The Willingness to Burn

by J. P. London

  Jace took a deep breath, shocked by the onslaught of icy cold liquid and then took another. Perhaps drinking coffee wasn’t the only way to get it’s alerting effects. He froze. Jace glanced down and dropped his briefcase. Not today. Of all days, not today. He tried to brush the liquid off of himself, but it was to no avail.

  “Oh my god,” he said to himself, looking down. His eyes blinked slowly in utter disbelief.

  The girl looked up at him. “Oh my god!” she said, her mouthing curling up a bit. She quickly pulled her hand to her face.

  “I’m so sorry.” She began to giggle.

  “You’re sorry?”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, laughing.

  “Are you sure you’re sorry, because your laughing would suggest otherwise.” Jace threw his hands down and black liquid speckled the gray sidewalk.

  “No, I am.” She laughed. “It’s just so ironic.”

  His eyes glaring daggers at her, Jace fought to keep calm.

  “I … I fail to see anything but tragedy here.”

  “I’m sorry, I will totally pay for it.”

  Jace looked down at his outfit ; he let out an aggressive sigh then grunted loudly, his hands balling up into fists.

  “Tell me the ironic part, because I really need it right now.”

  She looked around. She seemed as though she was looking for someone just in case he became violent. Jace noted this and softened his grip and posture.

  “I noticed you as I was walking, and I thought, ‘Wow that guy looks really good. He’s really well put together.’ Then I started thinking about what you might do, and what your day would be like, and then that guy jumped out and really scared me. I am seriously so sorry.”

  “I don’t see how that’s ironic.”

  “It’s ironic because I was noticing how well put together you are, and now you’re covered in coffee.” She started to laugh. “Again, I am so sorry.”

  “Oh my god!” Jace screamed then began to walk past her.

  “Hey, I said I’d pay for it!”

  Jace turned around to face her and enunciated every word to express severity, as he said, “If you only fucking knew how important today was for me!”

  She finally stopped laughing. “Hey, I’m really sorry, seriously.”

  Jace threw his hands down in disgust and sighed to himself. That sigh was different—it was one of acceptance.

  “You know, any other day, I’d be okay with it.” Jace paused and frowned, clenching his teeth. “I gotta go.”

  Jace started powerwalking away from her.

  “Hey, wait!”

  “Can’t, I got ten minutes to find another shirt!”

  “Take my card,” the girl called out.

  Jace didn’t respond. His powerwalking turned into a light jog as he came upon his building. He made a B-line for the elevator and took it straight to his floor.

  “Jesus Christ, what happened to you?” Dexter asked as Jace closed the door and leaned back against it as though it would protect him.

  “Not now. Do you have another shirt and tie?”

  “Nah, sorry, man.”

  “I thought you always keep a spare?” Jace pleaded.

  “I’m wearing it, man.”

  “Fuck. Can I borrow yours?”

  “Get the fuck outta here. You’re not the only one whose got meetings today.”

  “Fuck!” Jace searched around his desk. Maybe there was something there he could use. But what? Nothing will help this. Coffee on white? Nothing short of gasoline and a match will take care of this. Fuck!

  Jace peeked his head out of the office. Then he turned back to Dexter, clutching the door again. “Do me a favor, see if you can find anyone with a spare shirt and tie.”

  “All right, man, I’ll try,” Dexter said reluctantly and stood up shaking his head. “What size are you?”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” Jace said with a strong tone.

  “All right, all right, Take it easy.”

  Dexter stepped out of the two-man office that they shared. Junior Account men in their firm shared offices until they were full-fledged. And that day was Jace’s opportunity to become full-fledged. To have his own office. And company bonuses.

  Jace stayed in the office, hiding. From who? Everyone. He sat behind his desk and stared down, hoping, praying.

  Mark, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair opened the door. Mark was in his mid-thirties but could have passed for much older. His tailored, navy-blue suit looked flawless, a vast contrast to Jace’s. He looked down at Jace.

  “What the fuck happened to you?”

  “I know.”

  “You know? You know the clients are fucking here too?”

  “I’ll just …”

  “You’ll just stay here. I’ll find someone else.”

  “No. Wait.”

  “Look at yourself,” Mark said slowly. “We are asking these people to give us millions of dollars. “

  “I know.”

  “And when you’re doing that, you want to give it to a professional. A guy you can trust. Not a guy who looks like he needs a fucking bib! You’re off.”

  “Mark, I can still do this.”

  “No fucking way. Where’s Dexter?”

  Jace stood up from behind his desk. “Mark, I can do this.”

  Mark looked at Jace. He looked him over once more and sighed. “You really think so?”

  “I know it.”

  “You better,” Mark paused.“ Because, Jace … You lose this account, and you lose your job.”

  “What?”

  “Look, we lose an account because they don’t like us, that’s one thing, we lose it because you look unprofessional and still go in, heads are gonna roll, my man.”

  “C’mon, man.”

  “Don’t ‘c’mon man’ me. You know how this works. This is an industry based on performance. No one gives a shit about your excuse.” Mark grabbed the door handle then stopped before walking out. “Look, you want to stay on this. You are gambling. You want to sit back and wait for the next one, that’s fine. It’s understandable. You leaving me with an unprepared point man on account of some shit going down, I can forgive.” Mark took a step forward leaving the door open and pointed at Jace. “You fucking me on this client because you insist on going in looking like an asshole and you are done.”

  Jace paused.

  “Now’s not the time for this. You got five minutes. Either prep Dexter and send him in and then wait for the next one, or risk it all on whatever is behind door number two.” Mark looked at Jace and shook his head then stepped out and closed the door.

  Jace sat down on his desk. “Fuck!” He wrestled together his paperwork, his notes, and his pitch points. The door opened and Dexter came back in.

  “Any luck?”

  “Nah, man, I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck.” Jace took a deep breath and gritted his teeth.

  “Hey man, anything else I can do?”

  Jace looked up at Dexter. He stood up from the desk and started for the door.

  “Yeah, pray.”

  Jace stood in the conference room. God, I hope they have a sense of humor, he thought to himself. He readied his Power Point presentation and took a deep breath. Jace looked at his watch. Hopefully he could sell the Rolex if it all went tits up. The second hand ticked loudly and the door swung open. First in was Mark. When Jace saw him, he turned around, like a kid who had peed his pants in school and didn’t want the other kids to know. He was finishing a joke and the other four people laughed.

  “So this must be the genius that Mark was telling us about,” the voice of an older man said. Jace turned around.

  “Why I certainly hope so,” Jace said with a smile on his face and his heart pounding in his throat. He could feel his cheeks flush with blood. The room was all of a sudden very warm. His eyes fell upon Mark, three men dressed to the nines in custom suits, and a woman wearing an gray skirt suit, a white blouse and sunglasses on her head. Jace’s eyes locked o
n her and he froze.

  “Wow. That’s a great shade of coffee,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Jace stammered, his smile returning to his face. “I apologize for my appearance. I was involved in an accident on my way in the office today.”

  “Oh, you should be more careful,” the woman said.

  Jace’s eyes stayed fixed as his head moved slowly to face the blonde.

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Jace took a deep breath to regain his composure. “But gentlemen, and lady, what I lack in unstained clothing, I more than make up for in money management skills. So, please, have a seat, have some coffee.—don’t worry, none for me, I’ve had enough—and I’ll show you how Shooter & McManus can provide you with not only financial security but also growth through these uncertain times.”

  After a spirited and comprehensive presentation, Jace took out the paperwork. That was where it counted, what it all came down to. It was all about the rollover forms. A signature on the dotted line would transfer the money from their retirement account to Shooter & McManus. But a blank dotted line would transfer Jace from a comfortable Hoboken apartment to the poor house.

  “Now, Brent, if you’ll just okay right there, we can get started on building your future.”

  Jace placed a strong-looking stainless steel ballpoint pen down next to the signature line on the paperwork. Brent looked down at the papers then back up at Jace. Jace smiled and the two men continued to stare at one another. Not a word was spoken. Not a gesture made. Mark held his breath. Seconds ticked and fell off Jace’s watch—moments of silence, moments of remarkable friction.

  Brent smirked. He turned and looked at his other two partners.

  “We are going to step out for a minute,” Brent finally said.

  “Oh?” Jace asked, perplexed.

  “Yeah Jace, I missed breakfast, so were gonna go grab an egg sandwich and talk this over. We’ll be back in about a half hour.”

  “Brent, we can …” Jace began.

  “Brent, why don’t we take you guys out to breakfast? Maybe grab an Irish coffee or two,” Mark interrupted.

  “Nah, he looks like he’s had enough.” Brent stood up and slapped Jace on the arm. “Sorry, kid, you’re an easy target.”

  “Oh, I know.” Jace chuckled.

  “So … Give us a few minutes to discuss, and we will be back,” Brent said, letting his will be known.

  Jace stood up. Brent grabbed his hand and squeezed. He smiled and nodded at Jace. It was a look of respect.

  “Mark, why don’t you walk us out?” one of the other men said.

  “Sure thing.”

  Mark stood up and pushed the door open following Brent, his two partners, and the blonde girl out.

  Jace let out a sigh and rolled his head back on the rest of the expensive leather seats that lined the conference room. He stared up at the ceiling and prayed, “God, don’t let this be the end of me.”

  Moments later, Mark burst back into the room. Jace snapped out of his meditative state and sat up at attention.

  “Well?” Jace stared desperately.

  Mark shook his head. “Doesn’t look good, no indication at all.”

  “Fuck.” Jace let out a deep breath. “So what now?”

  Mark’s face expressed a sympathetic frown.

  “Now you go to your office and pack your things.”

  “Mark.”

  “No. I told you this going in. This was sink or swim. You knew that and you accepted the risk. Now accept the consequences.”

  “But maybe they’ll sign when they come back,” Jace pleaded, knowing deep down that it was more than just a long shot.

  “If they come back,” Mark stated boldly.

  “Mark … that girl.”

  “I don’t care, Jace. Go pack your things. You can stay until lunch. By then, one of three things will happen.” Mark began counting on his fingers. “One, they won’t come back. Two, they will come back to politely tell us to fuck off. Or three, and I’m only including this one to not sound like a pessimist, they will come back and sign. And you won’t be in that office anymore anyway. So go pack your shit. And be prepared to celebrate or mourn … Emphasis on mourn.”

  Jace stood up. He nodded somberly and walked around the deep mahogany table. He glanced down at the polished wood for just a second. Jace locked eyes with his own reflection—as he stepped away, it moved out of sight, much as his career had at the firm.

  Back at his office, Jace closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. He took a deep breath and let it out. Jace walked over to his desk and began stacking papers and shuffling his things about. He was moving them around but wasn’t making any progress at all. Jace began to stare and not move anything. Just stared into the clusterfuck that had become his life. He could start at another firm, but then he would be an analyst again. And maybe he could move up quicker, having experience. But eight years, eight fucking years. What was I thinking? How could I throw it all away like that?

  Sometime later, the door opened and Dexter walked in.

  “Hey, man, how did it go?” Jace looked up at him and shook his head. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah, apparently coffee isn’t the shirt color people prefer.”

  “Sorry, man.”

  “Yeah, so I’m out of here,” Jace said, looking up from his desk.

  “You’re out of here?”

  “Yeah, that was deal, if I went in and failed, I’m out.”

  “Holy shit, man, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah.”

  The door swung open. Mark stood there looking at Jace. He could see the stress in his eyes. The pending weight of failure crushing down on his shoulders. “Don’t slit your wrists yet. They’re back.”

  “What!” Jace shot up, sending his chair to the back of the room.

  “They’re back, let’s go.” Jace rushed around his desk and followed Mark quickly out of the office and down the hall.

  “So this is a good thing, right?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “I mean, if they’re back.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  The two men entered the large impressive reception area. There, Brent sat patiently on a white suede couch with his associates sitting to either side of him. He was engaged in conversation with the woman and laughing about something when he noticed them. He stood up. The others joined.

  “Brent, shall we go back to the conference room?” Mark asked.

  Brent smiled and extended his hand as to say go ahead. The three men walked and Jace locked eyes with the blonde girl and she rivaled his eye contact as she followed them. She turned her head to stare at Jace as she walked past him and then adjusted her skirt forcing his gaze down at her assets. Jace followed in the rear and was the last in the conference room.

  Everyone took their seats, and Mark began.

  “Brent, we both know …”

  “Hang on a second, Mark,” Brent interrupted. “I’m going to level with you, with both of you.” Brent looked at Jace and then back to Mark. “I had no intention of ever going with you guys. I was really more interested in a bigger named firm.”

  “Well, Brent—”

  “Mark, please. A Goldman Sachs, something like that,” Brent continued. “This was more of a courtesy and because I promised to get some perspective before making a decision. And perspective is what you gave me.” He turned his eyes toward Jace. “You know, Jace, I played college football. I was a safety.” Jace nodded. “It’s the most important position and do you know why?”

  “You’re the last line of defense,” Jace responded quickly.

  Brent paused, he was not expecting an answer to this rhetorical question, much less the right answer. “You’re absolutely right. Because you’re the last line of defense, and when you’re the last line, there are no excuses, you have to play and you have to play your hardest. No matter if you’re sick, or hurt, or what kind of morning you had.�
� Brent grinned.

  Mark’s eyes opened just a little wider as he realized what was happening.

  “So, when I see a young man, who’s covered in coffee, getting humiliated by me and my crew here, and he still gives a hell of a presentation, he still pushes for a signature, I see someone who plays hurt, and plays his hardest no matter what. So based on that, Jace, why don’t you show me where to sign?”

  Brent grinned and Jace stood motionless for a moment, then snapped into purpose. Jace opened the paperwork to the back page and stood over Brent pointing his hand. His fingers were shaking with anticipation, but with some focused effort, he was able to still them.

  “Right there.”

  Brent signed and stood up. He grabbed Jace’s hand and squeezed.

  “And I can’t fault you too much … You’re wearing my coffee.” Brent laughed.

  “She told you?” Jace asked.

  “Yeah, I told them in the elevator when we first got here.“

  “Yes, she told us about this guy she threw coffee on, then we walked in to see you. I almost pissed myself!” Brent said laughing and slapped Jace on the shoulder.

  “All right, now, this signature is contingent upon one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Jace said, smiling. Brent reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. When he opened it up, he took out an AMEX business card. He handed the card to the blonde girl. “Maddy, go get this nice young man a new outfit.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Mark said.

  Brent glanced coldly over his shoulder at Mark.

  “I insist,” Brent demanded, then he turned his gaze back toward the coffee-stained man.

  “Jace, I’m expecting big things from you.”

  “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I know.” Brent looked back at his team. “All right, guys, let’s get out of here.” The three men walked out with Mark as their leader.