looks at my hand for a moment and then into my eyes.
I did some research into Soo’s life. She has slept with a small amount of men. Small for her age I mean. The men that she has slept with are a very specific type. White males ages 30 - 42. Heights 6’0” to 6’4”. Relatively successful. The last one she dated had a net worth of $750,000. Less than what I made my first year of business. Though she does not want to be attracted to me everything her instincts tell say that she should attempt to be in bed with me.
“Bullshit I’m not your type,” she says. I give no reaction. She looks over her shoulder into the lobby. Ira has left her desk. Soo then lifts her shirt showing me her black, silk bra. Victoria’s Secret. Released in 2008. Since she wore a black bra with a white type I knew this before she did this.
I still give no reaction. This time because I really am not attracted to her. She is the type of girl that ignored men like me in college. I was not unattractive, just not wealthy. I also had no direction. She pulls her bra up exposing her breasts. Ira walks in and sighs.
“Yes?” I ask her.
“Nothing,” she says and begins to walk away.
“Ira,” I say. “What is it that you needed to tell me?” Mind you, Soo still has her breasts out and is making no attempt to cover herself up. She actually turns a bit to the side giving Ira a better view. I know that Ira wants to say something regarding Soo but not in front of her. Ira is very non-confrontational. Something she will have to work on if she plans on being an employee of mine. “Leanne, cover yourself up, please. Or I will have you removed from the premises.”
Soo/Leanne leaves after seeing that I have no plans of reciprocating. I had such hopes for her too. Not high hopes, mind you. But hopes nonetheless. Every once in a while I like to take someone who is at the end of their rope. Someone hopeless but with the potential for potential. My last project is sitting in my lobby pretending to not want to come into my office and talk about what just happened.
Ira has lived a life riddled with bad decisions with the best of intentions. Multiple bad husbands and boyfriends. Jobs with no hope for upward momentum. But there is something in her that makes me believe that she can be better than she is right now.
And before you ask, no, she does not remind me of my mother.
“Ira, may I speak to you?” She does not reply. This is getting old pretty fast. I stand and slam my door shut. The saddest thing about women that spend their lives being abused is that they only respond to violence. Moments later Ira opens my door.
“Yes?” she asks me.
“Why are you ignoring me?” I ask. She just stands looking at me. “I am not going to yell at you, Ira. If that is what you are looking for you may tender your resignation right now. All I expect from you is confidentiality, trust, and for you to arrive to work on time and do what I pay you to do.”
“I know all that,” she replies.
“Good,” I say.
“That’s one of the reasons why I called the police,” she says. I stare at her, unblinking. “You can’t tell me something like what you did to your own father and not expect me to just sit here and…I don’t know!”
“Oh, Ira” I mutter. “What happened to trust?” She stands there biting her lip. I have been called many things in my life. More things than I care to recall. Resourceful is one. Which is why as soon as she placed a call to the police the call was rerouted to someone I have been helping at the police station for the past three years. He sent me a text alerting me to what was happening. There is no way Ira knows this though.
“I can’t trust someone like you, Cyrus” she says.
“Someone like me?” I ask. Now I am getting upset. She takes a step back but does not run. Good old fashioned conditioning at work. “Someone who got you years worth of pension and took you in? Someone who is paying you more in a month than you earned in six at your previous job? Someone that got your ex husbands to not only pay you alimony but leave you alone? That kind of someone, Ira?”
“And I thanked you for all those things” she says. “But you killed your father! You helped kill your father!” she corrects herself. “You should have to pay for that!”
“Ira, I have never in my life killed anyone,” I say. “If I told you to jump off the roof and you died, would I be a murderer? Before you answer, know your laws. At the very best I could be tried as an accomplice to his death. And that is if his death is considered a crime. Suicide is not a crime. You on the other hand may be found complicit of a crime. Knowing that I allegedly did what I did all those years ago and not saying a word. Actus reus and mens reus must coincide for a crime to have been committed. Let me say it in words you may understand. A guilty action must meet a guilty mind for a crime to have been committed.”
“But you’re guilty…” she mumbles. I hate mumbling.
“Do I look guilty?” I ask her. “Was my mind guilty? No. My father placed his head into an oven. Were my actions guilty? No. I talked to my father. Now, allow me to ask you again: if I told you to jump off the roof and you died, would I be a murderer?” Ira stands there just looking at me. I know what she is thinking and none of it ends well for either of us.
“I’m gonna go home now,” she tells me. “Sorry about all of this, Cyrus.”
“’It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.’ Darwin said that. Do you know who he was?” I ask Ira. She slowly backs out of the room. My phone alerts me of a text. I check it and smile. Ira already has her purse and is heading for the elevator.
“Sorry, Cyrus,” she says shakily as the elevator door closes. I wave to her. Moments later I hear a loud crash. Smoke and dust slowly rise through the small crack in the elevator shaft.
“’In the long history of humankind those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed.’”
It always pays to know the right people.
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About the Author:
Dante D. Ross was born in Los Angeles, CA. After being spat out onto Earth he decided to spend most of his free time reading, podcasting, blogging, drawing, and avoiding the pitfalls of boredom. He hopes to one day grow up to become Batman.
And he writes. He writes a lot.
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