by Hazel Parker
“I know that you hearing this, you might think I’ve lost my mind. But I promise you that I have spent longer than you could ever realize thinking about this, and it isn’t a decision that I’ve made without serious thought. Whatever you think of it, that part is up to you. But I can assure you that I’ll be gone within a couple of months, so you won’t have to worry about me affecting the quality of your workday. You’ll have to find someone new to steal the Wall Street Journal from in the morning, but I think that’s a trade you’ll make.”
For the first time since I’d told her that I was quitting Rothenberg, Amelia gave a genuine reaction free of doubt. It may have been a simple joke, but it was one that probably told her I was serious more than anything else I had said.
“I think you’re crazy, and I’m jealous as hell at the same time,” she said, staring at the sand. “I wish I could have the freedom just to move on and feel comfortable in my skin doing something else. But I don’t know what it would be.”
“I mean, I am a few years older than you, so I’ve had a little more time to think about it.”
But I knew Amelia was just saying that to be polite. She may not have berated me like I knew Uncle would, but I knew she didn’t understand me. And that was OK. I didn’t need her to understand me. If anything, she probably had reason to thank me after this.
“What a crazy day, huh?” she said, laughing. “You know, it’s my first time having sex in years?”
“You?” I said in shock. “You must have men knocking on your door every minute!”
“That’s the problem: the more options you have, the more hopeless you feel!” she said.
We soon fell into a silly discussion about dating in New York City and how it was both strangely one of the best places and yet one of the hardest places to date. It became readily apparent that while I had an easy time as a man, for Amelia, there was either the rich and arrogant or the sensible yet poor. That was obviously an overly simplified dynamic, but people didn’t really do nuance in describing prior dates.
The most important part of the discussion, though, wasn’t the content, but the time. I didn’t even bother to keep track of the time, and I didn’t care. I was going to tell Gerald in the morning of my intention to quit, and the instant that happened, the work would steadily decrease. No one was going to give someone leaving more work.
But the fact that even Amelia didn’t seem to mind the long time that we stayed there…
Well, maybe I had misread her. Maybe she was considering a new career elsewhere.
Or maybe I was just hoping to have some company on what was bound to be an oddly lonely journey. The club would likely enjoy my commitment to it, but that didn’t mean that they were going to take me in with open arms. It would take more than leaving a well-paying job for them to consider me a “true” member of the club.
Finally, sometime after midnight, Amelia rose and offered me her hand.
“You’ve been sitting in a puddle of sex for the last few hours,” she said. “Might be time to get up and head on home.”
I took her hand, stood up, and pulled her in for an embrace.
“And you’ve had to deal with a pile of shit for the last few days,” I said. “Might be time to get some sleep to recover, huh?”
She giggled and pulled back. We briefly paused before we shared a gentle kiss.
I don’t know why, but that kiss did much more to assuage my concerns than just about anything else. It was one thing to get caught in the throes of erotic release; it was another to display tender compassionate moments after an argument that would have tossed someone’s idea of the world on their head. Amelia had probably known of people who had quit the industry for whatever passion project they had, but to become a mechanic?
Even I had to admit that the idea seemed just a tad bit crazy.
* * *
I awoke the next morning in my apartment on just a few hours of sleep, having dropped Amelia off at one and my bike at the shop thereafter. And yet, despite not even reaching four hours of sleep, I still felt as refreshed and invigorated as I had in years.
I had finally found my answer. And I was going to tell Gerald today.
No matter how little sleep I had gotten, the knowledge that the truth would finally come out was a jolt to the arm. I even walked into the Rothenberg building with a pep in my step and a tune on my lips. I smiled and acknowledged harried coworkers. I stopped on the way up into the cafe and saw Amelia smiling—smiling!—at her spot. I saddled up next to her.
“Mind if I’m the one to steal the Wall Street Journal today?”
“Not at all,” she said, slightly amused.
She didn’t say anything else to me—probably because she wanted to be cautious about saying anything—but when I left, I threw a wink her way. She just exhaled with a guilty grin, taking care to hold the paper up to her face. I rode the elevator up to my floor, stepped out, and put my suitcase in my office.
And then it hit me just what the fuck I was about to do.
I was about to tell my boss, a man who knew only delivery for food, numbers for work, and God knows what for entertainment, that I was quitting my job. I strongly suspected that he would think that what I was doing was akin to suicide or something. After all, it’s not like Gerald had any interests outside of work.
Not my problem.
I went up to his office door, knocked, and entered when he waved me in.
“Do you have a question about the IPO?” he said lazily, not even looking up from his computer.
I had to admit, seeing him like so and knowing what I was about to do, I almost felt sorry for him. I couldn’t imagine being so sucked into work as to have no other alternative. At least Amelia had her mind, her fitness, and some level of charm to her. Gerald had...a history with the company, and that was about it. He was a man in for a rude awakening when retirement came, one way or another.
“Actually, sir, I wanted to talk to you about something else,” I said. Why are you even calling him sir? “It’s about my job here at Rothenberg Banking.”
“Yeah,” Gerald said, still not looking up, almost bored by my presence. “If you’re looking for a promotion, then please make an inquiry to HR.”
He doesn’t even care about us. He’s just sounding like a robot. That’s all we are to the company. Just...things to toss aside.
“Gerald, with all respect, I’m not looking for a promotion. I’m leaving the company.”
“If you’re...wait, I’m sorry?”
Gerald finally broke out of whatever he was doing on the computer and turned his attention to me. It was a damn shame it took me quitting to get his attention. It was probably an even greater shame that nothing about this surprised me in the least.
“I am here to announce that effective in two months, I am leaving Rothenberg Banking.”
“You’re what?” he said. Just as I expected, Gerald could truly not comprehend what I was doing.
“I am pursuing my passions with vehicles. This is a decision that I have pondered for some time, and—”
Gerald, much like Amelia had last night, burst out laughing. But unlike Amelia, who actually cared about me, Gerald was laughing to be condescending.
“You are just like the rest of the stupid hippies who have left here,” he said. “You think you’re going to set the world on fire with your creative freedom and spirit, and then you realize the world doesn’t run on spirit: it runs on dollars. Money is what makes the world spin, not some passion project. I want you to think long and hard about what the hell you just said to me, Thomas, and come back to me by lunch and apologize.”
I didn’t budge.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this is a decision that I have made my peace with. I know that I am not going to change my mind. So no. I am not going to come back at lunch and apologize. If I come back, it’s to reiterate what I said.”
“You cannot be serious,” Gerald said with a laugh, but the laugh was fraying into something much sadder. “You c
annot be serious! What else is there out there for you, huh? Are you going to a competitor?”
“Did you even listen to me? I said I’m going into vehicle work—”
“No one could possibly be as stupid as you’re sound right now. No one!”
I folded my arms. If I had to quit right here on the spot and never be seen again, then I was OK with that. Four more paychecks would be nice, but it wouldn’t make or break my financial situation.
“Goddamnit, Thomas,” Gerald said. “You know what? We don’t want your sorry ass here if you’re going to go work on a bunch of Civics and stupid shit like that. We’ll keep you here until a week from Friday at the latest, but don’t be surprised if you suddenly lose access at any moment. We don’t need weak-minded individuals here like you.”
“That’s your opinion, sir.”
“That’s a goddamn fact is what it is!”
I cleared my throat and stepped back.
“I will complete the remainder of my work in a professional and respectful manner. If you wish for me to leave earlier, please let me know.”
I heard Gerald yell that what I was doing was bullshit as I left, but I couldn’t have cared less what he had to say at that point. I had just freed myself from the tyranny of working at this forsaken hell hole. Two more weeks without any new work was like a miracle from above.
The worst was over. Even if I took an entire two more weeks to finish up the work, the hard part was done.
I could finally focus on becoming a full-fledged member of the Savage Saints.
Chapter 12: Amelia
I’ll admit it. I was jealous of Fitz.
I was jealous that he could just throw away so much for the sake of some...some motorcycle fetish or something and not feel the slightest bit unnerved by it all. I was freaked the fuck out on behalf of him, and nothing had changed for me. I was still employed, still posting good numbers, and still on track to—eventually—become executive director.
Fitz’s complete calm when it came to his decision almost had me wondering if there was something that I was missing. Was I just crazy? Were we the crazy ones in the banking world? Was Fitz somehow the sober one, the one smart enough to escape everything?
I mean, he wasn’t the one who wanted to have literal sex on the beach. He wasn’t the one who insisted on passing up sex for the sake of controlling the opposite sex with oral. He wasn’t the one who then insisted on being brought to orgasm on said beach.
I still couldn’t believe anything in the past twelve hours had happened. None of it made a goddamn ounce of sense. The fact that I had had a nervous breakdown at work earlier was the most believable aspect of this week, and given how long I’d gone without having one, in a vacuum, that was pretty damn unlikely itself.
When I saw him in the morning at the cafeteria, I fully expected him to come to me and tell me that he was just teasing me, playing on the fact that my mind wasn’t in the best place. When he came close to me, I almost wanted him to go away. People would pick up on the fact that we were doing something, and I didn’t need that to happen. I didn’t need my coworkers to get any vibes of any kind.
Though he winked at me, no one seemed to take mind of us.
Which left me wondering, instead, just what last night had meant. I liked Fitz. I still liked him. He was mighty good going down on me, and it made me want to have more of him. But if he was seriously quitting to be a car mechanic…
Just thinking the words made me laugh out loud. A car mechanic! A motorcycle club member! What the actual fuck!
I pulled myself together enough to get up the elevator and to my desk. Ben, making a surprise appearance outside his office, passed everyone by and said hello. He didn’t seem taken aback by my presence or by me acting in any particular way. He treated me like anyone else on the floor. That was a good sign, at least.
But as soon as Ben exited, my mind became just as frazzled as before.
And I didn’t think I would get any answers either.
* * *
I deliberately skipped lunch with Fitz. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him, at least not for the most part. I was just struggling to regain a sense of control over my day, and if I saw him, that control would slip out of my hands faster than the sand from the Long Island beach the night before.
Once eight came, though, and I left work, I had nothing left to distract me. Nervously, I reached for my personal cell phone, pulled up Fitz’s number, and texted him.
“So, did you really do it?”
I put my phone away, got on the subway, and rode down to my apartment. I didn’t pull my phone out until I had plopped down onto my couch, but this time, I wasn’t about to fall asleep suddenly. It helped that he had already responded to me.
“Yep! Gerald didn’t take it well. I said two months, he said two weeks. Really, one and a half weeks, since I’ll be done end of next week.”
Jesus Christ, Fitz. You could be kidding with me, but you’re not going to kid with your boss.
“Wow. Well...I applaud you for sticking to it,” I wrote, but that just felt so empty.
I would never make sense of him quitting this job to become a car mechanic. First of all, Fitz should have known that that job would vanish soon in favor of automation. At least artistic, creative jobs would last quite some time. Second...a fucking car mechanic?
“And work full time in the Savage Saints motorcycle club in Brooklyn.”
Curiosity overtook me as I remembered that last bit from last night’s dialogue. Maybe that was the money maker right there. Maybe the motorcycle club was actually code for something much, much cooler. Maybe the car mechanic thing was just a front for some sort of government operation to, I don’t know, get a closer look at blue-collar crime in Brooklyn?
I thought most people who cried conspiracy were full of shit and just hadn’t done enough with their lives to provide actual value. But the more I thought about Fitz in this case, the more it seemed like the only thing that made sense. Fitz was too smart to do what he was doing without some serious promises.
I searched “Savage Saints Brooklyn” on my phone, curious to see what kind of results would pop up. The first hit was a NY Post article: “Copycat club opening in Brooklyn.” I opened it and read.
“BROOKLYN, NY — If you thought the Hell’s Angels were bad, just wait until you see the Savage Saints.”
I knew very little of the Hell’s Angels outside of what had stereotypically been told of them, but it wasn’t good. And the group that Fitz was joining was worse?
“Recently, a new chapter of the Savage Saints organization, a gang most known for inciting gun violence in California and Las Vegas in very public settings, opened up shop in Brooklyn, with an anonymous investor purchasing Brooklyn Repairs to house the gang.”
Fitz is joining a fucking gang? What the shit!
“‘We’ve prided ourselves on keeping Brooklyn clean and will do everything we can to drive out this plague,’ Kyle Stone, a local politician, said. ‘It’s unfortunate that this has come to our town, but the people of Brooklyn and New York City at large can know that we will not stop at anything.’
“Messages sent to the club were not returned.”
I sat up on the couch, as wide awake as I’d felt in ages. Fitz...in a gang?
Something about that didn’t sit right. It felt like someone had blackmailed him into joining. But for what purposes? It’s not like Fitz had family he needed to protect or skills we didn’t know about.
I pulled up our chat conversation.
“If you’re not doing anything,” I wrote. “Come over. Let’s hang.”
Fitz wrote back immediately that he was on his way.
“Come up here,” I wrote. “Apartment 3204. Let’s keep it a night in.”
I didn’t want to get on his bike. I didn’t want to have him associated with that gang, bikes, or anything remotely near it. It had become apparent to me that Fitz was being held against his own will.
* * *
&nbs
p; “Hello, beautiful,” Fitz said as he entered.
I accepted his greeting of a kiss, but I wasn’t engaged in it at all. I ushered him in, shut the door, and locked it quickly.
“Everything all right?”
“Where’s your phone?” I said. “Can you turn it off?”
“Um, sure,” he said, confusion evident in his tone. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll ask you the same when your phone is off.”
He raised an eyebrow but did as requested. As soon as the phone was off, he held it to my face to show that he had turned it off completely.
“Now, what’s going on?”
“Did you join the gang against your will?”
“Huh?”
“The Savage Saints. I saw the NY Post article. The one—”
“Ohhhh,” Fitz said with a laugh. “Amelia, let’s go sit down. This one might take a while.”
“But—”
“I promise I am acting of my own free will, OK? I am safe. You have nothing to worry about. I just want to explain everything you have uncovered.”
If he wasn’t safe, is this something he would say? Then again, his phone is off, so no one can bug it. We are on the 32nd floor of my apartment complex, and no one is near us. No one can just barge in here.
I hurried to my couch, sat down, and crossed my legs, turning my body to Fitz. I was nervous to hear what he had to say, knowing that he was likely to make it even weirder.
“First of all, let me just say this upfront. We hate being called a gang. We are not a gang. We are a club. A gang goes around and terrifies the area around it. The worst that we do is play loud music on Friday nights. We invite cute girls to our parties. That’s it. We haven’t done anything else.”