Unfinished Tales, Vol. 4

Just Do It

Dan sat at the white tile-topped table, one hand holding up the left side of the newspaper, the other frozen in the act of scooping up a spoonful of shredded mini-wheats.

“Honey,” he said, “Do you realize how much the world sucks?”

From somewhere behind Dan, she said, “Uh-huh.”

“I mean, seriously. I can’t believe we’re bringing a child into this. What’s the point? By the time she’s 15, there’s not going to be any water, decent food, and she’ll probably have already had to fight off her first case of melanoma.”

He closed, refolded the paper, stirred his mini-wheats.

“What are you going to do about it?”

He grimaced. He always hated that question, or was annoyed by it anyway. She always did that to him. He answered it the way he always did. “What can I do about it?”

“You know.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Sure, you say that now. But you will.”

“Okay, whatever. You always know best.”

“I do.”

He rolled his eyes. No kiss for her. He gathered up his ID badge, briefcase, stainless steel travel mug of cheap coffee, and slipped out the back door with a “Bye, Honey.”

Dan trudged out to the car, an older Civic that had seen its share of hail storms and inconsiderate backer-uppers. He sat down in the seat, gripped the steering wheel and squeezed.

“Why doesn’t she do something about it,” he said, starting the car and backing out of the driveway.

Dan kneaded the wheel, knuckles white, as he threaded the car through the suburban maze of streets and onto the expressway.

As he eased into traffic, a silver Jetta cut over from the furthest right lane, nearly taking off the Civic’s front end.

Dan thumbed down the window, stuck his head out, yelled, “Ass clown” as loudly as he could, while at the same time steering the car into the fast-moving lane. He watched the Jetta cut back in four cars ahead of him.

“That sorry bitch,” he said, flipping the bird, then glancing around to see if anyone noticed. He felt his face heat up. He took a couple deep breaths as his eyes flicked from side mirror to rear-view to other side.

His cell phone rang. He kept his left on the wheel and dug around in his briefcase for the phone, which bleeped louder each ring. Dan mashed the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, isn’t today that thing with Johnson?”

“Yeah. Nice of you to remember.”

“Least I did.”

Dan said nothing, eyeing the semi to his right and imaging the back wheels rolling over and crushing the Civic like a soda can. He could hear her breathing, fiddling with something metal.

“Yeah, so what are you going to do?”

“What can I do?”

“Something’s better than nothing. Stand up for yourself, at least. You should at least do that.”

“Stand up for myself? You mean tell Johnson that everything Smith has said he’s done for the past two years I’ve been responsible for and only just now thought to bring it up?”

“It’s a start.”

“Smith’s had his head up Johnson’s ass forever. They’re freaking drinking buddies.”

“It’s just our future. Our family. I thought you would think of that.”

“Don’t you think,” Dan said, voice rising. He paused, sucked in a couple gulps of air, eyes still flicking around. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that. Don’t you think I think of that every single fucking day?”

She dropped something at the same time the semi moved into Dan’s lane. Dan yelled, flipped the phone into the passenger seat, and swerved the car onto the shoulder while mashing the horn buttons with both thumbs.

“Asshole! Goddamn truck drivers. Think they own the fucking road.” He slowed enough for the truck to pass, the cut in ahead of a blue BMW. He heard a horn, flipped the bird, then groped around for the phone again.

Dan could hear her crying. Fuck. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Between sobs, she said, “I just want you to try. I just want you to do something. Anything. I just want you to do it.”

“Dammit, I’m not doing it. Not that. I’ll think of something, okay?

“Honey?”

She sniffed, then hissed, “Do it.” The connection died.

Dan looked at the phone, then powered it off. He gripped the wheel and tried not to think of her, of what was waiting at the office.

After 20 minutes of near misses and stop-and-go’s, Dan pulled into the company parking garage, nodding at Ned the gatekeeper. Dan squinted in the near dark of the garage, inhaled a lungful of trapped exhaust fumes and rolled toward his parking spot.

“What the…” Dan said, arriving at his reserved spot. A giant green Hummer spilled over its lines into Dan’s space. Dan gauged he could squeeze the Civic in, but would then be unable to get out of the car. He drove around for another 20 minutes and ended up parking on the roof. Just as he gathered his stuff, the threatening clouds that had been looming all morning burst. He had no umbrella.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit,” Dan said, pounding the steering wheel each time. He checked his watch. He clicked on the radio and slumped down in the seat, watching the rain cascade down his windshield. Sad But True billowed out of the speakers, drowned out the rest of the city sound, then faded out.

“So are you going to do it or what?”

Dan sat forward, throwing a what-the-fuck glance around the car.

“Dan?”

“What?” Dan said, annoyed.

“Are you going to do it?”

Dan looked around again, checked to make sure his cell phone was off. He reached to turn off the radio…

“Dan, just answer the quest…” Click. Dan snatched his keys from the ignition, gathered his crap and jumped out, slamming the door behind him. He ran the 50 yards or so to the stairwell, found the door locked.

“Fucking, fuckfuckfuck.” He walked back down the ramp, two, three levels, crossed the bridge and entered the lobby.

The security guard, a large, muscled and bald black man, nodded toward Dan and smiled. “Forget your ‘mbrella?”

“Fuck off.” Dan said, sneering. His feet squished in his shoes as he crossed the marble-tiled lobby.

“Hey, Dan,” the security guard said. Dan stopped.

“What?”

“You gonna do it?”

“No, goddammit. Quit fucking asking me!” He turned and dashed toward the elevators, feet rapid-fire squishing. The doors were closing as he neared, tried to slow, and as he slid past, a petite blonde woman looked at him, winked from between the doors, said, “Do it.”

Dan pounded his fist into the call buttons.

Seven minutes later, an elevator arrived. Dan jumped in as soon as the doors opened, crowding a UPS man out of the way. Dan checked his watch. Two minutes. He mashed the 23 button repeatedly. “C’mon, c’mon, you slow piece of shit.”

“Bad day?” UPS said after 10 floors.

“You could say that.”

“Big meeting?”

Dan took a couple breaths, wishing UPS would quit talking to him. That was what Brown could do for him. He tapped his foot.

“So, Dan, you ever heard of Dirty Sanchez?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

Another couple floors passed by, then 22 lit, then 23. Dan cracked his neck.

The doors opened and he dashed out.

UPS called after him, “Do it, Dan. You gotta do it.”

Dan ignored him, kept dashing. He checked his watch. Already late.

He bypassed his office, straight to the conference room, pushed open the door. They were all waiting, Johnson, Smith, Vonnegut and Lipshwitz.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and have a seat, Dan,” Johnson said, motioning to the lone chair at the far end of the table.

Dan sat, looked down at the other end of the table and realized his fate had already been decided, punctuated by the presence of Smith.

As Dan glanced at Smith, Smith smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Or come even close.

“Dan, you know the company has been undergoing some changes…”

A secretary entered the room, sat in the chair next to Dan. She smiled a smile to match Smith’s when she looked at Dan.

Dan thought, what the fuck are you doing here, while ignoring most of the words shooting toward him from the other end of the room. The secretary continued to stare back at Dan. He thought for a moment she might be the most beautiful woman he had ever been close to, from a proximity standpoint.

“Dan,” she said, voice barely audible.

“What?”

“You’re going to do it, right?”

“Are you kidding me?”

From the other end of the table, Johnson, maybe Vonnegut, said: “Do you understand, Dan?”

Dan looked away from the secretary, his mind replaying the dialogue he had not concentrated on hearing. He realized the obvious and stood.

“I understand you guys are screwing me.”

“Be that as it may, this is our offer,” one said.

“You can take it or leave it,” said another.

“But you have to be out of here in 20 minutes,” said Johnson.

Dan looked down at the secretary, who smiled and nodded up at him. “Do it, Dan.” She winked.

“Why the fuck do you want me to do that?” Dan said, then looked at the men, who all sat back in their chairs at the same moment.

“Dan, we know you’re upset.”

“But you know it had to be this way.”

Dan’s fists clenched. “It had to be this way?” He looked down at the secretary again, her blue eyes seeming to twinkle at him. She nodded.

“Fine.”

Dan felt as though his body were imploding, a rush of something seemed to fill him, making him denser, thicker, heavier. He let it all in. A dull, static noise filled his head, a high-pitch whine, quieter but rising, rode the top of the static. His hands trembled, so he placed them on the table. He ground his teeth together as it began to hurt.

The secretary’s pale, thin fingers appeared in his sight, sliding across the table until they rested atop his own. He tried to concentrate on the shiny black lacquer of her nail polish, noticed his reflection. Tiny beads of sweat reflected back up at him like so many prisms.

“Do it, Dan,” she said.

“Yes, honey.” Dan said. He raised his arms, one straight ahead, one out to his side, and let go. Dan’s world exploded and it was no more. The men, the windows, the table, the room… all concussion and debris, fire and smoke, twinkling shards of glass and streaks of flying twisted metal.

The secretary, still beside him, patted his hand, said, “Thank you, Dan. You know it was for the best.” And then she was gone.