The Easy Way Out

14

Damon lumbered across the pavement, opened the office door then leaned against the doorframe, catching his breath.

Blake turned in his swivel chair.

Damon said, "So I go into the office to talk to McQuaid about that piece of shit Chrysler Town and Country minivan he bought at the auction..."

Damon made room for James as he came off the lot.

"And he's in there watching his TV. His TV," Damon repeated directly to Blake. "I'm trying to tell him that he got ripped off and he shushes me. He wants to hear what Dr. Phil has to say."

James said, "What kind of sorry fool watches that brain rot, anyway?"

"You're talking about our esteemed senior management."

James cracked up.

"Sometimes I wonder how this place stays in business," said Damon.

With a knowing grin, James said, "Maybe a side hustle or two."

Blake got out of his chair."You mean like selling tie-dyed T's on Etsy?"

"Wouldn't have been my first guess." James rubbed his hands together. "Hey, how 'bout closing the door?"

"You're actually cold?" Damon wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve as he closed the door.

James squinted at the thermostat. "Dag, it's only sixty-four degrees in here."

"Sure that's not ninety-four?" Damon bent forward, hands on his thighs.

"Let me get you a cold one outta the machine," said Blake. "Coke?"

Damon straightened and patted his belly. "Make it a Diet."

Blake walked into the back room and returned with a can of Coke.

Damon cracked the lid and guzzled. "They don't have money to fix the soda machine down in the garage but they got money for McQuaid's cable TV. What the fuck?"

"Sounds like senior management to me," said Blake.

########

That night, Blake slouched on the couch, computer in his lap. Noticing the time on his computer screen, Blake closed the laptop, found his sneakers on the floor, and jammed his feet into his shoes. His phone rang. He was surprised to see the incoming caller as Rachel. She almost always texted.

"Hey, Babe," he said.

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"I got a ride home. You don't need to come get me."

"Oh. Okay."

"See you."

"Who is—"

She'd already ended the call.

He tied his shoelaces and got off the couch, brushing the pretzel crumbs from his t-shirt. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a pretzel from the open bag on the counter, then half-filled a glass from the kitchen faucet, and drank. He couldn't help but wonder who was driving her home. There's no way she'd accept a ride from her degenerate boss. Maybe Teagan or one of the other girls.

He tried to put the thought out of his mind but curiosity got the better of him. He grabbed his keys and exited the apartment.

On his way down the stairs, through the window at the landing, he saw a sports car drive up. The car sat there for a moment, the ballsy engine rumbling. Rachel got out of the car, all smiles. She stopped on her way to the front door and laughed at something the driver said. Blake strained to hear the conversation to no avail. She tossed her hair and laughed again before turning for the door. He couldn't make out the driver who watched her all the way into the building.

Blake took the stairs two at a time back up to the hallway, then darted into the apartment. He plopped down onto the couch and flipped open his laptop. It wasn't long before keys jingled and Rachel came through the door.

"Hey. How are you?" Blake asked.

"Hungry. We got any of that leftover spaghetti?"

He got up and went into the kitchen where he found her removing a plastic container, prying off the lid, and sniffing. "How old do you think this is?"

"Couple days."

Her expression soured. She replaced the lid.

"So who drove you home?"

"Just a friend."

"Anybody I know?"

"Just a friend from work. Scott."

She inspected the paltry selection in the refrigerator and then closed the door with a sigh.

"I don't mind picking you up from work."

"I thought I'd give you a break." She found the bag of pretzels on the counter and grabbed a few. "Plus, I've never been in a Porsche before."

"Wow. Nice," he said without enthusiasm.

She scanned her phone, searching for a menu. "Do you think it's too late to order a pizza?"

He shrugged

"Does Fiore's deliver?"

"I don't think so."

She continued scrolling.

"So, which one's Scott?" he asked.

"The tall blonde guy. You maybe never saw him."

"Oh, so he only comes around when I'm not there." He forced a chuckle.

"What did you have for dinner?"

"I grabbed a burger on the way home," he said. "So are you good friends with Scott?"

"We hooked up a couple times in the parking lot."

"I don't love the way that sounds."

She planted a quick kiss. "I never saw you like this."

"Like what?"

She gave him a smirk before returning to the menu. "Veggie pizza sounds good to me. Medium? Large?"

He didn't answer. When she kissed him, he smelled a male fragrance on her, just a trace but he definitely smelled it. Rachel didn't wear perfume.

"Listen, I got guys asking me out all the time. They wanna take me out on their boat. They wanna take me to New York for a weekend, or to their cabin. One customer actually wanted to give me a necklace."

None of this made him feel better.

"You're a semi-regular at Booty's. You know what it's like. We cater to the toxic masculinity crowd. A sports bar packed with men drinking their asses off. And there I am dressed like this. What do you expect? Jesus."

He had no rebuttal for anything she said. Since she'd moved in he'd managed to push all of that into the back of his mind. But he'd be an idiot not to acknowledge that she had options. Lots of options. And despite Rachel being his roommate, it was tough to compete with a tall blonde guy driving a brand new Porsche.

She dialed her phone. "Yeah, I wanna do a medium veggie pie with no onions. Delivery. Yeah. How long?" She sighed. "Okay. Never mind."

"A weekend in New York sounds pretty tempting," he said.

"What? And give up all of this?" she said, grabbing another handful of pretzels from the bag and heading for the bedroom. "I'm gonna get ready for bed."

A debilitating cold rattled all the way down from the base of his skull to his tailbone. He felt queasy. He should have gotten her out of that degrading job a month ago, away from her lecherous boss, away from hundreds of beer-guzzling guys who fantasized about getting into her skin-tight pants. He knew that if he didn't make a move and soon, somebody like Scott surely would.