CHAPTER EIGHT
It didn’t take long for the news to circulate, nor the pictures. Varying stories were circulating about how Matthews ended up laid out on my office floor, unconscious, with his cock hanging out of his pants.
“I still can’t believe you hit him,” Rachel says. “What were you thinking?”
“You were there,” I tell her, “you saw how bad it was already. It only got worse. He basically pulled his dick out and challenged me to a cock fight.”
“And you decided to accept the challenge? No, worse, you suggested a fist fight instead.”
“How is this suddenly my fault? Someone pulls their dick out in the workplace and it’s me that’s in trouble? I think most people would define this as pretty clear sexual harassment,” I say.
“And assault,” she adds.
I look at her, unsure of what I’m feeling. “Why don’t you have my back on this?”
She looks offended. “I do have your back on this,” she says. “But when someone does something like that in the workplace you get up and walk away. You don’t knock them on their back then take a picture for posterity.”
“Peterson from across the hall took the picture,” I say. “And it’s a good thing since Matthews clearly forgot what happened.”
“Yeah, a near concussion can do that to you,” she says. “I don’t like this,” she says.
I stare out of her window, unable to focus on the anger and disappointment in her eyes.
“You’re not your dad, you know. I’ve got your back but stop fucking acting like him.”
“You’re lucky no charges are being pressed and that you’re both not fired,” she says. “What about Mason?”
“That’s the next stop,” I say.
Her Guano Chat comes to life.
“Barcelona,” she says. As she speaks in Spanish I stare out of her window and brood.
I can’t help thinking about the comparison to my father. I don’t want to admit that it’s true, that I’m acting like him, but I’m struggling to make a case to the contrary. I change the subject mentally and look at my watch. I have to meet with Mason and leave. “I gotta go,” I say, not wanting to compound my troubles by being late.
Mason’s office is twice as large as the rest of ours. He and the room are suddenly much more intimidating. He’s waited until 4:50 to call me into his office. Despite my trying to play it cool, I’m sweating and my stomach keeps making the gurgling noises it makes when I’m hot or going to puke.
“According to Matthews, you punched him because you didn’t like the way clients were assigned,” Mason says. “I personally looked over the assignments and gave the green light. I’ve been in this role far longer than you’ve been at this company, and I was in both roles you’ve had far shorter. Do you think I don’t know how assignments are distributed and what it takes to close some deals? The question really comes down to what you’re willing to do to get the job done.
“Matthews wants to press charges and has another version of the story, but I’m disinclined to believe anyone knocked on their ass with their dick hanging out. I don’t want to know the details of what happened because in all honesty, I don’t care. What I care about is the future of this company and having those work for this company who care equally. Refusing to work on a team, a team handling something this important makes me think you are not one of those people,” he says.
“Normally I’d go along with this,” I say, for the sake of the company, rather than my own, but no. “I don’t care if he presses charges. I’m not doing this.”
“Then you quit?”
“Nope, not that either. But I’m definitely not going to be prostituted out for the sake of closing a deal. Had I known this company would ever resemble an escort agency I would have left a long time ago. I’m not working with Matthews, and I won’t be pimped, and I also won’t quit. But you’re more than welcome to fire me,” I say.
“I like a fighter, but you are pushing it. Go home,” he says. “You’ve got a trip to prepare for. You’ll be working alone. I hope your closing skills prove as effective as your punch. Otherwise I will indeed take you up on the offer to fire you. Get out,” he says, “but the next time you raise a fist to anyone in this company, it will be the police escorting you out. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” I say.
“You’re lucky he’s not a real Texan,” he says. “We carry guns and that may not have ended so well.”
“He probably would have shot off his dick,” I say without meaning to.
Mason laughs or coughs, I’m not sure which. “Get out,” he finally says when he’s done.
I leave the room with a smile of victory on my face.
The excitement of the day stirred something in me. Rachel refused to go out with me as she’s playing the role of the super concerned head of HR. She’s gone to visit Matthews in the hospital, probably to try to prevent a lawsuit.
Still stirred, I decided to try Patrick in Queens. We’ve been texting all day and I’m both horny and anxious to see him.
“I was so mad,” I tell Patrick in his apartment. I wasn’t going to tell him everything that happened, but he’s excited by the story and coaxes it out of me.
“I don’t even remember hitting him, just seeing him fall backward and onto the ground, then seeing the guy in the office across from mine staring at me shocked.”
“Yeah, I can imagine that would be shocking. And everything is okay?”
“Yeah, he didn’t have a concussion or anything, just a bruised ego.”
“Well, you know I didn’t like him in the first place. And my sister thought he was a dick. Which you’ve now seen.”
I laugh.
“I’m more of a lover than a fighter myself,” Patrick says, “but every now and then someone just has it coming.”
I didn’t tell him about the things Matthews said about his sister. Having to hear in the first place was already enough.
“But hey,” he says, “don’t go all fist-to-cuffs when someone pisses you off, even if they deserve it.”
I want to roll my eyes for some reason. I’m not big on being scolded, yet again. But he smiles when he says it and I get lost for a moment in his dimples.
“You do know I’m not coming to visit you in jail, right?”
“Shut up,” I say.
We both laugh.
“How about this,” he says. “Let’s play a game. It’s called the I’m-here-for-you game. The game goes like this. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here for you. If you feel like you’re going to knock somebody out, put the blow on hold and call me or send me a message or something. Actually, call me, I’m old school like that, okay?”
I look at him, wondering if he’s for real, or a real person for that matter. “Who are you?” I ask.
He smiles. “I’m a guy who likes this crazy guy I met.” We’re standing in his kitchen and he comes over and pins me to the counter and starts kissing me.
It turns me on and I kiss him and perhaps try to swallow his tongue.
“Mmm,” he finally says after our long kiss. He looks at me and just smiles, then grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me in for one last kiss. I can feel that we’re both hard as he brushes against me. “Moderation,” he finally says, I think to himself.
like a fool falling in love.
“I want to take you out tonight,” Patrick says. “You need it, and I have the perfect place. It’s a champagne and pizza kind of night.”
“Champagne and pizza? Interesting.” I’m a fan of both but have never had them together. “I’m starving, can we go now?”
“Let’s go,” Patrick says.
The place is nothing like I imagined. This isn’t normal pizza, but gourmet. He knows everyone, so he must come here often.
“So, what’s good here?” I ask.
The choices are too many. I’m a meat lover kind of guy, but that’s not on the menu.
We end up getting two of his favorites. One has tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and basil. The other has prosciutto, artichoke, and lettuce, of all things. We get a bottle of prosecco, though it seems a bit much between the two of us; especially since I actually like him and don’t want to come off like a drunk.
“This stuff is great,” I say. It’s easily the best pizza I’ve had. The crust is crispy, which I usually don’t like, and the flavors are like nothing I’ve had before. The champagne goes perfectly, though the bubbles make me a little tipsy.
“How’d you stumble upon this place?” I ask, shoving another bite down.
“It’s my ex’s place,” he says. “There she is now.”
I nearly choke on my prosciutto. She?
“Are you ok,” Patrick asks.
I hold my hand up, needing a minute. I down a big gulp of the bubbly between coughs.
Patrick has gotten up and is beside me. “I know the Heimlich,” he says, rubbing my back.
His hands are large and so warm I can feel the heat from them emanating all over. I like the idea of him wrapped around me from behind, but I don’t want to nearly die in the process. “I’m okay,” I finally say between coughs.”
He smiles. “Can’t have you dying on me yet. We’re supposed to get old and do that together,” he says laughing.
I smile between the last few hacks.
“Everything okay here?” A blond woman in an apron has appeared. She’s tall and wearing an apron that cinches the curves of her hips.
“Yeah,” I say after another sip. “Pizza’s so good I’m having trouble pacing myself.”
She smiles. “My recommendation is to thoroughly chew, then swallow.”
I’m not sure if there’s a sexual innuendo in there, but it makes me laugh.
“Good advice,” I say.
She extends her hand. “I’m Amanda,” she says, “i.e., the best friend/former girlfriend. You must be Peter.”
I look at Patrick and try to play down the suspicion that’s bubbling.
“Hey,” Patrick says.
“Just kidding,” she says. “Don’t be so serious,” she tells him. “You’re Danny,” she says, “Patrick has been bubbling on about you for days. Good to finally meet you.”
“Same here,” I say through a beaming grin. She got me for a second with her joke. I like her.
“Well, finish up,” she says, “and don’t die. Would be terrible for business.”
“So very caring,” Patrick says.
She winks and leaves.
We continue eating as he tells me about his confusing past
My phone goes off just as I’m about to share my own confusing past with Rachel. The message makes me angry