#2. A Job Well Done

#2. A Job Well Done

The next day, Friday, was a great one for Patrick. It was as if God had sprinkled extra doses of generosity all over town; Patrick doubled his entire week’s pledges in just six hours. Naturally, he was smiling about it, even cheering under his breath. He knew he was within just a few months of a raise.

“You seem awfully pleased with yourself today,” Susan said. She smiled brightly at him with one hand on her phone, pausing before making another call.

Patrick nearly leapt out of his chair. This was the most she had ever said to him. “Uh, yeah,” he said, and laughed, embarrassed. “I thought I was being discreet.”

“Yeah, well, keep a lid on it. I’m trying to work,” she said gently, scowling with her eyes but still smiling.

This was the first time Patrick had had a chance to really look at her, straight on and up close. She had short brown hair that cupped her round ears, thin lips tinged pink with lipstick, a small, mousy nose that Patrick thought no man could find anything other than heart-rendingly cute, and then there were her eyes. They were pale green, like a cat, like Catwoman, like someone who had a strong will, but at the same time, delicate. Everything about her was delicate, somewhat dainty: the way she touched her mic, the way she typed, the way she walked, as if the headset, keyboard and floor were all cherished possessions on which she would hate to leave any marks. She was a girl – woman (was it time to start calling them women? Patrick wondered) – who handled life with care, responsibly, thoughtfully, and maybe even passionately. Patrick wondered what her passions might be, what she saw to be her path or calling in life. He wondered what she might think of his passions, if she might share them. He had thought all this before, faintly, but talking to her face-to-face for the first time made his imagination flare.

Susan adjusted her headset and turned back to her phone to dial. Patrick turned to his computer screen and, upon seeing his reflection, thought about April’s reddish-blonde hair that she tied back and her opaque blue eyes and her thick lips and her long nose, features that came together to make a pretty face. He had a pretty wife, he thought as he perused the list on the screen. She was shorter than Susan, and Susan was a bit skinnier. He glanced over at her for a moment. Susan was wearing a skirt. April almost never wore skirts. They both had very nice legs. They both did, he considered.

At five o’clock Patrick’s manager announced that they had had a record day and congratulated everyone on a job well done. Someone suggested that they all go out and celebrate that night. Patrick’s stomach always bunched up when people from work went out, because he was never quite sure if he could afford it, or if he could, if he should spend the money. April took care of the money, because she was far more responsible than Patrick, and she had to deal with cash all the time anyway. So they got into fights about what they could and couldn’t do and especially whether one was okay with the other doing it alone, as Patrick would be that night because April was working. So what sounded simple and fun to all the single people in the room sounded like a war cry to Patrick.

“Sounds like fun,” Susan said. “You can brag about how well you did.”

Patrick turned as the words floated like musical notes into his ears. He hadn’t realized she was talking to him at first. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. Sounds like I’m not the only one.”

She smiled in response and started getting ready to leave. Patrick did the same, and when he had logged off his computer he rose and said, “Well, see ya.” He had never felt the need to say it before, but he figured they had talked enough that day.

“See ya there,” she replied. Patrick nodded and left.

When he got home he mulled over his options. He could stay in all night, maybe rent a movie, and make his wife happy by being home when she got there. He knew she wouldn’t be mad if he went out, but if he went without her and spent a bunch of their money, she’d be upset. He looked around as he weighed the options, and thought again how much he hated this apartment. One thing they were trying to save up for was a nicer place, one without horrible drafts and drug dealers next door. It would be a long time before that happened, though, and in the meantime Patrick had a hard time turning down any opportunity to get out.

So when the time came he made up his mind and put a note for April on the kitchen table. Big day, gone out with people from work. I’ll try not to spend too much. I love you, Pat.

Patrick stepped out after making sure he looked nice, but not like he was trying to impress anybody. He cleared his throat repeatedly on the way to the restaurant, and tried out his voice to make sure it was steady and wouldn’t crack tonight. He smelled his armpits to make sure he could still smell a hint of the deodorant he’d put on that morning. He pulled his pant legs down at red lights to make sure they covered his socks while seated. He checked his part and combed his hair with his fingers, checked his part, combed with his fingers. He checked it one more time before parking.

“Oh, Patrick. Just in time, man,” Derek said when Patrick sat down beside him, toward the end of the table. “We’re starting off with something special, on me.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, nodding hello to the dozen other faces at the table. Susan was not among them.

The waiter came then with a tray that looked to be on fire. He set it carefully down in the middle of the table as sweat dripped from his forehead. Those sitting close by reached forward to take the flaming shot glasses and pass them down the table. Once everyone had a glass, Derek stood up and raised his high.

“This is to FOP, and to the ridiculous amassing of wealth made possible by its intrepid fundraising caller-people. May we forever be FOP-a-licious. Here here!”

Everybody cheered, and Derek quickly continued, “Now slap the table twice, bam bam – ” he demonstrated “ – blow out your flame and down it. Ladies, sip if you like. Men, don’t disappoint me. Ready? Don’t forget the blowing it out part now – you know who you are . . . Lindsay – ready?!”

The table rumbled with slapping hands, man-made wind doused the flames and all heads tipped back. Patrick didn’t take shots very often, and felt the burn that needed no flame all the way down to his stomach. He bellowed once it was down, though nobody noticed amidst the laughing.

He tapped Helen on the shoulder and pointed to her water. “You mind?” he rasped.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” she said, and handed him the glass. He sucked about a quarter of it through the straw. “I didn’t drink mine,” she whispered to him. “You want it?”

Patrick squinted at her and shook his head no. “I think it would kill me.”

“We still have a nice fire going,” Derek said, looking at the tray. “Two extra.”

“I knew Debbie wasn’t coming, but where’s that new girl?” someone said.

“I don’t know, but I and one other lucky alcoholic are going to be claiming those pretty quick here if our latecomers don’t show,” Derek said.

“There she is.”

Patrick turned around and saw Susan searching for them by the front door.