He stared at the piece of yellow post-it note stuck to the bottom right hand corner of the screen. He wasn't going to move it. He didn't really want to know the time.
A glance at his watch.
9.02 PM
A weary hand pulled down his dreary face. His melatonin levels were soaring.
Eye's back on the screen. Another big meeting tomorrow. Ever since that damned GFC, every day was meetings.
Get to work! If he hurried, he might catch Jill awake. He doubted it though. He couldn't remember the last time they'd actually been together. Not just sexually; just together, in the same room for more than 5 minutes. Another sigh. This isn't working.
He types an “H”. Another pause, the mind wanders.
How old was Jessica? 10? Good God, they grow up so quickly. Yesterday he was bouncing her on his knee, talking baby-gibberish to her. Now she always had her face buried in that damn smart phone. A glance at his, sitting on the desk. The black screen illuminates with his touch.
21:17
And there she was, smiling out of the screen. Such a gorgeous young thing. Just like her mother.
Goddamnit! Work!
The mind concentrates and fingers fly across the keyboard. Another half a page of The Report is done. Every day it was reports lately. Where is the money going? Why? Why isn't it there? Why? Why not? Where? Why? Arrrggghhh!
He stands up, he is not quite sure why. That cursed blue screen illuminated his designer-clad crotch. What had flicked through his mind that had been so important?
A blank gaze across the room, and the fabric of time and space.
Finally some movement. He grabbed his empty water glass and wandered over to his small, but sufficient, bar. A few rocks and, sadly, just cool, clear water.
He sat back down and sipped on the chilled liquid nothing. His eyes flicked across the screen, reading what he had written, but taking nothing in.
The water wasn't working. He downed the glass in one huge mouthful, spitting the still decent ice cubes back in. Back to the bar. A drink this time.
The ice crackled with the pleasure of cooling the ochre nectar. His vocal chords tightened slightly with excitement at the bite of the smoky ethanol as it flowed by.
But still, the words failed to be absorbed. He hung his head in desperation. He knew he was overworked. Was he burning out? He hadn't had a decent day off since... since when? Jesus, had it been that long that he couldn't remember? He should go home. Now.
He gave it serious thought; he even went through the motions in his mind. Even went so far as reaching for his briefcase...
How long was his arm hanging by his side? His hand had gone to sleep. Or was that a sign that his whole body needed rest? He felt drained. He had for weeks now. Running on empty just wasn't relevant any more. He didn't know how he was running. How long had it been since he'd been for a run? To the gym? Made love? Too God damned long.
He leapt from his chair, snatched up his drink and paced. The chair spun slowly, mocking him with it's emptiness. He kicked out at its 100% Italian leather body and sent it spinning and wheeling away. He remembered thinking, when Jill had given it to him, was it 100% Italian leather, or was it 100% Italian leather? He'd had visions of a Silence-Of-The-Lambs-Buffalo-Bill-esque character skinning and tanning Roman hides. Now he had memories of spinning Jessie around and around as she laughed “faster Daddy, faster”. Jill had stood just there; he walked over to the spot. She'd stood, holding the big red ribbon in her hands, smiling at the daddy and daughter shenanigans. It had been such a happy day for their little family. He'd just been made Junior Partner at the firm and it was the first day in his new office. Jill had surprised him by pushing the brand new chair through the doors. Riding upon it was Jessie, trying to hide behind the big red ribbon.
'Oh my God, I love it,' he'd cried rushing forward.
He'd picked Jessie up and held her up a little toward the light. The little girl giggled.
'It's what I've always wanted; and cute as a button,' he'd booped her nose. The giggling increased.
'But,' he'd put her back in the chair, 'I wonder...' Big, blue, expectant eyes looking up at him. He'd stayed silent...then lunged, 'Is she ticklish!?'
She'd erupted in a fit of gigglish-screams beneath his fingers.
He smiled and sipped from his scotch.
The glass fell from his fingers and bounced on the carpeted floor, sending the expensive liquor up his expensive trouser leg and a little in his expensive shoe.
God damn it!
He mopped at the dark Rorschach stain on the carpet.
He should just go home. Have a shower, crawl into bed, snuggle into Jill and sleep. Sweet, sound sleep.
But, he was a Junior Partner now. He'd worked so hard to get here, but he was working 10 times as much to stay there. The wanna-be-partner piranhas were constantly there, nipping and gnashing, ready to take any small thing and run with it.
Welcome to the jungle...
Music. Maybe that would soothe the savage beast of burden. See what wheels of fate the power of “shuffle” contains. The dock powered up.
Live and Let Die – Wings
He sat back at his desk. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could go home. For a few hours. Before he had to be back for the meeting. Which would no doubt raise further questions and the whole vicious circle will begin again. He sighs and drags his hand down his haggard face for the thousandth time this count.
Is it worth it?
Of course it is! Think of Jessie. Think of Jill. The home they'd built. They were comfortable. Neither girl wanted for anything. Jessie's college fund was sorted, and a nice little trust fund was growing for his baby's 21st. Jill had her studio, her projects. He wanted more than anything, anything, in this world to be with them right now; and forever more.
But someone had to feed the beast regularly. Red letters and debt collectors were it's strikes and blows; bankruptcy it's final deadly attack. Only regular feeding with positive credit kept the beast at bay. Sure, a job flipping burgers would give him more family time, but it wouldn't satiate the bank.
Everything's Not Lost – Coldplay
He was fidgety. He couldn't keep his feet still. The shoes are kicked off. He'd forgotten about the one damp sock. That's why the cold feet. Concentrate on. The Report.
Find the numbers. Crunch the numbers. Notate the numbers. Repeat.
The Report begins to lengthen. Another drink would be nice. It would be nice to actually drink it.
A movement outside his office. He could see the empty, gloomy cubicles beyond his windows. The emergency lighting constantly trying to fight against the ever coming darkness. He stared into the looming shadows.
The cleaner scared the crap out of him as she passed by his window. She glanced in and gave him a little wave before disappearing. He would've returned the gesture, but he was too busy trying to rub some normal feeling back into his arm after smacking his elbow on the desk in fright.
Thanks cleaning lady.
Consuela.
“Oh, no. No, no, Mr Peter”, “Brian, she doesn't know what mister means”. He smiled at the thought. The one thing he made sure happened every week, he and Jess would watch the new Family Guy episode on Sunday evenings. He knew she probably shouldn't be watching it, sometimes it was a bit full on for him. But to hear his little girl laugh so. It would be just the two of them, Jess curled into him, a bowl of popcorn wherever it sat best. More popcorn went on the floor than in mouths, but it was part of the tradition. Jill usually held her classes Sunday evenings. He hated to think of the fact that it was only because he could usually guarantee he'd be home for a few hours on a Sunday. Still, he'd let them all down too many times. He knew that she would love to hold more classes. And he knew she should. She was so gifted. And a natural born teacher. Everyone that took a class loved her. And they all came out much more talented. Heck, he couldn't draw straws when he'd met her and now he could sketch his left hand pretty well; for a numbers guy. Jill had always laughed at their polar opposites. He was analytical, mathematical, precise. Jill was emotions, she was colours, she was nature – free, yet methodical. His goddess; his queen.
Love Pollution – Feeder
He was 24 and nothing but a cheap suit full of aspirations. It was Friday night, he and some guys from work were “networking” at a nearby bar. The beer was buzzing nicely and the jokes were being thrown around like playful jabs.
His world disappeared when she walked into the bar. His ears were deaf, his mouth mute; his eyes could see only the angelic vision before him. The long flowing blonde hair; those legs, he could trace their route for the rest of his life; her piercing blue eyes, laced in black; her lips the colour of Black Forest cherries. Before that moment, he'd believed nothing could be perfect.
It had taken him 4 more beers, downed in quick succession, to gather the courage to approach. Which wasn't his best laid plan. He'd slurred some stupid things, knocked over a couple of drinks and generally come across like a bit of a dick.
He'd woken to memories of her beauty and a feeling of complete and utter despair. It took him almost a week to banish her from his mind.
The day he succeeded, he'd been to the gym for an extra long cardio session and was still sweating even though he'd showered twice and had been behind his desk for an hour.
The sweetest scent that had ever tickled his nostrils hit him. He'd looked up and discounted the vision as imagination straight away. But she had walked on by and down the corridor, her amazing ass pertly waving to him.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was out of his seat and standing next to her saying 'Hi'.
Her response was positive recognition. He didn't know what came over him, but he went with it, confidently asking her open questions.
Her uncle worked at the firm; and she'd love to have dinner.
That night his nerves were buzzing hotly. He'd arrived half an hour early, just to be sure. Now he was thinking, just maybe, it would've been a good idea to come strolling in 5 minutes late; instead of sitting here, slowly steaming in his own sweat. Another tug at the collar. Why was it so damn hot in there? Should he get some air? She'd be here any minute. Who was he kidding, when had a woman ever been on time; he'd heard the stories around the water cooler.
After deliberating for too long, he finally decided the cool fresh air sure beat his own tepid nervous stench.
She walked through the door just as he'd reached for it – right on the time they'd agreed on. He was a deer in gorgeous blueish-grey headlights.
'Leaving already?' she'd quipped.
A knowing chuckle, then 'Not at all, I was merely reaching for the door. Doing the gentlemanly thing, you know?' They both laugh together.
That's what he should have said, and in the many following days of retrospection that point was constantly there. Not that the date went bad, it just hadn't started well with him gibbering like a fish gasping for water.
But, she had laughed good naturedly and he started to relax bit by bit.
By the end of the night they were laughing like old friends. All the other tables had been cleared and they were the only patrons. Their wine glasses had a dribble in each, but neither would finish for fear of ending the night.
The waiter had put his own music on and had turned it up. At a perfect lull in the conversation, a rattling drum beat introduced a twangy guitar and a familiar tune. A cover of The Cure's “Love Song”. His hand had reacted without his knowledge, offering itself to her palm up. She'd smiled and taken a hold of it. His body had stood, hers following, and they'd begun to dance to the song.
He stood now and moved to the dock. He flicked through the songs.
Love Song – 311
May as well get a scotch too.
They'd danced so well together, slowly orbiting each other, then both moving as one. He knew she was moving through him; he'd never danced before, yet here he was moving as gracefully as she was. 30 seconds felt like 30 perfect lifetimes.
Then the waiter had come over telling them off, shoeing them out and complaining about it not being “a bloody nightclub!”
The Report needs to be done.
After they had stopped laughing they'd walked and talked. And walked and talked. Finally they both realised they had no idea where they were, but a short cab ride and they were stood on her front stoop.
Report. Do it!
The cabby was still running the meter. But he didn't want to say goodbye. And neither did she. But she had rules. She'd never broken them and she wasn't about to start now.
Their first kiss was pure magic for him. When their lips separated his lips were all tingly. He would find out later that he was mildly allergic to that particular brand of lipstick, but he would always swear that she wasn't wearing any that night; and she never corrected him. From that moment on, his life revolved around only two things. Fuck that oxygen, that food, shelter and warmth – with Jill in his life and the corporate ladder steadily being climbed he didn't need anything else.
The Report!
The scotch is downed in one hit. Fingers skim the keyboard, punching out words and numbers. The word count steadily grew, graphs were organised, and order was restored; on paper.
He sat back and stretched loudly. What a relief. Time for a scotch. A double. No, a triple.
A Little Ray Of Sunshine – Glenn Shorrock
He turns it up. This song... It had come on the radio as he'd driven his brand new family home and ever since it had been Jessie's song. He didn't hear it very often, but when he did, his heart soared at the thought of his little girl; the spitting image of her mother. He knew she would grow up to break hearts, and he was dreading the time when boyfriends would start appearing. But that was a long time in the future, and for now she was his little munchkin. He couldn't wait to get home and plant a big kiss on her pretty, sleeping forehead.
Back to work, proof this bastard and get home. You never know, Jill might still be awake...
His eyes begin scanning the screen before he's sat down. The glass slips from his fingers, landing, luckily, upright on his desk. Almost losing two glasses of scotch in one night? What was with his hand tonight. Another, careful this time, sip and more reading. So far so good, the expectant punctuation mistakes and such, but the information was in the right spot and that was the important stuff.
Pins and needles. He rhythmically clenches his left hand. Maybe he should call Jill, make sure she stays awake; or wakes up. He reaches for the phone. The tingling is worse. Too much coffee, not enough water. Jill was always on at him with that. 'Hydration,' she says, 'is one of the most overlooked, vital parts of our lives.' He looks at the finger of scotch still in the glass. It's made with water, close enough. He raises the glass to his lips.
Better not. Don't want to give Jill an opportunity to say “I told you so.' He crosses the room to the bar and pours the rest of the water into his glass. He puts some of it down his throat. It's wet, but it was lacking that woody bite. He sighs and drinks it down.
The room starts to spin and close-in around his eyes. He wobbles, but steadies himself by leaning into the wall, his hand braced against his weight. Eyes closed, concentrating on making it stop, steadying his head. He gingerly opens one eye. What he sees stays where it is. He breathes deeply; it just got really hot in here. And his damn arm. The prickle in his hand is really making itself known now. It was as if he'd been sat on it for an hour. He removes it from the wall, now he can stand unaided again, and gives it a violent shake. Had that stupid cleaner turned the damn heating right up? He was sweltering. If he hadn't of drunk the small bottle of water, he would be splashing it on his overheating face.
As he was walks out his office door the temperature becomes refrigerated. The layer of moisture on his skin suddenly turns to ice. A shiver runs up, then back down, his spine and he feels his entire body turn to goose flesh. What was that woman playing at!? Another shiver.
Was the cold making him tense up like that? His chest is tight, his breathing sharp.
A glance at his desk; the phone. Suddenly, so very far away.
A gasp. Who had just punched him in the sternum?
And again!?
The legs buckle, but he is not really aware of them any more. His limbs seem like distant memories. His chest tightens and cramps up. A weak cry. In pain. For help.
He prays. To a God he's not even sure exists. He prays for relief. He prays for his daughter. He prays for his wife. For this to be a dream. To awaken beside his beautiful Jill. To have little Jessie, still half asleep, and oh, so cute, to come running in and jump into their bed. For them to lay as a family, playing games beneath the covers. For them to have a proper breakfast together, spend the day together, play in the park, go for a walk, maybe look at getting a puppy.
All he wants is to be in her arms. To close his eyes and drift away...
Love Song – 311
A Little Ray Of Sunshine – Glenn Shorrock
On repeat until 07:01 AM
J.Barrett
01/03/13
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