Silken Tide Page 2

  “Those guys out there depend on me, sir. Who is going to lead them?”

  “In an effort to downsize, Josephine will be leading your team as well as two other teams. We’ll relocate her to the corner office.”

  Mark raked his fingers through his dark hair and stood up from his chair. His shock quickly turned to anger. He gave this place his blood, sweat, and tears for the past twelve years and this was the thanks he got! He paced in front of his boss’ desk for a few seconds and then stopped to face him.

  “You are going to let Josephine lead that group of green bastards out there! I trained her how to do her job, for God’s sake!” Mark was sure that his voice could be heard beyond the closed door, but he didn’t care.

  “Please, Mark. This was a harder decision than you think. We are prepared to give you a position as a representative if you’d like. I understand it’s a demotion, but it’s better than standing in the unemployment line.”

  “I can’t go out there as a rep. I just can’t.” Mark shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head.

  “Well, we all have to make decisions. Look, we would really appreciate it if you would finish out the day.”

  Mark lowered his head and his jaw tightened.

  “No. Screw that. I’m outta here. I devoted myself to this place and I expected the same in return. Obviously, my loyalty was misplaced.”

  Mark flung the door open and it hit the wall, causing a few framed pictures to crash to the floor. Like moles surfacing from the earth, his co-workers’ shocked faces seemed to pop up over their cubicle walls. He kept his head down and made his way back to what used to be his desk. The blood rushed to Mark’s head as he looked around the corner of each cubicle for a box to pack up his things. He finally spotted a box sitting against the wall full of printer paper. He lifted the heavy box, so that it was even with his head. All at once, he turned the box over and paper went sailing in every direction. He kicked his way through the white aftermath and made it to his desk. He jammed his belongings into the box and left the office as quickly as he had come.

  Chapter 3

  The ride home on the C train was not nearly as crowded, as rush hour had come and gone. Yes, his father had always told him that a lot could be told about a man by the shoes on his feet. As he balanced the box full of his belongings on his legs, he looked at the people sitting around him. He wondered what his shoes said about him now.

  After the train came to a screeching halt, Mark ascended the steps from the subway station and dropped the box at his feet. The mid-morning sun seemed to draw moisture from the Hudson River and lay a muggy blanket over the city streets. He took his jacket off, draped it over the box, and rolled up his sleeves. He stood still for a moment with his hands on his hips. He didn’t know what he was going to tell Tammy. He was afraid of looking like a failure, but she was simply going to have to get a job to help out until Mark got back on his feet. He was confident that he would find another job in no time. He picked up the box once more and walked down the sidewalk toward his apartment.

  As he approached his apartment building, he noticed a utility vehicle parked at the curb. The plumber, he thought. He hoped that Tammy hadn’t charged anything to his card yet today, as he was going to have to pay the plumber somehow. Mark climbed the four flights of steps, having to take rest breaks periodically and balance the box on the rail. With sweat running down his face, he walked up to his front door and took a deep breath. Before he reached for the knob, he realized that the door was left ajar. At first, Mark was irritated. How many times had he told Tammy to make sure the door was secure? But, the box was heavy. Maybe she did him a favor. He nudged the door open further with his foot and he dropped the box just inside the apartment.

  When Mark made his way down the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen, he heard a jingling sound in concert with rhythmic hammering. As he drew closer, the beating sound was cadenced with the deep grunts of a man, sprinkled with Tammy’s flirtatious giggle, a sound that Mark had come to love and hate. He should be working hard as much as I am going to be paying him, Mark thought as he rounded the corner to the entrance of the kitchen.

  The plumber stood in front of the dishwasher and Tammy sat in front of him on the counter. The sight was confusing to Mark. He was expecting to see an overweight, sweaty man lying underneath his sink twisting a wrench. Maybe it was his mind’s way of denying the display that was unfolding before him, but it took a few moments for Mark’s eyes to focus on anything but the keys swinging from the plumber’s belt. Finally, he broke his stare and his gaze traveled upwards to reassess the situation. Yes, the plumber stood in front of the dishwasher. Yes, Tammy sat in front of him. This time his eyes allowed him to see that Tammy’s long legs were wrapped around the plumber’s waist. The hammering Mark heard was the sound of the back of Tammy’s head thumping against the cabinet doors. The jingling he heard was the sound of the plumber’s keys clanging together as he thrust his hips forward to fuck Tammy.

  Mark stood there for what seemed like an eternity. They weren’t even aware of his presence. For some odd reason, he studied the expression on Tammy’s face. He had seen that look of pleasure before. The way her eyelids fluttered. The way she bit down on her lower lip and smiled at the same time. Apparently, it was not a look that was unique to their sexual encounters. When Mark was satisfied that his eyes were not playing tricks on him, he picked up one of the many plates that Tammy refused to wash in fear of developing dishpan hands. Not taking his eyes off the two, he held the dish out in front of him. He let it go and the plate broke into a million pieces all over the ceramic tile floor. Tammy’s eyes flipped open and her legs released the vise-like grip they had around the plumber’s waist. She pushed him away and slid off the counter.

  “Mark! What are you doing here?”

  “I live here, Tammy. What are you doing?”

  “It’s not what you think!”

  “No? Because it looked like you were fucking the plumber.”

  The plumber frantically tried to fasten his pants and scurry past, but Mark reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Mark stood tall at six-two and seemed to tower over him. He leaned in closer so that they were eye to eye.

  “I hope you didn’t kiss her on the mouth, because I came in there this morning,” Mark whispered.

  The plumber’s eyes darted back and forth. He looked like he was about to cry.

  “Trust me, bro, I can barely afford her. And once you’re standing in the unemployment line, because I will have your job, you won’t be able to afford her either.”

  Mark led the plumber to the front door by his arm and threw him out into the hallway. He slammed the door shut and made his way back to the kitchen again. He leaned against the doorway with his arms folded in front of him. He watched as Tammy stood in the middle of the kitchen trying to smooth her hair, her blue teddy now a wrinkled mess.

  “Mark, baby. Listen, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to.”

  She ran to him and put her hands up trying to caress his face, but Mark grabbed her wrists. She lowered her gaze to the floor.

  “Don’t worry, Tammy. I never expected anything less from you. As a matter of fact, I never expected anything more.”

  “Don’t say that,” Tammy said.

  “All hot pieces of ass wear out their welcome sooner or later. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.”

  “Mark…”

  “Sshh.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and placed his finger over her lips. “I want you to get all of your shit and get the fuck out. Now.”

  Mark pushed her away and let go of her wrists. Tammy stumbled backward and steadied herself on the table behind her. She seemed to be stunned and stood still for a moment.

  “Now!” Mark yelled.

  Tammy, startled at the volume of his voice, ran past him from the kitchen. Mark stood at the bedroom door as she collected her things into a suitcase. He watched carefully that she did not make off with anything that did not belong
to her. Women. They can’t be trusted. There were no tears. There were no long drawn out goodbyes. She moved swiftly past him, down the hallway, and the door slammed behind her. Mark parted the white curtains and stared from his bedroom window, which overlooked the sidewalk in front of the building. Finally, he saw Tammy emerge from the apartment building. She frantically hailed a cab and pushed her overstuffed bag into the back seat. Mark watched as the taxi drove out of sight and took Tammy out of his life forever.

  * * * *

  Mark split his time for the next four weeks between trying to find a job and trying to convince his credit card company that it was not him who maxed out his plastic at Saks. He was so busy making sure that Tammy didn’t leave the apartment with anything that wasn’t hers, he had forgotten to take back his credit card that he had given her the morning that she had screwed the plumber. He took her shopping spree as a “farewell fuck you.” Women; they will run up your debt and drag down your pride.

  Mark’s former boss was right. The economy was at a standstill. In order for businesses to remain profitable, they were either making cuts or in the midst of a hiring freeze. His résumé was impressive, but it usually ended up on file with a dozen other applications. Although a faltering economy was a good enough excuse for corporations not to hire, Mark’s creditors were less than understanding of his dire situation. They wanted their money. Money that he didn’t have. Money that was hanging in his closet in the form of Armani suits. Money that clothed the bitch who fucked the plumber on his granite countertop.

  Mark knew that he had lost the war when he had returned to his apartment after yet another interview in vain, only to find an eviction notice posted to his front door. Living a fast lifestyle finally had caught up with him and ran him over. The next day, he took out an online classified ad to sell his furniture and most of his belongings. Soon, people from every borough were coming and going from his apartment. He was both surprised and saddened at the quick response. He watched as all the pretty things he once clung to were dragged down the stairwell and out onto the city streets.

  Mark stood in the middle of his apartment in the soft glow of the setting sun. He glanced around at the empty space for a few moments, before spreading out a sleeping bag on the dusty hardwood floor. He lowered himself to the floor and sat with his back against the wall. He draped his arms over his bent knees and stared at his cell phone that lay before him on the sleeping bag.

  The sun is setting. He’s probably home by now, Mark thought.

  He picked up the phone, but his fingers seemed to lack the coordination to dial the number. He dropped the phone and ran his hands through his dark hair. He sat for a moment trying to think of any other way, but he was all out of ideas. He couldn’t stay with friends in the city if he didn’t have a source of income. What other choice did he have? It would just be for a little while, just until he got his feet underneath him. Mark took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed the number before his fingers had the chance to protest. The phone rang three times before it was answered.

  “Hi, Dad. It’s me, Mark.”

  Chapter 4

  One hundred and twenty-three dollars. That was the cost of a one-way train ticket back to Silk Cove. Mark was glad that it didn’t cost much more than that; his wallet felt a little light after selling his possessions to settle up with his debtors. With his duffle bag in one hand and his ticket in the other, he boarded the train. He smirked at the irony of it all. He had left New York with what he came in with. No more. No less. Well, less an old rusted out pickup truck and his pride.

  Mark pushed his bag into an overhead compartment and took the window seat. He rolled up his sleeve and checked his watch. Nine o’clock in the morning. At this time a month ago, he would have been in a meeting tapping his pencil on a gleaming mahogany table with the rest of his colleagues. Now, he sat in an overcrowded train with strangers in transit to God knows where. He stared out the window and shook his head in disgust. He was angry. Angry with Tammy. Angry with his boss. But, most of all he was angry with the man staring back at him in the reflection of the window glass. That was the man to blame. Displacement laid its heavy hands on Mark’s shoulders and seemed to push him deeper into his seat. As the train moved forward, he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat and uncertainty settled in his gut like a rock.

  After a brief stop in Boston, the sights and sounds of city life gave way to the sprawling New England countryside. The tracks were lined heavily with trees that seemed to soar miles into the sky. An occasional break in the dense greenery provided a glimpse of cultivated land and roaming cattle. Mark took off his fleece jacket and glanced around the train. He had already thumbed through his magazine a dozen times. There was nothing to do. There was no one to talk to. There were no good-looking women to lure to the back of the train for a mid-morning fling.

  Mark balled up his jacket, tucked it under his head, and closed his eyes. The low rumble of the train moving over the tracks reminded him of the sound of waves rolling onto the beach. He thought of the shimmering sea, as sunlight flickered in through the window creating white strobes beneath his closed eyelids. Soon, he was asleep and drifted into a dream.

  Mark found himself standing alone on the beach, his bare feet sinking into the sand. The ocean rolled with ferocity and the clouds formed a wall as they moved in over the horizon. As his eyes wandered the vacant coastline, he realized that he had stood in that very place as a boy. When he looked down at his feet, sadness settled in his chest like a rock plummeting to the depths of the sea.

  There it was. His sand castle. And it was in ruins. The seashells had slid down the sides and were embedded in the dried moat. The seaweed that was meant to conceal and protect his fortress had now fallen and choked the crumbling foundation. He watched, as cracks seemed to suddenly appear and spiral around the castle. He had been a fool to build on a bed of unstable shifting sand. Once more, he glanced at the coast. The sea crashed menacingly against the shore and seemed to be swallowing everything in its path. It didn’t seem possible. He had never seen the tide come in that rapidly before. Mark only needed to watch the waves for a moment before he became aware that the steadily approaching ocean would inevitably claim his castle.

  The adrenalized blood coursing through his veins mirrored the noise of the raging sea. Anger burned deep in his core. There was no way in hell that he was going to let the ocean take everything he had worked so hard for. But even as fury swelled in his chest, so did a reverent fear of the watery mass that showed no signs of slowing. It didn’t make sense, but he felt as if this wasn’t the first time that the sea had taken something he loved.

  Mark dropped to his knees and placed his large hands at the base of the castle. He needed to save it. He needed to make it right. But as he tried to gently pack the sand back into place, the fortress crumbled between his fingers. He tried to untangle the seaweed from its foundation. The more he pulled, the tighter it wrapped itself around the castle. He tried to dig the shells out of the sand. His eyes blurred over with hot tears of frustration as his large fingers proved to be too clumsy for such an intricate job. Terror gripped his heart when he saw that the tide was just feet away. Closer and closer.

  All at once, he felt a pair of warm hands on his. They were delicate and porcelain white, yet they were strong and steadied Mark’s trembling hands. After a few moments, the fingers ran over the back of his hands and released. He looked up to find a woman in a white, flowing dress standing before him. The wind gusted, causing her auburn hair to blow sideways and over her face. Then, he noticed a small blue bucket dangling from her fingertips. As he studied it closer, he realized that the pail seemed to hold thousands of beautiful iridescent shells. The woman knelt down slowly next to Mark. Her hair draped over her shoulder, concealing the side of her face. He watched as her fingers dug into the sand, scooping away the damp grains. Without a word, she grasped his hands and something came over him to help her dig. And so he did. He dug quickly, keeping his eyes on th
e rapidly approaching tide.

  Just then, time seemed to stand still. Mark felt the cool shells tumbling over his hands and he watched as they ran through his parted fingers. As if they spoke a language all their own, Mark and the woman began to pack the shells into the hole. At first, he was confused because their heavy hands cracked the once flawless shells. But before Mark knew it, they had created a smooth and lustrous surface. A level surface. A surface perfect for building a strong foundation. The woman stood up again, her hair blowing in the wind like a red ribbon against the overcast sky.

  “Last chance.” Her voice was melodic and seemed to carry on the breeze and break against the turbulent sea.

  “What?” Mark’s voice was a whisper.

  “This is your last chance,” she said.

  “Last chance, everyone! Last call, Silk Cove!” Mark’s body was jolted awake by the sound of the train conductor’s voice.

  His mind still clouded from the dream, Mark rubbed his eyes and gathered his bag. As he moved toward the open door of the train, he felt as if he was floating down the aisle. He rested his hand on the headrest of each empty seat, trying to ground himself. Like the sweet perfume of a beautiful woman, a feeling of uneasiness lingered all around him long after his dream had left him.

  Chapter 5

  Mark squinted from the brightness of the daylight as he walked out of the dim train station. Like an old friend, the aroma of the ocean drifting on the breeze seemed to embrace him and land a salty kiss on his lips. He stepped off the walkway and dropped his duffle bag at his feet, allowing a group of people to move past him. He placed his hands in his pockets and thought of the packed sidewalks of the city, where he had marched confidently with the crowd. Now, he found himself moving to the side to allow people to walk ahead of him.

  Mark stood still for a moment, remembering a public speaking class he had taken in college. The professor had instructed the class to glance at the faces of the audience before addressing them. The teacher had insisted that this method helped the speaker overcome stage fright. Later on, Mark realized that a large group didn’t scare him at all. The few within the crowd that made him nervous were the people whose opinions he held in high regard. From that point on, Mark developed his own technique. He searched the group for the one or two people that intimidated him the most. He reasoned that if he knew exactly where they were, they wouldn’t catch him off guard in the middle of his presentation. As the sidewalk cleared, he shielded his eyes and scanned the parking lot beyond the walkway. It only took Mark a moment to find the one man he was seeking; he was leaning against the bed of an old Chevy truck with his arms crossed, staring back at Mark. He was dressed in a faded navy blue T-shirt and his worn jeans were tucked inside his galoshes. Yes, Mark had found the man he was looking for. He had found his father, Jim. Mark’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard and ran his fingers through his hair. The technique he had relied on for so long had failed miserably. He took a deep breath and picked his bag up from the sidewalk. He slung it over his shoulder and made his way toward the parking lot.