Finding Persimmon

Chapter 3

August 5

Belner Street

Downtown Channing

Tate’s Office

9:16 A.M.

“The packages of cocoa mint black tea and the chocolate torte arrived from France this morning,” Jack Hour told Tate, following Tate to his office.

Tate asked over his right shoulder, “What about the cases of jasmine from China?”

Jack paused, obviously studying the notes on his tablet. “Should be here in two days.”

“Come into my office,” he told his assistant. Tate sat down behind his sprawling and messy desk, relaxed, at home and enjoying his life as the man-in-charge of his company.

Jack sat across from him: a handsome kid at twenty-six with Chris Pine looks, married to an architect, Billy Marsdale, who designed high-end courtyards for a living. The kid looked down at his notes, being a sharp assistant, and lifted his head.

“The shipment of Saigon oolong is still stuck in imports. I hope to see it land here at the beginning or middle of next week and…”

Tate listened to Jack for the next ten minutes regarding facts, dates, and different types of teas. He grinned, happy to work with the Yale graduate, taking all the information in that the kid spoon-fed him, just as he had accomplished for the last four years of the eleven that Tate’s company had been in business, one of the best at his position.

Tate always humored himself when recalling how he started Steeping Tea Company out of his apartment on Chester Street, back in the day, selling different types of rare teas all around the world on the Internet. His labeled product ended up in grocery stores and coffee shops, and STC exploded. Now, almost a dozen years later, he could find his arrangement of teas in card stores, Kmart, and ten other corporations in the world. Frankly, Tate’s company wasn’t hurting, doubling in size in the last three years, and still growing.

STC had always been based in Channing, near the lake, close to Tate’s heart and hometown. He thought about moving the company to New York City, the hub of the country’s business world, but Channing was his home and where he felt most comfortable. Plus, his father still lived in the city, and he wanted to be close to the man. Tate grew up in the city and planned to stay there, loving its three rivers, fountain, trolleys, and two inclines, plus all the different architecture, which he found himself obsessed with. He also enjoyed the small businesses and sports teams, being a huge football fan. Honestly, there wasn’t a fair to good reason why he would ever move. Home was home, which he had found in Channing; the place where he would retire and grow old, just like his father, Alfred.

Success. Wealth. Tea. All of it became a blur in his life on some days. Of course, he had years of hard work under his belt that created his current life. Tate’s world felt exciting, day in and day out, leaving him always busy. Rarely, if ever, did he have a moment to himself to unwind. Never had he seen his life lacking meetings, deadlines, more meetings, and traveling around the world, collecting tea samples for his business. Honestly, he needed to slow his life down a bit, put on the brakes, but that really wasn’t who he was, or how he worked.

When he did have time to himself, he would sit and enjoy a cup of coffee (not tea) and a good mystery by Christie. Other times, he used the app Kinder Finder, picked up guys, and got his rocks off with them.

Unfortunately, life as a head honcho of a tea company didn’t offer much time for one’s self. Tate worked long hours and long days, loving his work and the life he had created for himself. Never did he think about selling the business and retiring, thriving on his labor and the adrenaline it created.

“…and the cinnamon dark chocolate tea is ordered. We can only hope it will be here for our autumn collection of teas,” Jack said, continuing to recite a list of notes on his cellphone.

Tate listened, working. His head was in the game; it never failed him. Failure wasn’t in his cards of life, only success.

“What about the persimmon tea from South Korea? Any news of its whereabouts?”

Confidently, Jack said, “Somewhere in Texas. Or so we think. We believe the twenty-five pounds is in a small town called Remo, next to the border. I’m working with Renshaw Shipping to have the package found and overnighted to us here in Channing.”

Tate nodded, understanding the ups and downs regarding shipments and business. “Keep me posted. Let me know when you find it and when it will arrive in Channing.”

Jack saluted Tate, seriously grinned. “I’m on it. As soon as Renshaw finds it, you’ll hear from me.”