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Carter
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As I return from a meeting, I run into my personal assistant as she’s heading into the file room. Briana is more than a great secretary, she literally manages my life. I nod my hello, but she stops me.
“Just real quick. Don’t forget you’ve got a meeting with the IT department at three, and then dinner tonight with”—she glances down at her tablet—“Elle, at six. I just confirmed the reservation at Anthony’s Ristorante. Do you want me to send you a reminder?”
“Yeah, that would be great,” I reply, but I won’t forget. Anthony’s is one of my favorites and six p.m. is easy to remember.
“You got it,” she replies, walking away and disappearing into the file room with her arms full. I sometimes wonder why we bother printing out hard copies of everything and storing them, but you never know if computers and servers will crash, or just be temporarily unavailable. Then you’re stuck and not able to move forward, to get work done. To find old files and documents. I often wonder if the tech world will become too much for humans and we’ll one day just ditch it all. I didn’t think so, but one never knows.
I shake my head of those ridiculous thoughts and head back to my office. A glance at the Rolex tells me it’s 2:30 and I have a limited amount of time before the monthly meeting with the IT department.
Lockwood Technologies, Inc. is a small company. We develop apps and distribute them to all devices, desktop and mobile. Some are free or very inexpensive, down to 99 cents. Others are very costly and you have to pay by the year to access them—to the tune of thousands of dollars. Our apps are various in nature. From games to the more sordid and private type, my company is a conglomerate that caters to all wants and needs.
Ding!
I look at my computer to see I have an email.
To: Carter@lockwoodtech.com
From: EAndrews@coloradodocmail.state.co
Subject: Really?
Carter – is there a reason you didn’t show up at my mother’s funeral? Taryn could have used the support. I like to think my mom was there for you as a kid when your parents weren’t. Not cool. ~Eric
I sigh and scrub a hand down my face. As if I didn’t already feel like shit enough, he had to go rub dirt in the wound.
I can’t reply to him because the prison’s email system is still new and I’d literally have to pen and ink a letter and throw a stamp on it to do so. I’m assuming he talked to Taryn. I wasn’t technically invited to the funeral—I just heard about it. Taryn didn’t know I was there, but I was. Watching from the shadows of the trees like a coward. The service was nice, but short. I paid my respects and then sent a card. What more did they want from me?
But deep down, I know I should have been there for Taryn and her family. To stand in for Eric since he couldn’t be there. But I’d let her do it alone. Eric’s right. I have nothing to say in my defense except that I loved their mom and her sudden death had hit me hard.
All those days and nights I spent at their place because my own parents were too drunk or high to have gone to the grocery store and put food in the house. The times I had to shoplift a few snacks so I wouldn’t go to bed hungry. The sandwiches Mrs. Andrews made me that I took to school for lunch every day because my lunch account was at $0.00 and my mom hadn’t filled out the forms to get me free lunch. I remember those forms piled up on the dining room table, littered amongst trash and empty tequila and beer bottles. Eventually, I just forged them and was able to get a hot lunch every day. But that was the only hot meal I got. And I was grateful for that.
I would never look at sad, square cheese pizza the same again, though.
I shudder at the memory and stare at Eric’s email again. Then, something catches my eye. Is that a reply button?
I click it and am overjoyed to see they’ve fixed their system.
I type out a quick comeback:
To: EAndrews@coloradodocmail.state.co
From: Carter@lockwoodtech.com
Subject: RE: Really?
Eric, you’re right. I’m sorry. ~C
I hit send and lean back in my seat. It’s really all I can say for now.
My cell phone beeps with a text. I look down at it.
Richelle: Do you remember my Netflix password?
I roll my eyes and set the phone down. I can’t with this woman. Why won’t she just leave me alone? Better yet, why haven’t I blocked her number?
A knock interrupts my thoughts.
“Come in,” I call.
“IT is here. Conference room?” Briana asks.
“Here is fine,” I reply.
She opens the door wider and my four Information Technology employees walk in. Briana grabs two chairs from the corner of the room and drags them next to the two that are already set up in front of my desk.
“Sit,” I instruct. “Y’all want coffee or anything?”
They grumble no or shake their heads.
“Meeting notes?” Briana asks.
“Yes, please. But I have no more chairs. You want mine?” I ask.
She shakes her head no and stands in the corner. I hate when she does that. I feel like an asshole for making her stand but if I insist she sit, she’ll just chirp about how she sits all day and she’s fine where she is.
“What can I help you boys with?” I ask my all-male IT department.
IT manager, Jeff Chin, speaks up first. “To cut to the chase here, boss. We need some help.”
“With what?” I ask.
“Well, I’m covering the internal things like employee pay, timecards, and accounting. Jason, Lars, and Matt are covering the app developments and rollouts, among other things. We need more help with that stuff. They’re working up to twelve-hour days because we also have to cover computer-related stuff for people in the office. Another body would cut down on hours and us taking work home.”
I nod. “I see. Do you need another fulltime employee?”
Jeff nods. “Yes, for sure. Fulltime and they’d stay busy. I can show you everything if you’d like.” He lifts his electronic tablet.
“Sure,” I reply.
He taps a few buttons and prattles on about all the work that is behind, and is essentially costing me money, and once he’s done with his ten-minute demonstration, he’s got me convinced.
“Okay, you’ve sold me. I’ll look for someone right away.”
“Maybe hit up the colleges for a recent graduate. They’re easier to mold and train than someone seasoned. And also cheaper to pay.” He chuckles and adjusts his tie.
I smile. “You’re a genius, Jeff. Is there anything else?”
He clears his throat. “Uh yeah, Lars wants to know if there’s a company picnic this year.”
Chuckling, I look at the young man, whose cheeks are turning pink. “You would.”
“My kids look forward to it,” he says softly.
Lars is barely thirty and has four kids and a wife who homeschools the oldest two.
I look at Briana. “How’s that coming along?”
She throws me a brief look, as if I don’t work her hard enough, and then plasters on a tight smile. “I’ll be sending out an email shortly about it.”
Lars’s face lights up and I resist a chuckle. “There you go, man. It’s happening.” I look at the rest of my quiet IT team. “I’ll get HR to start looking for another employee to add to our team and keep you updated. Cool?” I slide my hands into the pockets of my dress pants.
Jeff stands the rest follow. “Yes, thanks, sir.”
“Stop calling me sir,” I say to him with a chuckle.
They leave my office and I look at Briana.
Before I can open my mouth, she holds up a hand. “Ask Lisa in HR to contact the colleges for an IT intern. Got it.”
I shake my head. “No interns. I need a real employee.”
“Okay then.” She disappears behind the door and shuts it behind her.
I lean back in my chair and tap a pen against the back of my neck as I stare at Eric’s email again. He’s right. I’m an asshole. I think back to the graveside funeral and how heartbroken Taryn looked. I wanted to go to her, grab her into my arms, and comfort her. To tell her how sorry I was and how much her mom was loved. But I didn’t. I’d stayed back in the shadows of the trees on that cloudy March Sunday.
My desk phone rings. I used to have Briana screen all my calls but it got to be too much for her. I’m perfectly capable of answering the phone and getting rid of anyone I don’t want to talk to.
“Carter Lockwood,” I answer.
“Carter. Jim Shaffer, how are you?”
“Good, good,” I reply. “What’s going on?”
Jim owns a company that runs a mobile sex club. He disguises it under a corporation that runs a chain of nightclubs in the area. I’m the one who created the app his secret clientele uses to get info on the club’s monthly location, to the tune of $1,500 a year to access it. The details change monthly, so I already know why Jim’s calling.
“Just got the monthly update for you. Got a pen handy?”
I chuckle. He always asks me that. He never puts this stuff in writing—text, email, or otherwise, it’s always desk phone-to-desk phone conversations.
“Date, April 29. Nine p.m. to four a.m. Location, 1880 Square Tap Road, Centennial. Five rooms, hetero workers only this time. Password: Lovetap, one word.”
I jotted it all down. “Got it. Anything else?”
“No, I think that’s it. You gonna swing by?” he asks in reference to the club.
I shrug. “I might. If I’m in the mood.”
“Well, I’ll be there. Make sure you say hi. I’ll be milling around.”
Yes, he will. Jim likes to watch. Thankfully he stays fully clothed in a tuxedo and doesn’t try to participate out in the open like a lot of people. I’ve used the club myself a couple of times, but I prefer the private rooms with the anonymous subs who don’t ask questions and do as I say.
We end the call and I log into the program I use for this application. I input the details, and after double and triple checking them, I send out a mass notification to all thousand-plus users of the app. Then, I log into the users’ details to ensure everyone is up-to-date on their $1,500 annual payments. Those whose are coming up, I send out individual notifications to their phones to remind them payment is due. This is something only I do. If something were to happen to me, Jim would be fucked because nobody in my company knows about this. I have the application hidden on my computer so even IT can’t find it. I’m the only one who’ll be complicit in anything should something go down.
The three million a year I make on this app I share with Jim. He makes more than I do though, as he charges $500 at the door as well, to access the Mile High Rooms. That’s real expensive pussy. To be fair, he does have to set everything up, provide equipment, toys, cleaning products, lube, condoms, and then pay the sex workers. They earn tips, too. He once told me some of these men and women only work once a month. His club is their entire monthly income.
Good for them.
Though, I’m fairly sure what Jim is doing isn’t exactly legal. You have to get licenses to run sex clubs in Colorado and I’m about 99% positive it has to be an all-consensual club, where people are just there for enjoyment, not getting paid. I did suggest to him once that he should just let them work for tips, but he said that wouldn’t work. We hadn’t discussed it since.
Not my problem...
Which is why I’d only visited there once or twice. Last thing I need is to be arrested for solicitation. No, thank you. I could get my own dates without paying for it. Though I know most of the people who utilize the club do so to avoid the angst of relationships and casual hookups. They want a release with zero strings. That, I could certainly understand. Some go there as couples to explore other sides of themselves without using the sex workers, which is totally legit.
Speaking of... I have a date with Ella tonight. She’s always down for a good time.