Rough Rider

by Harley Fox

“Yeah, it was … pretty good,” I say.

  “Pretty good?” she repeats, raising her eyebrows. “Better than with …” She glances at the break room door before lowering her voice. “With Craig?”

  A devilish smile comes over my lips.

  “Lindsay,” I say, “by the end of our relationship, I could have sworn Craig was a virgin all over again.”

  We both break out into giggles, and I cover my mouth to hide the laughter.

  “But this other guy, he was good, right?” Lindsay asks. I can tell she really wants details. I sigh.

  “He was better than good, Lindsay. He was … something else.”

  “And you guys just did it behind the bar? Did anybody see you?”

  I shake my head.

  “No. Although I don’t know if I would have cared if we did.”

  “Did you …” She lowers her voice again, so low I have to strain to hear it. “Did you have an orgasm?”

  And now I smile widely.

  “I haven’t come that hard in my life.”

  We both giggle again as Lindsay straightens up, her own cheeks flushed a bit now.

  “Wow,” she breathes. “I saw him before, you know, when we were buying drinks. But I never thought … I mean, I never figured … he just looked like a statue standing there, you know?”

  I nod.

  “So are you going to see him again?” she asks me. “Did you give him your number?”

  And here’s where my smile fades away. I shake my head.

  “No,” I tell her. “He, ah … he just kind of left, actually.”

  “Really?” Lindsay furrows her brow. “I didn’t see him come back through the bar.”

  “No, he left down the alley, back onto the street. I only just got his first name from him. He hardly talked at all.”

  “What is it?” she asks, and I smile again.

  “Jake.”

  “Jake,” she repeats. “He sounds hot.”

  “He is,” I say. “…He was.”

  “Hey, you’ll see him again,” she tells me. “Experiences like that don’t just happen out of the blue, okay?”

  But I shake my head.

  “Nah, I don’t think so. How am I supposed to see him again?”

  “Well, he was at that bar, right? Maybe he’ll be there again tonight!”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “He didn’t really seem to fit there in the first place. He had on jeans and a leather jacket, and he looked like he could eat ten pounds of striploin for breakfast.”

  Lindsay nods.

  “That is true.”

  “I don’t know why he was there, but … I mean, we had fun, and I should just leave it at that. At least now I know that decent sex does exist out there.”

  Lindsay and I both giggle again.

  “But hey,” I ask her. “What about you and those guys you were dancing with? Anything interesting happen?”

  Lindsay shakes her head.

  “Nah. They were all too young and eager. I actually left not long after you did. Just went home and went to bed.”

  I nod.

  “But anyways,” she says, pushing her chair back. “I should get back to work. I just wanted to hear about this guy.”

  “Yeah,” I say, doing the same. My mind wanders to him and the room goes silent for a moment as I’m lost in my reverie.

  “Hey,” Lindsay says, bringing me back to the present. I look at her, and she’s giving me a sympathetic look. “If it’s meant to be, you two will meet again. Okay?”

  I smile.

  “I shouldn’t dwell on it,” I say to her. “But thanks.”

  We leave the break room and I walk back to my desk, setting down my cup of coffee. I sit back down and wiggle my fingers, getting ready to finally type up these e-mails. Of course, not thirty seconds after I begin typing, Craig comes up to my desk and slaps a file folder down onto the backs of my hands.

  “We need you to do something,” he tells me, sitting down on my desk. Not even a “hello”.

  I give him a one-second glare and pick up the file folder. On the front is the PharmaChem logo, and inside is a typed sheet with a bunch of facts and figures. Behind that is a printed Google Map with directions underneath it. I only glance at it before Craig speaks again, pulling my attention back up to him.

  “You know how to drive?” he asks me. I glare at him again. We went camping together one time and I drove part of the way.

  “Yes, I know how to drive,” I tell him.

  “Good,” he says. “We need you to take one of the company cars and go try to convince someone to give up their lease so we can buy up the building.”

  “What?” I say. “You mean, like, evict someone from their home?”

  “No,” he says, already annoyed. “It’s this guy’s motorcycle repair shop. We do it all the time. We need to level a building so we can build a plant there, but this guy still has his lease. We need you to offer to pay him off for it.”

  “Oh,” I say, and open the file folder again, looking at the write-up at the bottom. “Two thousand dollars? That’s what we’re offering him?”

  “His lease is done at the end of three months and we talked to the landlord who agreed he’ll raise it as incentive to get this guy out. We just need access to that part of the building so we can begin surveying the place. Look, it’s not hard work, okay?” He looks me in the eye, looking like he’s trying to explain this to a five-year old. “Scumbag owns a bike shop. Rent’s gonna go up. He’s probably a drug addict who’ll eat his own shit for a wad of cash, so you’ll be done in half an hour. Comprende?”

  I wrinkle my nose at him.

  “Why do you want me to do it?”

  “Because you’re the temp and you get assigned the shit jobs,” he tells me. “And because … I told my dad this would be a good way for you to show the company that you have a place here.”

  I raise my eyebrows, and Craig smiles at me.

  “You do want to work here, don’t you?” he asks me. “If you do this and don’t fuck it up, then you’ll have a fighting chance of staying on with us beyond next week. Now, do you want the job or not?”

  I swallow. I don’t relish the idea of driving down there on my own — I’ve heard bad things about that part of the city — but I need to show him that I’m worth a damn. So I nod.

  “Okay,” I say to him. “I’ll go.”

  “Good,” he says, and he gets up off my desk. I stand up and smooth out my skirt, but out of the corner of my eye I see Craig come around my desk. I raise my head and already he’s in front of me. I can’t help but gasp, he’s so close.

  “One more thing,” he says, in a voice low enough only I can hear. “I had to pull some strings to get you this assignment, okay? I had to take time out of my busy day to convince my dad to let you do it. You do this well and impress my dad … and you owe me. You got that?”

  I swallow, trying not to grimace.

  “What do you want?” I ask him, and his lips curl up into a sneer that makes me want to throw up.

  “I want to feel you on my cock again.”

  The words sound so final to my ears, and even the rest of the office seems to have gone quiet. My heart drops in my chest as Craig takes a step back, that disgusting smile still on his face.

  “You should go now,” he tells me. “Before I change my mind.”

  So, trying to keep myself from shaking, I grab my purse and the file folder and leave, walking past Craig, not giving him a second glance. I walk over to the elevators and press the button to go down. When the elevator doors open up I step inside and turn around. And I see Craig still standing at my desk, still smiling at me. I ignore him as the doors close and I start my descent.

  Immediately I let out a sob as I wrap my arms around myself.

  Damn Craig! Damn him damn him damn him!

  That fucking bastard … he knows how much I need this job, and now the only way I can keep it is by getting back together with him? That fucking piece of shit! I only
wish there was something I could do to show everyone what a bastard he is. I wish I could out him somehow … but of course Will would never hear of it. Hell, that old fart probably gave Craig the idea.

  The elevator stops and I straighten myself back up. Once the doors open I step out into the concrete prison that is underground parking. Off to the side is a little protected glass booth with the security guard inside. He’s the one who holds the keys to all the company cars. I walk over to him, my high heels clacking loudly on the concrete floor.

  I approach the booth window and give it a few taps. The guard, reading a book in his chair, lifts his tired eyes to me. I see him sigh, slowly mark the page in his book and put it down, then slide open the window.

  “Yeah?” he says, his voice sounding as grizzled as he looks.

  “Um, I need to take a company car?” I tell him, not really sure what to say. I’ve never done this before.

  The man sighs. “Name and company ID?”

  “Uh, Merryn Wellington?” I say, and I fish around in my purse for my company ID. When I hand it to him he takes it and turns slowly in his chair, looking at the ID and typing my name into his computer. I watch his screen as my picture comes up and he gives a slow nod. He reaches underneath the desk and pulls out a lock box, which he opens with a key around his neck. Inside are several keys and key fobs, and he pulls one of them out and places it onto the desk, on top of my ID. Then he locks the box again, stows it underneath the desk, and picks up the key fob and my ID. Then, spinning back in his chair to face me again, he hands them to me.

  “It’s the blue Corolla parked in C32,” he tells me in his old voice.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Have a great day.”

  He doesn’t respond as he slides the window shut, and I see him pick up his book again.

  I leave the booth and walk toward lot C, scanning the cars for a blue Corolla. I finally spot it and double-check the license plate against the one attached to the key fob. They match, so I walk to the driver’s side door and get in.

  Once I close the door behind me I take a deep breath and let it out. I start up the car and pull out of the parking lot, then leave the underground parking and drive out into the bright sunshine. I pull up to my first red light and use the opportunity to take out the map and directions, reading them over, making sure I know where I’m going. Once I’m oriented and the light goes green I drive again, moving farther away from PharmaChem with each passing second.

  What am I doing? I think to myself in the silence of the car. Do I really want this job that badly? Do I really want to give up my free will to that disgusting pig of a man just because I can’t stand the thought of being unemployed?

  The real problem here isn’t Craig; it’s PharmaChem. PharmaChem is the largest company in this city, and is basically our economy’s lifeblood. If I had applied for a job there on my own, I would have found myself down in one of the plants or warehouses making minimum wage and working 12-hour shifts. As it is now, I’m getting paid more than double that for a job where I can sit at a desk in an air-conditioned office and work on a computer all day. And that’s what I want, isn’t it?

  Isn’t it?

  That’s what I wanted going into college, at least. That’s what I wanted when I graduated. But now that I’ve actually been doing it for six months, I don’t know if it’s something I really want to do anymore.

  And that scares me.

  Because if I give up on this then it leaves me with nothing. Before, six months before, I knew where I was going in life. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and I happened to meet a guy who could give me that thing.

  But now that I don’t — if I don’t — want that anymore, then what do I want? Where exactly am I headed in life?

  And the answer is: I don’t know.

  And that’s scary, because being lost is scary to me. Not knowing how I want my life to turn out is scary to me. Would I rather give up my happiness just to cling to something familiar, even if I know that something isn’t what I want in life?

  The answer to that might be: yes.

  But I don’t want it to be yes! I don’t want to just roll over and give in. To be willing to say to PharmaChem, Oh yes, please, just do what you want with me. Fuck me in the ass, I won’t complain. I’ll be your perfect little lap dog, just so long as you keep paying me money!

  I envy those girls who can fly off to Europe at a moment’s notice, or give up their careers to go live in ecovillages in Thailand. I wish I had the strength to do something like that. But the other side of quitting your job is a black void that, frankly, scares the hell out of me. And I don’t know if I’m ready to step into that void just yet.

  I pull up to another red light and double-check the directions to make sure I know where I’m going. I can’t help but notice that as I’ve been driving the neighborhood has slowly been changing around me. I live in the other direction so I haven’t been around here before. But like I said, I’ve heard bad things about this part of the city.

  The light turns green and I keep going, then make a left at the next light. I watch as the buildings around me become more and more derelict. The variety of stores whittles down to the bare essentials, and then past that down to empty shells, For Lease signs posted on the front. Even the people on the sidewalks seem to change, their clothing becoming dirtier, their eyes becoming angrier or more suspicious. Some of them watch me as I drive by, their penetrating stares making me want to shrink down in my seat.

  I see the light ahead of me change from green to yellow and my heartbeat picks up. It flicks to red and I slow down to a stop. None of the cars surrounding me look as nice as the one I’m driving, I can tell you that. I see people crossing the street crane their heads to look at me. Without trying to seem conspicuous, I move my hand over and power lock the doors, then make sure all the windows are rolled up.

  The light turns green and I start to drive away. Not too much farther now, I tell myself. I glance at the map. Just a left at this next light and down a bit. I change into the middle lane and take a left at the light, immediately finding myself on a much narrower road and the street housing my destination.

  As I drive along I find myself feeling more and more sandwiched by the buildings on either side. It’s as though the street itself is narrowing. I count along with the address numbers as they climb higher and higher. Finally I see the one I want and I pull up to park next to the curb. It’s the one with the open garage door, where the staccatoed illumination of sparks tells me my man is there. Turning off the engine I take a breath to steady myself, then grab the file folder and my purse and get out, locking the car door behind me.

  This neighborhood seems grungy, but at least there aren’t people around to stare at me. I feel wildly overdressed, and wish I had chosen something to wear other than my skirt, blouse, and high heels. But still, I’m representing PharmaChem so I need to act professional. I walk across the sidewalk and into the garage.

  It smells like oil and sweat and man in here. On the bare concrete, about fifteen feet from the door, sits a motorcycle with someone crouched down behind it. I can just see the top of a welding mask as sparks fly off the machine, spraying all over the ground.

  I clear my throat to get his attention, but it doesn’t seem to work. He can’t hear me. So I take a few more steps toward him and open my mouth to speak.

  “Excuse me,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the loud crackling. “Are you the owner here?”

  The sound of the welding stops and I see the visor lift up a bit as the man looks at me. I can’t see his eyes, only a black strip of glass, but I smile at it nonetheless. He seems to freeze as we look at each other.

  “Hi there,” I say, trying to sound friendly. “Are you the owner? I’d like to talk with you a second.”

  It’s as though he doesn’t hear me. I pause for a second, still smiling, and I’m about to repeat myself when I hear the clatter of the welding torch as he puts it down on the concrete floor. Good, I think to mysel
f. Now we can get this underway.

  But when he lifts himself up, all thought leaks out of my mind like water out of a sieve. He stands up, and up, finally reaching his full height, more than a foot taller than me. I still can’t see his face but I recognize that chest, and those arms. He’s not wearing his leather jacket but his white t-shirt sticks to his muscular body like it’s been painted on. I see for the first time that he has tattoos.

  My breath catches in my throat. I can’t speak, I can’t think. He lifts a hand to the bottom of his welding mask and pulls it off in one fluid motion. And there, standing in front of me, is the man I’m supposed to try to bribe two thousand dollars so my company can demolish his bike shop. He also happens to be the man who fucked me better than anyone has in my life.

  Standing in front of me is Jake.

  Jake

  This day couldn’t possibly get worse.

  First off, I wake up to find Emily still pissed off at me for last night. I tried apologizing and made her eggs like she likes them, but still she didn’t talk all during breakfast. Then, as she’s cleaning up, I get a call from Larry, the landlord of my shop, telling me the rent’s going up. By a lot. I try arguing with him, and telling him he’s only allowed to raise it a certain amount each year. He tells me to call a lawyer and hangs up on me.

  Now I’m out here, welding back together this shitty bike that some punk kid almost skidded off the road and creamed into a mother and her two kids. Luckily no one was hurt, but he wants me to fix it up so he can go back to his joyriding. And while typically I’d tell him to go fuck himself I need the money now, so I took the job.

  The only thing that’s making this day even remotely tolerable is remembering the incredible sex from last night.

  In fact, let’s rewind to last night for a moment, shall we?

  I left Chain Gang looking for a place to just escape and unwind for a bit. Maybe try to catch some hot tail, but really I just needed somewhere I didn’t have to worry about things like Emily or The Bullets.

  I decided I’d check out this bar down on Brooklyn Avenue — the new place that just opened up. Usually I’m not one for new places. You get a lot of young yuppie types trying to cop-a-feel their way into somebody’s pants. Not really my scene. But something made me go there anyway.