Unscrewed

by Ren Alexander

  It’s free food, so I don’t argue. Picking up my usual Hirschfeld sandwich sitting next to his Jewbano, I shake my head as I sit. He hangs up his phone while I take a bite, letting cucumber and tomato hang from my mouth like a dead carcass. Being a proper biker dude, he cringes, tossing napkins at me. “Have some decorum, Rod.”

  I slurp them in a brilliant display that makes his face crinkle like foil. “Lost it years ago.” That’s the truth. I had no choice in the matter.

  “I won’t argue that.” As I take another extra-large bite, he stands and goes to the door, closing it, which sends a warning shot throughout my mind. I make it a point to never be in a closed room alone with Amos Vaughn. No witnesses.

  Losing my appetite, I drop my sandwich onto the wrapper, watching him shove his chubby hands into his Dockers—another unfortunate style choice—making a leisurely stroll back to his side of his mammoth desk. He jingles always-present loose change. Who in the hell carries loose change in their pockets in this day and age? Amos never buys anything out of the vending machines here. Did his piggy bank run away? Is he waiting for a Salvation Army bucket emergency? Is he looking to start a failed one-man band? I need answers.

  He returns to his ostentatious red-leather throne, making loud farting sounds. Ordinarily, it makes me laugh, and he has to yell at me for 10 minutes to get it together, but like Phil Collins, I feel it in the air.

  Oh, shit. I need to scram.

  Grabbing a napkin, I look to his window. “Thanks for the food, but—”

  “We haven’t even started.”

  “Oh. Right. What...?” I sit back, fidgeting like hell with my hand to my hair, my hand to my thigh, my hand to my jaw... I’d even grab my balls if it’d help me relax, but definitely not in this case or audience. He’d enjoy it.

  Amos looks over my head to the door and then back to me. His mouth is set in a straight line, which is the only straight thing about him. To each his own, just not my own. I wasn’t born that way. “Hey.”

  I look up from my staring at his desk, just now realizing I was. “Absolutely.”

  “Absolutely what? What’s going on with you lately? Is it the baby?”

  I clear my throat, and my hand goes back to my jaw. “Uh, um... Some. Yeah.” Mostly, I’m thinking about what Amos’ plans are for me in this room alone. If he pulls a knife, I’m legit screaming louder than any baby.

  “How’s she doing?”

  Weirdly, I give Amos the truth. “I haven’t seen her in a while.” With that said out loud, I feel worse for that.

  He sighs, sitting back, squeaking and clasping his hands over his Harley—Kia—gut. Whatever. “Why not? You scared?”

  I readily nod before I can stop myself, and even worse, say, “Shitless.”

  “I figured. It was a shock. It was for everyone here. I can’t imagine how you felt.”

  Staying in this lane of morality, I skid down the off-ramp, confessing, “How I felt? I feel idiotic, Amos. I can’t even fix the mistake.” I need a severe head injury to shut me up.

  “I can see you’re having problems. With your sister passing away last year, an unexpected pregnancy, and with...” He squints at me and then to the latkes on his desk. “Well, I know you’ve had it rough lately.” Shit. If it’d help, I’d sell my soul to Satan just so Amos will shut the fuck up.

  “Whatever.” I can’t get into it with him. I don’t know if I’ll shut the fuck up.

  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  I lightly pound my fists on the arm of my chair, grateful for the change of subject. “That’s why I’m here. Right? The McCutcheon case—” He kills that with a wave of his hand, essentially rendering me a deflating limp dick, not knowing what the fuck happened.

  “No. Not that. I put Scanlon on it.”

  “But...” I drop my foot to the floor, almost with my sandwich. “Why? I’ve been working on it for months now.”

  “Because you need to focus on another task.” Motherfucker. If he thinks I’m going to suck— “Law school.”

  I let out my held breath, blowing my napkins across his desk and onto the floor. Amos’s eyebrows become a V that cradles his cue-ball head. Picking up scattered napkins from his desk, he asks, “Why haven’t you taken me up on my sponsoring your education? You want to become an attorney. Have you applied to take your LSAT yet?”

  “Uh...” I shrug as my leg starts bouncing. “I’m scrapping that.”

  “Why? And don’t say it’s the money. As long as you go to an ABA-accredited law school and not clown school, we’ll pay for it.”

  “It was mime school anyway. Forget it. I don’t have time for school.”

  “I just cleared your schedule.”

  “Seriously? That’s why you gave Crick the case?”

  “Seriously? You’re worried about that case?”

  “Don’t mock me, Amos. I have a kid.”

  “So? Val did it. Her first husband was deployed overseas, and she had two kids at the time.”

  “I’m not Val. That woman comes from a mystical realm of superhumans. I’m only from Durham, North Carolina. Totally unmagical.” Hadley’s boss is the real deal. Val Dryden is the original Wonder Woman.

  “I don’t want excuses. The LSAT is only given four times a year. It’s now October. Will you be ready for this month’s test? If not, there’s still December, June, and February. I have some materials you can use to study. After passing the LSAT, then you can apply to a law school. The University of Richmond School of Law is a good school and close by. I’d recommend William & Mary—my alma mater—if it weren’t an hour away.”

  “William and Mary? Jesus’ parents? They own a school?”

  He sighs, and I watch his forehead dribble more than my showerhead right after I shut off the water. “I'm serious about your future.”

  I sigh back at him, needing a shower just from watching him. “So am I, Amos. Just let it go.”

  “Why? You haven’t given me a valid reason to. All I hear are excuses. It’s a free ride through law school. Even your textbooks.” When I don’t comment, Amos squeaks forward, putting his elbows on the desk. He’s eerily quiet, so I look up at him to see the fucker staring at me.

  “What?”

  “Are you afraid you won’t be around much? For Birdy?”

  “Yeah, of course.” And no. I’m not even around her now.

  “You won’t have to go it alone. I’ll help you study for exams, answer questions, and pose legal scenarios for you to work around. Think of me as your go-to. Your mentor.”

  I make a face I can’t help, which in turn, Amos sports an offended one. I dig for more excuses. “Thanks, but I’d just be a pain in the ass.” I can’t believe I just said that. I rephrase. “My mouth will get on your nerves.” Nice, Greg. Just nice. You practically propositioned your gay boss, not once, but twice.

  Amos laughs. “Too late for that.” He looks to the doorway, which makes me look, hoping someone’s here to decapitate one of us. No such luck. When I reluctantly turn back to him, his hands are fisted against his mouth.

  Leaning forward, I grab a handful of fries. Fucking Moses on the Mount. He’d better be done talking about this.

  He returns his arms to his desk, and I want to hang him with his TJ Maxx-bought tie. You can always tell. “Rod, I want to help you, but something is holding you back from doing this.”

  I concentrate on my fries, not interested in his theories. He’s way wrong anyway.

  “You’re afraid to fail.” I look up from my goddamn Schlubby fries. Literal cocksucker.

  I don’t have to answer him. The jackass sees right through me. I pride myself on being hard to read. I’m always joking, just to keep people at football-field length. I guess I fucked that up.

  Unable to look at him, my gaze falls to my now-smooshed fries. Story of my life. Amos sighs. “You only fail if you don’t try. You’re afraid of disappointing people. But I don’t know who you’re afraid of disappointing more: Birdy, yourself,
or...” Fuck you, Vaughn. You don’t know me.

  Seizing the situation by the balls before I grab his and use them for softball practice, I toss the smashed fries into my mouth and a grin as I sit back. “I’m pretty sure my parents are just happy I’m not in prison.” It’s a miracle I never ended up there.

  Amos leans forward more like he’s going to reveal who killed Mr. Boddy with the lead pipe in the library. His voice low, he says, “Rod, I know you don’t want to hear this from me, but... What you do with your personal life is your business, but when it seeps into work...”

  Grabbing some napkins, I nod, now uncomfortable about my dick slip with the human version of a pair of scissors. “I know with Shasta... I mean, it was a one-time thing that shouldn’t have happened. I screwed up in the most literal way possible. But I’ll try not to let our drama or my kid get in the way of doing my job here.”

  Amos shakes his head. “No. Your daughter isn’t the problem. Actually, I’m still confused by the whole situation with Shasta and...”

  Forgetting about all the food in front of me that I’d rather be eating, I insist, “Let me reiterate that sucker. We are not, nor were we ever together.” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I mean, we were together one night, but not together, together. Make sense?” When he keeps staring at me with his beady eyes, lost in his abundance of cheeks, I say, “That ex-coworker and devil incarnate, Morgan, had pulled her little stunt at the Halloween party last year, and being at the hospital all night with... I had a shitty weekend. When Monday rolled around after I visited the hospital... I don’t know. I was miserable. I don’t even remember driving to her house. I-I just gave in to Shasta, Amos.” I look to the rest of my lonely sandwich on his desk, fucking agitated that I told my boss way too much. Where’s that head injury or decapitation?

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  I meet his gaze, now confused. “Afraid of what?”

  “Your focus. Your head’s not into becoming a lawyer because your heart is elsewhere.”

  “Jesus. Don’t go waxing lyrical on me. I just told you I don’t give two shits about Shasta.”

  “I know you don’t. But... Hadley. She’s a different story altogether.” Shit. He did not go there.

  I’m instantly on defense. “What about her?”

  Amos squints his eyes at me, an annoying trait when he’s focused himself. “You know what I’m talking about. Your relationship with her.”

  “We’re friends.” The worst phrase in the English language. I can’t look directly at the jackass when I say that. Just as Amos can see through me, I know that’s not the truth either.

  “I guess you’re her work husband, as they would say. But I think it’s more than that.” Not for her.

  I revert to my pubescent, 12-year-old self as I croak, “What makes you say that?”

  “You did. Your body language. You’re like reading a billboard—incidentally, similar to one Hadley’s actual husband graces all over Richmond.”

  I laugh since it’s the only motor function I have now. I’m so fucked. I can’t even run away. My goddamn office is on the other side of the door.

  Amos patiently waits for me to stop laughing. When I do, I say, “Shit. We all know him. You act as if I don’t know she’s married to him. I was there. I gave her away at her wedding.” One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, besides bringing the prick back to Richmond for Hadley. And I even had to bury my sister.

  He sighs, squeaking his chair, at least making me blink again. “Something changed. When she went through that tough breakup last summer with him, it looked like you grew closer to her, but then you two were fighting. We all knew about it here. Some of your coworkers overheard you arguing with Hadley at the reception desk.” Oh, yeah. Right. When I accused her of buying yard sale shoes while she regretted ever wanting to fuck me. That one still hurts.

  “Golly gee. I wonder who.” Shasta and Betsy are the worst bitches here now that Morgan is gone. There’s no way I’ll ever fuck Shasta again, and the only way I’d touch that skankwad Betsy is with an electric fence.

  The deeper he delves, the quieter Amos gets. “It doesn’t matter. We all know something’s going on between you and Hadley. It’s not just friendship. What you do is your business, really. I’m not going to scold you for what you do with your private life until it affects your professional life. Your career. I’m not into office gossip, but I am into your future with this firm. I want you to succeed. I want you to be focused. But you’re not, especially after what I just saw in the kitchen.”

  I laugh. “The kitchen? She was trying to make me feel better.” Shit. That’s no help.

  He has the nerve to chuckle. “I’m sure.” I make a face at Santa Claus’ head elf but don’t argue. Amos picks up a pen and watches himself drum it on his desk, as do I. Anything to escape this fucking conversation. This fucking office. This fucking planet. “I don’t spread gossip, but I do hear it. You seriously need to watch it, Rod. People are talking.”

  “I don’t give a damn what people say about me.” I only care that I look good flipping them the bird.

  “I get that, but that’s not the point. Your private business is the worst-kept secret in this office. Yet, I’m utterly confused by it all.”

  “What the hell does everyone know? It’s not like I’m taking over an anchor desk and broadcasting it all at noon.” Fucking hell on a stick. “Why is my personal life suddenly on display? You know who else Shasta is sleeping with, don’t you? I won’t even say our supreme leader’s name. Did you know Grant and Sylvie are banging each other? They’re both married. How about good old Betsy? She keeps a sex toy in her office. I hear it at least twice a week. It sounds like a garbage truck. Gloria! Gloria is barely separated from her husband, and she’s dating someone young enough to be her great-grandson. How about that one? You? Well, I heard you’re squeaky clean.” I have to save my ass somehow. Christ.

  Amos holds up his hand. “Yeah, I’ve heard it all. But they’re not my concern or my employees. You are. You’re my paralegal. It’s more than hearing the office gossip. It’s what I’ve seen. Your focus disappeared way before your daughter was born. Morgan had something to do with it. Val filled me in on some. But I think none of them are your focus. I think you have a serious problem with Hadley.”

  Goddamn it.

  As I morph into any given statue in downtown Richmond, staying silent, Amos sighs. “Look, Rod, we’re adults here. I don’t condone what you two are doing... It’s only my business at work. If you’re worried I’m feeding the rumor mill, think again. I don’t do that. Just... Be careful. She’s married now.”

  “Hold up. What exactly do you think I’m doing with Hadley?”

  When he looks back to me, he asks, “Are you and Hadley...more than friends?”

  Christ.

  I stare past him, focusing on the stupid artwork of a serene lake. I’m anything but fucking serene right now. I don’t want to admit to it, but I can’t deny it either. Whichever way, it’s not an answer I want to give. Hadley would be mortified if I didn’t tell the truth. Or even if I did. She wouldn’t want me to be talking about this at all with Amos. But I just can’t do it. I can’t deny she’s more to me than just my best friend. She’s my everything. That kills me, knowing she’s sleeping with another man every night because of me.

  Amos is right. After the night in her apartment’s parking lot, things forever changed. Another change occurred after my sister’s funeral. I showed up to Hadley’s hotel room, kissed her, practically soliciting her for sex, even using the death of my sister to guilt her. Hadley was unwillingly willing. How stupid does that sound? She said yes, and I kissed her some more as I coerced her to the bed. Being the fucking humanitarian I am, when she hesitated that millisecond, the weight of what I was asking her to do with me was too much. I hadn’t had sex in a tragic decade and the last time I did hadn’t been anything like I’ve led Hadley to believe. That night with her in the hotel room, I needed to forget it all and fu
ck Hadley over and over, savoring her, because I knew it wouldn’t go past that night. But I couldn’t even do that much. The guilt. The fear. They won out as they always do.

  We didn’t have sex, but for me, that’s not how it ended. I couldn’t even face Hadley in the morning because of what I did during the night.

  Manning up, I instead maintain eye contact in a shitty effort to not look guilty. It’s hard, but I handle it. What’s not hard is admitting to anything, either way. Let him think what he wants. They all do anyway.

  “Okay. If you won’t answer that, which you don’t even have to, answer me this: Why didn’t you start dating her when she was single?” Because I was third in the queue.

  I clear my throat but don’t back down. “I plead the Fifth.”

  Amos abnormally grins, making me queasy. “Good. I like that you won’t be swayed into incriminating your client and in your case—yourself. It’s a required skill to have as an attorney.” As I wallow in shame, guilt, rejection, and low-simmering anger, Amos says, “I carpooled to the funeral with Nico and Val. Later that night after we had stopped for dinner, Val wanted to check on Hadley at the hotel since she had been upset earlier at the wake. We saw your truck parked next to her car. I mean...” He shifts around like he wants to take off. The fucker should try before I choke him with his Jewbano.

  Hadley and I are close. Too close most of the time for my intake level. She’s always touchy-feely with me, just not the parts I want her to feel. I’ve known for a while now that most of the office thinks we’re having an affair. But it’s still kind of shocking to hear Amos believes it too. It doesn’t matter. Hadley and I have both denied it before, but no one listens. So, now, I just don’t care. If they think they know for a fact we’re fucking, then let them. It’s true, then. I can at least live out my fantasy vicariously through the office rumor mill, even if it’s a figment of all of our imaginations.