I got tired of being the head of a dot com company.
It was getting tedious, boring, and uninspiring. Or maybe I was feeling my age. No, I know it wasn't that, unless you would call a mid-life crisis at 27 something completely normal.
Sure, I'd made my way up pretty quickly, starting my own company in New York right before I turned 21-- straight out of college-- and shooting straight up to the top in about three years. At first it was fun, having an original idea of software to plan your life as it were your own kingdom, getting together with some buddies, and creating a company that would be one of the biggest in America. It was fun.
But, then I got bored. I was going to work feeling like I wasn't contributing. At everyone's suggestion I'd hired assistants, secretaries, then workers and liaisons for overseas stuff. Slowly but surely I wasn't working anymore, having countless people whose names I didn't even know half the time make my coffee, call this and that person or company, go to this meeting. The only thing they didn't do was hold my dick up while I peed. All I did was sit in my office and draw weird models of computers, like one that had a drawer inside of it for candy, another one that you could use to beat any video game and had a hypnotizing button to keep you awake during all-night marathons. I'd think up stories about how I was a closet necrophiliac who kept the corpses of ex-girlfriends (and even boyfriends-- I'm not gay but it added flavor) in my closet and that I'd used them for, well, whatever to be used for.
All that, and I was making money. Of course I was. But I'm the type who likes to actually work for my paychecks. And I wasn't working-- I was barking orders at people I didn't know.
The final nail slammed into the proverbial coffin was when one of my old friends from college, Victoria, came in to visit me and catch up. She worked in the marketing department, but I rarely ever saw her when the company got bigger and we were in that 20-floor office.
"You look bored," she'd said, in my finely furnished office. "You need a vacation or something." All I could do was look at her. If I went on vacation I'd be doing what I was doing in the office-- nothing-- somewhere where I didn't have to dress up for feel like I had to be a team member.
I had to get out of there. Right there I told her to prepare the paperwork for my immediate departure, because it was the last order I was going to give at that place. I was retiring at 27, and that was the end of it. I made plans to keep my share of the stock in the company and move somewhere far, far away-- for some reason, L.A. was looking very nice even though I'd been there once and didn't really like it.
At the time I wasn't married, had never been, and I didn't have a girlfriend, so relocation wouldn't be a problem. And poor Victoria, one of my closest friends from way back when, just looked at me, shocked that the inevitable would be before her. Without even asking she made all the necessary arrangements.
The day had arrived, about a week later. All the press releases had been sent out, and everyone was shocked that I was suddenly leaving the company to retire at 27. And that was it. I just sat there in my office, staring out the window, enjoying the silence of the huge boxes that were majestically placed around the office. Then I get a call on the telephone from my secretary, Jon. I clicked on the speaker.
"There's a man out here who wants to see you," he said from inside the silver box. "He says he's a... realtor of sorts."
"I don't want to see anyone right now, Jon," I said, tired. "Tell him, politely, to go away."
I heard a noise like he had picked up the phone. I didn't realize he'd had it on speakerphone, too. Not that I really cared. "I'm afraid he won't leave, Josh. He says he has an offer to make that you may be interested in." He lowered his voice considerably, obviously softer, as if Jon was talking off the record. "I must say he's a very noble looking man. He's British. He sounds really important."
I sighed. "Okay Jon. Send him in, I guess." I stood, waiting, in my khaki shorts and bright blue Hawaiian shirt.
The man walked in, head up high as if he were of noble rank. He had long brown hair with streaks of silver in it, and it was tied behind his head with black silk. He had bushy eyebrows and a beard, both brown with spots of gray in them as well. He eyes were of a deep blue, with very distinct crow's feet at the edges. His nose was aquiline and the rest of his face was very chiseled as well. He was quite lanky in a very well-tailored black suit and royal purple tie. Despite the fact that he looked very snobbish, he greeted me with a very friendly handshake.
"Good day, sir," he said smiling.
"Hi." It was all I could get out considering he was so tall and intense looking. "What can I do for you?"
"Well sir, I've come to make a offer for you to consider. I think it may be something worth while to a young man as yourself just getting started in the world."
"Okay. Shoot."
He looked at me strangely for a moment, as if he couldn't decipher what I said, and then he went on. "Let me begin by asking you: Do you like castles?"
"Castles?" I thought that was the strangest question to come out of than man's mouth, though for some reason it didn't surprise me.
"Yes," he said, patiently.
"Why yes, I suppose so. I've always wondered what it would be like to live in one."
"Ah, good." He started to pace back and forth in front of me, as if it would help him figure out what he was going to say next. He rubbed his chin in thought. "Have you ever visited any of the majestic castles in Ireland, perhaps? Or in England?"
"No, I can't say that I have. Never been over there, actually. I have people to deal with my overseas accounts." I suddenly felt really awkward. "You know."
He nodded in affirmation. "I understand. Have you considered buying your own island, taking a bit of land and declaring it as your own?"
His beating around the bush was getting to me. "Look, Mister...?"
"Oh Dragonshead," he said quietly.
"Um. Look, Mr. Dragonshead. I'm in the middle of trying to disassociate myself from this whole... operation, so real estate is not something I want to think about right now. I have a home not far from here that I would like to spend some time in and get used to the fact that I'm not working, then move out of because I don't want to be in this state anymore. Maybe then I'll listen completely to your offer."
He looked at me as if he were sorry for me. "I see. Then I will try and get in touch with you again. I've left a card with your secretary should you want to reach me."
"Okay. Sure." All of a sudden I felt like I was being really rude by not taking his offer. "Look. I really will consider this offer. I just need time to... adjust."
He nodded. "We all do, lad. We all do." He sounded tired when he said that. "Just... send a message whenever you feel you're ready."
"Sure." He left quietly, leaving me staring at the door.
I finally moved out of the office into a huge house with many rooms that I had no business being in, but had the pocket change to buy and had people at the office pick interior designers for. I don't think I'd actually seen the house in real daylight-- in fact the only room I was familiar with was my bedroom, first door on the right at the top of the stairs.
I sat there in a plush chair that came from God knows where, with all these unpacked boxes around me, and meditated on my dark wooden front door, wondering what else I could have been doing instead. Where could I go from here? What is it that I do next? An obnoxiously fast laptop-- a going-away gift from the company-- was in one of the boxes. It took me few hours to find it, all the wires that were supposed to go with it, plug it in, and connect it to a phone line and use an old company program and user name to get online.
I did some fiddle-farting around at some porn sites, remembering some of the old hacking tricks that I'd learned way back when and seeing the really good stuff that nobody else could see without a credit card. Some of the old excitement that I'd felt when I first started in the game settled in, and I thought at one point of dialing up some of the old boards that I used to frequent for any new programs to use to hack into some hardcore top secret sites. I thought about the Pentagon, about getting in and looking around for a bit, but after five minutes of looking at huge breasts and other body parts I didn't know existed in real life, that thought was just as dull and boring.
Then I remembered, the card. That Pen-drinking guy, he'd given me his card. Where the hell did I put it?
It took another couple of hours to find it, ending in the solitary embarrassment that it was in my wallet right next to the laptop. I could hack into the Pentagon, but I couldn't find a business card? I pushed the thought away as I looked at the card, half-amused by its medieval design of a dragon on it, wondering what kind of Renaissance Faire this guy had come from. I couldn't even tell that his accent was fake at all.
Lord Dragonshead
Antiques and Estates
There wasn't anything else on the card except for a mailing address-- a post office box no doubt-- with the adage, "Send inquiries by message only." No phone number or e-mail or web site or anything. But I thought, what the hell. I'd found a yellow legal pad and written a hasty letter saying that I'd like to talk with Mr. Dragonshead again. I'd scribbled my phone number on it at the bottom along with an e-mail address. I'd put a return address on the front of it just in case they were that old fashioned, and went up to the post office the next day, sending it Air Mail-- it was supposed to be faster, after all.
About a week later, and with everything unpacked, someone rang my doorbell.
I pulled on some clean jeans and a dark blue polo shirt to look half-way presentable, and it didn't surprise me in the least that Mr. Dragonshead was standing at my door, looking just as refined as before. He'd had a huge white-toothed smile on his face and a fairly large black leather briefcase hanging from his left hand.
"Changed your mind, my lad?"
"Um. Maybe. Come in, please."
He entered, and immediately looked around at the bareness of the house. "I take it you are not fully settled yet?"
"No, not really."
"Good. Then it will be easier for you to consider relocation, no?"
"Please, make yourself comfortable." I motioned him to my living room: a red sofa, plush chair, coffee table on its last legs from my old apartment, and one large television. It looked almost inhabitable with the hardwood floors. "Would you like some coffee or tea?"
"Some tea, if you don't mind."
"Milk or sugar?"
"Just milk please."
As I was in the kitchen, I heard him ask, "So what was it that made you change your mind?"
"I don't know. Frankly, I think it was boredom."
I thought I'd heard him chuckle, but I wasn't sure with all of the noise I was making moving things around. "It's just as good an excuse as any, my lad," he said.
When I came out of the kitchen with the two mugs of tea, he was sitting on the sofa looking up at the ceiling (looking at what I don't know), and smiling as if he'd just committed a grave murder and nobody knew about it.
"Ah, here we are," he said.
"So. Why did you come to me with this offer? And what exactly does this entail?"
He sat there, very straight, and didn't touch his tea. If it was out of respect for me, I couldn't tell. All of a sudden he seemed to be very animated. "Well, being that you were retiring, so to speak, and it was such a high-profile event, I figured you would want some... adventure in your life for once. And I thought, 'If a lad like that has enough of a courageous spirit to just let everything go at his age, then he is ready for anything.' So I did a little researching, and came to you, hoping that you'd be interested. Of course, that leads us up to now."
I was wondering what exactly researching encompassed, since there was no indication that he was in the age of technology at all. "Yes, of course," I said in as posh a voice as possible. At this point I felt like I was just playing along with his sick little game. Oh yes, old chap, that's just lovely.
"What I have come to tell you about is a quaint little castle, well, it's more of an island, really, right off the coast of England."
"Is this for a vacation or something?"
"A holiday?" He seemed disappointed that I'd asked that question. "Um. In a way, yes. But this castle seems to charm people. In a good way, I mean." It sounded like he was starting to stumble on his words. "Most of my clients have stayed there for extended periods of time."
"I see," I said. I took a sip of my tea, and it seemed to be a cue for him to sip his tea. He even stuck his little pinky out like a proper Englishman. "Is the tea okay?"
"Oh, it's just lovely," he said. "Just like back home." Now it felt like he was humoring me this time.
"Do you have any photos of this place, so that I can see what it looks like before I consider?"
He carefully put his mug down on the wrecked coffee table. "Oh yes, of course." He reached down for his briefcase, which looked very expensive by the way, and laid it on the coffee table as if it were a museum artifact, and opened it. He produced some color pictures, taken with a regular camera, and some more polished professional photos. There wasn't much difference between the two-- a huge stone castle, complete with a moat, drawbridge, battlements, towers. A thin white mist surrounded it in all pictures. It was straight out of Monty Python's Holy Grail.
"We took both kinds of pictures so that our clients know that it's a beautiful place, even without the professional airbrushing done to brochures." He seemed very proud of this fact.
"Interesting," I said. The word Expensive poured out of the pictures, even the little throw-away camera ones. "How much is it for a night's stay?"
"Um. Well, the way that we have it set up is that we fly you out to try it for a week. If you don't like it there, we'll fly you back. If you do, we set up payment according to your needs. All details are worked out with me, of course."
"Of course." It seemed like a queer idea, but interesting. And not in America, which would add a little something more to it, I guessed. I gave him back the pictures which he put in the briefcase. "Can you give me a couple of days to think on it?"
"Take as much time as you need."
"How long will you be in town for?"
"As long as need be."
I thought that was a strange thing to say. "Okay. Well. Um. Can you give me a week?"
"I can." He got up. "Shall I return then?"
I was hoping he would call me, but then again, him being in front of me in the first place was pretty amazing service. I got up to shake his hand. "Sounds good."
He took my hand and shook it, with almost too much vigor. "Well. Then I shall see you in seven days' time."