Relentless

by Mike McCrary

“You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look like shit.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I’ll take the meeting.”

  “You sure, guy?”

  “I’ll do the fucking meeting, Todd,” Davis says with way more bite than he intended.

  “Well.” Todd leans back. He smiles, impressed by the sudden fire in his partner. “Well okay then.” He holds his fist out for a bump.

  Davis gives it to him with zero life to the gesture.

  11

  Davis sits in the office lobby.

  His black workbag rests on his knees, which are bouncing up and down with manic, nervous energy. He can’t help but feel like a kid waiting to see the principal.

  The guy at the desk said it would be a few minutes, that they were wrapping up another meeting and it shouldn’t long. Said things were a little crazy this morning.

  Yeah, no shit, thinks Davis.

  His heart is racing. He hates this. Presenting. The selling of things. Makes him feel dirty. Like a used car salesman pushing shitty hunks of metal on innocent people. Davis just wants to make things and have them go out into the world. He just wants to do good things. And if they make a few bucks? Even better. Actually, he hopes they make more than a few bucks. He knows he is more idealist than capitalist, but he’s also not naive about the need for money in this life. He knows the world needs both. The dreamers and money-minded are both essential to keeping the whole machine running.

  “Davis?” asks an older man walking toward him. His hair is cut close to the skull, with hip glasses and casual yet high-priced jeans and untucked shirt.

  “Yes.” Davis gets up. As he does, his bag drops to the floor. He clumsily kicks it, then picks it up, trying to be cool about it.

  He’s not.

  “You find the place okay?” the hip older man asks, shaking his hand.

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Good. Good,” says the hip older man as he shows Davis toward a glass-walled conference room just down the hall from the lobby.

  Davis’s phone buzzes. He checks it. It’s a text from Justin.

  hate being ignored. U owe me $$$.

  Davis’s heart pumps a little faster now.

  As he looks up from the phone, he sees they’ve turned the corner, entering into the large conference room. It’s like a giant fish bowl, with not a single solid wall to provide an ounce of privacy from the rest of the office. Inside the room is a long table that seats five on each side. Each side is filled with men and women, each more intimidating than the other. It’s a packed house.

  The hip older man takes his seat at the end of the table, making the room count now eleven people staring back at Davis. Waiting to be impressed. Hoping to be blown away by Davis. This intimidating collection of women and men are looking at him, waiting to be dazzled by whatever he’s about to say.

  Davis fumbles the phone into his pocket. He wants to run away, to hide.

  They keep staring at him, waiting. Wanting.

  Davis sets his bag down, feeling sweat from his neck sliding down the middle of his back.

  “Can I have some water, please?”

  Outside the building, Davis sits on the curb with his bag sitting next to him in the street.

  He’s sweating like a hog. At least they gave him another bottle of water before they politely told him they were pressed for time.

  Things are a little crazy today.

  He guzzles down the bottle while trying to find something positive to take away from the meeting he completely blew only minutes ago. Replays the meeting over and over again in his head looking for something to cling to. He sees it all so clearly. Every tortuous moment he spent in front of them. Their faces. Their half-hearted questions as they looked at their phones. Their complete disinterest. Davis beats himself up over and over again as the movie replays, reliving his failure in a constant loop.

  His stomach twists. His shoulders inch up closer and closer to his ears.

  His phone buzzes.

  “No,” he says softly.

  It buzzes again. It’s a call. Davis doesn’t want to look. He waits for the call to go to voice mail. Knowing he can’t let it go, he checks the call. He breathes a sigh of relief that it’s not Justin at least. Thank God.

  There are three missed calls from Todd however.

  He knows I’m in a meeting. He set it up for Christ’s sake.

  Davis has to call Todd back. There’s no avoiding this. No sugarcoating the disaster that just happened in that conference room. After his performance during the LA meetings, he needs to get in front of this one with Todd while he can.

  He calls Todd.

  “What the fuck, Davis?” Todd screams before Davis can get a word out.

  “I know—”

  “You charged how much to the company in LA?” Todd asks. “On the corporate card? You lost your damn mind?”

  Davis almost drops the phone.

  “There’s one for a grand, another for eight hundred and another for… Jesus, man.”

  Davis thinks as fast as he can, spinning through the trip, the places he went and amounts. He purposely avoided using the company card as much as possible. He has no idea what those charges are for or where they came from, but he can guess who was involved.

  Justin. Had to be Justin, but when?

  Davis’s head scrambles for a rational excuse to serve up to Todd, something to feed him in order get through this until he can figure out what’s going on.

  “My card was stolen,” Davis spits out.

  “Bullshit.”

  “No. You can call them—”

  “Davis.”

  “You have to talk to them. They—”

  “I already called them.”

  Davis feels himself fall away, fumbling over himself in the moment. It was the tone Todd used, the way he said it. Like Davis was a pathetic child who had no chance of lying his way out of anything.

  Davis pauses. Resets.

  “Todd, I noticed it was missing while I was in the cab to the airport. Not sure when I lost it, or when it was stolen.” Davis keeps talking, creating the narrative on the fly, letting the lies pour down like rain. “I didn’t need it to check out of the hotel. I used my personal card for that. I didn’t use it at the bar. I was buying drinks for myself and put those on my personal card too. I couldn’t find it when I wanted to pay for the cab. I called the card company while I was in the security line at LAX. They must have screwed up and not registered my call.”

  There’s silence on Todd’s end of the call. The silence of someone processing.

  “Dude,” Todd finally says. “You had a really bad trip to the coast, didn’t you?”

  Davis exhales. Unclenches his fists.

  “Get some rest,” Todd says. “I’m not going to ask about your meeting today.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I already heard. So… yeah, let’s just leave at that.”

  Davis can feel the frustration from the other end of the phone. He thinks about saying something about the meeting, something positive in the way of an excuse, but he decides he’s lied enough to the man for one day.

  He ends the call, but as he does he sees two new texts. Davis holds his breath.

  The first one is from Chase Fraud Alert for his personal credit card.

  Text YES if you authorized a charge for $5,000 to JRFUNINC.

  The second text is from Hattie.

  Do you know what JR FUN INC is?!?

  12

  “What the hell is all that?” Hattie asks.

  Davis shuts the door, sets his bag down.

  “Want to let me in on where five grand went to in LA? Five grand we both know we do not have?” she presses.

  “My card was stolen,” Davis says. “I’ve called the credit card company.”

  Hattie looks down. “What does the fun in JR FUN INC stand for?”

  “Hattie—”

  “No, real
ly. Explain it to me.”

  “Again, my card was stolen. I have no clue what that even is.”

  Hattie takes a beat, regains her cool, and tries again. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”

  “It was a miserable trip. I guess I didn’t want to go through it all again.”

  “Why didn’t you cancel the card when you found out it was stolen?”

  “I did.” Davis moves closer to her. “I just went through all of this with Todd too. The corporate card was taken too.”

  He's finding it easy to be convincing because every part of that last sentence is true. He’s told this story once, so a glossy feeling of false truth is starting take hold. A half-lie is the same as a half-truth. Even as he convinces himself he’s doing the right thing, there is a heaviness in his chest as he talks to her. His subconscious is working him over.

  The guilt is mounting.

  The lies are piling up high in a hurry.

  Hattie looks into her husband’s eyes. She’s suspicious, he can tell, but her desire to believe him is so strong she pushes the suspicion aside. For the moment, at least. She nods.

  “They’re going to clear the five grand off the card?”

  “Yes, they told me they would. Might take a couple of days though.”

  Davis makes a quick calculation in his head. He can use what’s left of their savings to pay off the five thousand, but he’ll have to make that up somehow. She’ll be checking the card online, he knows, and it will show as a payment rather than a credit by the card company. That part he can figure out later. Right now, he’s backed into a corner and he has to claw his way out any way he can.

  Think.

  The charges might be his. He can’t prove they aren’t, even though he doesn’t remember making any of them. Doesn’t mean he didn’t authorize it all. He doesn’t know.

  Think.

  The call with Justin is becoming more and more inevitable.

  He looks into Hattie’s eyes, hoping she’ll find a way to let this go. At least long enough for him to try and make it right. He just needs some time. More time to work it all through.

  “Okay,” Hattie says, letting her shoulders relax. “I’m sorry. I lost it. I just saw the text and panicked. The amount? The money, you know? That stuff still freaks me the hell out.”

  Davis nods. He knows how their past financial problems still weigh heavily on her. They drag him down too from time to time, but she’s always been the more responsible of the two of them. The smarter of the two, if he’s being honest.

  “I’m sorry too,” he says.

  She smiles, gliding closer to him. “What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything.”

  Davis swallows hard and forces a smile. “I should have told you about it. All of it.”

  “It’s okay. Let’s drop it.” Hattie wraps her arms around his neck. “The girls won’t be home for a while.”

  “Yeah.” His mind is swimming, not getting what she’s saying at all.

  “Yeah? That’s all you’ve got?” Hattie grabs his face, forcing his full attention, and repeats her words for clarity’s sake. “The girls won’t be home for a while.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  She kisses him softly. It takes him a second to let go of all that’s happened, but he returns the kiss, allowing it all to melt away for the time being.

  “You okay?” she asks, scrunching her nose. “We don’t have to.”

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s been a messed-up couple of days.”

  “You sure that’s it?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  She kisses him again, then leads him by the hand upstairs.

  13

  Hattie and Davis lie in bed catching their breath.

  Slight glean of sweat. Heads fuzzy. Post-sex hazy smiles on their faces, the midday sun peeking through the blinds. Davis holds her hand, then looks to her. She winks and laughs like a teenager.

  “See,” she says, “everything’s better.”

  Davis can’t help but smile. He stops just short of cracking a make-up sex joke.

  Looking to his wife, the memories of all they’ve done together rush into his head like a welcomed stampede. As he touches her face, he allows himself to appreciate where he is, what he has, and if only for a second, who he is.

  He forces down the thoughts of Justin. Of Todd. Of LA.

  “We should do this more,” she says, turning on her side and facing him.

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  “Should we put it on our calendars?”

  “Jesus.”

  “I could.” She giggles. “I’ll send you an invite.”

  “Organizational Orgasms Review?”

  “I’ll bullet point positions and areas for improvement.”

  He shoves her. She laughs. It’s a special laugh she gets when she really thinks something is funny. Davis gets lost in her eyes. Watching her laugh is one of his favorite things in life. He kisses her softly while lightly touching her back. Hattie releases a satisfied purr of a moan. With her mouth still close to his she says, “You trying to go again, sailor?”

  “Please, this ain’t college. There’s no keg here.”

  Hattie breaks up. So does he.

  “You know what would make this even better?” Hattie asks.

  “What?” he asks, knowing damn well what’s heading his way.

  “Ice cream,” she whispers sweetly. “Chocolate peanut butter.”

  Davis rolls his eyes then looks back at her. She giggles with a snort then covers her nose. He starts to laugh too, then stops.

  Tilley’s face flashes in his mind. He shakes his head.

  “What?” Hattie asks, pulling back off his sudden break in expression. “You okay?”

  Davis blinks. “Yeah, no I’m fine. Thought I was going to sneeze or something.”

  “Okay.” She giggles again, pauses, then asks, “About that ice cream?”

  “Yes, stolen,” Davis says on the phone with the bank.

  “Looks like there are several charges in Los Angeles.”

  “Yes, that’s where I lost the card.”

  “We might not be able to reverse them all, but we will research the issue.”

  “Please do. I’d really appreciate it.”

  Davis drives with a small pile of credit cards stacked in the passenger seat. He’s working his way through them while making his way to the store for ice cream. He has no idea how many Justin has infected with charges, so he’s decided to call them all.

  “Thank you.” He hangs up as he parks his car. Davis feels a slight swell of pride over his small victory. Maybe he can get out of a few of the charges Justin rolled up on him. That’s something at least. At this point Davis will take all the wins he can get, no matter the size.

  Inside the store the dull murmur of nineties pop hits provides a soundtrack.

  Davis slow-rolls his cart past the tall glass cases while he considers his ice cream options. The cold from the refrigerated section feels nice after the stress of the credit card conversation, and his perfect afternoon delight with Hattie. She said she wanted peanut butter and chocolate, not a shock, but he knows damn well it’s not just a carton of peanut butter and chocolate. She’s a big fan of the pro move of buying one pint of chocolate and one of peanut butter and then mixing them together at home. It’s her thing, therefore it’s his thing as well. He hates to admit, but it is better. He grabs a pint of each.

  As he does, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.

  He feels eyes watching him.

  Studying him.

  Spinning around, he finds nothing. No one is there.

  Only an empty aisle and bad music. It’s early afternoon on a weekday and the store as a whole is fairly empty. Davis looks down each side of the aisle, but doesn’t see anyone. He knows he felt something, though. He also knows it’s been a long couple of days. He’s been through the ringer and he’s drained and stressed beyond reason. Maybe
he can let himself off the hook a little bit.

  Shaking it off, he tells himself that he’s only being paranoid. The vision of Tilley, the feeling like people are spying on him, they’re all symptoms of what’s happened to him. It’s not real. Things are getting better. The noose, the one he’s felt getting tighter and tighter ever since LA, is loosening.

  If he can get a few of the charges reversed and work with Todd to get the business back on track, then maybe this will all be an unfortunate memory. He still feels guilty for the things he’s told Hattie, but he did what he had to do. Would telling her about Justin, about Tilley, about any of it, would that make her feel any better? Would any of that make her feel any more secure about their financial situation?

  No.

  He never wants to put her through a money rollercoaster like that ever again.

  I did what I had to do by not telling her.

  Not proud of it, but it’s been a necessary evil.

  Davis knows he’s a good guy. Far from perfect, but he’s been a good husband and a good father. He’s never lied to her before, not really. Never about anything serious. Never had a reason to, and this is a one-time thing, he tells himself. A bandage placed on what could have opened up into a very large and unmanageable wound. One that might not ever heal.

  Davis’s arm locks up straight as his cart stops as if it had brakes.

  He looks up.

  An attractive woman has both hands planted on the front of his cart, holding it tight, blocking him from moving forward. She’s young, early twenties maybe, with fire-red hair, green eyes and a diamond-pierced nose. She cocks her head like a cocker spaniel then clucks her tongue, giving a dead stare into Davis’s eyes.

  He doesn’t recognize her, but it seems she knows him.

  “Hi,” she says.

  Davis swallows big. “Hello? Can I help you?”

  The green-eyed beauty lets her eyes slip down to the contents of the cart. “You went with the mixing thing.” She rubs her fingertips over the frosty ice cream pints, then licks her finger. “Smart boy.”

  Fear spikes deep inside of Davis. “Do I know you?”