Primary Termination

by Vincent Zandri

  “Publishing is dead, remember?”

  “Yeah well, I’d hate to see what happens to those dumb asses who openly violate the Everest rules, especially once their debt has been forgiven.”

  “Rumors,” I say, as I reach the opposite end of the park. “Scary rumors.”

  “Maybe,” Kate says, “but I wouldn’t mess with it. Once you’re in, you’re in, baby. Just accept it and work with it. Come work with us. Be a part of the biggest corporate team in the whole wide galaxy. We miss you down here.”

  “Tell you what,” I say, “I’ll definitely give it some thought. Okay?”

  I tell her I’ve got to go, since I’m about to take a jog.

  “Gross,” she says. “I prefer the couch and I hate sweating. Unless I’m getting laid, of course.”

  “Love you, Baby K,” I say.

  “Love you too, Baby T,” she says. “Get back down here soon and let’s freaking party already.”

  I don’t know if I’m disturbed by my phone call or just confused. I’m also more than a little anxious at a time when I’m supposed to be enjoying the most worry-free experience of my life. I try to put it all out of my mind while I cross the road and enter into the massive New York State Employees campus which also houses the brand new New York State Everest.Com Corporate Headquarters now that the corporation is not only working with the government on the Federal level (A former U.S. President’s Press Secretary has become the number two man at the Everest Corporation), but also the State. The corporation’s presence can be felt right down to the district level. Is there nothing Everest doesn’t touch anymore?

  I imagine Jacquie answering my question.

  “No, Tanya, that’s the point. Everest intends on controlling every aspect of your life, so you don’t have to worry about it. I hope this answer is a satisfactory one.”

  I begin my run, slow and easy, along the four miles of roadway that wraps around the entire campus perimeter. As a teenager and a young twenty-something, I used to run this exact route, long before the Everest Headquarters was constructed and all that existed were the five, identical 25-story rectangular buildings, all of which are connected by ten-foot long glass corridors.

  I pick up my pace, feel my leg muscles expanding and contracting. Was I a jock in high school? Depends on who you talk to. But I ran track (the 100 meter, the hurdles and, on occasion, tossed the discus), and liked to hit the weight room with Tony. I also earned my Black Belt in Budokai Karate. In our senior yearbook, Tony and I were described, and I quote, as “brawn, brains, and badassness.”

  Once I got to New York City (not the safest of places these days), I learned how to shoot, both handgun and long gun. And I not only joined a gym, but I took boxing and self-defense lessons to compliment my Black Belt. What that means is, I’ve not only sparred with some pretty tough cookies, I actually competed in more than my share of three-round bouts, of which I won seven, lost two, while one ended in a draw. What’s amazing about being hit repeatedly in the face and the upper body, is that after a while, you don’t really feel it anymore, so long as you remain entirely focused on your opponent. I realize the term “mind over matter” is totally overused these days (I’d more than likely edit it out of a manuscript), but when it comes to self-defense and hand-to-hand combat, there is nothing truer.

  With the sweat starting to build up on my back and forehead, I’m feeling loose and good. Some people hate running when it’s warm or hot, but I love it. Bring on the heat and humidity. There’s nothing better for detoxing. I pass by the first big glass and brick building. The offices of the New York State Tax and Finance. It’s a rectangular structure—utilitarian but futuristic in its own way, constructed way back in the late 1960s, designed to house as many cubicles and state worker offices as possible. The next building is identical. It houses the State Comptroller’s offices. Then comes the New York State Forensics Science building and after that, the headquarters of the New York State Troopers, and finally, the New York State Department of Military Affairs.

  Nestled beside Military Affairs and in what had been a massive parking lot, is a brand-new structure. It defies all the utility of the others with its pyramid shaped, almost mountainous design. It is the Everest Corporation New York State Headquarters. The neon lit Everest.com Mount Everest summit-shaped logo is the most eye-catching thing about the place. Your eyes can’t help but be lured to it, its bright red image burning itself into your brain. If one were to attach words to it, it would say, “I’m the leader now. I am your life. You live for me.”

  The first mile down, I continue along the road, the occasional driverless, electric car passing me by, along with the still far more prevalent old-fashioned gas guzzling manually driven cars. Ten years ago everyone thought that driverless cars would totally replace drivable cars by 2022 or something like that. But it hasn’t happened, nor will it ever. At least, that’s the way I see it.

  The music plays in my head. Something old, like really old. The Beatles. Hey Jude. I find myself singing along with Paul McCartney (who’s still rocking it out in his mid-eighties), “Hey Jude, don’t let me down. Take a sad song, and make it better . . .” I am in my element when I’m working up a glistening sweat and feeling pretty good about my future. I’m not confusing feeling good with being unconcerned about my having signed on with the Everest Primary Program. I’m just saying that despite the minor anxieties involved, it is beginning to feel good knowing that my debt has been erased and finding a new job is no longer a priority. If all that’s required of me is to exclusively purchase Everest products and services, so what? That’s pretty much the way I live my life now . . . the way everyone lives their life. So what’s the big deal?

  But will there be times when I might want to seek out something that’s not owned or at the very least, not sold by Everest? Say a hotdog at my favorite old hotdog stand, Gus’s, down by the river. Gus’s was mine and Tony’s favorite place to eat when we were young. From what I’m told, it’s still there. Its days are numbered since cash, and even Blockchain Crypto Currencies (many proved hackable and went broke, and the ones that proved secure and profitable were bought out by Everest) is about to become a thing of the past, but the owner is still hanging in there. Or so rumor has it. Still definitely anti-Everest even if he does accept Everest credits in exchange for dollars. There most definitely will be a time when I hit up Gus’s Hotdog Shack for a sausage and pepper sandwich, sooner or later. I mean, how will Everest.com know if I decide to eat there? It’s not like Jacquie is following me around and from what I know, the corporation hasn’t yet employed its Jacquie satellite.

  The music plays and the sweat builds as I begin rounding a long, arcing curve. This is the part of the run where the road is two-sided by thick patches of woods. The trees are old oaks and pines and they are surrounded by dense brush. Trails lead into these wooded areas and I’m told State and Everest employees are encouraged to hike the trails on their off hours as a way of cleansing their heads and their souls. Not a bad idea. Getting away from it all isn’t as easy as it was when I was a kid and only eight billion people inhabited the earth. Now we’re heading toward twelve billion, all of them potential Everest customers, no doubt. All of them making the richest most powerful man on earth—the President, Founder, and CEO of the Everest Corporation, John D. Rutherford—even more rich and more powerful. Not bad for a guy who never graduated from college.

  The air seems cooler while jogging through the wooded area. Darker too, as if rather than jogging an inner-city road that surrounds a State and Everest worker paradise, I have somehow entered into a forbidden forest. You’ll have to excuse me if my mind tends to over dramatize any given situation. I’m an editor after all, and a writer. It’s my nature to over dramatize.

  He appears for me quite suddenly, jogging out from one of the wooded trails and onto the perimeter road. I manage to see him out of the corner of my eye. He startles me for a quick moment, not only because I didn’t expect him, but because I didn’t expect any
one to come from there. But then, why shouldn’t someone come out of there? I can bet dozens of people per day jog those trails. Maybe I should attempt them one day now that I’m living back up here.

  It’s the same man I saw in the park while I was talking to Kate on the phone. The man dressed all in black. He must have taken a different route onto the campus. One that led directly to the woods and the trails. He’s behind me now. Maybe a distance of fifteen or twenty feet separate us. No more than that, anyway. Back in New York City, if I jogged on the East River or in Central Park, someone was always following me, and I was always following someone. Lots of people were always running on the river or in the park. Biking and rollerblading, too. Young and old people alike. But here, it’s different. Even on a Sunday morning, like today, you can easily run this entire campus and not run into a soul (never mind 12 billion souls strangling planet earth). So, suddenly running into this man and knowing he’s following me right now sort of wigs me out. But that’s silly. He’s probably just someone like me who’s trying to stay in shape, and the campus is a great place to run.

  I feel him cutting the distance between us. It’s not like I have eyes in the back of my head. I can just feel him coming up on me. It’s what they taught us in both Budokai Karate and self-defense class—in the place of eyes in the back of your head, you must develop a gut instinct for danger. Not a paranoia, mind you. But a built-in danger detector. Mine is going off right now.

  The music is still playing in my head, but it’s doing nothing to distract me from this man’s presence. I pick up my speed. Still, he’s on my tail. That means he’s increasing his speed, too. Why would he do that unless he wanted to catch up with me? Jesus, is he a rapist? Is he about to grab me by my hair, pull me into the woods? Is he the Big Bad Wolf and I’m Little Red Riding Hood?

  Stop imagining things, Tanya . . . just run . . . the guy behind you is just a neighborhood dude who’s trying to lap you . . .

  Still, I pick up my speed even more. My breathing grows heavier. I’m straining now to keep up with myself. Blood is speeding through my veins, heart beating, pulse pounding in my temples. I can hardly hear the music blaring through the ear pods anymore. Then, just like that, he’s beside me. He looks at me over his shoulder. He smiles.

  “You’re pretty fast,” he says, zero strain in his voice.

  At least, that’s what I think he says.

  “Pause music,” I say aloud, the strain most definitely evident in my voice.

  The music pauses. I slow my pace because no way I’m keeping it up, and maybe if I go slower, this guy will run ahead and leave me alone.

  “I’m sorry?” I ask.

  “You’re fast,” he repeats.

  He’s smiling. But there’s something odd about his face, the way his eyes are entirely masked by the wrap-around sunglasses, the way his head is entirely hidden by a black kerchief tied around it, and his black Under Armour running outfit. Even his Nikes are black. He reminds me of the Phantom from the old comic books I used to read as a kid.

  “Oh, fast,” I say, sucking wind. “Not really . . . I’m usually much slower.”

  “You run here every day?” he asks.

  Oh Christ, he wants to talk. I don’t want to talk. I just want to be left alone.

  “No,” I say. “But I used to when I lived here.”

  “So,” he says, “an out of towner.” It’s a question.

  I could tell him that I live here again, but it’s none of his business.

  “I work for the Everest Corporation,” he goes on. “I run this every day.”

  “You work on Sundays?” I say.

  As soon as I say it, I regret it. Because the last thing I want to do is engage the Phantom in conversation.

  “Hey, it’s Everest,” he says. “We’re always working for the people. You know, getting you all your goods and services on demand. Automatic for the people so you can live a stress-free lifestyle.”

  I’ll say it again; his speech is not the least bit strained. It’s like he’s not running but standing still.

  “At this point,” I say, “I can’t recall a time when there wasn’t an Everest dot com.” Inhaling and exhaling. “My parents can remember when there wasn’t even a world wide web.”

  “Mine, too,” he says. “They’re dead now, of course.”

  We round a curve that’s flanked by the woods and come upon the State worker buildings, along with the backside of the Everest property. For some reason, I feel a little bit more secure. As though, now that I’m out of the woods, the Big Bad Wolf can’t tear me up with his claws and fangs.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t be,” he says, “you had nothing to do with it. They died in a car accident last year. Everest dot com provided all the funeral services we needed, including two beautiful caskets.”

  Okay, now I’m really starting to be creeped out by this guy. Everest now provides funeral services? But then, why the hell should that surprise me in the least? Everest provides everything a human being needs from the cradle to the grave. They’ve partnered up with everybody and everything that money can buy.

  The Phantom holds out his gloved hand.

  “Where are my manners?” he says. “I’m Matt. Matt with two Ts.”

  Reluctantly, I take the hand in mine while keeping up my pace. But because we’re running, and also because I really don’t want to hold his hand, I pull the hand back just as fast.

  “Tanya,” I say. “One T.”

  Can’t help but be witty, can I? Even if I do want Phantom Matt with two Ts to go away now.

  “That’s Matt Tyrel,” he goes on. “You run every day at this time?”

  “Depends,” I say, because I genuinely don’t want to offer up any more info.

  “Well,” he says, cocking his head in the direction of the Everest pyramid high-rise, “this is where I get off.”

  A wave of profound relief swims over me.

  “Nice meeting you, Tanya,” he says. “Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

  “Same here, Matt,” I say, without trying to show too much enthusiasm.

  He ducks behind me and heads across the road toward the campus and the bronze glass tower.

  “Oh, by the way,” he says, as he steps over the curb onto the neatly mowed green grass, “I hope you give the Everest Primary Program the chance it deserves. It really does provide for a worry-free life experience.”

  Turning his back to me, he heads for the Everest corporate headquarters at an all-out sprint.

  Jogging the remainder of the three-mile campus, I can’t help but mull over how this total stranger knows that I’ve just become an Everest Primary Program member. He’s never met me before. He doesn’t even know my last name, or where I live. I mean, he doesn’t even know my credit score, which by now should be near perfect. That is, if Everest kept their promise and wiped out my credit card debt immediately upon my signing on the dotted line . . . electronically, that is.

  I come to the edge of the campus, where it meets the road that separates it from the park and my old neighborhood. Gazing both ways, I cross the road and enter into the park where I try to push out one-hundred pushups and an equal number of crunches. By the time I’ve finished with the calisthenics portion of my routine, I am sufficiently drenched in sweat and I’m breathing hard. But I feel damn good. I feel fit and confident. What I also feel is a little weirded out by my new jogging partner.

  Matt with two Ts.

  Taking one last gaze at the massive State campus, I half expect to see Matt jogging toward me. But luck is on my side and he’s nowhere to be seen. I head out of the park then, and speed walk my way back to my folk’s house. Just prior to hopping in the shower, I notice that time is getting tight. Why does washing my hair and shaving my legs have to take so long?

  When I head back into my bedroom, I notice a surprise for me laid out on the bed. It’s my new underwear. A lacy black pushup bra and matching thong undies. Frankly I’d rather where boy’s box
er shorts than be forced into wearing a piece of elastic material that rides up my butt crack all day. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, am I right?

  “Thanks, Mom!” I shout.

  “Don’t mention it, honey,” she calls out from down in the living room. “Oh, and I love it when you part your hair neatly over our left eye. Makes you look smart, confident, and gorgeous.”

  “Thanks again, Mom,” I say. “Do you want to pick out my clothes for me too?”

  I can hear her laughing.

  “I’m sure you can do a better job than I ever could, sweetie. And if you wish to purchase new clothing, I’m sure Jacquie would be only too happy to assist.”

  “I can certainly be of help in providing you with a more than satisfactory online shopping experience, Tanya.”

  “Thanks Jacquie,” I say. “But I’ll make do for now with my present wardrobe.”

  I choose a short, brown, summer-weight dress with a V-neck top that shows off the perfect amount of cleavage. For footwear, you can’t beat gladiator sandals. Naturally the entire outfit was purchased from Everest.com back when I was still living in the city. Drying my hair in the mirror, I then part it on the side over my left eye, just like Mom suggested.

  “Here’s hoping Tony likes the smart look,” I whisper. “Get it?”

  “If you are referring to Tony Smart, bestselling Everest Cradle author,” Jacquie says, “he has dated women in the past who have worn their hair straight and parted on the side. The many photos in his Facebook account prove it. I hope this answers your question satisfactorily, Tanya.”

  Unbelievable . . .

  “Yes, thanks, Jacquie.” Then, my curious mind spinning. “Jacquie, without my having to look at it, what’s Tony’s Facebook relationship status?”

  Jacquie takes a silent moment to retrieve the information.

  Then, “It says, ‘In a relationship.’ I hope I’ve given you a satisfactory answer.”