Van, but Mr. Shultz isn't coming in today, he's sick."
"SHIT", cried the man, slamming both fists on the desktop. His cuff links rapped against its polished surface. He turned up his right knuckles for an anxious glance at the six carat diamond set in gold on his little finger. He tilted his wrist slightly to let the light pick up another facet of the stone. He squinted to make a star-shaped reflection that paralleled the onyx on his cuff and the diamond on his pinky. He ever so briefly inspected his manicure that was, of course, perfect.
"Call that sonofabitch and. . ."
"His wife says he's out seeing a doctor."
"SHIT!", cried the man. "Now I'm gonna have to go out and collect rents. Everybody wants to get paid but nobody wants to pay me." He stabbed his arm into the pin stripped Brooks Brothers jacket and adjusted his cuffs, taking time for only one barely perceptible flick of the wrist to admire the six carats, and then he strode out with one more "SHIT!"
At the auto detail shop, proprietor Thompson was saying to the Black porter, "Willie, take this Continental over to Van Landingham but don't turn the car over to that sonofabitch until he pays you. And if it's a check, make sure it's signed."
"Yassuh."
"CHRIST!", Van said to the porter, "That sonofabitch you work for acts like he's afraid he won't get paid."
"Yassuh", said Willie, scrutinizing the check.
Van burned steel belted rubber as he headed for West End. His first stop was Ruth Bowen's. He had to park

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