Jackpot. Chapter 4

One year later, José and Leroy have an office in Los Angeles overlooking the beach. They each have their own apartment nearby and are living the high life. The name of their company, Saguaro Sombrero Solutions Unlimited, is not well known to those outside the business world. But their products are. These days, you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone unfamiliar with the image of a smiling cactus wearing a sombrero and shaking some maracas. From Mexican restaurants to tacky gift shops, from children’s television to high-class tequila labels, the sombrero-clad saguaro is ever-present in modern life. And it’s all thanks to the vision of José Jones and Leroy McMenahan.

José and Leroy are currently hosting an Important Client in their corner office. A deal has been struck, and the three titans of industry light cigarillos in celebration. 

“I’m glad you gentlemen were able to see things my way. With this new logo, our product is poised to corner an entirely untapped section of the market.” The Important Client’s fat, balding head glistens in the sunlight as he puffs away at his cigarillo beneath his greasy moustache.

“It wouldn’t be half the logo without those maracas,” José says. “Those were Leroy’s idea.” 

The Important Client gives José a phony smile. José clenches his cigarillo in his teeth and smiles back, but in his heart a sad flamenco tune plays as he realizes that by smoking, even for business, he has once again broken the promise he made to his mama. Without thinking, out of pure reflex, he composes an earth-shakingly beautiful quintilla and nearly weeps when he realizes there isn’t a soul in the world capable of comprehending the depth of his sorrow.

“Mama,” he whispers, taking another puff despite his shame. “Forgive me.”

“You alright, José?” asks Leroy. 

José bursts into a fit of coughing. “Si, si, I’m fine. Excuse me.” Still coughing, he dashes off to the bathroom. 

“My apologies, sir. José just hasn’t been himself lately. Must be coming down with something.”

The Important Client squints, disapproving of Leroy’s explanation. “I see.” He takes a long drag from his cigarillo, then blows smoke at a bonsai tree on José’s desk. It withers and dies. “Let me tell you something, McMenahan. In this world, there are two types of people. Those with vision, and those who seek to profit from the sweat of another man’s brow. There are Creators, and there are parasites. Now it’s plain to see that you’re a Creator. You were the one who came up with the maracas idea, you were the one who banished James Calahan from his father’s gift shop, and most Importantly, you were the one who approached Me.”

“José was an equal part of––”

“Don’t sell yourself short, McMenahan! Yes, José may have been there for those endeavors but they were your endeavors. Now I am not suggesting outright that José is leeching off the hard-earned fruits of your labor, but a man who leaves a meeting with a Client as Important as Me? All because he can’t smoke a cigarillo like a man? That is not behavior I ascribe to Creators.” He drapes a fat, heavy arm over Leroy’s shoulder. “What I’m saying is you’ve got talent. Business talent.” He hands Leroy his personal business card. “Perhaps you and I can conduct some business of our own.”

“Sir, you are gravely mistaken if you’re suggesting that José is some sort of burden. I would never––”

The Important Client holds up his hand. “Sleep on it.” 

Leroy’s about to retort when José slinks back into the room.

“Well, I’d best be on my way. An Important Client such as Myself has lots of Important Business to attend to.” He shakes Leroy’s hand, crushes José’s, and glides out of the room. José and Leroy are silent as the Important Client makes his way to the elevator and presses down. The doors open and he steps inside. He turns to face them and smiles.

“One of you will go on to great things.” He bursts into laughter as the doors close and the co-CEOs hear it echo up the shaft. They go to the window. A chauffeur holds open the door of a pitch black limo. The Important Client looks up at them and winks before getting in.

“Are you alright?” Leroy asks as the limo drives off.

“Si, I’m sorry about that.” 

Michael Sweeney, a ladder-climbing go-getter hired by Leroy to get things done, runs into the room.

“Did the deal go through?” 

“Sure did, Micky,” says Leroy, grinning wide. José spots his wilted bonsai tree and gasps, and Leroy is filled with the melancholy of a compassionate cowboy victorious after a gunfight. “But it cost us.”

Michael’s shocked. Leroy’s never lost money on a deal! 

“How much?”

José cradles his dead tree in his arms, praying to God that his tears might water it back to life. “We lost something money can’t buy! I’m sorry––” He runs out of the office.

“You know, they’re selling bonsais down at––”

“It’s not about the damn tree, Micky!” Leroy shouts, slamming his fist down on the desk. The heads of every office drone snap up, then sink back down to their work. “I’m sorry, kid. You’re trying your best.”

“I am.”

“Don’t get cocky now.”

“Yes, sir.” Michael spins around and gets back to work.

Leroy stubs his still-burning cigarillo in the ashtray and leans back in his chair, wondering what dark presence José saw in the deal, or the Important Client, or the death of his bonsai. Something slick and cold fills his empty stomach.

By the next quarter, it’s clear the deal has been a huge success. Leroy buys a new car, Michael gets promoted, and Saguaro Sombrero Solutions Unlimited opens a new factory over by the airplane graveyard. José, of course, buys himself a new bonsai. He pours his heart into his new tree, spending hours watering and preening it, adjusting its spot in the office as the light changes throughout the day.

Yet despite the joy his new tree has brought him, there remains a quiet sadness behind every clip of his shears, every drop of water he pours, every gentle caress of the tree’s tender branches. 

Soon everyone can tell that José’s spending more time on the tree than on work. Dissatisfaction and rumors spread among the drones like a flask and a bad cold through a band of hobos. Michael, go-getter that he is, sees an opportunity. He tightens his tie, blows his nose, and hopes no one can tell he’s drenched in sweat. He knocks on the door of the corner office. Leroy lets him in. 

The office has changed a lot since the big deal, José’s half anyways. A web of caution tape surrounds his immaculate bonsai tree. Watering cans litter the floor. No smoking signs are nailed to his desk and the walls. Light green moss inches across the carpet towards Leroy’s side, stopped only by a wall of metal rulers glued end to end, dividing the room in two. José could be hidden somewhere in the clutter and Michael would never know. 

“Have a seat,” Leroy tells him.

Michael sits. “Is José in?”

“Nope. That’s why you’re here, right? To tell me everyone’s had it with his whole––this?” he says, gesturing at José’s jungle.

Michael gulps. “Yes, sir. You see, we all know this company wouldn’t be here without José, it’s just…” Michael trails off as Leroy cracks a window and takes a contemplative drag of his hand-rolled cigarillo. He breathes out through his nose and mouth and the smoke takes the form of a cactus. 

“Say no more. I reckon this day’s been coming a while now.”

“You do?”

Leroy nods and sucks air through his teeth. “Me and José go way back. I can always sense these things.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need some time to think.”

“Yes, sir!” Michael walks out with some zip in his step. When the door closes behind him, he rubs his hands together and chuckles ominously.

When José gets back from the store, Leroy waits for him to put his stuff down, then asks him to come over to his desk. José takes a seat.

“Do you remember the day you got your first bonsai?”

José nods, then pulls out a tissue and fails to close the floodgates. God, this is already going terrible. Leroy shifts in his seat and scans his desk, desperate for a distraction. He picks up a half-finished sudoku, and by the time he finishes, José has pretty much pulled himself together. Leroy continues.

“Well I don’t know exactly what happened that day, but something changed you. Or it changed the way you feel about what we’re doing here. Am I right?”

José sniffs. “Si.”

“Do you think you can explain it to me?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Leroy sighs. “José, do you really want to keep working here?” 

José is silent for a moment. “I don’t think so. I think I’ll go mad if I stay here. Perhaps I already have.” He laughs and gestures at his jungle.

Leroy doesn’t say anything but his eyes tell José that he’s seen his share of madness, and he doesn’t quite fit the bill. Not yet, anyhow. 

“We’ll work something out with the lawyers––”

“I trust you, Leroy.”

Now it’s Leroy’s turn to shed a tear. 

José knows he’s leaving the only friend he’s got, but he shakes Leroy’s hand, picks up his bonsai, and walks through the office. When he reaches the elevator, he turns to look at everyone for the last time and they forget all the gossip and rumors and stand in unison to salute the departure of a true business visionary.