Your votes and comments are much appreciated.
A massive vote of thanks to my editors tishadomina and AwkwardMD
"She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together."
― J.D. Salinger
* *
One hundred and sixty-six days.
That was how long I had been dying but not yet dead. My eyes kept seeing, my ears kept hearing and my heart kept up its futile rhythm of pumping blood to all parts of my body. At that moment, much of that blood was required in maintaining my rigid erection which a lovely lady had straddled.
Ample, firm breasts bouncing a foot from your face really should make you feel better than this.
The bartender at the Lion's Head did not lack for looks, talent or effort. She had this outcome in mind from the time I wandered into her bar a couple of hours back. Beth flirted with me till it was time for her to close for the day.
Currently, she was astride my hips and rocking her body against mine. Her fleshy walls had a perfect grip around my semi-hard erection as she tried her best to coax some pleasure out of it. Her smile remained intact, looking considerably better than the forced one frozen on my face.
Eventually, I called it. Some coffee, some questionable snacks from my refrigerator and the cab fare and I was alone again.
I liked Beth, but in all honesty she didn't know what she was up against. She had a weakness for the silent brooding type and I was available at her counter.
An unfortunate misunderstanding. That's all.
I saw her out and got back to bed. One of the pills the good doctor prescribed for me and I can get some sleep. I looked at the ornately framed photo of Lucy by my bedside one last time before turning off the light.
* *
Morning came too soon, heralded by the sounds of birds, joggers and a garbage truck that braked too hard. My slumber was rudely interrupted by cursing pedestrians. I shrugged it off and snuggled back into my covers.
A more persistent wake-up call came by a few minutes later. I groped at my bedside table, knocking over some miscellaneous stationery before I found the errant ringing phone.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" I asked exasperatedly over the call.
"I don't have time to argue," said Jeannie brusquely on the other end. "Today's your first day."
"Remind me again, why did I let you talk me into a new job?" I mumbled sleepily. "It's not like I need money."
"No, sweetie. It's not about money. It's about finding your purpose again. You look awful moping around in your apartment all day."
I briefly glanced at my alarm clock.
"Besides, you're only there as a consultant. Just go and tell those kids how to get their company started. That's all."
"I'm not feeling up to it, Jeannie. Why don't you tell them I'll start tomorrow?"
"No, you're not putting this off again. I've known you long enough to know that you'll say the same thing to me every time," said the voice on the other end. "You need this. You need to forget about all that's happened over the past few months and this job is exactly for that."
I took a few seconds to clear my head when she said.
"You know it's what Lucy would have wanted. It would hurt her so much to see you right now."
"Yeah, real classy, Jeannie... bringing Lucy up as an emotional punchline."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay, I was just messing with you," I laughed.
"Seriously though, have you been seeing Dr Kravitz regularly? And don't you even think of lying."
"Relax, Jeannie. I'm not fifteen any more. Therapists don't scare me as much now."
"And your pills? Tell me you're taking them on schedule."
"Mom, is that you?" I chuckled.
"Not even close. Our mother didn't even think depression was an actual thing."
There was a brief pause as I reluctantly let go of the last vestiges of sleep.
"Send me the address again, will you? I'll go and see what those guys are about."
"You got it... and Jason, take care of yourself. Lucy wasn't the only one who loved you."
"I'll try."
The call dropped. I checked the clock to make sure I had a few minutes to work up the courage to get out of bed.
* *
Getting out of bed isn't as hard as it used to be. The mundane routine of starting my day began. For a few minutes, I pictured cleaning out my bank account and running off to Fiji. It did have a certain allure to it, sitting on a pristine white beach watching waves crash into the breakers with a chilled Mai Thai in hand.
No, not Fiji. That's where I promised we'd go on our next anniversary.
I was on my fifth possible runaway destination by the time I stepped out of my apartment. The corner deli armed me with enough caffeine to jump-start a car. It sustained me to the subway where I joined scores of bored commuters glued to their devices.
A few stations later, a panhandler made her way into my compartment. She tried her luck with a few people, getting some glares and coins for her efforts. She came to me, looking hopeful. I mused it over for a few seconds before rolling out a bunch of notes from my wallet into her hat. She looked at me with a look of disbelief and muttered a thanks before moving to her next potential benefactor.
I took another sip of the steaming latte in my hand and surveyed the crowd. All of them were busy on some smart device or the other, except a man on the far end who stared intently at the glass window opposite him. His hair was untidy and his appearance shabby in general. His eyes had the droopiness that comes with most over-the-counter medication.
Maybe I was reading too much into him. I diverted my attentions to my upcoming meeting and what to expect. Not being the most social person in Manhattan, interactions with people made me nervous.
I got off at my station and did a sprint up to the surface. The business district of Lower Manhattan loomed over me. I shot a quick glance at my phone's GPS to confirm the building I was looking for was two blocks away.
Everything around me brimmed with vibrant urgency. People thronged the sidewalks on their way to the next meeting or interview or investment. I waded through the crowd until I reached the zebra crossing. It was a wonder there weren't more accidents with the number of people who crossed with their eyes firmly on their screens.
The light turned red and, like a model citizen, I slouched my way to the other side. There was a small food truck violating the parking laws on the other side of the road. A typically busy kid had an improvised burrito in his hand, the sauces leaking down his fingers. He stopped to lick the trail all the way from his wrist to his fingertip.
... And all at once, it was that day again.
I was in the living room, watching CSI Cyber and laughing at the bad tech references. I took a peek out the window to the ocean, idly seeing yachts and surfers all the way to the blue horizon. Lucy's trip to the wine shop was taking longer than expected, probably due to her checking out a new vintage. Anyone who had seen her at the high end Silicon Valley parties we attended would not believe that the same person with such a refined taste in food and wine could devour a burrito with rabid ferocity and lick the entire residue off her fingers. That contradiction was one of the many things that made her special.
The wait dragged on and my fingers began tapping the sofa agitatedly. I turned off the TV and got up to call her when the doorbell rang. This was it. The second that door swung open, I was going to pounce on her, tear her clothes off while carrying her to the living room and make love to her on the overly expensive Kashan rug she had picked out herself. I opened the door, half ready to lunge, when I saw two smartly dressed LAPD detectives instead.
"Mr Saunders?" asked the heavy-set Hispanic woman to the right. I nodded briefly.
"Detective Vel
ásquez, LAPD. Can we come inside?"
"Hey asshole. Get a move on!"
I shook out of my memory to see a thoroughly displeased commuter held up because I had chosen to freeze right in front of her car. After failing to honk me out of my stupor, she had decided to try a more direct approach.
"What're you waiting for, dumbfuck?"
I hurriedly finished crossing the road just in time for her to whiz by me, displaying her extended middle finger out the window as a final repartee. The kid and his burrito were nowhere to be seen.
I checked my watch to see I was late. Half of me wanted to dash back to my apartment and dive under the covers, but then I would have a very angry sister to answer to.
It took another few minutes before I worked up the courage to enter the office building.
* *
LiveTrade was emblazoned across the glass doors on the seventeenth floor lobby. The logo had a horrifying shade of green and a loopy font that looked like the product of Dali on crack. Simply looking at it made me sick enough to reconsider any potential investment.
"Mr Saunders?" asked a seemingly friendly young man. I nodded.
"Hi, Chase Lassiter from LiveTrade," he said, shaking my hand. "It's such an honour to finally meet you in person."
Chase led me inside to a conference room where, much to my chagrin, that infernal company logo was prominently displayed. Five more people were present, all of whom stood up to greet me.
"Mr Saunders, meet the core team at LiveTrade. This is Jordan, our lead developer. Andy and Hugh are working under him. Kristen handles the marketing and advertising and Helen is responsible for our day to day operations and finances."
I shook all of their hands in turn. Everybody looked like five year olds who had just met Santa.
"First order of business," I began. "Call me Jason. Seriously guys, I'm not even thirty."
There was a ripple of laughter.
"You guys are living the start-up dream, eh? Aren't you on the wrong coast for that?"
"Our company deals with finance. Given that, I'd say we're at the perfect place."
