Preview of "Saved by Zero," a Novel by Ray Van Horn, Jr. Chapter 6

                            

                     Chapter 6, Saved by Zero

 

Let me move straight to the 9:00 a.m. office meeting since you undoubtedly already have a picture inside your mind of the wrinkled, slightly funky wardrobe that added to my rumpled appearance.  I’d downed two cups of coffee from the office Keurig, the last ones I’d ever consume there, but really it was winding thoughts of Allana that kept my thrusters going.  I was in as pleasant a mood as you could be, at least for the first forty-minutes of the day before an interoffice email blast summoned the entire staff together in the executive conference room.

The meeting room was the length of two presidential suites, and it could feel intimidating (or welcoming if grandiose is your style) even under normal circumstances.  A lot of major commercial deals had gone down in it and even a handful of press conferences over the years.  Yet for its intended swagger, it was nowhere near enough to gather a hundred-fifty-plus people comfortably, not for what would be the final assemblage of First Federal of Baltimore as we knew it.

I’ll skip Chuck Vaughn’s awkward preamble and vain attempt to patch our spirits in advance of his bad news.  If you’ve ever experienced a layoff, you know what I’m talking about that an overhead view of the proceedings reveals far more squeamishness from the deliverer of the death stroke than the recipients.  Chuck’s pale, sweaty skin told me he’d probably puked before calling everyone together and I sort of felt bad for him.  Then again, I looked beneath the cherry wood conference table that seemed to stretch ad infinitum and tried not to laugh at the joke I’d told Allana about being a master of duck and cover. 

In some ways, I welcomed the termination that came since hunky dory was the most exuberant I ever felt working there, but I also knew that I was suddenly in a precarious position after having thrown down at my wife by staying out all night.  By such actions, I’d declared open war on our marriage.  I knew Allana was someone I wanted to know deeper and to hopefully begin a relationship with.  With no job, however, I wasn’t in much of a position to follow through on my tailspun emotions, the most dizzying being those which pestered me to be rid of Donna. 

At least for a few lingering moments as everyone skulked out of the conference room with shattered expressions and crimson, tear-slicked cheeks, I felt every bit as defeated as my former co-workers did.  To his credit, Chuck was man enough to stand in there and shake hands, give out hugs and offer his apologies now that First Federal of Baltimore was going to become Buckley Savings & Loan without the majority of its principals.  Chuck would be staying on with Buckley to oversee the transition of the teller lines on the main level and to act as the nucleus of public relations for the Baltimore market on behalf of his new sovereigns.  He got to keep his title but I’m not quite sure he kept all of his pride.  I once passed him on the street at a later point when my life had been further shaken to the core and Chuck looked even worse than I did.

Without thinking, I sent Allana a text message to pass along my news while I packed up.  I never made the attempt to reach Donna since my anxiety at facing her was growing at a rapid pace.  I was going to have to explain my actions of the night before, but now I had to tell her I was unemployed once again on top of it.  As nauseous as I felt then, it was a mere tummy tickle compared to what I was going to face down the road.

Allana responded faster than I expected her to.

“I’m sorry to hear it.  I’ll see if my boss knows of any opportunities out there.  If you find yourself heading towards home in the lunch hours, I’d be happy to meet up with you.  If you have one handy, bring a resume.” 

As duplicitous as I no doubt sound, I found a box of paper near one of the copiers and emptied the last two reams from its cardboard case onto the floor, then packed my belongings into it.  I did this with an unexpected grin on my face.  Selfish, perhaps, I was oblivious to the stupefied sadness and seething resentment all around me.  People were exchanging their email addresses and cell numbers and embracing one another in the midst of this corporate holocaust.  To me, it had become something of a perverse routine made easier this time knowing that I could see Allana again.  Besides, I didn’t really have any close friends at First Federal, no one beyond those people I was only cordial with or whom I’d shared inconsequential blathering with in the break room.  It was never what I considered a very social atmosphere to begin with, not unless you held a title.  In the endgame phase of their takeover, though, Buckley Savings & Loan had proven that titles got you out the door as fast as everyone else save for Chuck and his superiors.

I’m glad I’d texted Allana even though I wouldn’t keep our unconfirmed lunch appointment.  By then, I would be too shell-shocked and startled beyond mention to see her.  If I hadn’t sent the text, Allana might’ve misconstrued my absence that afternoon as a change of heart.  In faster time than I could ever imagine, I not only craved her, I would soon need her, particularly once I arrived at my truck and found my wife sitting in the passenger seat.

“Jesus!” I exclaimed when I’d opened the driver’s side door and found Donna’s glaring pupils from the opposite end.  I cursed myself for having made her a copy of the key to the truck.  I cursed myself for a lot of things right then and there that applied to Donna.

 “You didn’t answer my calls,” she began with a low rumble.  “You didn’t respond to my texts, either.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, as if I had the right to any entitlement.  This was a side I never knew existed in Donna, but I’d now been introduced the to the stalker part in her and frankly, I felt terrorized as much as I felt violated.  “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I have the leave,” she snarled.  “You bastard.”

“I can’t do this right now, Donna,” I said in retreat mode, holding onto my box of stuff with a tighter grip than I might’ve otherwise.  I hadn’t climbed into the truck, nor was I going to with her still inside.

“Get in, you coward,” Donna fumed at a louder pitch.

“We’re not doing this now,” I said through my teeth.  “As you can see, I no longer work here.  I’d like to go sulk in private for a few hours before I take you on.”

“No shit you no longer work here!  They announced on the 11:00 news last night your bank was officially merged.  You would’ve known about it if you’d have bothered to come home!  I took a good guess you’d be leaving the office early today.  When it comes to you and jobs, I always expect the worst.  Of all the unstable professions you could’ve chosen…”

“Get bent, Donna!” I yelled, caring nothing about the dumbstruck stragglers who’d been my co-workers moping towards their cars in the garage. 

“Randy, I was sick worrying about you all night!  I was about to call the cops since I thought something serious had happened to you!   Why couldn’t you call me back?   I lost an entire night’s sleep over you!  Caitlin’s scared, too, you thoughtless prick!”

“Donna, you’ve already crossed the line.  This, I don’t know what to call it.  If you’re off from work today, then go hire a lawyer if you can find one who works cheap.”

“What are you saying?” Donna said in a challenging, even louder tone.

“I want out.”

“What?!?” she screeched at such a high timbre a few people looked overtop the roofs of their cars to see what was going on.  “I’m sorry for hitting you the night before, but…”      

“But nothing!” I shouted.  “You want to make a big scene right here and right now?  Okay, then!  I’m sick of your abuse and I want a divorce!” 

“Oh, how dare you…” Donna whispered, then her face flushed into a rage that she unleashed out of my truck.  Her projection punctured the industrial choke inside the garage and reverberated like a hundred rimshots as one.  “You’re sick of my abuse?  Forget how you’ve all but abandoned me and Caitlin!  I haven’t had a husband in who knows when and she sure as hell hasn’t had a daddy, not one who gives much of a damn about her!”

“Then we having nothing to salvage, do we?” I taunted her.  “You went too far the other night and I’m not taking…”

“I said I was sorry!” Donna screamed. 

“I’m going to call Vince and see if I can shack up with him awhile.  When we both calm down, then we can…”

“You worm!” she interrupted me.  “You have no job and you have the balls to drop a bomb on me like this?  Who the fuck do you think you are, Randy Schofield?”

“Get out of my truck,” I ordered, again through my teeth.

“I can reach you at Vince’s then, you’re telling me?”

“With any luck.”

“Yeah?  Well good luck with that, honey.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

As if I hadn’t been caught off guard enough finding my wife sitting inside my truck, she rattled off a jagged laugh that spooked me.  Given everything that’s happened since, I can only say it was manifested by pure evil. 

“You can give Vince my love and give him this message specifically:  Vertical is much better.  He’ll know what that means.”

“Excuse me?” I quipped, feeling my guts twist and churn like they were rolling overtop a broiling spit.

“When you’re over yourself, Randy, you call me.  If you want a battle, I’ll give you one, but I’d prefer to avoid that.  I know you’re upset with me and you just lost your job.  You’re not thinking straight, but Caitlin wants her daddy and I want the man I married.”

“I don’t want the man you married,” I said flatly.  “I just want you to get out.”

For a moment, Donna actually looked wounded.  Her eyes filled up and she batted at them before she could let loose in front of me. 

I hadn’t seen my wife cry in a few years and she could whirl a good one when she wanted to.  There was the first time she’d watched the outrage of Debra Winger’s youngest son upon delivering the news of her death sentence in Terms of Endearment.  Donna had wept for half an hour straight after the final credits rolled.  It’s probably pointless to bring up the near-nightly sobfests I endured during our failed conception measures.  At her father’s funeral, Donna could only muster up a typhoon of heavy sighs at his wake, but then she’d fallen to her knees and sieved out her anguish noisily as his casket was lowered into the ground.  It was one of the few moments I’ve ever truly sympathized with her, especially since I had no idea if my own father was alive or not.

The sudden finality of my marriage ushered a hurricane around my heart, as Steve Winwood once waxed in Traffic.  I knew right then and there I was going to be with Allana, however long it took.  I also knew Donna suspected I’d been in the company of another woman last night, given the way her moist eyes squinted with suspicion.  My doings with Allana had been innocent, but they wouldn’t be for much longer.

“It’s on, then,” Donna said as she opened the passenger door to slide out.  She slammed the truck door, which rang off like cannonade inside of the echo chamber of the parking garage. 

“Just go,” I said, still holding onto that box like it gave me temporary security. The funny part is I ended up pitching the whole damn thing out in a dumpster later in the day since they were reminders of a past life I suddenly found inapplicable. The only item I regret losing in my hasty castoff was the plastic Godzilla figure I’d forgotten was in there by the time I threw the infernal junk into the dumpster with every ounce of hatred I had. As you’ll soon learn, I had a good reason to be so angry and it had nothing to do with losing my job.

“See you when I see you, husband,” Donna called out as she clomped away towards the stairwell.

Cars were crawling by with people I’d never see again.  They looked absolutely pitiful.   In due time, I’d look more pitiful than them.

             (c) 2009 - 2013 Ray Van Horn, Jr.