Over lunch, food cart on the plaza court, Eddie leans in,
the way he does, and you know something unseemly is creeping in his mind. He
smacks his food loudly, often with drips or bits dangling from his lips,
resulting in stains on his shirt or lap. Dirt. He’s about to spread some shit about someone. Eddie is not to be
trusted. I learned the lesson the hard way, yet he denies it to this day. So,
no more ‘personal’ facts offered, because if you do, you know it comes back, to
You. It was a cruel trait and
from a foul soul with whom I’d probably never communicate except we’ve been
co-joined by executive order, and seem to be quite productive, given their
quarterly reports.
So…(smack,
smack)…Have you met Taylor?
Taylor?
That
tall, angular, fellow…
Bow
Tie! Yes! The witty asshole. Junior exec…Harvard?…Yale?
That’s
the one. He’s on the fast track, alright. A magician, too! So fucking smug and
cheery, he farts flowers, I’ll bet.
Or
playing cards…
White
Doves!
Yes-ss-s…white
doves! (walllaaahhh!) - gesturing jazz hands to the sky.
He
IS a smartass alright. Quite the showman….but you gotta wonder ‘why?’ Why the
chirpy show if he’s so brilliant?
We await the lift in the lobby. Our conversation suspended
for the time being, due to echoes and you never know.... It finally arrives. We enter and have the car to ourselves.
Gotta
wonder, is all I’m saying. Damn strange..
.
They
say he’s smart alright…brilliant maybe…but if that’s the case, what’s with all
the buffoonery?…the razzmatazz?
Don’t
have clue. Wonder if he’s screwing the boss’s son.
No!
Duncan?!?….no. Cut it out. That’s disgusting. Duncan is barely fourteen…
Nooo.
Not Duncan. Stacy, the eight year old.
Stop!
Now you’re overstepping your bounds. First you assume he’s gay, and then a
pedophile. Not founded, cruel, and certainly, Not funny. Don’t start…
Okay,
okay.You are right and I am sorry. I was out-of-line…not a humorous topic. But
still…boyish charm…
Cut
the crap, Eddie. This is not a rumor you want to be spreading, especially
harmful to both parties…to all parties.
I heard he entertained at the kid’s birthday party. But
you’re saying there were no ‘private’ parties going on…??
That’s
the point. So, stop. Nobody’s business, so don’t make up shit.
Ok,
but you see what I mean…?
Oh…Yes.
Well, it’s just that all that cute & clever ‘chappy’ crap never washed with
me, too…but draw the line...
At
this point the elevator door opened as we arrived at our floor and naturally
who would meet us? That’s right, Taylor himself. But Taylor didn’t look his
usual self. He looked to be in shock. His expression blank, his eyes rimmed red
and wet, even his bowtie drooped, when it’s always drawn tight. It was readily
apparent that he’d hoped the car would be empty, but there we stood in our
awkward triangulation. He was holding back...
Taylor?
You alright?
“Nah,” was his reply, just a syllable left dangling, and so
out-of-character.
“You
headed down?” He stared for a sec,
but rather than respond, he simply pointed up. I thought I witnessed a quiver,
a rattle in his bones.
“Got
to get back to the desk, excuse me.”
My ride partner blurted, rushing past, out to the floor, and gone.
“Taylor,
old man, are…are you alright?”
“…best
I can.” He muttered.
The doors now
grown impatient for being held too long, started to buckle forward and back as
if to say, “Make up your mind, Jack.”
“C’mon
I’ll ride you up. You headed to see the Old Man?”
“No.
Thanks. We just talked. Just need a break…some air...”
“I…”
“Please.
Hyperventilating…just…a need to breathe…”
I stepped out as he entered. I had barely turned, as the
doors, behind schedule, and trying to make up, whisked shut. Before, they did, I
caught a glimpse of him pounding the button panel, then gone.
A half hour later, Rosemarie Walsh rushed from her window
office into the pool room, unable to get the words out, but panic filled her
eyes and she pointed outside. We responded en masse, peering down from above,
aghast at the figure below.
You fucker….
No one understood my meaning, but immediately Eddie sensed
my seething, very quickly fleeing, but I caught him in the john, cowering, and
beat the shit out of him before leaving. For good.
