What's a Job

"What's a job?"

We met again at the table that seemed always to wait for us, at the
darkest corner of our usual cafe, along the main canal in the city
centre. This was our regular Saturday afternoon get-together, a time of
moaning, bitching and yakking when we let out all our pent-up
frustrations after the working week. Joe and Alison were sipping white
wine as Karen and I turned up, drenched in the rain that never stopped
pouring. We'd stopped wishing for a even a glimmer of sunshine.

"Why do they always play jazz here? I'm so sick of it," said Karen as
she proceeded to peck their cheeks, and I called the waiter to bring
over a couple of beers. She was right, but only just - last week,
they'd switched to New Age warbling and wailing as well. Joe gave her a
cheeky look, adding, "Hey, at least Dina and Ella and Billie loved what
they did - they were passionate about it. They went for their
dreams."

Our dreams never left us, and we could not stop talking about them. No
matter what we talked about, they came back to torment us. We'd left
our pasts, our homes, and escaped to the wondrous freedom of Amsterdam
hoping for our big chance to prove ourselves, to become
something.

"I'm not arguing about that. Everyone wants to achieve their dreams.
But it was definitely easier in the past," Karen defended herself. "I
mean, look at all the shit we have to accept these days just to pay our
bills and keep our body and soul in one piece."

I'd always known that deep-down, Karen was like that - prone to
bitching first about the world she lived in. I'd met her when I first
arrived a year ago, at a bar where all the expats gathered every Friday
night. Then, she was young, bubbly and full of energy, with bright
twinkling eyes and the best brown hair I'd even seen - and excited
about her job with a dot-com company.

"It's not all that bad is it? I mean, sure the economy is slowing, but
that's normal. It's a seasonal thing." Alison said. "Things that go up
must come down. It can't be good times forever. There was too much
greed in your hi-tech world too fast anyway. It's just a rational
adjustment." Alison was the practical one in our group, talking with
her economist's analytical mind.

Karen let out a deep breath, then gulped down her beer. She looked at
Joe and me. "My boss threatened to ruin me. He said I was so good at
what I did that I'd better stay there and help him make things right
before the shit really hits the fan. What do you with a job like
that?"

"Karen's had a bad start, that's all," I said. "OK, so she's got the
wrong job, and things didn't turn out so good. So what? She'll move on,
we'll get her another job somewhere else. Karen, hon, don't look that
way. It's not the worst that can happen." I stroked her back and
touched her cheek with my fingers. I thought that was the last of
it.

But Joe wanted more. "What kind of shit is that? I mean, it sounds
scary you know. Are you in some kind of money trouble? Are you helping
him cover up?" His journalist's nose was always snooping around for new
fish to fry, so I told him to ease off.

"It's OK Rob. I don't mind talking about it. It's on my mind anyway,
best to get it off." Karen said. She drank more beer and started
again.

"I just didn't expect it from John. Now I think back, I guess he hired
me because I was so eager to please. Not just for my accounting degree.
How could I have been so stupid to get stuck in all that shit..."

"Hey, hey Karen. Relax. Blaming yourself won't do any good now. You
haven't done anything wrong have you?" Joe said.

"Do you really want to hear it? I'm a victim OK? I'm not some
white-collar criminal. That's what I feel right now. It's just been
terrible the last few weeks.. I just don't know anything about what's
really going on...I don't know John as well as I thought I did...or the
real situation inside the company...and you know what? I feel I've got
to stick around and help him. I mean, I was there from the start when
he founded the company. He took a chance on an unknown like me, trusted
me...and what do you think, what should I do?"

I grasped Karen's hand. She gave me a weak smile. I'd held her tight
last night in bed, cuddling her as the rain lashed down and she
couldn't sleep a wink, complaining about the heat and the mosquitoes
that were everywhere. Joe silently lit a cigarette.

***

"When I was leaving the office, must have been a few weeks ago, on a
Friday... John told me he was taking cocaine," Karen said. "I asked him
to go into rehab and kick the habit, find somewhere to get away from
all the stress, and try and save his life. Forget about the company and
bloody work. But no. His eyes were bloodshot, he burst into tears and I
just hugged him. I didn't know what else to do. He was just so
helpless," Karen said. There was silence around the table. Karen waited
a minute before picking up her beer.

"And this is your boss!" Alison said.

"Is he out now"? Joe said. "Is he still in-charge at your work?"

"It's his company, his baby, everything he's got is invested in it. It
gets worse," Karen said. "He asked me to take a look at the books and
my God, what didn't I discover! He'd bungled everything. Poor John."
Karen shook her head.

"Poor John? He was nothing. Just a cheap con man," I said.

"But you were doing the books all the time weren't you? Didn't you
discover anything suspicious?" Joe enquired. At twenty-eight, Joe was
still curious about the ways of the world, not jaded, not defeated. His
face was creased and lined, a permanent map of his ceaseless quest for
what? I wondered. But he was persistent - even in our now infrequent
tennis game, he was always persistent.

I called for a bottle of Chablis and four new glasses.

"Seems like he was keeping two set of books. One set of figures I was
dealing with - where everything's ship shape. I made sure of that. We
reconciled everything at the end of each week. I mean sure, we were not
making huge profits, but we were healthy. Solvent. We brought in more
than we paid out. It's all in order, clear as crystal on the records.
We could've been taken over, or bought out, but at least the books were
clean. But there was more going on. He screwed up on me, and left me
holding the shit in my hands," Karen said.

Alison leaned forward on the table with her glass. The waiter poured us
all a fresh glass from the new bottle. We sat watching, waiting for him
to go away and leave us. Alison glanced open-mouthed from Joe to Karen,
as if unable to believe what she hearing.

"What did he want you to do?' she asked.

"It's what he didn't want our Karen to do," I said. "He came knocking
on our door one Saturday night, about a month ago. Pissed, drugged and
threatening us. I was scared he had a gun, or would do something crazy
you know? He really creeped me out. He kept banging on the front door,
and wouldn't go away. And he's been over almost every night since then,
raising a hell of a racket outside our door. Now even when I walk out
my door, or get in the car, or leave Karen alone at home, I freak out.
I can't think straight, worried where the hell he'll jump out from. He
kept shouting at the door - 'Save me Karen, you can do it. Don't do
it.' He was scared shit, worried Karen would go to the police and tell
them all the tricks he'd been up to, how he'd been screwing his own
company, stealing money reserved for salaries, and selling shares to
these shady characters. Shares that were for the staff when the company
was going to be listed on the stockmarket. We've just been sitting at
home the whole week, scared to do anything or tell anyone."

"It sounds like a nightmare," Alison said. "But how did you find all
this out?"

"He called one night," Karen continued. "he was blabbering and I
couldn't make out what he saying. Something about files, disks,
backups. He wanted me to come over and go through some papers with him,
since I knew the stuff better than he did, John said. He wanted to
update me right away he said."

"I didn't want her to go," I said, "afraid he'd kidnap her or some shit
like that. She shouldn't have to deal with this kind of mess. He'd
screwed her enough, I thought, she'd better move on."

"Did you go?" Alison asked.

"I had to, I couldn't just leave him like that," Karen said. "He needed
my help. He didn't have anyone else he could trust."

"He's dangerous," I said. "Ever since you got involved with him, it's
been nothing but trouble."

"How could he destroy what he'd created? That's just crazy!" Joe said.
"If that's the kind of craziness around these days, that's what they
call being your own boss, you can have it." Joe said.

"You can't imagine the pressure we were under. It went from bad from
worse, although it started out so well..." Karen trailed off. She
looked out the window, her thoughts back to the old days when nothing
seemed impossible and the future was wide open.

Alison drank her wine. "Didn't you ever think of calling the police, or
the tax authorities? Anyone who could help you?"

"It was simply too late. He was sinking and sucking me in." Karen said.
"Actually, I did want to call the authorities, but then I thought, what
could they do about it? I mean, did I want to send him to prison? And
what about my own career if all the dirty tricks got out? I was afraid.
All this for a job!"

Joe poured the last of the wine into his glass, brought the bottle to
the bar, and asked for another. He returned, determined to make his
point: "Well we know what a job is all about, don't we Alison?" He
poured the wine slowly, filling our glasses as Karen and I sat watching
Alison watching him, in awe. She smiled coyly, then played with his
hair until Joe slammed the bottle down and grabbed her hand, kissing it
passionately, looking into her eyes, grinning.

"We were lucky," Alison said, not taking her eyes off Joe.

"Yeah, our jobs are stable in this changing world," he said. "Whatever
happens, our skills are still valuable, no matter what or where we end
up. Here or back in London, or somewhere else in Europe."

"But what about pursuing your dreams? Are you doing that now, or still
waiting?" Karen asked.

"A career is what we want. So what if you'd made a mess of it this time
round? It's not the end of the world. You'll sort yourself out soon
enough. And before you know it, you'll be back in the grind like the
rest of us. Imagine the satisfaction then," Joe said.

"How long have you been working with this John?" Alison asked.

"It was coming to two years," Karen replied.

"Oh..." Alison said.

Joe kept pouring the wine, seeing how we were gulping it down so
quickly.

"Here guys, let's have a toast. I want to make a toast. A toast to
work. Careers. Real jobs." Joe said.

We touched glasses.

"Real jobs," we said.

***

Outside, I head the trams rumble past, their bells clinking away. The
clock on the wall chimed 5pm. The trees were swaying in the gust as the
sky grew darker and darker, the rain kept pouring, and people rushed
about doing the weekend shopping before the shops closed their doors. I
caught snatches of street conversation from the open window. But then
someone decided to put on some more blues and the place was awash with
cheap sentiment again. The waitresses went round the tables lighting
candles. It may be nothing special, but we kept coming back here week
after week, raising our glasses and pouring out our feelings. We were
nowhere to realising the dreams we'd set out to achieve after
college.

"I'll tell you what's a real job. The sort a man can be proud of and
wake up to day after day after day for more than 40 years," Joe said.
He sipped his wine, then took a handful of peanuts the waitress had
just left on the table, and nibbled on them slowly. We waited and
sipped our drinks. Karen placed her hand on my thigh. I felt for it. It
felt warm.

"The truth is, it don't exist. The real job that means you're doing
what you really love doesn't exist. In fact, it can't exist. 'Cos if it
did, you'd be out of a job. All that shit you hear on Oprah about go
follow your dreams - it doesn't exist. A dream is a dream, and can only
stay in your imagination. You leave college, and think, hey I wanna be
a reporter, or a lawyer, or a doctor. You're full of hope and eager to
make a difference. And then you come out into the big bad world, and
you're forced to survive. You take the first thing you get. You need to
pay the rent, the bills and eat once in a while. And then you're stuck
there. And you linger on, playing the game like everyone else, waiting
around for your big chance. I mean, who are we, we're just small fry,
but you know what, we're condemned to repeat the same pattern like our
parents. How do you explain that? I was told I could be more, but now I
just sit around listening to music on the net all day at the office.
What happened to my love for the job? I just keep my head down and do
what they tell me to do day in, day out. Then there's John, OK, we're
back to Karen's John again. But look at him - he took a chance, he
followed some big idea he had, he dared to be different. And where did
that lead him? He's worse off than all of us regular Joes, and what's
more, he almost kills Karen! Excuse me for saying this but there is
something good to be learnt in all of this. There's a silver lining
behind the clouds. It's this - we're better off just taking a job,
getting married and having kids with the security of a career. At least
there's stability. I mean, life's confusing enough as it is - who wants
the added pressure of setting up a company, running around begging for
money and handouts and desperately selling, selling, selling all the
time? Someone's bound to get hurt - friends, family, kids - when the
beautiful dream shatters. It's all going to be nothing more than a
memory anyway, Karen. All your fast cars and cocktail parties in the
early days of the gold rush - who's gonna remember that when John goes
bankrupt? It's been one grand illusion hasn't it? Don't you agree? I
mean, tell me if I'm wrong, if you think following one's dreams should
be encouraged, because all I see is the goddamn fucking mess these
selfish dreamy bastards leave behind."

"Hey, hey, hey relax, Joe." Alison said. She reached over and touched
his wrist. "Sounds like you're drunk. Maybe you should take it easy on
the wine huh honey?"

"Take it easy babe. I'm just talking," Joe said. "Among friends. I'm
allowed to say what's on my mind right? It doesn't mean I'm drunk!" He
looked at Alison, all steely and fired up, yet holding it together in
his long frame.

"It's OK. It's OK. No one's saying anything." Alison said and picked up
her glass.

"Say what you want Joe. I don't mind." Karen said.

Joe looked at her. He seemed to be shaking, for a moment slightly
uncertain about who she was or where he was. "I don't mind either
Karen. I mean, I'm open, honest. I say it like I feel it. Especially
when I'm with friends. And you guys are our friends." Joe said.

He picked up his glass.

***

Joe said, "I've got this story to tell. Something I saw once when I was
still in my early days of journalism. When it all seemed to mean
something useful. I don't know what'll it prove, but you be the judge
of that. You listen and then go figure it out yourself. I think it'll
make you think twice about what a real job and following your dreams
means."

"Come on Joe. Just drink up will you?" Alison said. "We should be
thinking about dinner."

"Hey, can't a man just share a story with his friends without
interruption huh? I wish for once, you'd show me some respect," Joe
said. "So anyway, it was a few years back, when I was still in London,
doing the rounds, digging dirt to fill the empty column inches we had
every morning. There was a call to go to a flat in the east end. The
police were trying to evict this guy who wouldn't leave although the
flats were going to be torn down to make way for new offices. No one
knew who he was or what we was doing inside, and no one cared if he
stayed inside and died when the bulldozers came."

Alison looked at us, then back at Joe. She seemed edgy, as if she
didn't want to go down this road. But maybe she was just weary.

"When I got there, I made my way through the rabble and up the stairs
to this guy's flat. There were social workers trying to gently persuade
him to come out, but he was not budging. He'd locked himself inside and
no one had a key. They would have to break the door open to get him out
of there for his own good. Amidst all the screaming and shouting,
suddenly he opened the door a little, and showed his tiny, dark face.
No one there even knew his name or what he looked like before that
moment. He'd been there for years and his landlord had died a long time
ago. I saw my chance - I flashed my reporter's badge and asked him to
let me through. I said I'd write his story and tell the world why he
wouldn't leave the flat. The builders thought they'd use me as bait,
and played along."

"Joe's glory days as a street operator. You must miss those days huh
Joe?" Alison said, "Before you got stuck in the office waiting for
Reuters to send in the scoops from wherever in the world. When you
actually had to go and do the story yourself. Crazy guy... you're mad
you...but I love you."

Joe looked at her, then leant across the table, and Alison followed.
Their lips met and they kissed.

"Alison's right," Joe said as he poured out another round. "I'm crazy,
but you would be too when you saw what was inside that flat. By the
time I got there, this guy was like the lone ranger, everyone else in
the flats had packed up and gone, everything was boarded up. Apart from
the cobwebs, and broken furniture dumped in the corridors, there was
nothing except this crazy guy."

He drank from his glass. "I'll try and keep this short," he said, and
then he was off again. "So he agreed to let me in, and when I got in,
My God! It was like entering a temple. A temple right in the middle of
a dump. He'd been working like fuck for God knows how long to create
some kind of fantastic vision of life, heaven and hell, painted on four
walls and the ceiling. It was better than the Sistine Chapel, and hell,
it should've been preserved in a museum. I had so many questions racing
through my mind, and I fidgeted around for my notepad, I was sweating,
it was incredible. The guy just stood there with a small smile, his
hands held in front of him like he was showing me respect for not
shouting at him. He was no tour guide."

Joe stopped talking. "You're not hungry are you? I mean, I don't want
to keep you...I know, let's finish up this bottle and go to this new
place we found. We're going for dinner right? But first, let's drink up
this cheapo wine."

"It's Ethiopian food. Lots of bread and dips," Alison said. "Somebody
said it's like Indian, with all the crispy bread and curries. We
haven't tried it yet, but we walked past and it looked good."

"Would you like that?" Joe said.

"You know I love food, any kind," Karen said.

"Yeah, I know you do, and so do I. I should have been a chef. Maybe I
missed my true calling. Following my dreams - prawns, and crabs, Thai
curries and hot-pots, going to the market early each morning to look
for fresh ingredients, herbs and peppers, chopping it all up...opening
my own restaurant and a TV show...right Alison?" Joe laughed, and
stirred his wine with his finger.

"We could all have been it together," I said.

"Yeah, Karen - you could be my producer. Or do PR. You'd like that
wouldn't you? Going around and meeting all the famous people and
promoting me on TV, guest starring on quiz shows, cutting the ribbon at
the opening of some tacky mall in the suburbs...We could've been a
great team," Joe said dreamily.

"Would you be following your dreams then Joe?" Karen said.

"I could make it my dream job, couldn't I?" Joe said. "I could pick up
the skills - stir, fry, grill, roast and bake. Meats and puddings. The
whole shit."

"You prepared to work hard for it? That's what following your dreams
should be about, I guess," Karen said. The lights dimmed
suddenly.

"I wonder if I'd make a success..." Joe said, as he leant back in his
chair, clasped his arms behind his head, and looked away from us. He
lit another cigarette and said, "I met this celebrity chef once...for a
story...all he could go on about was the girls, the fabulous girls he
was literally given free, wherever he went. And he was hardly a stunner
himself you know? LA, Tokyo, Paris. The cooking was over in 5 minutes
he said. Just shouting orders at some other lackey, and then performing
in front of the camera. Now, that's success."

"That's fame. First following your dreams, then success, and finally,
fame for the top half percent who make it all the way." I said.

"Or get lucky - get discovered, by chance." Alison said.

"Yeah, the rest of us have just to sit here, and imagine what it must
be like." Karen said. "You don't want to get stuck on daydreams Joe.
They only make you miserable."

"Yeah, Joe. Stick to your reporting. You're good at it. Suppose you
failed as a chef...you'd be stuck in the kitchen shouted at all day by
some asshole who thinks he's God. A grown man stuck in a steamy kitchen
cooking for others."

"We're all stuck," Joe said. "unless you're a medieval king, you're
stuck. If I was a king, I could delegate all the nasty work. Just sit
around and give orders. No one with a cocaine habit banging on my door
frightening me. I'd have him shot."

***

"You rule your own kingdom." Alison said.

"What?" Joe replied.

"You're a king, you rule yourself. Your own life," she answered.

"You believe that? You think you're in control of your destiny?" Joe
said. "'Cos I don't. Everything's decided somewhere else." He sighed
and poured himself another glass. "Well...it makes no difference in the
end does it? What do I know, I mean, they only pay me to spit out
words, I don't even solve any problems of the world, just write about
them. So what?"

"So something Joe. Don't be so hard on yourself. Many would be jealous
of your skills, your gift with language, your style," Alison
said.

"Anyway, who says a king had it easy Joe?," I said. "Imagine if he was
about to be invaded. Or if the people protested at the lack of food.
What if there was no peace? A plague? If his ministers betrayed him?
His wife didn't love him? They were always under attack from
everywhere. More people died from the stupidity of their kings in those
days. They were heartless, they didn't care for their subjects."

"That's awful, yeah sure," Joe said. "But they ruled. They didn't have
to worry if there was enough cash in the bank to pay for groceries
until the next pay check."

"But what if they had no money to pay the troops and another king was
after their job?" Karen said.

"That's right. They had to fight hard didn't they?" Joe said. "Or some
smart ass could come along and say to the people, I can do his job
better, so let me have a go. And then they would be fighting for the
chance to prove who's better."

"Just like we fight - to show we can do our jobs better than anyone
else," Alison said.

"Jobs and fighting. It's all the same. Kings or reporters or dot-com
smart alecs. Jobs and fighting to survive," Karen said.

She drank some more wine. And as she tilted her head back, I saw lines
I'd never noticed before. Where her skin sagged against her ears, her
neck, her cheek. Her eyes were still bright, but now surrounded by
large rings.

Joe played with the label on the wine bottle. He rotated his cigarette
slowly around the edges of the ashtray. The he put it out and gulped
down his wine.

***

"What about the man in the east end?" Karen said. "You never finished
that story."

She asked me for a light, but my lighter had run out. Joe lit it for
her, looking into her eyes deeply.

Darkness has fallen now. The street lamps had come on, blanketing the
outside with an eery pale orange glow. They'd lit the artificial
fireplace in the cafe and the spotlights glowed softly. I noticed the
strange patterns they made on the solid oak table. At the corner
nearest where I sat, someone had carved into the wood - 'Angel was
here.'

"With his forbidden paintings." Alison said.

Joe stared at her. "They were murals," he said.

"I'm kidding," Alison said.

"What happened?" Karen asked.

Joe looked at her, turning his glass in his hand.

"If we weren't working so hard to stay alive, I'd take you up on your
offer Karen," Joe said. "We'd run off to the Caribbean, just the two of
us, and open a small restaurant by a beautiful white beach. If there
was no Rob and I hadn't met Alison. Just the two of us following our
dreams."

"Come on, get on with the story," Alison said, "And then we'll go find
that Ethiopian place, okay?"

"Okay, where was I?" Joe said, staring at the table. After a short
pause, he started again, quickly:

"After that, I won him some time. I told the builders to give us a
week, said I'd write a piece about this guy and his murals, and get him
some publicity in the national press. See if someone or some museum
would be interested in paying for preserving those awesome murals. So,
they agreed, we got seven days, and I was furiously writing it all
down, trying to find some explanation, about what obsessed this weird
guy. I'd never been so passionate about a subject before. But this guy
was depressed. He was scared. He told me his story would never finish,
and no one could possibly understand it, so why bother saving it from
demolition. He'd escaped from somewhere, he wouldn't tell me where. But
it sounded like the Middle East or Central Asia. And his people were
dying. Being killed off, in fact, by some government wanting to wipe
out their whole race. And he was telling the story of their struggle.
How they saw the world. He had a mission, you see. All the sacrifices,
the suffering, the redemption he was showing in his murals, that was
the trials his people had undergone to survive. But after all their
struggles, they were still dying. And he was depressed. Not about their
extinction though. They'd been through that before, they were strong
enough to endure that. That wasn't so bad. They were resilient, that's
the word he used. But he was depressed because he didn't succeed at his
job. He was so scared to tell the truth of what was going on to his
people. He was afraid that if he really spoke the truth, like it really
was, no one would believe him, or they would kill him. Or he would have
to kill himself. He wanted to, but he couldn't express. That was what
was making him feel so bad. Can you imagine that? This poor man, with
such beautiful creations on all his walls, that had taken him years and
years, was in pain because he didn't feel true success from his work.
It was a labour of love, dedicated to his people, but boy, what a
job!"

Joe looked around the table, facing our stunned silence.

"I mean, his whole job was to show the truth of life, and it was
killing him because despite all he'd painted, he'd failed at his
job."

We all looked at Joe.

"Can you see that?" he said.

***

We were all a little drunk by then. The cafe was getting crowded and
noisy with diners, and we felt a little squeezed in our corner, with
the buzz of activity everywhere. We should've been making a move, it
felt like we'd overstayed our Saturday afternoon. But we were frozen in
our chairs.

"Listen," Joe said. "Let's just drink up the last of this wine, and go
eat. Let's go to the new place."

"But what happened to that guy?" Karen asked.

"He just made it up Karen," Alison said. "He's just taking the piss.
Weren't you Joe? You just got out on the wrong side this morning. You
forgot to meditate today."

"I've prayed for everything." Joe said.

"We could all use a prayer these days, help us get through the shit," I
said.

"Some people are living on a prayer, day to day," Alison said.

"I think I wanna call my editor, see if he's got anything new for me.
I'm sick of all this waiting," Joe said.

"Not now honey, we're with Rob and Karen. We're going for dinner, to
the new Ethiopian, remember?" Karen said.

"What if that guy's still living," Joe said. "Still painting in some
other room somewhere else in London? I should find him, and tell him
he's alright you know? Is that okay with you?"

"I should call John," Karen said. "Who knows what he might be up to by
now."

"What if he's crying and shouting again?" I said. "Everyone's heard
what a shit he's made out of you. What do you want to speak to him for?
It's over."

"It's not over. I can't leave him stranded like that." I could feel her
legs trembling under the table. I placed my arm on her thigh to calm
her down.

"I wish he'd just leave us alone," I said. "I mean, it's not a job,
more like an ex-lover you can't get out of your life. Our lives. Before
you know it, not only are you out of a job, he'll bankrupt you too.
Sometimes, in my dreams, I see him moving in with us, and taking over
my place in our bed. Living off us while his dreams fail. We end up
supporting the dreamers."

"Stop that. That's not fair," Karen said.

"I'm sure John's still got a secret stash of money somewhere. Maybe you
can find it Karen," I said. "When you're going over the books with him,
winding things up, find out. Get your hands on the vital information.
If he doesn't die of an overdose, I'll pray he at least tells you where
the last of the loot is hidden away."

"That's not what I want to do to him, that's not me," Karen said. "I
want to help him as a friend should."

"You should get him, like the out-of-a-job ex-accountant you are." I
said. "Squeeze the last drop out of him," I continued, and I brought my
hands towards Karen's neck, pretending to strangle her. "Get the
bastard who did this to you Karen." And she pushed my hands aside,
smiling, although her eyes were all fired up. I let go and splayed my
hands on the table. I licked out the bottom of my glass.

"Could be a new job for you Karen," Joe said. "Dishing the dirt on
these new-fangled hi-tech robber barons. Give me the juicy details and
I'll print them for you. Let's ruin these assholes. Let's give them
back some of the terror they've given us. Let's name and shame
'em."

"Yeah, everyone would be interested in the rise and fall of a dot-com
businessman," Alison chimed in.

"And then what? Do we make a job out of the misery of others?" Karen
asked.

"And then we sit back and watch it roll in, hon. Let the git suffer -
it's our turn for the big money," I said.

"Maybe I won't call John after all. Let's just let him be. Let's just
go get some dinner. How about it?" Karen said, picking up her pack of
cigarettes and getting her things ready in her little suede
handbag.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter. I don't mind some bread and butter here.
Or some African. Soul food they call it right? Let's go nourish the
soul." I said.

"What do you mean?" Karen asked.

"Just what I said," I said. "We need to nourish our souls right? Fill
it up so we can perform better. That's all."

"Should I call for some more peanuts, some nibbles?" Alison
asked.

"Yeah, my stomach's growling now. And I'm sick of all the peanuts."
Karen said.

"I'll go ask for some bread.," Alison said.

But we just sat there. Alison didn't get up. Joe started playing with
the dying flowers in the yellow vase. He got the wine bottle and stared
deep into it.

"We're out of wine," he said.

Alison said, "Shall we get going then?"

The blues music just got louder and louder until it became a terrifying
din, with Billie Holiday screeching at the top of her lungs. Everyone
looked away, and tried to smile. But I couldn't hear anything.
Everything was just silent. And still.

THE END

( Gurmit Singh Sidhu, 12 August 2001
1

1