Love, Sarah

David

Day 1...

As I approached the crosswalk on Houston St, I watched the cars that zoomed passed me endlessly, though the strong wind from them unexpectedly whipped across my face like it was still winter. Not wanting to waste a second more, I pressed the button to cross the street while I balanced my cup of now cold, yet still highly-caffeinated Starbucks coffee in my other hand.

My eyes focused on the blinking red light of the button, wondering how long a person honestly had to wait as it felt like it continued flashing on and off forever.  Please Wait.  Please Wait.  It was beginning to grate on my nerves, and my eyes finally drifted away and focused across the street and onto the 22-story building where I worked.

Even close up like this, the building was beautiful and insanely large, having been newly built with several upgrades and perks. As luck would have it, however, my office was on the lower levels.  It felt like I was some prisoner locked away in a dungeon and I had to be let free just to get some air with how small it was, and how claustrophobic it made me feel.

The ding of the button alerted me back to reality as I obeyed the sign and cross the road as I made my way toward the blue building. I yanked on my shoulder bag's slipping straps, feeling the heft of all the documents of last night's work from the Miller file settling inside.

The hedge fund operator had been gone for the weekend so my job was to fill him in today on what my finds were from his IRA account.

There was nothing significant about the findings, typical IRA legal stranglehold nonsense that I had already expected, but was certain he might not be prepared for.

In other words, he couldn't touch the shit until he was either old and frail or basically on his death bed.

I knew this was going to be a fun conversation.

The silver door handle that held a large F was calling out to me like a beacon.

Grab me, David. Let's fuck up the bank together and fail miserably.

Since my small outburst a couple of days ago, I was worried that the return to the office would be awkward but swallowed my discomfort as I went inside.

Sarah was already making plans to get the baby's room together, so it was bad enough to have to be on my guard, but what if my little stunt had already gotten me fired?

Then what would we do? How would it look? Our home life wasn't exactly a normal one. My wife and I went to dinner soirees and held our own private parties frequently. In fact, we were the social gathering spot on weekends for everybody who was anybody in town, and we held a reputation for being the block go-to for whatever our neighbors needed.

As I walked into the lobby, the breeze from the cold air conditioner hit me hard like the first chilling rush of a cold front coming through.  As the humid air from outside was suddenly and completely replaced with a chill, it made me feel like I almost needed a jacket.

"Good morning David, how are you doing today?"

Upon entering, Andrea, the blonde secretary, met me with sympathetic eyes.

She was Steve's secretary, or as I liked to call him, The Privileged One. Steve was the one who ran this area's bank, and he ruled over it with nothing short of an iron fist. He was also good with the ladies, especially Andrea, who had to hold a Master's Degree in Cock-Sucking by now with the number of times he's taken advantage of her special perks.

She wasn't the brightest of secretaries, but she definitely got the job done... and then some. I smiled at her greeting and quickly responded with my own, carefully pushing my disdainful appreciation of her...skills to the back of my mind.

"Good morning Andrea, how's it going?"

Then, almost cruelly, I added:

"How is Michael?"

Ah yes, Michael. Her fiancée. The one that was currently overseas fighting to save this country, and yet here was the woman who promised to marry him falling on her knees to suck her manager's cock in the meantime.

Real nice. Who says romance is dead?

Andrea swung her fishtail braid over her right shoulder and gave a smile of her pearly white teeth, which I was sure that Steve cleaned on the regular with his own special brand of toothpaste.

As she answered I again tried to push the thoughts away, focusing on her words despite not really caring to do so.

"He's good!  We are doing a video chat later, and I can't wait to see him. It's been a month, he's in an area where the signal sucks."

A month.  I wondered how many times in that month she had spent the night actually ignoring his calls while she serviced other men instead. 

The smooth transition from Michael to Steve, or anyone else for that matter, was easier said than done.  Andrea knew if she dumped Michael, bye-bye goes her access to his pension and all of the money he sends her. I know she has to be careful about what people find out, as she knew she didn't want to mess up a good thing.

Unfortunately for her, we already knew everything there was to know.

"That's great, tell him I said hello."

I honestly could care less about their relationship. It sucked and he deserved better, and I knew that I wasn't the only one to think that. As I headed toward the elevator, Andrea's voice called out to me unexpectedly, and I turned to look at her as I waited for her to speak.

"Oh David, Steve wanted to see you before you went down to accounting."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Bye-bye David.

I nodded and smiled slightly.

"Thank you Andrea. I'll head over now."

I could feel the sweat rolling down my back like an unexpected flood. A meeting with Steve.  This could only mean one of two things: something bad, or a raise.

Steve's office was on the second floor, which was the best floor in my opinion as the view was perfectly angled and you could see over the city just far enough to catch the wind. A perfect area for an office if I had one that wasn't located on the lower levels.

The ding of the elevator opening to the second floor sounded and as I stepped out all eyes fell on me. It was like a lower-level employee wasn't supposed to be there,  as the stares and views pointed toward me continued, I kept my head low and avoided eye contact.

The Second Floor was exactly what it said it was. It was a step in the right direction towards the main floor you wanted to be on and where you wanted your office to be. It was the perfect place for real accounting. It was a place for actual banking needs, somewhere that I desperately wanted to be.

I belonged here. I didn't belong in lower accounting.

I landed a soft knock against Steve's Mahogany wooden door, thinking that the fine grain was so deeply defined and crafted, that it was something a person could only dream about.

"Come in,"

Steve's voice carried over, and I opened the door and moved towards a waiting chair in the middle of the room.

His office held memories and mementos of his life. 

The pictures of his wife and children were scattered across the room. A children's rug sat near the floor-to-ceiling window with Scooby doo as the main character on it. A train track was neatly piled on a table along with books and toys near a chest.

All very sweet and domestic.

I wondered how many times he screwed Andrea on that Scooby doo rug.

Poor Scooby.

"The man of the hour! Do sit, David. Would you like some coffee or a snack?"

Steve smiled his fake smirk at me, a stunt he regularly did to make you feel welcomed even when you knew you weren't. Always an awkward decision on his part.

Pulling up my right hand, I showed him the now ice-cold coffee that I knew was bitter and burnt, knowing that the taste of anything he had to offer would make me feel lower in comparison.

"No thanks, Steve. I have some already."

I removed the bag I had slung over my shoulder and let it slouch onto the floor, leaning back into the leather of the seat.

Steve held his hands on his desk for a moment, his eyes finally drifting over to meet mine.

"David, we need to talk about that small disagreement that occurred the other day."

His eyes were stern and serious as he spoke, and I exhaled wearily.

"Steve, it really wasn't that bad, alright? Jean gave me the wrong item of paper and I was irritated. I know that I shouldn't have taken it out on her, and I did already apologize for it."

My words passed through Steve as he handed me a sheet of paper without a word.

A pink slip, of course. I knew it was a write-up.

"Final warning David. I'm sorry, but management is breathing down my ass about this and I have to prove to the others that I'm not just some guy you can step over. It's not just you, anyone who steps out of line will be receiving one from now on."

My head nodded in his response as I focused on the paper.

A fucking pink slip? Really.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, Steve. Look, I need to get downstairs and get to work."

My voice was edgy and dry, and I avoided looking at him for too long.  I didn't want my annoyance to show now that I knew I was on my last legs.

"Yeah, go ahead."

Steve's response was slightly hesitant, and I knew that he wanted to talk but I just wanted to leave.  I didn't want to be seen on the Second Floor, knowing that the rumor mill would be in high gear if it got out. I pulled my bag back over my shoulder and shoved the pink slip inside. Not glancing back, I made my way to the elevator back down to accounting.

**

"Oh for fucks sake Anthony. You're disgusting."

A smile pulled around my lips as I listened to Anthony mention both his new television show and the intern he recently screwed in his special terms that I came to understand as a busty blonde with a craving for cock, all in the same sentence.

"I'm telling you, David, she is an Angel with some good DSL lips. God, it's magical."

Snorting, I typed the numbers on the computer at the rapid speed I had become accustomed to.

"I don't need to hear this, you sick ass. Keep it to yourself!"

Moving the papers on the desk aside, I pull the Miller file into view, with one arm holding the phone and listening while Anthony blabbed about his tour on Food Star, his very own show on Food Network.

His hobby-induced culinary skills led him to the career of his dreams while I had wasted the best years of my life in college and now worked at a bank.

I swallowed back the bitter taste of jealousy as the hard keys of the keyboard banged under my fingers.

"David? You listening? I really think you and Sarah should fly out to Los Angeles. Join me on this next taping."

His voice had gone unexpectedly soft and caring. It wasn't like I didn't know he cared for me. I was his only brother after all, and all we had was each other since our parents had disowned us.

They didn't even give a shit about our whereabouts or how everything was going for us. Anthony, however, has always been there for me. From day one.

"Yeah, I'm listening. I'm just trying to focus on this file. A few numbers aren't adding up, that's all."

Exhaling, I pushed aside the myriad of thought processes about the numbers and pleaded with my mind to calm down. Maybe I was missing something in my distraction.  I'd have to start at the beginning again after the call to make sure.

Answering Anthony, I tried to make my voice sound as convinced as my mind was not.

"I'm not sure if Sarah wants to go. She has this birthing class to go to this week."

A clang of silver wear on Anthony's side of the call made me realize that I could have worded it better.

"Birthing class? What in the fuck? Is she pregnant?"

My jaw twitched as I leaned back in my chair, trying to explain as delicately as I could.

"No not yet, she's...uh, she's trying to get the hang of it all before we actually start trying, you know.  She wants to get to know everyone and have a foundation in place so when she is actually pregnant it wouldn't be awkward for her."

For a second, I thought I had lost the connection with the way the sound dropped away from Anthony's end of the line, but I knew that, like always, when something surprises him he completely shuts down.

That or he was waiting to say something stupid and make me hang up first.

"Really David? Are you serious? That's fucking cringe.  That's lame as fuck. She's not even pregnant yet and she's around women who are expecting with the excuse that she's observing and building relationships? That's fucking weird Dave. I'm sorry, but I have to call it out. Fucking weird."

He sighed in frustration. As always his brother never understands anything about anyone else. His own world literally revolves around him and only him, and he never fully understands the situation when someone else is involved.

"I'm not going to argue with you Anthony, because whatever Sarah wants to do is her right. Let her be fucking cringe and stare at pregnant women if she wants. Let her be weird and hang out with women who already have children when she doesn't. It's her right to do what makes her happy, and whatever makes my wife happy is perfectly fine with me."

With my blood pumping and the heat rising to my cheeks, I could hear that the end of the line was quiet once again.

The small, raspy sound of a throat clearing held the silence a moment before a loud beep entered the conversation. I knew it was the sound of a call waiting. A pulled the phone in my hand away from my face just enough to read the screen, and I noticed a number that regularly only calls when there's an issue with our neighbors.

The neighborhood CIA agent, or possibly an FBI officer. Not really, but sometimes I think she might as well be.

Clara, our lovely next-door neighbor, frequently visits Sarah and brings her homemade meals and desserts. Once I found a long strand of her hair in my casserole. Never told her, but I never accepted her meals again. I pulled the phone back up and ended the silence with finality.

"Hey Tony, I need to take this call. I'll call you back later, alright."

He didn't argue, and I suspected he wanted to get off the call just as much as I did.

Ending the call was just an excuse to ignore him for a bit, as it wasn't like I wanted to talk with Clara, but I worried that maybe she couldn't get ahold of Sarah for some reason.

"Hello? David? It's Clara from next door."

I was half rolling my eyes at her greeting.  I knew who she was, for god's sake.  I had her number saved for that reason.

It was Sarah who had pounded the idea into my mind to save the neighbor's numbers in case we needed them, though I had never been a fan of the idea.

"Hi, Clara."

My eyes rolled back as I answered, realizing I wanted off of this call even more than the previous one.

"Sorry to bother you David, but I haven't heard from Sarah this morning. Is she still tired from yesterday or something? She's not picking up."

I laughed mirthlessly, though the sound remained firmly in my mind, along with other unspoken thoughts.

Maybe she doesn't want to talk to you because you're fucking annoying and keep hovering over our house like a fucking UFO, Clara.

I answered calmly, knowing that there was likely nothing amiss.

"Not that I know of Clara. She left me a note this morning saying she's going out for errands and will see me tonight."

Through the phone, Clara's childlike voice was seething through my ears like a fucking snake. The sound was ill-formed and far too high-pitched for a woman her age. It was like she had never successfully gone through puberty.

"So you didn't even see her today? My God, David, what if something is wrong? You don't sound worried at all!"

The glasses slid roughly off my nose as I yanked them away. I was already irritated and wanting this day to be over and it had barely even started. I exhale my breath before answering, knowing that I was growing exasperated and didn't want her to hear it in my voice.

"Look, Clara, why don't you relax and let me call her, and I'll have her call you back. Don't worry, maybe she's still in town or something. There's never any cell signal.  You know San Antonio. It's insane how many dead spots we still have."

I hoped my voice disguised the very real panic that had begun to settle in as I realized that I hadn't seen Sarah this morning. I knew in the back of my mind that I always see her or some trace of her presence in the morning, but this time not even a trace of her perfume lingered in the air of our home like it always did.