Short Story by: Michelle Carr
Belly clinching, Eric bent over quickly as bile and part of his lunch burned its way in reverse up his throat. The reddish mass landed in the porcelain water filled bowl before him with a resounding splash. This was by far the nicest toilet he had ever used, they had spared no expense, and he was filling it with sick. For a brief break, the urge for his body to evacuate itself lessened and he was able to try and catch his breath. Then despite his need to fight it, his mind traveled back to the news he had been trying to process all day. The news that his efforts had succeeded. All the work he had poured over for the last year had paid off. He should be elated, yet another wave of self-disgust shot through him and the remnants of his lunch made their appearance. This should have been the end of it but his body continued to convulse and gag trying to expel matter that no longer existed. It was as though his body wanted to make sure he was fully punished for his sins. Tears formed in his eyes from the forcefulness of is instant sickness.
Finally, just as he thought he could no longer take any more, the waves subsided. He spit into the mess he had made, in an effort to clear his mouth from the bitter after taste. Sitting back onto the tiles, he leaned against the stall wall. This normally would have disgusted him, but this bathroom was immaculate minus his mess. It was probably cleaner than his kitchen sink. Plus nothing could possibly make him feel dirtier than he had already managed to make himself feel. He absently wiped his running nose that came along with the tears and vomiting. Closing his eyes he transported himself back to the start. The meeting one year ago that had brought him to this place. This place that many felt was a celebration but that he knew in his gut was a disaster.
Eric one year ago…
walked into the Bloomberg’s Spirits Presidential office. He had been summoned by the corporation’s leader earlier that day. This was not exactly a comforting request seeing as though things hadn’t been looking great for their sales. Their company was the lead distributor in alcohol in the country. Thanks to the Liberal party taking control of the administration 3 years ago, stricter usage laws had been out into place. One such law was meant to deter drinking and driving. In order to do so, it had been mandated that cars include breathalyzers in them. Before one could put their car into drive the must take a breathalyzer to ensure they hadn’t been drinking. The zero alcohol level police had also been put into place. So if a person registered at all their car wouldn’t allow them to drive. If somehow this system was bypassed (i.e. allowing someone else to take the test) and you were pulled over, your license was immediately revoked and you went straight to jail. With such strict laws in place, people began to drink less and less in public. The hassle of finding a ride instead of waiting until you felt sober enough to drive was a pain. People stayed home. This lead to lower sales at bars, clubs, sporting events Spirits Corporation was suffering.
Eric was afraid this could very well be his last day. He nervously took a seat across from the President. There was a very welcoming look on his wise face and Eric tried to take comfort in it.
“Eric Turner, I am happy to announce that there is good news forming on your horizon.” He pushed the thick file that sat on the desk between them closer to Eric. Eric carefully took the file in hand and opened it. First thing he saw was a portfolio of the Conservative’s Presidential nominee. It included a picture and brief biography of his alcohol legislation voting records. Whomever had put this together had been very thorough. He looked up from the information in hand, back to his boss who had now moved so he was seated on the corner of the desktop right in front of Eric. “This man,” the president continued, “could very well be our salvation. He hasn’t been in politics long and before them he was a very successful businessman. He very much understands the value of a DOLLAR.” He stressed the last word as if to make sure Eric was clear on the fact that money could influence this candidate’s decisions. Eric understood very well, goosebumps had formed up and down his arms.
“So you think he will help us?”
“I think he most certainly will. He is on the main track to win too. He has some very “strong” support out there. If you know what I mean.” The look he sent Eric told him that the rumors had been true. This nominee was connected. Eric silently nodded in response. This was far outside of his comfort zone. “Your job, Eric, will be to start our own campaign. We need to help the people to wake up and see how much freedom the Liberals have taken from them. Remind them of how much fun they used to have before all these rules made them afraid to really live. Help them to see that their fun days have been stripped away by those who have been over reaching while in power. Show them they can get those happy days back. Once our friend is elected, he will have the support of the people as he helps us by reversing these asinine bills. Then everyone will live their lives unafraid to have fun and go out to socialize and drink.”
“How much…. I mean this could get costly. A campaign like this…”
“Eric, my man,” His tone changed and Eric could tell he was trying to hide his frustration at the mention of cost. “You don’t need to worry yourself over that. We are all aware that spending some now can help us get back to the greener figures later. You just concern yourself making this a successful run.”
“I-I-I will do my best sir.” He struggled to spit out the words. His boss leaned in closer as if to make it comfortingly clear they were in this together but the gesture only made Eric feel slimy.
“Oh you will. Because your very future here depends on it.” The President went on as a twenty pound bowling ball landed hard on Eric’s stomach. “Refuse or fail in this endeavor and your days here and at any of our sister corporations are done. Because well we would then need to reorganize so to speak. I’m sure you understand. You are a smart man.” He stood up so Eric had to now look up to nod in response. “But you help us end this ridiculous stigma that it’s alcohol that kills people, and…” He gestured his arms wide as if to show the endless possibilities that awaited the answer of his grandiose offer. “You will never have to worry about your financial future again.”
The bowling ball lifted slightly at those words. Financial security is what most people spent their whole lives trying to achieve. Even though his core told him he would be fighting against a system that had proven to save lives, it was hard to say no to something that could change his whole future for the better. This could very well be the answer to his personal prayers. And really how bad could it be? It wasn’t like people died right and left before. I was just a little rule change. That was all. Right?
Eric of the now…
slowly stood up. He carefully adverted making eye contact with the mess in bowl for fear that his sickness would recommence. He flushed the toilet and calmly stepped out of the stall. He was quite lucky that no one had joined him in the restroom area. Luck had recently been on his side unfortunately. That was why he was here. His reflection in the mirror showed a tired looking man in his late twenties. He was pretty average looking didn’t stand out in a crowd, well not until now. And at this moment he looked hellish with his tear filled eyes and the green around the gills visage. This simply wouldn’t do. Everyone out there expected him to be as joyous as they were. His results meant their jobs were safe and possibly raises. He had to continue to play the part if he wanted to also move up. He didn’t dare let them know how much his actions were destroying him on the inside.
As he splashed water on his face, his thoughts turned to his wife, Angel. His beloved, beautiful Angel. The one person in this crazy messed up life that meant the world to him. The only person who has stood by him through the good and the bad. She had sacrificed everything just to be with him. Sacrificed a life of comfort, to live in moderation just for him. He would do anything in return for her as well. That is why it was her on the day no quite so long ago that convinced him that selling his soul would be worth it.
Eric a year ago…
Her blonde curls fell across the pillow behind her framing her head making her look very much the part of her name. She stretched her long only blanket covered body parallel to him on the bed. Her bright blue eyes held only love and understanding. She stroked his currently messy hair away from his eyes in a gesture he found comforting. It was when he was alone with her that he allowed himself to relax and just be. Here he never felt the need to be more than himself. It was in this comfort space they had created that he told her about the events that had taken place at work. His “offer” so to speak. She had been quite for several minutes and he could tell she was processing. He loved watching her wheels turn.
“This sounds like quite the offer.” She finally broke the silence.
“More like an ultimatum. Do it and succeed or find a new vocation.” He gave her a half smile and she ran her bottom lip thoughtfully under her teeth before replying.
“Is this something you can do?” The words came out as she propped herself up onto one elbow. This action sent her sheet downward revealing enough of herself to make his thoughts shift briefly off topic.
“Well…” He forced himself to painfully bring his eyes back to hers. He started to answer hoping that she thought his hesitation only came from his having to tear his eyes from her beauty. “It’s not just lobbying politicians. I will also have to convince the American people. They are the ones who drive the real change. I would have to convince millions of people that changing the law to lighten up on alcohol use while driving isn’t such a bad thing. That it isn’t as big of a deal to be say tipsy when you get behind the wheel… and I don’t know but I worry that my actions could harm others.” He was sure she would have trouble looking at him as he had had trouble looking at himself all day for even considering this, he rolled to his back and looked at the ceiling. “Lives could be lost. I don’t know if I could take…” His words froze in his mouth as her hand touched the far side of his face turning him back to look at her.
“I didn’t ask what your conscious felt.” Her eyes had taken on a strange coldness that he had never in their 6 years together had seen before. “I asked, if you could do this? Can you accomplish what they are asking? Can you convince people that they can go back to having the lives they used to have? Are you up to conquering this feat?”
“I believe I can.” His voice sounded flat to his own ears but apparently she didn’t notice. The coldness in her eyes was replaced by a flash of fire and determination.
“Then do it. Do it for us. We have struggled long enough in this mediocre purgatory of an existence. Do as they ask. Erase this stigma.” She leaned over and kissed him lightly and then looked back into his eyes as they were nose to nose. “Do it for me, your Angel. Give me the life you have always wanted to. No more coupons, and no more living check to check.” She kissed him again but harder this time, hungrier. “We could take trips. Real trips. Exotic trips.” She moved herself on top of him then she was getting excited as was he. His brain struggled to fight his body. Her touch was fire on his skin. “Do this and our wildest dreams come true.” She leaned in closer still and purred, “Just think of how grateful I will be.” She bit his lip and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He grabbed at her but she pulled back before he could take possession of her mouth. “Say you’ll do it. Say you’ll do it for us…” She wasn’t pleading she was demanding. “Say it and mean it!” He had never been able to say no to her.
“I’ll do it. For you. For me. For us.” He answered determined to make her happy. She growled in the back of her throat that feisty sound he couldn’t help but be moved by. He grabbed at her once more and she responded to his answer with complete nonverbal communication. It was the best nonverbal communication they had had in a long while. And his mind successfully shut out the much smaller voices that tried to speak to him in rebuttal.
Eric of the now…
Had dried his face. He looked passable. It was a party after all, a party to celebrate their, his, achievements. So the lights were dim due to small blessings. Others would probably just think he had consumed the alcohol that they had continuously kept shoving his way. Drinks that he had had no stomach for. His phone vibrated in the inside pocket of his jacket. Removing it from its hiding place he saw that the message was from his beloved.
Heading out now. Sorry that I’m running late but beauty takes time.
She had included a picture of herself in her dress. A number that’s cleavage cut down to her small waist emphasizing some of her best attributes. Heat instantly lit him up just as she knew it would. He responded quickly to her, reminding her to be careful. With added pep in his step he headed back out to the floor to await her arrival. He didn’t get very far when he ran into the President, his conspirer. His glassy eyes and spirit filled breath testified that he seemed to be enjoying himself quite a lot this evening.
“Turner!” He greeted Eric as an equal, grabbing ahold of his shoulders. Thus proving, he was quite encumbered.
“Hello, sir.” Eric replied hoping his breath didn’t reek of vomit. But he was pretty sure President Smith wouldn’t notice.
“You did it, Turner. We showed them Liberals. They won’t mess with us again.”
“I’m sure they won’t sir.” His stomach flipped again and he swallowed hard shoving the bile taste back down his throat. Smith pulled him into a one armed hug and guided him towards the door.
“I thought for sure they had us Turner when they brought up the whole gun analogy. Comparing a car to a weapon and the driver to a mentally unstable person was a bad place for us. No one wants to be associated with putting a gun in the hands of a mentally unhealthy person. That’s just insanity.” Smith shook his head and Eric nodded in silent agreement. He had done this a lot lately. Smith’s face rebrightened as he looked back at Eric. “But they didn’t stand a chance against you, Turner.” The President’s voice was loud and was heard by those celebrating nearby and they cheered as if on cue.
“No sir they didn’t.” His saliva was getting warm again this wasn’t a good sign. He feared he would get sick right where he stood.
“You,” Smith actually rumpled Turners perfect hair as if he were a child before pulling away to signal the valet. Eric self- consciously ran his hand through his hair to retrieve his adult demeanor before Smith turned back to him. “Man the way you took the stance that there were different level of intoxication and each shouldn’t be treated as the same as them all. Proving that even the alcohol level found in a dose of cough syrup registered on that stupid breathalyzer as enough to keep someone from driving. That the extremist crazies had managed to keep people with a simple cold from being able to drive themselves to work. You showed the world exactly how ridiculous they had gotten with their stigma against alcohol. You are a pure genius. And now…” He paused to hand his key ticket to the valet. “Now the world is back to being our oyster.”
“Yes sir, it is.” His nausea was replaced with growing concern as he realized that President Smith was preparing to drive himself home. It was very clear to Eric that he was not in any shape to be behind the wheel. “Sir?”
“John, please Turner, call me John. I insist that from now on you do. After all you are going to be my VP and have your own piece of the company.”
“VP?”
“Of course, Turner. I must have the man who could save our company working by my side.” The valet had returned with Smith’s car. Eric looked at the cash exchange with fear.
“Sir… er I mean… John. Are you okay to drive? I mean …” He swallowed, “It’s late and all.”
“Of course my good man! And thanks to you I don’t have to deal with those annoying paid drivers and their terrible small talk the entire way home.” Smith punched him on the shoulder. “See you Monday, Turner.”
“Monday s… John.” Eric corrected himself again. Smith’s words echoed in his head as he watched his President climb behind the wheel of his red Porsche and speed away. “Thanks to you.”
Not feeling any better than when he arrived, Eric returned to the bar and ordered a club soda. After his third one his phone went off again this time it was a phone call. He didn’t bother to check the screen he just answered. Angel should’ve been here by now and he was sure that it was her with an excuse.
“Darling where are you?” He softly demanded.
“Mr. Turner?” The strange male voice on the other end greeted him. Eric stiffened and covered his unused ear to block out the party’s noise.
“This is Eric Turner. Can I help you?”
“Mr. Turner, I am an admission’s officer at Johnson County Hospital. Sir I am sorry to inform you that your wife has been admitted in critical condition.”
“My wife?” his voice was shrill as he shot up from his seat. He now completely failed to notice the reactions of those around him.
“Yes sir, we found your information among her belongings. Angel Turner that is your wife correct?”
“Yes that’s her.” His heart was pounding threatening to explode.
“Well I’m sorry sir but she has been in an accident. She is in very bad shape. She may not… You should come as soon as possible.”
“An accident?” Eric felt like all he could do was repeat his brain was not processing any of the information that was being giving to him.
“Mr. Turner I’m afraid she was in a car accident. Hers was hit by a man driving a red Porsche. And it appears… well… it seems as though he is in…. that there was alcohol involved. This stupid new law it… anyway she really needs you here, sir.” The stranger on the line struggled with giving him the news and not speaking the words he truly meant to say. Eric caught enough to make his head spin.
“Red Porsche… intoxicated… red Porsche… Angel.”
“I’m on my way.” Eric hung up and ran to the valet. He thrust his ticket into the valets open hand. He couldn’t get his car soon enough. Angel, his Angel might be dying.
“Thanks to you Turner. Do it for us Eric. Way to go Turner.” Echoed on repeat in his brain. He wearily looked up at the television above the valet stand. A commercial was on. A commercial he knew by heart. One he himself had written and his company paid for eagerly. Mr. Smith’s happy face appeared on the screen. His steel grey eyes jumped out at the audience from behind a giant mug of brew that he sipped. Once lowered, Mr. Smith’s voice rang out happily from the speakers.
“We don’t do it for the money.” He paused and his on screen smile widened. “We just love to sell spirits.” Bloomberg Spirits, in the painstakingly chosen font, appeared at the bottom of the screen.
Eric’s now world went black.
