Abomination (14 page)

Chapter 5

Dressed in a pair of khaki pants, a maroon polo shirt and a pair of loafers, feeling clean for the first time since leaving his hotel that morning, Michael took the elevator down to the lobby level, where the buffet was located.  He walked into the restaurant, scanned the enormous room swarming with several hundred people, and somehow managed to find the table where his three associates were seated without having to scamper around like a rat in a maze.  He walked over to the table, waving and nodding as he went.

The older man at the table was Jerry Pascall, the southeast regional manager of CoreGen who worked out of Atlanta.
  Like Michael, he was one of the original salesmen when the company opened fifteen years ago.  He was tall, even fully seated, and possessed a round face that always seemed to display a smile and a head mostly bereft of hair.  His fingers were long, delicate, and they tapped out a light rhythm on the white tabletop.  Michael spoke to Jerry occasionally, once or twice a month, usually about business, but they did shoot the shit and brag about their families once in a while. 

Next to Jerry sat Chelsea Reynolds, a petite blonde dressed in a baby blue tank top which accentuated her feminine features quite well.
  She worked at the corporate headquarters in Carson City, Nevada.  Only out of business school three years, she probably shouldn’t have been one of the company's four representatives at such a large national event, but when you were the CEO's daughter... well, trips to Vegas were the types of perks you expected to receive. 

Across from Chelsea, next to the empty seat, was Jake Jasper, the hotshot up
-and-coming sales representative responsible for California and the rest of the Pacific coast.  He worked out of San Francisco.  He had connections, he had charisma, and he had the business savvy to make it big in the company if he chose to stay long term. And rumors were that he was banging Chelsea. The man had it all and he knew it.

“Now that we're all here,” Jerry said, rising to his feet, “we can eat.”

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Michael chided the tall man.  “This isn’t a formal occasion.”

“We’ve only been waiting two or three minutes.  It’s not a big deal.”

The two younger salespeople stood, and Michael easily read the looks that passed between the two.  They were definitely sleeping together, and the coquettish look Chelsea gave Jake caused a small surge of jealously to run through him.  Not jealously because Jake had Chelsea, but jealousy because the look Chelsea gave Jake reminded him of the looks his own wife had given him once upon a time.  He shook his head and pushed away the anger.  Sometimes life was unfair. 

Michael followed the three to the buffet which, like all Vegas buffets, was a lesson in gluttony.
  Foods representing almost every ethnicity could be found at one of the dozen massive tables which lined the walls of the room.  There was something for everyone here, even the most discriminate eater.  Normally, he would have gorged himself on the worst of the foods, the high-in-fat but utterly decadent fried chicken and mashed potatoes and fettuccine alfredo and giant calzones.  The items which accelerated your chances of suffering a massive coronary.  After all, how often did he have the opportunity to indulge in something like this?  The small chain buffets around his home didn’t hold a candle to this place.

Any other time, he would have vigorously shoveled food into his mouth with both hands and gladly felt guilty about it for a day or two afterward.
  Now?  He wasn’t sure he could hold anything down, even simple broth.

Nervous energy did that to
 a person.

He perused the buffet tables, his brain drooling over the sheer amount of food but losing the battle against his churning stomach, which was dancing itself into knots.
  In the end, he settled on a bowl of chicken soup and some toast and jelly, as if he were recovering from  a nasty stomach virus and not suffering a violent bout of nerves.  He was the first back to the table and looked on with no little envy and awe when all three of his associates, even the slender Chelsea, returned with plates piled high with the most delicious-looking foods.

Jake looked at Michael's plate.
  “On a diet?” he asked, spearing a fried something or other from his plate and shoving it in his mouth.

Michael shook his head.
  “I'm still a little full from lunch.”  He sipped his soup and took a bite of the toast as everyone else ate.

“So how's the wife, Mike?” Jerry asked as he lifted his fork to his mouth.

Michael felt that knot tighten and turn and sour in his stomach.

“Fine,” he said.
  He sighed.  He couldn’t help himself.  “She's not bedridden, she's not in a wheel chair.  She can still move.  She's...  functional.”  He felt a small tear spring to an eye.

“What's wrong with your wife,” Chelsea asked.

“She has MS,” Michael said.

Chelsea said nothing, her eyes blank; either she didn't know what MS was or didn't know what to say in response.
  So instead of embarrassing herself by saying something stupid, she quietly turned back to Jake and continued to eat. They said nothing, but Michael bet they were probably playing footsies under the table the way they smiled at each other.

They ate in relative silence for fifteen minutes or so, at which point Jake and Chelsea left to go hunt down dessert. 

Although they had been in town for almost two days, this was the first opportunity Michael and Jerry had to talk.  During lunch they talked to clients, and last night, after the convention ended for the day, Jerry had run off to have dinner with an old college buddy at the Wynn. 

“It's tough,” Michael admitted when they were alone.  “Vanessa’s got primary progressive MS.
  She's only fifty-five and will probably live quite a long time, but the disease...  it's sapped the life out of her.  She can still drive.  She can still go to the gym a bit.  She can still get around the house, but...  She tries so hard to function like nothing is wrong, like nothing’s changed, like she’s the same person she always was.  Especially with friends and co-workers.  She refuses to let them see how weak she is.   But it’s eating her away on the inside, and it’s exhausting her, both mentally and physically.”

Jerry nodded.
  “I watched it take my mother slowly.  It tires you out, man.”

“This may seem a little shallow, but you know, I think it would be a little more bearable if...”
  He allowed his voice to trail off, knowing that Jerry would understand his hesitation.

The bald man's eyes were blank for a moment, but then brightened with understanding.
“Yeah.  I know, I know.”

“I think she's able to physically, but the interest, it just isn’t there.
  And you can't force or guilt a sick woman to do something like that.  It’s barbaric.”

“It's tough.
  Life without sex is...”  He let his own words drift off.

And that was the crux of it all.
  Michael loved his wife.  Nothing could change that.  She still amused him, still challenged him, still kept him on his toes.  But the sex... it had all but disappeared, and he knew full well that the lack of sex in his life was having a deleterious effect on both his mind and body.  It caused anger and resentment and no little frustration, which in turn oftentimes caused him to suffer increased blood pressure and other physical ailments that weren’t good for him.  Not having sex was just not natural.  Man was an animal, fueled by primitive needs and desires, and having a healthy sex life was an important component to most men’s happiness. 

How much sex would have been enough for him, Michael sometimes wondered.
  Once every other month?  Four times a year?  Was that enough?  Would it sate him?  Make him happy?  If it was with Vanessa, he imagined it would be.  She was his soul mate.  But it had been over a year since his last conjugal encounter.  And before that, it had been eight months.  Who knew how long it would be before the next time, if ever.  He felt starved, and that starvation had awakened a hunger in him, one he didn’t want to feed but one he believed he needed to feed for the sake of his own sanity.

“Did you ever talk to her about this,” Jerry asked.  “I know it may be an uncomfortable conversation, but it’s probably one you should have.”

Michael nodded.  “Once.  Three or four months ago.  She told me that she just needed time.  More time.  But she’s not getting better, she’s getting a bit weaker every day, and if she has no interest now, she won’t be getting it in the future.  I love Vanessa, Jer.  She’s my world.  But if she can’t give me what I need, if she
won’t
give me what I need…  Is it wrong for me to be selfish?  Is it wrong for me to have these needs and desires?”

Jerry looked at him with narrowed eyes, and Michael swore that the man was reading the darkest depths of his soul.  But if he guessed at Michael’s intentions, if he had passed judgment on his old friend, he kept his thoughts to himself.  “Not at all, Mike,” he said slowly.  “Life’s complicated.  And sometimes doing what’s right and doing what needs to be done
are not the same thing.”

“But there are consequences,” Michael said.

“Every action has consequences,” Jerry said sagely.  “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Every decision we make causes ripples, for better or worse.”

“Never took you for a philosopher, Jerry,” Michael said, cracking a smile.

“No one ever asked me my opinion on such matters before.”

“So what do I do?”

“You have to do what’s best for you. “

Jake and Chelsea silently materialized next to the table, each of them carrying a bowl laden with ice cream and covered with various toppings.  Michael looked at Chelsea, wondered where all of that went on her slight frame. As she sat down, she dipped her face toward the bowl, trying to catch a swirl of whipped cream on her tongue.  She succeeded, but managed to get a dollop on her nose, too.  She laughed as she licked it away, the sound causing Michael to remember the days of his own youth.  He just wanted to crack.  He turned away, looked back at Jerry, whose own nose was covered with barbecue sauce from a rib he was devouring.  The look didn’t cause the same pang of desire as seeing whipped cream on the girl’s nose, but it did bring a smile to his lips.

Michael slowly sipped his soup, and as everyone finished their meals, they began to discuss business.  They examined what had worked in terms of getting people to buy their products that day and the previous day.  What the reasons were that some of the convention goers didn’t want to buy at the moment.  What they could do to push their system more during the final day.  The discussion lasted only fifteen minutes but proved surprisingly productive.  Jake was a wealth of good ideas and useful insights.  Despite his predatory personality, he actually knew what he was doing.  It wasn’t all charisma and smoke and mirrors. He was a sharp kid who seemed to understand human nature better than Michael ever would.  Yeah, he had a promising future at CoreGen.

Dinner ended at seven thirty.  Michael and Jerry shook hands and went their separate ways while Chelsea and Jake disappeared together.  Michael had two and half hours until his rendezvous.  He considered returning to his room but he didn’t want to be by himself.  Didn’t want to be left alone with
his own conflicting thoughts.  Part of what he loved about these trips was that he was never truly alone, regardless of where business took him.  And Vegas, it offered more stimuli than anywhere else.  Its one advantage, in his mind.  He could be happy just drifting between rows of slot machines, watching and listening to the sound of machines beeping and happy gamblers laughing and talking.

He spent his free time after dinner on the casino floor, wandering around and people-watching.  He stood by a craps table and watched as dice were thrown and people shouted and hugged in communal excitement.  He sat at a ten-dollar blackjack table between a kid in his mid-twenties with enough piercings in his face to set off a metal detector and a middle-aged Chinese woman with a heavy accent and a peculiar odor clinging to her.  He played an entire shoe, about two dozen hands, winning fifty bucks for his time and trouble.  He stopped at several slot machines afterwards, pumping quarters in and yanking back that arm, all the while keeping an eye on his watch.  He lost his fifty bucks very quickly to those sly one-armed bandits.

At five to ten, he made his way over to the bustling lobby, sliding the Yankees hat he had brought with him onto his head as he went.  He took a seat on one of the plush leather loveseats and waited, his stomach doing twists and turns and other objectionable things within him.  He wanted to throw up.  His eyes wandered, wondering which of the dozens of females wandering around was his.  Each time his eyes fell on one of the beautiful women dressed in seductive eveningwear, he had to fight the urge to get up and run up to the safety of his room where he could watch pornography and take care of his own needs without the guilt.  But in the end, he waited.  Watched and waited, feeling awful about it the whole time.

At ten-fifteen, she entered the casino.
  He had no idea what she would look like or what she would be wearing, but the way she looked at him across the lobby, the way her smile lit up her face when her eyes fell on him, he knew that she was here for him.  He was somewhat surprised, and disappointed, at how modestly she was dressed.  Instead of a provocative slinky black number that revealed a good amount of skin, she wore tight jeans, a white tank top and a black button-down shirt that hung open.  It was an outfit that framed her large chest nicely.  Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and she wore a blue Yankees hat similar to his on her head.  But as he watched the tall, lithe women stroll casually over to him, he understood why she wasn’t dressed as he expected: there was no reason for her to wear something scandalous, something that could bring unwanted attention, when she wasn’t actively looking for work.  After all, she already had her boy lined up.