Pascal cautiously leaned back in his chair as he stretched his legs underneath his desk.  He smiled and quickly grabbed the desk as the chair almost tipped backwards.  He glanced at the clock. 2:58 PM. “OK, right on time” he proudly stated  as he prepared himself for his next meeting.  Pascal was feeling particularly accomplished today,  and he took extra care in collating the paperwork in front of him.  He grinned as his stapler pushed through, what he thought, was too thick of a pile.  The stapler grunted in arrogance.

The door to his office was pushed open with a heavy knock and was quickly followed by a man loudly directing an unseen person to ‘keep the car warm – this wont take long.’  As the man turned his attention to Pascal he extended a hand and exclaimed “Frank Preston!” Pascal smiled grimly as he pleasantly exchanged greetings and thought to himself ‘this man is a dolt.’

Frank Preston was indeed a dolt.  Pascal encountered people like this everyday.  Pascal knew his story the second he saw his arrogant smile.

“How can I help you Mr. Preston?”   Pascal said with the slightest hint of sarcasm.

“Well, I think it’s about time we check my Dad into a err,  a place like this.”  Frank returned with a smile.  “He’s getting forgetful, and we don’t seem to be able to give him the care he needs.” he finished confidently.

“Of course, it can be a heavy burden for a family.  One that we are more than equipped to handle here…” Pascal began his sales pitch.  As he continued to talk, he took a large, navy three-ring binder from the filing cabinet in his desk and placed it heavily on the desk.  He proceeded to flip through a series of professionally taken photos: residents sitting peacefully in the gardens, playing bingo and healthy-looking smiling residents cajoling around the building.   He continued, “Every other week, a local animal shelter brings in dogs and kittens.  It helps the residents to care for something”.  Pascal paused, he knew the picture of the golden retriever resting his smiling jowels on an elderly man’s leg was powerful.  “It’s our most popular event, and it especially helps Alzheimer’s patients.”  He restrained a smile as Frank Preston studied the binder.  Pascal knew the story, knew how to sell.  He knew how to make them feel at ease, and most importantly, he understood how important it was to remove any guilt from this decision.

Not that that would be a problem for Mr. Preston.

As he finished his pitch Frank Preston pulled the binder closer to him and arbitrarily flipped through the pages.  Clearly enjoying taking control of the binder.  “Hey – how do I sign up?  Three meals a day and I get to watch TV all day?.”  Pascal resentfully smiled at the ten thousandth time he has heard this joke.  Frank continued, “I think we have a deal.  How soon can we get him set up?”

An hour later Frank Preston would be giving his Father the same presentation with an embossed folder taking the place of the prominent binder.  Emphasizing the ‘best parts’ and showing him this resort that he will soon be residing at.  Promises of puppies, gorgeous nurses and risque sponge baths.  No promises of visits were made.  At least any that were believed.

Meanwhile, Pascal remained tenuously seated in his chair.  He carefully resumed a comfortable position and assessed the antique.  The once hunter green leather cushion has long since faded to a sickly green.  There are several places where the leather has dried and cracked and a three inch piece of duct tape covered a particularly prominent crack.  The simple wood frame was scarred from years of abuse, cross-country moves and several reconstructive surgeries.  He let his left hand fall to the bottom of the armrest and gently ran his finger over the flathead screw that was used to reassemble the broken piece.  Pascal’s right hand involuntarily slid between his thighs as he recalled the night the armrest was broken.