I Have Demons

by Adam Christopher

  “And a good morning to all of you, and to you as well, Bob! Well, let me tell you, I think we all need to give thanks to the good Lord today that we don’t live in Greece — and it’s not just about their crumbling old buildings. Have you been there, Bob? I mean they’re really crumbling.”

  “Greece? Nah. We do Florida with the kids. We don't give our money to the commies.” Bob’s congenial tone turned briefly to indignation.

  “Right on, Bob, right on! The Greeks have fifty percent unemployment among the youth and now they wanna suck the western taxpayers dry to bail ’em out!”

  David stopped puttering about his campsite and sat down on a rock across from the radio. Somehow Franco Ritchie demanded his full attention. He sounded oddly foreign to David. Franco Ritchie had an exaggerated southern drawl, which was not entirely convincing, mixed with big-talking self-confidence reminiscent of a used car salesman or a low-rent, shady lawyer hunting for clients.

  “But don’t you go thinking that it’s not all coming here, that it won’t be impacting you, spreading like a virus! We’re all going to feel the creeping danger of rising unemployment, of poverty, on our own skins, of deciding whether you can afford that doughnut and coffee at Timmies today or if you’ll need to bring your Folgers Instant in a thermos from home. It’s coming folks, you just wait and see! It’s like terrorism ... or the plague. People didn’t believe it till it was dangling over us on that red horizon!”

  David felt that tossing and turning in the pit of his stomach that comes with rising anxiety. Or was it hunger? He was glued to the radio and hoped beyond hope that Franco’s story would end well. He craved reassurance from this domineering, faceless voice.

  “People! We need to be alert and we need to be vigilant. From now on, each and every one of us has to look over our shoulders every time we turn the corner!” Franco’s voice rose to a fever pitch and David began to feel nauseated.

  “Jesus Christ, Frankie ... that’s enough to put the fear of God into all of us.” Bob sounded despondent and alarmed. He almost whispered, as if privy to a horrific secret conspiracy.

  “Look, Bob, the good news is that you’re not alone.” For the first time, Franco sounded soothing, believable and Canadian. Gone was the southern drawl. “I know that many of you are already feeling the pinch of the collections agencies hounding you. Oh, I see you opening up the mail every morning fearing that today is when that eviction notice will finally arrive. But if we stand together, we can solve this. We can fight this!”

  The queasy feeling in David’s stomach began to subside. The tightness in his chest dissipated. But the hunger became more pronounced. He retrieved a hard-boiled egg from the bottom of his backpack and smelled it. It seemed fine.

  “Look, I’m not here to boast, but I’ve helped scores of talented young men and women climb back from the brink. I teach ’em to turn their backs on a lifetime of failure. I’ve brought hope to dozens, no — to hundreds! God only knows, I don’t do it for the money or the fame. In fact, just so you know that I put my money where my mouth is, I have an incredible offer for all my loyal listeners and followers out there. If you get to my office today no later than noon, you can experience what Franco Ritchie’s life-coaching can do for you, for just nineteen ninety-nine. I mean, wow! Buy and control your future for mere pocket change!”

  David turned off his radio suddenly and looked at the time on his cellphone. It was 8:45 AM. Unopened letters, mostly unpaid bills, stuck out from his backpack. He stuffed them back in, along with the only two books he brought with him: Margaret Laurence’s The Diviners and an anthology of poetry from Philip Larkin. He smiled and started pacing with a growing degree of enthusiasm. He felt that he was realistic in his expectations. He wasn’t looking for a get-rich-quick scheme nor did he ever aspire to be a millionaire. He wasn’t sure if it was a lack of cutthroat ambition, but he didn’t think this was down to laziness. All he knew for sure was that he had to make a success of his move to the city. That meant finding employment, making enough money to rent his own apartment and pay his way, and maybe send home a hundred dollars each month to help his chronically depressed father and his overworked, increasingly desperate mother with their groceries.

  David didn’t have a mirror, but based on the dark reflection in his cellphone screen, almost too hot to touch from sitting out in the sun, he looked all right. His white dress shirt seemed as though it had been freshly ironed, his pants were perfectly pleated and his tie was just right: conservative, but not dowdy. He looked like the quintessential Mormon missionary. If only he would stop losing weight. He used his pocket knife to poke a new hole through his belt. That solved that problem. But there was nothing he could do about the growing, gaping chasm between his throat and his now oversized collar shirt.

  As he walked into the city, the foolishness of not wearing an undershirt dawned on him. The back of his shirt was soaked as he trudged through the merciless humidity. There seemed to be no respite from the scorching sun either. By the time he found himself amidst the eclectic mix of commercial establishments and dreary low-rise office buildings of Bank Street, he was sweating profusely. Admittedly, he also felt a little nervous about his encounter with the man on the radio, who this morning first took him to the depths of anguish and impending global ruin before lighting the pathway to redemption.

  ***

  David couldn’t figure out how on earth Franco Ritchie managed to stuff such a large piece of sushi into his mouth all at once. His cheeks seemed about to burst, but he managed to shift the sushi around in his mouth and he calmly chewed and swallowed like a pro, all while David sat across his desk, not knowing if it was impolite to stare. He looked away at the stained and faded Santa coffee mug on the window ledge.

  “Okay, go! I’m listening.” Franco didn’t make eye contact as he gingerly dipped sushi into a small container of soy sauce and smelled it, looking slightly concerned, before stuffing it in his mouth.

  David felt as though the starting pistol had just gone off in a marathon and he was expected to bolt. He couldn’t gather his thoughts and wasn’t sure what Franco wanted to know.

  “Well, I’m kinda new here. I just arrived a couple of days ago … and I heard you on the radio, so I, um, I thought that maybe I should see you?” David stopped awkwardly.

  Franco took a gulp from a slime-green energy drink. It was disconcerting to David that he couldn’t really see Franco’s eyes through those tinted glasses. It wasn’t particularly bright in that office, but the glasses on Franco’s face had gone dark nonetheless.

  “You can stop right there, David. I know everything there is to know about you, just by looking at you … just by looking into your eyes…” David was visibly taken aback.

  “Oh, that’s right, David! That small-town, farm-boy mentality … the deer-in-the-headlights stare as you realize that you’re lost here in the big city. You’re lost in this jungle of towering glass and steel! You’re weak and you’re insignificant! You’re just a little speck of dust bouncing around in this big bad world, aren’t you now, David?” Franco leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk with a self-satisfied grin as he let that diagnosis sink in.

  “Well, I’m not sure that I really think that of myself…” David was uncertain. Should he be agreeing with Franco?

  Suddenly Franco’s tone changed and he sat up.

  “David, David! You’re dripping all over my office. Poor kid, you must be nervous and scared. Here, wipe yourself up.” Franco tossed a box of tissues right into David’s lap before turning on a desk fan and sitting it directly across from his client. It blew a combination of hot air and dust right into David’s face.

  “How long you been out of work?”

  “I just graduated a few months ago…”

  “In what?” Franco sounded as though he was about to pounce and David was well aware of this.

  “I have a BA honours degree in Canadian literature.”

  “Canadian lit, eh?” Franco scoffed. “That’s li
ke — what — Anne of Green Gables?” Franco gulped down more of his energy drink.

  David felt profoundly insulted, and his sentence came out as though he was sulking. “There’s more to it than that…”

  “Yeah? And what’s it done for you so far, David? Look it, I’m here to help you rise out of the gutter, to scrape you up from the streets and move you into the fast-paced world of finance, Armani suits, silk ties, lunches at the Château Laurier, champagne dinners.” He stopped mid-sentence and leaned in close to David. “Six figures!”

  David wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Oh, okay. I never really thought about that…”

  “Of course you didn’t. Do you have family?”

  “No, not really…” David didn’t feel it would help to disclose his parents’ unhappiness and their pitiful state. But Franco drilled on.

  “Mother? Father? Money? Estates?”

  David cast his eyes down and Franco seemed to know not to press further.

  “Okay, look, don't worry about it.” Franco displayed what seemed to be a glimmer of compassion, as though he realized that he had touched on something sensitive.

  Franco looked down to the wall-to-wall carpeting and noticed the dirt that David had tracked in.

  “Holy shit! Where the hell have you been?”

  At first David was confused, but once he looked behind him, he could see what Franco was talking about.

  “Oh, jeez. Sorry about that, I didn't—”

  “Would you do that to your potential future employer? Great start, great first impression. All right. Get up, get up!” David stood up reluctantly, not knowing what was coming next.

  “Now get out of my office!” Franco roared and then started typing feverishly on his keyboard.

  “What?” David couldn’t believe his ears. This was it?

  “Out!” Franco pointed to the door before returning to his furious typing. David looked down for a moment and it wasn’t clear to him if Franco was actually typing coherent words and sentences or simply giving his computer a good beating.

  But he knew that he didn’t have time to ponder that. He walked to the door, deflated and dejected. His body language said it all. Just as he opened the door, Franco barked out another order.

  “All right, get back in here. I’ve made an exception. I’m going to forgive you. Now how does that sound, David?”

  David was stunned and had no clue what to say.

  “You’re welcome. Now leave your shoes at the door and sit back down.”

  David did as he was told. He felt like he was in the middle of a dizzying whirlwind and was unable to get his bearings. Was it Franco or the fact that he was hungry?

  “What do you believe, David?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what do you believe deep down inside, Davey? Everyone’s gotta believe in something. I can’t help you if you have no faith.” Franco opened his desk drawer and pulled out a tray holding a wide range of religious symbols and items. He poured it all out onto his desk. From the pile of prayer beads, rosaries, Stars of David and tiny plastic Virgin Marys, he shook out a kippah and put it on his head, slightly crooked. He slowly dangled a rosary in front of David, like a pendulum, and lifted his eyebrows. “So? What is it?”

  David smiled. “Looks like you’re well equipped!”

  Franco kept dangling the rosary, staring at David, waiting for his response. He wasn’t going to let him off the hook. On some level, David wondered if Franco was pulling his leg.

  “So where do you keep the Kool-Aid?” David’s grin widened, but Franco at first seemed perplexed before frowning disapprovingly.

  “It’s just a cultural reference to something that happened once … in a jungle.” Franco kept staring, growing increasingly irritated. “But it’s not really important, just—”

  “Look, don’t play those artsy games with me! I’m not into that shit. If I’m gonna help you, you need to be an open book when you’re with me. You like books, don’t you? All you have to do is open the gates and let me in.” Franco reached across the desk and poked David’s chest multiple times, as he was speaking. “Let me help you help yourself, Davey.”

  “Well, that’s why I'm here…”

  “Good. You’ll need to start attending a church or a synagogue. Take your pick. They’re some of the best venues for networking. You know, getting your name out there. Maybe consider joining the Freemasons too. You’d be surprised how many connections you’ll make. I’d tell you to consider joining a mosque, it’s just that I don’t have any experience with the Muslims yet. But I’m working on it, Davey, you better believe it! I’m very open-minded that way.”

  Franco didn’t seem to require a response or verbal commitment, and David found that reassuring. Instead, Franco appeared busy fumbling with a stack of papers in a drawer.

  “Right then. You’re gonna have to give all your information to my secretary: date of birth, SIN number, phone, home address. I need to know everything. Are you a criminal?”

  David was stunned and offended.

  “No!”

  “Gotta ask. Just wait a minute while I call her…” Franco started tapping his fingers on the desk as he waited for the secretary to answer.

  “Shit, she’s on her lunch break already … typical. I’ll have a little chat with her when she gets back. Here, fill this out until then.” Franco handed David a clipboard with a form. He was taken aback by one of the first questions.

  “Why do you need to know my waist size?”

  “Because, Davey my friend, I am going to shop you around with some of the movers and shakers in town. And that cheap shit you’re wearing now isn’t gonna cut it. I won’t have you dressed like some office monkey or a cheapskate accountant. This is the real deal, Shakespeare. I don’t bullshit. I’m setting you up with an amazing opening. If you get this one, you’ll never look back. But get ready: things are going to speed up from here on in.”

  ***

  Located in a Victorian red-brick house just off Somerset, Moor and Shum International turned out to be much fancier than David thought it would be. It felt more like a luxurious spa than a clinic. The soothing sound of water trickling over rocks and a hint of eucalyptus filled the parlour where two women in matching plush purple bathrobes sat next to each other with their feet soaking in bronze tubs. A man wearing a lime-green robe lay on a settee with a hot towel covering his entire face, except for the tip of his nose.

  David stood in the middle of the parlour, feeling out of place, until a man in blue scrubs, who was around his age, peeked out from the door at the far end.

  “That guy’s here!”

  David swore the man in scrubs rolled his eyes and sounded irritated. A thin, small woman with severely straight short hair, a perma-tan and several gold bracelets dangling like little chimes on her wrist, appeared. She gave what David took to be a scolding look to the man in scrubs before smiling at David and walking towards him confidently, right hand extended.

  “You must be David. Franco has said nothing but great things about you. It’s a pleasure…”

  “Hi. Are you Dr. Vera Moor?”

  “The one and only!” She smiled and introduced her assistant. “And you’ve met Head Nurse Shum?”

  Head Nurse Shum sighed, as he glanced up at the grand chandelier in the parlour.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Head Nurse Shum.” David smiled innocuously at the man who failed to soften his demeanour.

  “Likewise.” Shum’s voice sounded as though it had been flattened by a freight train.

  It bothered David that Shum clearly didn’t like him one bit. He wasn’t aware of anyone ever hating him before. Having someone audibly scoff and visibly dismiss him before a job interview wasn’t reassuring. It seemed like a particularly bad time to start being despised.

  They walked into Dr. Vera’s office. The doctor took her seat behind the mahogany desk, while Shum sat at her side. The wall behind her was covered in a sea of diplomas, though too hi
gh up to read. Her desk was lined with thank-you cards from satisfied patients. One of the cards was turned David’s way, so he could see the inscription:

  Dear Dr. Vera:

  I can never thank you enough for giving back my husband’s self-confidence. You can’t even begin to imagine the joy he brings me — it’s like day and night. We have finally consummated our marriage. We are expecting our little Álvaro in October.

  “David, we have more success stories than we can count. I have to say that we are very protective of our institution, aren’t we, Head Nurse Shum?” The man in the scrubs crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair and glared at David. “We require just the right person to work our door and greet our patients. It takes the perfect mix of compassion and plain old business smarts to treat them with dignity while making sure they understand their horrible predicament. Does that make sense to you, David?”

  “Yes, completely! My dad ran a small business and he always seemed to build a great relationship with his customers.”

  Shum sighed audibly.

  “There are no customers here. Just patients.”

  “Emmet, please. David is just giving a personal example. That’s what candidates do in competitive interviews…” Dr. Vera turned to David and smiled. “Now as you can see, Head Nurse Shum and I care about our institution deeply. To be entirely honest with you, we have a strong preference for an attractive young woman to fill the role for which you applied. Our female patients are more comfortable when greeted by a woman and our male patients are generally uneasy when they see a man working behind a receptionist’s desk. But despite all this, I have a deep respect for Franco and his gorgeous wife, Lina, so we are here to give you a chance. Sound fair?”