Rocked by Him (10 page)

I snapped. Didn't he know how he disgusted me? Didn't he
knew I that a very important text waited for me back at my cubicle?

"You're just a dirty old man! My God, you're old enough to be my father! Did you know that? Just some creepy old
perv who thinks he can do whatever he want because he's the boss."

For maybe ten seconds, that big, creepy grin remained on Bud's face. Except now it looked like some invisible fingers were pulling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes certainly didn't look happy anymore.

I realized that this was probably the first time one of his subordinates had rejected him so harshly.

A warm swell of triumph rose inside me at the same time as a cold ball of anxiety. My appetite was definitely gone.

With a realization that dried my mouth and sent a shiver up my back, I thought that my job might be going the same way shortly.

Bud's smile began to falter, the left corner of his mouth drooping like wallpaper peeling away. The right corner soon followed.

Bud always had a reddish complexion which I put down to blood pressure and generally being a fat old perv. But before my eyes his skin grew fiery, and a single bead of sweat snaked its way down from his temple.

I fought back against the urge to retreat, though I couldn't keep my eyes from widening and my heart from pounding.

Drake's message had better be life altering! I thought. Then, right after, I felt stupid for reacting this way, felt stupid for acting like I had all morning, as though my whole world revolved around a hot rocker I barely knew.

Without a word, Bud got up. He squeezed around his desk. My muscles went rigid. Was he planning on hitting me? On smacking me?

My eyes refused to blink as he got closer, his nostrils flaring and his jowls jiggling.

But he passed me by. I didn't dare turn around. I felt like a soldier standing at rigid attention, about to go through a grueling inspection. At the same time, I wanted to bolt, to
squeezed my way around him (despite the physical contact) and just get the hell out of there.

"Lucinda, hold my calls and don't let anyone in until I say otherwise.
Okay, sweetie?"

"Y-yes,
Mr Loughery..." Lucinda said. She'd heard everything, I knew. What was she thinking? Was she on my side?

The door clicked shut behind me. Suddenly, Bud's office felt even more cramped and confined. It was a jail
cell, with Bud both my bunkmate and my jailer. The air didn't circulate as much, and I caught a whiff of his pungent body odor mixing with the cheap cologne he tried covering it with. My eyes began watering.

"You think this is a game, girl?" Bud said from directly behind me, practically spitting the last word.

I knew that I should wheel around and face him, that I should stick my finger in the fat face of his, tell him what I thought, and go straight to HR with my sack full of sexual harassment charges.

But I couldn't. I couldn't get my feet to move; I couldn't get my heart to supply me
with the courage. I never could talk back to authority like that. Not teachers or principals. Not Bud Loughery. So instead I stared at his desk, watching his shifting, blurring reflection behind me.

"No..." I said, my lips barely parting, hardly enough air passing up from my lungs to breathe the words. My knees trembled, and I tried to hide it.

I couldn't lose my job. Not now.

A strong fist squeezed around my heart when I thought of that check in the mail.

Bud's meaty hands landed on my shoulders. His fingertips pressed into my flesh. I didn't think it possible, but I stiffened even more at his touch.

"It is a game. And do you know what? I always win. You little sluts always wander around the office, throwing yourselves around..." Bud said.

Then he smelled my hair. It was lucky that my stomach was empty, otherwise the contents would have splattered all over his shiny desk.

"And if you want to keep your job, you'll start following my rules. Is that... clear?" he said.

His hands slid down from my shoulders, moving down my back, getting dangerously close to my bottom.

Something in me snapped, then.
Something that allowed a bit of my anger and disgust to push back against the fear and shock. I remember thinking to myself: What would Drake do?

I knew just what a rebellious, independent, and self-assured guy like Drake would do. Something I never would have thought of unless I'd met him.

I wheeled around then, batting his hands away. I jabbed a finger against his chest, his flabby flesh yielding, and looked up into his eyes, trying to ignore the continuous jiggling of his jowls.

"You can take your rules and shove them up your ass, Bud. I would never do anything like that with a person like you.
Never. Do
you
understand
me
?"

It felt
good, the heat of that anger.

His lips moved, but I didn't make out what they said.

"What?" I asked, not daring to lean in any closer, lest I get some spittle on me.

"You... You're fired. Fired!" he said, managing to find his own anger again.

It took a few seconds for the meaning to sink in. Bud shoved my hand away from his chest and trundled back over to his desk, squeezing his bulk between it and the wall.

My hand fell to my side, and the hot anger stiffening all my muscles gave way to a cold panic that left my legs feeling like jelly.

"What are you still standing there?" Bud said. I heard his chair groan beneath him as he settled onto it.

My eyes started blurring as they got wetter. I knew I should tell him off again, but my throat began closing.

I managed to hold onto enough of my anger to throw his door open. It banged loudly, getting the attention of everyone nearby. I stomped out of his office, my whole body trembling. I could feel all their eyes on me, wondering, considering, judging.

"Jennifer..." Lucinda began when I stormed past her desk.

When I didn't look over or respond, she didn't push further. Even if she did, I couldn't hear it. The tapping of keys, the ring of phones, all the sounds of the office became muted as I marched back to my cubicle. The blood rushing past my ears was the loudest noise.

And it got louder, and louder as my blood pressure rose.

My computer monitor still displayed the slide I'd been working on. The cursor blinked at me without feeling when I snatched my phone up from beside the keyboard.

I knew that I should empty my desk, but all I needed was my phone and my purse. So, with those, I left. I fought back against the pressure behind my eyes, slung my purse over my shoulder, and walked as calmly as I could.

By that point, most people had gotten back to work. Only a few looked at me. I refused to look back, only seeing their glances through my peripheral vision.

Everyone hated Bud.
Especially the women. I told myself that they were in silent solidarity with me, and not looking at me like I was some sort of crazy lady who'd just announced her intention to fill her apartment with cats.

But as I left the office of
Styrex, Inc behind, I consoled myself with the text awaiting me when I got the chance to look at my phone. I dangled it like a carrot, forcing myself into the crowded elevator, down into the similarly crowded subway.

Only when I sat down between a homeless guy wearing a
beanie and an old women whose gray hair stuck out at angles from her wrinkled head did I let myself remove the phone from my purse.

Some of the tension melted out of me, and the rocking of the train as it pulled from the station into the tube comforted me.

I thumbed the button on my phone and slashed my finger across the screen, my heart again quickening when I saw the little green box that represented a text.

I found myself hoping Drake had sent something funny. A laugh would do me so much good right at that moment.

My eyes devoured the words like a hungry dog thrown some scraps from the table.

"What!?"
I said. And I said it loud. The phone nearly jumped from my hand.

All conversation on the train died, and again all eyes were on me. I tried to shrink myself, to hide from view, but I couldn't.

"You okay?" the guy wearing the beanie beside me asked. His accent betrayed his Caribbean heritage.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, just wanting those eyes to stop their staring, and their silent accusations.

That broke the spell. Everyone went back to their own murmurs, their own swaying with the train as it rounded a gentle curve.

"Bad news?" the guy said.

"Yeah..." I said.

But it wasn't bad news, at least not directly. I looked down at my phone, which I held clutched against my stomach, the screen kept pressed out of sight against my jacket.

"Thass too bad," he said, turning away from me to watch the lights from the tunnel as they flashed in through the windows.

Tilting the phone away from my body, I ran my eyes over the words again.

"Congratulations!" the text message read, "You've been randomly selected to receive the new joke of the day..."

The joke wasn't even funny.

Drake hadn't even texted me. I'd flipped out on my boss and gotten fired in my rush to get back to my phone...

My right eye twitched once, and I smiled. Now
that
was funny.

"Okay, stop going crazy..." I said, as much under my breath as
I could. The old lady with the funny hair gave me a sidelong glance and scooted as far from me as she could.

The train pulled into the next station, the driver mumbling indecipherably over the PA. The doors opened and people jostled to get on or off before they closed again. I watched silently.

When it really came down to it, this was all Drake's fault, right? I mean, if he had just texted me this morning everyone would have been fine. I wouldn't have been so anxious. I would have found some way to deal with Bud that didn't result in getting fired.

I wouldn't be sitting in a crowded,
claustrophobic tube that smelled of stale sweat and urine. Not for another few hours, anyway.

It felt good to have a focal point for my anger, to have a scapegoat.

My thumbs danced across the screen, typing out a message to Drake detailing just how big an asshole I thought he was. A self-satisfied smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

I didn't even hesitate to send it, the pad of my thumb pressing confidently against the screen. Being down in the subway, it took a bit longer for the little status bar to advance to completion.

It sent just as the mumbling voice came through the static-filled speaker to announce my stop.

I stood up and a hand touched mine. It was the
beanie guy.

"You
be all right, okay?" he said.

I thought of what I'd just sent to Drake. My sickly sweet smile had the
beanie guy pulling his hand back.

"Oh, I will be just fine. Don't worry," I said.

I spun around and pushed through the eclectic crowd jamming the door.

Yeah, I'd be fine. It was Drake who needed to worry.
If he ever got that text, at least.

***

The boost I got from that petty little triumph gave me enough to get back to my apartment. I almost didn't take the elevator up. It reminded me too much of Drake. But I didn't have the energy to take the stairs.

My emotional rollercoaster ride had really done me in. I stood in front of the door to my apartment, listening to the buzz of the
light bulb in its little sconce by the doorframe, happy that I was alone, and that no one could fix me with their damned accusing eyes.

I pushed my fingers deeper into my purse, shoving my phone and hairbrush aside, feeling too much satisfaction when keys jingled at my touch.

I shoved the key into the lock and flipped the deadbolt back, the sharp crack of the steel jarring me. My body cried out for the soft embrace of my bed. Without a job, I knew I had a lot of work to do. Choices to make.

But they could all wait. At least until I got the satisfaction of knowing Drake's reaction. Then I could move forward.

Right after that. And sleep, lots of sleep.

I kicked off my shoes and shrugged off my jacket, nearly knocking against the wall in my hurry. It was only in my bedroom that
I realized my fingers still held onto the strap of my purse.

I dropped that beside the bed, then belly-flopped down onto the mattress. My feet dangled over the foot of the bed, but I didn't pull myself up. Instead, I grabbed a pillow and pulled it down, my ey
elids already closing inexorably, weighted by exhaustion.

Sleep would help, I knew. Sleep helps everything, cures all ills. Or was it laughter? I couldn't remember, and couldn't care any less.

I just wanted to slip away from the world for a while.