The Mistress Pt. 05

"How's your ox tendon?" Lynda asked John, smiling across the table.

"Best ox tendon I've had all day," he replied, wiping his face with his cloth napkin. "And your spicy eggplant?"

"Pretty spicy," she said. She reached for her tea and had a sip. "Maybe a little too spicy. I guess it's right in the name, though!"

"How long have you been at Maxon?"

"Oh, since college... it was the first job I got out of school. I guess eight years now?"

She had a nice smile, he thought. He glanced at her hand and saw the wedding ring he was sure would be there.

"And I hate to ask," he said. "Maybe I should know... but what exactly do you do for us?"

"Good to know my hard work is being noticed!"

The two of them laughed.

"Well, I do some bookkeeping... I manage the internship program, of course, you know that from the other day. I pay the bills to the vendors, and I am the person that the submitted hours for employees go to for payroll. I cut the checks. Oh, and I water the plants around the office, but not the ones down where you work, I guess, since your ficus died."

"Was it a ficus..."

"Anyway, I guess I should have watered that too. Poor plant." Her eyes gleamed. She is very alluring, John was thinking. "Now your turn."

"Just run of the mill IT work, you know," he dug into his rice. "It used to be more about the networking and desktop support, now of course we are all involved in security upgrades, which always needed to be done, and here we are."

"And you came from... Iowa, was it..."

"Close- you got the Midwest right, anyway. I'm from Nebraska- Lincoln, to be exact. Nice town. It's a usual story, I came here for college, fell in love with a girl from college, got an amazing exciting job that was going to build a life around me and girl from college with, girl from college and I break up, and here I am."

"Sorry to hear that."

He shrugged.

"It was years ago," he said. "We became friends afterwards. It happens."

"Sure."

"And you? Married, I think? Kids?"

"Married," she replied. "I'm Mrs. Alex Wainwright. No kids yet. We are 'in discussion' about that- maybe soon."

"Yeah," he said. "I'd like to have a kid someday."

"I'm sure you will."

"Who knows. My life is boring. Nothing much ever happens one way or the other."

"Aww. I think things will heat up for you very soon," she smiled, passing the jar of hot chili sauce over his way.

Man, he was thinking. She's really something. This is fun. Maybe I should check my OKCupid profile again.

Do people still use OKCupid, he wondered?

He spooned some hot sauce on his ox tendon.

Just enjoy a fun moment with a fun person, he told himself. Things will work out.

***

Frank removed his jacket, tie and dress shirt. None of them were going to be able to be worn for the rest of the day, not after that crazy bitch wiped his cum all over them. He wadded the soiled clothing and threw it on the floor.

What the fuck was that all about? Was she just hanging out in the stairway waiting to jack off somebody from the C-suite?

That wouldn't have completely surprised him, actually. Frank had noticed over the course of his working years that a lot of women- and girls- did whatever they could to get ahead in a corporate environment. In fact, he had come to depend on it, come to cultivate it. And like any good predator, he was able to isolate the weak from the rest of the herd, to seek out the most vulnerable to his predations.

Just ask Morgan, he thought. Little baby doll never knew what hit her. She was eating out of my pants faster than almost anybody. She was either more desperate to be fucking a powerful man, Frank thought, or he had just gotten so good at chasing them down that she never stood a chance.

He stripped off his undershirt.

But it felt a little different with this Lynda chick, though. He felt quite a bit more like the prey for some reason. He didn't like that feeling- and anyway, he didn't need more than one set of wet holes to get his dick into in any one particular job. That was a strong rule of this- only one work girlfriend at a time.

She was probably just crazy, he thought. He'd seen that sort of thing before.

Better steer clear.

He reached into his drawer and found a slate gray golf shirt. Some swag he had probably been given at some bullshit convention or another, something with a dumb logo on it from some company he never heard of.

That'll have to do.

He slipped it on. It was tight... age had put on a little layer of fat over Frank's powerful frame. He'd always been muscular, always been powerful, stocky and strong. His wide chest was starting to be eclipsed by his belly, though.

He put his other clothes in his briefcase.

He made his way out of his office and over to the stairs. When he got there, he hesitated at the metal handle.

What if she's in there, he thought. What if she's always in the stairs now?

What do I do?

He opened the door and went down the stairs.

One of the fluorescent lights was going out, buzzing and blinking the way they died. It cast an eerie light over the stairwell.

But she wasn't there. Thank God.

Frank made his way down to the Bowels, where the geeks lived. Yelling at John Claire would put a smile on my face, he thought. Make that faggot sweat and shake, get shit back on track.

Frank opened the door of the IT staff's offices.

He shuddered... he remembered his days doing IT before he made his way into management.

You'd think shit might have changed a bit.

But no. It was the same dingy cubicles, the same plastic chairs with insufficient padding. The same hot plate, the same microwave that needed cleaning. A water cooler, worn down industrial carpeting.

Everything somehow yellow under the cheap fluorescent lighting.

Over in the corner was some sad plant someone had tried to grow down there, dead and brown at this point.

Why didn't they throw it out, Frank wondered. Did they think it would spring back to life like some fucking Lazarus or something? Maybe I'll yell at Claire for leaving dead fucking plants around.

One of the techs looked up in surprise.

"Mr. Abruzzi!" he announced, louder than he had to, like a monkey chattering from a tree about the arrival of a jaguar. "How are you, sir? We weren't expecting you!"

"David," Frank said warmly. "You know what, I don't get down here as often as I should. I used to do IT... I miss it, a bit."

He didn't miss it one bit.

David stood up like an idiot, a tall, gangly man with out of fashion long hair and a scraggly beard.

The kind of person you keep underground, Frank thought.

But the man was standing there, gawking, so Frank reached out and shook his hand firmly.

"Is Claire in?"

"What?"

"Claire- John Claire. Works with you?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah. No. He went out to lunch with a woman from accounting. I forget her name- Laura?"

"He went out to lunch?"

"Yeah. Chinese or something. No, wait- Szechuan. That's it. They went out for Szechuan. Was her name Laura? That's not it. Lucy? The woman who signs out paychecks. You know?"

The man was babbling.

"Do you mean Lynda?"

"Lynda." David said, nodding. As if the matter was settled. "Yes. She took John to lunch. Szechuan."

"No shit? I didn't know they knew each other. Are they friends?"

"Uh... you know, I don't know. I mean, maybe."

Frank leaned forward, a head taller than the other man, still holding David's hand in a firm grip.

"David, let me ask you," he said lowly, evenly. "Are they fucking or something? On company time?"

"Uh... I mean... I... I have no reason- "

Frank let his hand go, laughing out loud.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!"

"Oh!" David said with relief.

"So, David, I wanted to come by and congratulate you on getting past phase one with these security upgrades. I'm going to talk to the whole team, but I wanted to tell you that I know you've been working as hard as anyone on this has been. I know the delays weren't your fault. Right?"

"My fault?"

Frank leaned forward again.

"Well, yeah. I know that no matter what John said, that you were no more responsible for the delays than anyone was. I know that. I want you to know that I know that. No matter what John said about it being your fault."

"He said that?"

"Hey, don't say anything to him about it. OK? I shouldn't have mentioned it. I just thought it was weird, I think John is scared for his job or something that he would say that. It's not a big deal though since no one really bought it- we all now he's the one that has been fucking up around here, no matter who he's trying to put the blame on. Let's just forget it. Hey, where are the rest of the geeks? Can I get a cup of coffee?"

Frank clapped David on the back, steering the other man towards the kitchenette.

"I can't believe he would say that," David was muttering. "That motherfucker."

"Let's get that coffee. What's up with the dead plant out there? Do you guys need another?"

***

The next morning, Frank stepped out of his car and looked up the length of the building in front of him. Cold sleet was streaming into his face, unnoticed. He pulled the chest of his overcoat closer to himself.

How many floors is that, anyway, he wondered. He'd never bothered to count.

Maybe I'll take a look in the elevator. That would tell me. There's probably a stop on each floor.

He gulped. Every fucking floor. Idiots getting on, idiots getting off. Coughing. Belching. Farting, scratching themselves. What a fucking nightmare. And he was going to be trapped in a little fucking box with all of them.

He squinted again at the full height of the building. What a tall building he worked in, he thought for possibly the first time ever.

His own floor, he knew, was quite high up. He was up in the C-suite, after all. Big league. Big time.

It was going to be a long elevator ride up. How long, he didn't know.

He'd never done it.

He clicked his key fob and heard the alarm set. He made his way through the parking lot, although his assigned space was very close to the front door. He nodded curtly at the security guards, touching his black fedora briefly hello. He went through the revolving doors with the rest of the morning crowd heading into work at 9:00 sharp.

The heels of his dress shoes clicked on the cold marble of the lobby as he made his way over to the row of elevators heading up.

And there they were, ornate old elevators from a more gilded age. Shining brass and well-worn buttons, dozens of people waiting, coughing, sneezing, rubbing their noses on their coat sleeves. Each and every one of them waiting to cram into an elevator like animals.

Frank looked over at the stairs.

You can do this, buddy.

An elevator beeped open. Heading up.

A group of Maxon employees shuffled forward towards the little metal box.

Frank stepped forward also. He let the group precede him into the elevator.

A woman from a department Frank couldn't remember was holding the door.

He peered in.

"You know what," he said. "I'll just catch the other one."

"There's room, Mr. Abruzzi," she smiled.

Great. She knows me.

"Nah," he said, forcing a smile. "I'll just get the next one. No hurry to get to work, you know?"

Ha ha. Ha ha.

The doors slid shut.

He exhaled deeply and pulled his phone out. He glanced at it, only to focus himself on something else, taking in no information.

Another elevator beeped.

Fuck.

He got on immediately.

Just get it out of the way, he told himself. You can do this.

Getting on first was a big mistake. Frank looked on in terror as people just kept crushing into the fucking elevator- how many people could it hold? A dozen? Two dozen?

When would they stop getting into the little box?

They pushed Frank back into the rear wall of the box, his arms held tight against himself.

Sweat poured from his face, trailing down his lips, falling onto his expensive silk tie.

I can't get out, he thought. If anything goes wrong, I can't get out.

Trapped.

People were looking at him. Right? Weren't they? Weren't they looking at him?

He smiled weakly.

Leave me alone!

Finally, the elevator began to lurch up. Frank could feel his stomach flop around, and he knew that his feet were no longer on the ground.

His mouth began to water.

He wanted to pull his phone out of his pocket and look at it, something to ground himself, but his arms were pressed too tightly to his sides. No way to move. Nowhere to go.

Trapped.

Animal.

Caught.

His head bobbed as he looked around the elevator, red and sweating, trying to appear normal. Make eye contact. Say good morning.

But no one met his eyes. They all looked down, thumbing through phones. Like everything was normal. Idiots.

Maybe it was, he thought desperately. Maybe this is all normal! Right? People do this every day.

He stifled a gag. Where did that come from?

Must be the air in here. Body odor. Bad breath.

The door beeped.

Third floor.

Oh my God, he thought. Is it going to stop on every fucking floor?

He looked up at the ceiling, the bright recessed lights burning into his eyeballs.

Incredibly, a couple more people got onto the elevator.

It lurched upwards again.

A small woman leaned forward towards him.

"Are you OK, Mr. Abruzzi?" she inquired discretely.

But it was as loud as a gunshot to Frank.

His face curled into a grotesque imitation of a smile.

"Maybe the flu," he croaked. "I usually take the stairs."

She smiled disbelievingly.

"The stairs," he said again, for no reason, nodding like an idiot.

She looked at the floor of the elevator, saying nothing.

The door beeped. Fourth floor. Somehow, inexplicably, more people got on the fucking elevator. The door closed. The elevator lurched upwards again.

He gagged again, looked around, eyes wild. Could people hear that?

Fifth fucking floor. I could be here all day, never get to my office.

His mouth began to water even more than before.

I can't do this, he thought. This was a huge mistake. Looking around himself, he tried to smile at the other people on the elevator, a grotesque imitation of a smile that would have fooled no one if anyone would have been paying any attention to him.

Frank vomited all over his shirt and tie, all over his coat.

"Oh my God," someone yelled. People pressed together somehow closer in the little box to get away from the vomiting man.

He turned his head and threw up all over the wall.

"The stairs," he croaked pathetically. "I usually take the stairs. I'm so sorry."

He threw up again, all over his Italian leather shoes.

"I'll get someone to clean that up," he whispered, bent over, his hands on his knees.

The elevator stopped on the sixth floor. The rest of the people streamed out of it, heading for the stairs, some pressing the button of the other elevators. Some people mumbled something about getting Frank some water, some wondered if someone should call someone.

The doors slid shut. He was alone.

***

"Good morning," Morgan sang out. "Sorry I'm late, Lynda. One of the elevators was out this morning."

"Yeah, I heard that," Lynda smiled at the younger woman. "No problem. Head on back- the coffee is fresh. You seem to be in a good mood this morning!"

"Yeah!" Morgan said. "It's a good day so far."

"Well, let's make it better- I went out to a wonderful Szechuan place with one of the IT geeks yesterday. Would you like to come with me today? I couldn't decide between the eggplant and the twice cooked pork, so I'm going to go back today and get that pork. Come with me?"

Morgan smiled.

"I'd love that- looks like I'm on a roll today." Morgan pointed to Lynda's desk. "What's that? A new plant for the office?"

"Well, it's a rubber tree. They don't need hardly any light, you know. It's for the IT geeks downstairs. Do you know they don't have any plants down there? It's depressing, is what it is."

"Maybe they get used to it," Morgan laughed. "Like those salamanders that live in caves or something. Well, I guess I'll dig in to spread sheet heaven- thanks for giving me a reason to keep going!"

Morgan went to the interns work area, saw no one else back there.

I guess it's just me and Excel today, she thought. Oh well.

She was looking forward to the Szechuan lunch later and opened up a web page to take a look at the menu before confronting the fact that Excel was going to ruin her morning.

Her phone buzzed.

I need you, the message read. Come to my office immediately.

She grimaced.

Luckily, Lynda was not at her desk as Morgan slipped out, making her way to the elevators.

She knocked quietly on his office door.

She didn't hear anything. She tried the knob, and it opened.

"God," she said, stepping in. It smelled terrible in there. The blinds were drawn closed, the spacious office dark.

"Frank?" she whispered.

"Thanks for coming," he croaked.

Blinking in the dim light, she took him in.

He was slumped back in his soft leather chair, shirtless. His trash can was by his feet, his sport coat crumpled up on the floor next to him. A half empty glass of water sat next to his dark computer.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm OK, baby doll," he whispered. "I think I might have the flu."

He attempted a smile. She didn't buy it.

"What can I do for you?"

"I need you to go to my haberdasher. I called them up. I need a new suit, new shoes. They have one set aside for me- they keep my measurements on file. Go now."

"Now?"

He turned to her, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes," he said evenly. "Fucking now."

"I- I don't have a car. How long will this take me? Can't someone else go?"

"No. You go."

"But... I'm supposed to be working. I have work to do! And I'm supposed to have lunch with Lynda. She- she was taking me to Szechuan, and I wanted to go- "

Frank roared up from his chair, striding across the office until his face was pressed up against Morgan's.

"I don't give a fuck about Szechuan," he hissed.

"But, Frank," she whined.

A sudden crack split the air of the office as he slapped her quickly across the face.

She stumbled at the blow, holding her hand to her reddening check, tears streaming down.

He sat back down.

"I'm sorry I did that, baby doll," he whispered. "That was uncalled for. It's just that I need you right now, I need you to help me, I need to know that you care about me. I can't get by without you."

"Fuck, Frank," she whispered, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I know you care about me, baby doll," he said. "I care about you, too. Sometimes I think I love you, that all I want is you. That I want us to run away together, just me and you, so I can take care of you the way you take care of me. Would you like that?"

She looked down. She didn't answer.

"I depend on you," he went on.

He laid his head on the desk.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "This isn't me. This isn't like me! It's just that I've been under so much fucking stress lately, and I threw up from it today on the elevator. I threw up on the elevator! And now I'm all dirty, and I don't have any clothes to wear, and I don't know who can help me. I do so much for other people, and I don't know who can help me. And I love you, and I need you, and I just don't know where else to turn. I don't have anyone who cares about me like you do. No one. I shouldn't have hit you- I'm all broken up."

He looked up at her from the desk, a teardrop running down his pale face.

"Look, if this is about Lynda, I'll fire her today. I've had some other problems with her. I'll go down after work today, just me and her, get in her face about some shit. She won't be back on Monday. Me and you can get your Chinese food this weekend. OK?"