THE JOURNALIST COULDN’T wait to get back to his office so he could start writing the exciting new chapter Dink had so eloquently narrated. However, he did have a dilemma to resolve: Should he take the old man’s word that the incredible events he related actually did occur? During all his years of golf reporting, Ty had never heard the story before. If he was wrong and printed the information as it was shared, both he and his article would lose all credibility.
He felt a certain amount of guilt about doubting the old man but decided it would be prudent to check the Internet in order to verify the truth of his statements, so he searched on his laptop while still in the parking lot. It didn’t take long before he found a detailed account of the Ocean Crest tournament and the wild ending that verified Dink’s rendition of the story.
Ty noted a striking lack of activity when he bobbed into corporate. First he noticed that Reginald, the faithful security guard, was not at his post to greet him as usual. There was also a lack of personnel milling about, as though they were on a holiday schedule. After passing numerous empty cubicles, he stopped dead in his tracks when he witnessed Rob placing his belongings into a box.
“What the hell’s going on around here?” the bewildered man asked.
“Take a guess. What does it look like? Black Friday’s making its passover. Instead of a gold watch for your services, they give you a pink slip.”
“No frickin’ way! They can’t do that!”
“Can and did.” Rob looked away and continued to empty his drawers. “Um, Callahan wants to see you.”
“Me? See me? You don’t think…”
Rob raised both arms and shrugged his shoulders. “Writing’s on the wall, pal. What can I say?”
“What about seniority? Doesn’t that count for anything anymore?”
“When the natives are loose in the jungle, heads will roll.”
“Unbelievable. Look Rob, I’ll give you a jingle in a day or two. Maybe we can play a round of golf and sort things out.”
“Think you can afford it? I sure as hell can’t. Alimony payments don’t stop just because I lose a job.”
Ty’s footsteps echoed a woeful beat in the quiet, empty hallway leading to Callahan’s office. In place of Suzie Q sat a matronly temp, pounding out letters of recommendation for the herd as they mass-exited the feeding grounds.
He didn’t bother to knock and barged in, prepared for a fight. The first thing he noticed were two empty whiskey bottles spooning in the wastebasket. His boss looked as though he had aged a decade in the past week, packing enough baggage under his eyes for a family of four.
“What the hell, Callahan? You drop a dirty bomb, then sit back and watch your victims die a slow death?”
The boss raked a hand over his face without looking up. “Think I’m enjoying this, Ryder? Contrary to what everyone—including my soon-to-be ex-wife—thinks, I do have feelings. That’s right, ex-wife. She found out about my little faux pas. You and the other pencil pushers around here should have discerned what was going down at our last meeting.”
“I suppose you dropped Sue like a hot potato.”
“You pompous bastard! Got all the answers don’t you, smart guy?” Callahan looked away and lowered his voice. “Sue’s dead, goddamn it. She took her life right after…”
Ty collapsed into a plush chair that cushioned his fall. “It didn’t have to go down like that. There were other alternatives.”
Callahan searched his desk for another bottle. “Coulda, shoulda, woulda. What’s done is done. What the hell difference does it make, anyway? Sue’s in a better place than either one of us.”
“It’s all about you, right?”
“Look, I’m ruined, but at least you have somewhat of a half-ass chance at recovery.”
“And what about employees with young families to support or those well past their prime who now have nothing to look forward to—no job, no pension, no prospects, and no future?”
“What do you want from me, Ryder? You want to nail me to the cross? Well, good luck. It’s too fucking late. I’ve already been crucified.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself…poor, lonesome me?”
Callahan scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Here’s the name of a friend of mine over at Sports Illustrated. Maybe he has a lead or something for you.”
Ty read the name and crumpled the paper into his pocket. “Can’t say it’s been a pleasure, but at least I’ll be able to look myself in the mirror tomorrow.”
“Yeah, go ahead and keep leading that sanctimonious life of yours. Someday when you find your balls in the hopper, you can join the rest of us unfortunate bastards who’ve been dealt a dead man’s hand.”
“Go to hell,” Ty growled on the way out.
He bumped into Rob down the hall.
“Welcome to the club, old boy,” his friend said. “And by the way, don’t bother to set up shop anywhere near the mall. I’ve already got my ‘Will work for food’ sign printed.”
“Can you believe this crap? You give them your best years, and they end up flushing you down the shitter.”
“At least you have someone to lean on ’til you get settled. I…I got bubkes. I’m a balding, almost middle-aged man who had a mediocre career with no skills to fall back on in a depressed job market. Doesn’t paint a very pretty picture, does it?”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I’ll let you know if I run across any prospects while pounding the streets.”
“Yeah sure. Do that, will ya?”
Ty slowly cruised through shantytown on his way home. The brown-baggers on the corner leered at Mr. Corporate riding high in his shiny new automobile.
It wasn’t that much of a stretch for him to imagine himself trading in his car for a shopping cart. After all, not everyone who finds himself in dire straits is mentally ill or an alcoholic/drug addict. A good percentage of the people in that area were not much older than him—some even younger.
He stopped at the light across from a shirtless, barefoot young man with dirty, straggly, long hair. The dude looked at him through tombstone eyes, his gaze dark and vacant.
What’s his story? Ty wondered. There were so many scenarios to consider. Was the wayward soul an ex-veteran suffering from PTSD, a drug addict, or just an unfortunate slob such as himself—unemployed with no in-demand, marketable skills? Fortunately, the light turned green just as the man approached his car.
A crazy old woman was standing in the street near her makeshift cardboard dwelling. She was talking a mile a minute to no one in particular but seemed more than willing to share her wisdom with those less informed.
I’m hunting for a job first thing tomorrow morning, he vowed, and I don’t care if it’s scooping pig shit with my bare hands.
Joy was engrossed in a Travel Channel documentary when Ty got home. He tried to shake the image of the crazy old woman when he looked at his wife. She was spread out on the sofa like Cleopatra, waiting to be serviced.
Queeny popped a bonbon and washed it down with a bit of the grape. “Honey, I’ve been thinking…we haven’t had a real vacation in years. Why don’t we go to the Bahamas? There’s golf, dolphins, manta rays, the beach, and tons of activities at the hotel. I mean, it looks like a blast.”
Ty plunked down in his easy chair and stared at the screen.
“What’s wrong, darling?” she asked. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
“The only trip we’ll be taking is to the food locker. I got shit-canned today.”
“You got fired?”
“Nothing quite that harsh. As Callahan so eloquently stated, I was ‘laid off.’ Put that way, I felt oh so much better. I don’t know if you realize it or not, but if something were to happen to your position, we’d be one paycheck from homelessness. And while on that subject…if our house were any more underwater, we’d be living in a submarine. But don’t worry none. Think I spotted this great location where we could settle next to a crazy woman down on Fourth Street. It’s got a terrific view of the freeway, and cardboard housing can be had at a reasonable price with nothing down. Plus, we could add on easily if need be, although a two-story might be problematic.”
Joy began to massage his shoulders. “Now now, honey. You know what they say: ‘The darkest hour is just before the dawn.’ Everything will work out in the end. It always does.”
“Does it? We aren’t living in one of those soaps you’re so fond of.”
“I’m sure that with your experience and references, in no time at all you’ll have a job that pays even better. Who knows, this may be a blessing in disguise.”
“Obviously, you haven’t been reading the business section. The economy is in the crapper, unemployment is at an all-time high, and my job skills are as relevant as the Gutenberg printing press in this era of online social media.”
“You’ll feel better after dinner, dear. We’re having lasagna, and I’ll make sure your wine glass never goes dry.”
“Just what I need: alcohol, the magic elixir of mankind. Why worry when you can forget your sorrows by drowning them in a bottle of Chardonnay?”
“Come now, honey…cheer up. We have each other. Isn’t that what’s really important?”
“No more important than staving off the grim reaper as we waste away because daddy can’t provide for the family anymore. I don’t think you understand the psychological repercussions this can have on a man.”
“Need I remind you that the lioness does all the hunting, but the lion is still—and will always be—king of the jungle.”
“That may be true in the animal kingdom, but as the years roll by I’ll be tagged a gigolo by my contemporaries. ‘Have you seen poor, old Ty lately?’ they’ll ask each other. ‘No one’s seen neither hide nor hair of him,’ they’ll say. ‘He’s a kept man who stays hidden behind his wife’s skirt.’”
“Oh, brother! What a drama queen.”
“Great…so Tommy was right.”
“I don’t have time for this. When you finally climb out of that pity puddle, dry yourself off and join the rest of the human race at the supper table.”