Haze (34 page)

I walked past the windows where I had first spoken to Jack over the phone, my stomach immediately reminded of the sharp tension I had felt as I waited for his call. God, those gifts paired with Sam's volatile reactions had been somewhat priceless in retrospect.

It had been a simpler time then, but not by much.

Our office looked normal for a Monday morning. Everyone was busy, and I didn't see Sam around. I walked over to my desk and took a seat, intending to catch up on email. My network password didn't seem to work no matter how many times I typed it in.

No big deal. They sometimes upgraded computer stuff on the weekend when everyone was out of the office. I'd just have to notify one of the IT guys. It would probably only take a second for them to reset the password.

I sat there quietly for a few minutes, looking at the clock and idle other than sipping my latte. From the corner of my eye, I saw Sam charging into the office, his face unshaven, his shirt a wrinkled mess. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn't slept at all.

He came straight to me. "Jacobs?" he asked. It wasn't a properly phrased question, so I moved on.

"Hey, Sam." I said. "My password won't work."

He winced at me, his face a look of total disgust. "Oh, your
password
won't work, huh? What a fucking shame." I smelled alcohol on his breath. Two minutes in and I already knew this was going to be an unusual Monday.

I looked around the office, realizing that we were starting to attract attention. "Sam, I don't get it. Can you please settle down?"

"Jack Teller's people notified me that the fuckin' deal is off. Doesn't that just piss you right off? It's like someone on the inside fucked it up for us. I
know
he was going to go with us."

I spoke without even realizing, catching myself after it was too late. "Jack wasn't going to—"

"What's that, Jacobs?" He really seemed to be enjoying this.

"Sam, please. There are all of these people around." I was starting to feel legitimately humiliated, beyond the usual
Sam's just having a bad day
flare-ups. My cheeks flushed red, so red that no one could have misinterpreted my discomfort.

"Who do you work for?" His fingers frenetically tapped on a nearby desk.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, feeling like I was stepping face-first into a trap.

A wry smile formed across his lips. "Do you work for an escort service or something? Jack must
pay you real well, huh? Better than I do, right?"

At the very least, this was sexual harassment. However, with the way he was going, I didn't know if I'd be able to maintain professionalism much longer. My blood was starting to boil as adrenaline overloaded my system. "Sam, this is—"

"You've been hiding this from me, haven't you? You've been
fucking
our star client, you fucking whore. A little part-time job?"

I
wanted
to spiral out of control, to run freely with any emotion I felt and deal with the consequences later. Yet via some minor miracle, I took my time responding, allowing myself those crucial calming seconds before my lips moved.

"Sam,
stop
. Relax. This is not cool." Was I dealing with
Sam
or
Timothy
? I couldn't
not
be reminded of the incident at the coffee shop. Was he about to knock me on the floor too? "You need to calm down." I figured he wouldn't listen, but I would try anyhow.

What was it with men accusing me of being a whore for merely being in the
wrong
monogamous relationship? Maybe I had become a magnet for sexist, misogynistic pigs without realizing it.

"What the fuck are the chances that Dan Miller ran into none other than Jack Teller in Beverly Hills this weekend, the accessory on his arm an
Effie
that matches your description to a tee? Was that you or was it someone else?"

I wanted to scream and cry and disappear all at once, if that was somehow possible. So much for the
don't worry about him
mentality Jack was pushing in reference to Dan.

Everyone was staring at us, and I didn't know how to react. I was trying to control a situation that didn't make a lick of sense to me. Who should I be mad at? Sam was being a total dick, but then again, Jack had invited me on the trip when I had wanted to take a break until this all cleared. Without that trip, I might have gotten out of the situation without a scratch.

I guess I needed to blame Stacy Levons on top of everyone else as well for inadvertently blurting out my title to the wrong person.

Instead, I was facing what looked like
doom
.

Should I lie? Just confess the truth? What I wanted was whatever would get him to leave me alone in front of everyone, to stop flagellating me in public like this was some medieval punishment ritual. Did he have a Catherine wheel in his office, too?

Sadistic bastard.

Dammit
, I just couldn't lie. I was in a corner and this was too much to cope with. Sam's words had riddled my body with holes of vulnerability—and now I was bleeding honesty.

I was choking back tears when I said it. "It had nothing to do with it," I said. "Nothing. He wasn't going to go with us. No way. You knew that, too." There was suddenly a powerful shadow of doubt over the past few weeks. Sam had been hounding me as if he knew something, but I wasn't sure
how
he could know anything. I guess he just got excessively suspicious when there was a lot at stake.

He inconspicuously pulled a flask out of his pocket and lowered his head to take a sip. After all of this lead up, it actually didn't surprise me one bit. He stuffed it away before continuing. "You don't fucking know that! And you don't get to do my fucking job. That's why it's
my
job and not yours. I
knew
you were fucking him and I
knew
I should have ended this sooner. Would have made this bullshit a hell of a lot simpler for both of us."

Had he slipped up?
What was going on here? "What the fuck are you saying, Sam? You
knew
about Jack and me? How could you know for sure?" His strange admission had thrown me a loop, distracting me from the emotional blows he had already dealt. I was more concerned with solving this logical dilemma than my own future.

His arms crossed defensively in front of his body. "Effie, just get the fuck out of here and stop wasting my time. You're fired. MCI doesn't want you anymore."

All of the eyes in the room caught my response as he delivered the final, fatal blow—and then instantly looked away. I was like the trapeze artist that had botched it all and tumbled into the net, ruining the show for the sacred paying customers.

I had nothing left to stand on, no tricks or escape routines, no cloud of smoke to obscure my compromised position. At the very least, I had told the truth—but I still felt like shit.

Everyone acted as if they were ignoring the spectacle, yet it was obvious that they couldn't look away. I hoped at the very least they had witnessed him drinking on the clock and that they'd take him down too.

I felt defeated, pathetic, confused, subjugated. Why had Jack just told me to
trust
him
? Thinking back on the incident, I was done the moment that Stacy introduced me to Dan. That was it. How could I have let Jack delude me into thinking everything would just be all right? I took a real risk going on that trip with him, and through that magical coincidence, got myself fired from the first real job I'd ever had in my life.

What were my parents going to think? Jesse? What about Jack? Would I be able to tell any of them?

"Jacobs, are you fucking deaf? Get the fuck out!"

Sam was right in my face, screaming at me. "Jesus Christ, okay, fine. You're nuts! You're losing it, Sam."

My eyes scanned the surface of my desk as my mind struggled to recall if I had brought anything with me from home. I opened the drawers haphazardly, digging to see if I had left anything inside. They were empty. If I had brought anything, it was probably gone now. I was usually on top of things, but given the humiliating nature of this situation, I guess it wasn't surprising that I was having such a difficult time.

I was losing my breath, my heart pounding as blood rushed through my body. I couldn't stay here any longer, even if I was accidentally leaving some sacred family heirloom behind. This was toxic, like poison gas as I breathed it in. Sam was unfazed, his eyes almost demonic, his lips curling into a menacing smile I'd never forget as I struggled to recollect myself enough that I could actually leave. It was far too obvious that he was enjoying every moment of this.

My feet pulled me rapidly toward the door, the door symbolic of escape and short-term relief in my mind. I was
fucked
, but I wasn't about to solve my problems in that office.

"Don't think I'll forget any of this, Jacobs," he said, his words slurring as he spoke. "You'll never work in this business again."

I turned toward him, continuing to cautiously walk backward. "If
this business
is full of people like you, then that sounds just fine to me. Maybe sober up before work next time, huh?"

He snarled something behind me, but I couldn't make any sense of it. Just angry syllables. I just kept walking until I was on the street, once again surrounded by so much stimuli I thought I might explode. I yanked my cell phone out of my purse, ready to dial Jack and talk his ear off, unsure of what my angle would be with him. My grip was faulty; the phone slipped out of my sweaty palm and tumbled to the ground touch-screen first.

"Dammit!" I mumbled, reaching down and grabbing it, upset with the fact that the accident had slowed me down. But why did I care? I was
unemployed
now. I had all the time in the world!

I started pressing buttons before I realized the screen was totally smashed and nothing I had pressed had worked. The glass had fractured in several spider web patterns that began from a deep, single point of impact.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" I shouted to no one. Tears were streaming down my cheeks now and I couldn't do anything about it. I desperately needed respite, but I didn't know where to find it. I wiped my eyes with a tissue from my purse and continued to the subway. I was just gonna go home and think. The universal solution for everything.

I had so many questions for myself, so many questions for the world, so many people to blame, myself included. It seemed that I had found myself standing atop a gigantic emotional landfill, my assignment the sorting and acknowledgement of every emotion beneath my toes.

Thankfully, I arrived home to an empty apartment. Upon entering my bedroom, I angrily threw my pillows on the floor and stomped on them with my bare feet before proceeding to deliver a brutal beating to my mattress. I sobbed uncontrollably, allowing everything out, not restraining myself at all. I was pretty sure that anyone else in the building that heard my outburst probably couldn't tell if it was one woman's total emotional breakdown or
really loud sex
.

I didn't care one way or another.

After calming down—and fighting the urge to get entirely wasted prior to noon—I grabbed my laptop and looked through Craigslist for any accounting jobs. No matter what I found, I felt totally inadequate. I had only set foot at MCI for the interview, avoiding the challenges of the rest of the city entirely. To make matters even worse, most of the listings paid less than I had been making.

My wounded phone on the table was a consistent reminder that I needed to remedy this situation fast.

Dammit, I didn't want to go back to that existence, the world of
dead end jobs
. I didn't want to be thirty and still working in retail or at a coffee shop. I didn't want to be a clerk. I wanted to feel validated by my work, whatever it was.

I gently closed the lid on my laptop—breaking one screen today was enough—and stared at the wall in silence, listening to the ambient noise from the street. The city kept moving, even though my place in it had vanished in the span of an hour. My position was gone, but MCI kept going. I wasn't necessary, wasn't needed in the grand scheme of things because I could be replaced...

... and this sort of nihilism wasn't doing me any favors right now.

My head more or less accidentally found the pillow and I quickly fell into a stress-induced slumber.

***

I awoke suddenly, startled from a dream in which I was both falling and being relentlessly chased by faceless men. "Fuck," I mumbled, pulling my sweat-soaked hair away from my forehead. I was glad to have escaped that fate of perpetual, confusing horror.

Buzz!

My phone fell off the table, leaping to its second death on the floor. It hit with a quiet
thud
, the rug cushioning the fall. It was already damaged, so I was mostly indifferent to the event. My mind still cloudy, I picked it up and answered the call without looking at the fractured display.