None More Black
by
Brett Williams
NONE MORE BLACK
by
Brett Williams
Zoe Books
May, 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Brett Williams
Images Copyright © 2017 by DepositPhotos.com
BrettWilliamsFiction.com
[email protected]
Published by Zoe Books
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
During the Nazi regime of Adolph Hitler, the country of Germany became the second-largest customer of IBM. Through secret dealings IBM's computing power and punch card technology proved pivotal in identifying and locating Jews based on data collected in Germany's national census effort and ultimately helped facilitate mass genocide.
Some theories suggest Hitler's connection with the occult.
Part I - Black Days
1
Fifteen years of service down the drain. Fifteen years of loyal service. Hell, Brant Wilson had helped make Silicon Solutions the international powerhouse it was today.
And for what?
Sorry, Brant, old chap. It's simple economics, really, everything to do with the economy, nothing personal. You've been here a while – you're an expensive employee; there are plenty of talented people who can do your job at a fraction of the cost. It's just business and you'll bounce back soon enough. No hard feelings.
Bloody wanker, as Hugh McKellen would say.
Fuck him, smug son of a bitch, Brant thought as he slid behind the wheel of his BMW. I never liked him and he never liked me. And his English accent? So pathetic how he always plays up his London roots. Hugh always sounds like a pretentious asshole. While I, on the other hand, have lost most of my Arkansas accent. It's like a personal jab at my dialect the way he seems to exaggerate his.
Brant set the brown-bagged bottle of Maker's Mark on the passenger seat and started the engine. His box of possessions was in the trunk. Hugh had had the audacity to have – Brant still couldn't believe it – to have security escort him out of the building, after he cleared out his office. Not that being downsized, rightsized, or whatever the politically correct term nowadays made any difference, because it didn't. It hadn't even come as a surprise, really. However, being made redundant and then laid off sucked no matter what the head of corporate Human Resources called it (No, wait. The department was called Human Capital now).
Brant Wilson had enjoyed the company more when, in its infancy, he'd been hired right out of college to work in R&D at its Austin location. There were only two locations then: Austin, Texas, and San Francisco, California. Silicon Solutions had since went global.
Brant sighed as he navigated the boulevard leading from the neighborhood liquor store to the McMansion his wife, Evelyn, had insisted they buy. Brant still didn't understand why they needed so much space. They didn't have kids. He supposed the house did serve as a nice tax write-off though. How was he going to tell her that he no longer had a job? He supposed he might have stopped off at a tavern to avoid the inevitable conversation, but that wasn't his style. Doing so seemed cliché. And besides, Brant much preferred the solitude of home over going out in public. Other than colleagues and a handful of friends with similar interests he'd grown apart from since college, Brant primarily spent time alone or with Evelyn. Breaking the bad news to her seemed an admission of failure and he didn't look forward to doing it.
As he turned onto their block several things consciously registered:
Greg Abrams' blue Corvette parked in their driveway
Greg Abrams, recent friend and Silicon Solutions sales director for North America, had said he was scheduled to visit the Chicago office this week
While a few salespeople had been downsized weeks ago, Brant's layoff, the first cut in R&D, was yet to be common knowledge (unless you happened to be in the office this morning or read the inevitable swarm of gossipy email undoubtedly now filling corporate in-boxes
A few other past incidents gained relevance:
Greg had passed on a recent offer for a drink after work with Brant, citing family plans, something Greg, with his slick salesman's charisma, regularly weaseled out of
Greg hadn't shared any stories of conquests with flight attendants or stewardesses lately
In fact, Greg hadn't spent any significant time with Brant since he and his wife invited Brant and Evelyn to dinner two months ago
The invitation had followed the executive holiday party by maybe a week
The party was the first time Greg Abrams had met Evelyn, although he and Brant occasionally met for drinks after work
Greg and Evelyn had gotten along famously with their magnetic personalities
Come to think of it, Evelyn had been particularly busy lately. In retrospect, she'd seemed preoccupied and somewhat distant.
Brant, opting to leave the BMW in the drive instead of pulling into the garage, left the box of personal items in the trunk. He entered the front door carrying the bottle of liquor. He strode straight upstairs, past a trail of discarded clothing in the upstairs hallway, to the master bedroom suite where he knew he'd find an unfaithful wife.
The pair, busy fornicating, didn't notice Brant's presence. Evelyn, grasping the headboard of their marital bed, moaned as Greg plowed into her from behind. Greg was tugging Evelyn's head back by the hair and the aura of passionate sex assailed Brant along with a heavy dose of betrayal.
Why didn't I notice the signs sooner? he mentally chastised himself.
Brant interrupted them with a scathing yet matter-of-fact tone, “Evelyn, I got fired today. Greg, I'll be downstairs waiting to kick your ass when you're done fucking my wife.”
“Brant—” Evelyn said, but Brant had already retreated from the bedroom. He tuned out everything else that was said.
He'd poured himself a drink at the wet bar when Evelyn, draped in a robe, appeared. Brant cut his eyes at his wife. He tipped his glass for a drink instead of commenting.
Evelyn said, “This thing between Greg and I, it just sort of happened.”
“Same thing with losing my job,” Brant said. “Except I didn't want it to happen.”
“Typical flippant 'Brant' comment.”
“You saying you didn't want Greg's cock in you? Because from my point of view, it sure looked that way.”
“No. I meant I didn't plan to cheat. Greg was really nice to—”
“So I noticed. Although not so nice to me, his supposed friend. My god, Evelyn, he's a manipulative ass who I could occasionally live vicariously through. He bangs women all over the world.”
“You don't have friends, Brant. I'm your only friend. Are you saying you want to travel the world and screw women?”
“Don't turn this around on me. I'm not the bad guy here. I haven't been with another woman since that first night we hooked up back in college. You're all I ever wanted. I thought I could trust you.”
“God, Brant, I...”
Brant set down the whisky glass and strode toward the foyer, frustration at life's massive dump on him. It was true, he loved Evelyn. He'd trusted her more than he'd trusted anyone. He mentally scolded himself for not having fulfilled all her needs. He didn't think she'd be the type to cheat – Abrams must be the one and only with whom such had happened, otherwise Brant would have noticed. What hadn't he given Evelyn that she needed? He came home straight from work most nights. When he did st
op for a drink with a colleague he wasn't out long, perhaps an hour or two. He didn't come home soused; he had long, meaningful conversations with her; they'd had few true arguments because they seemed in sync on so many issues and very understanding and supportive when disagreements did surface. They enjoyed a healthy sex life together and were rarely apart. They'd taken and enjoyed classes in ballroom dancing recently, something Evelyn had always wanted to do. Only once did Brant not take Evelyn to London with him when he went on business. While it had been a long two weeks apart, if anything his return energized the passion between them.
And so, Brant Wilson put the bulk of the fault on Greg Abrams, along with the brunt of his anger. He was waiting as cool, calm, and collected as possible at the foot of the stairs when Greg descended the staircase. He was buttoning his white shirt, a tie hung loosely around his neck, suit jacket folded over an arm. Greg's expression read Oops, sorry, you caught me. No hard feelings, pal. It didn't mean a thing.
Brant spun Greg around as he passed and planted a fist in his face.
“The fuck, man?” Greg said, hands shooting to his nose. “I think you broke it.”
“How juvenile, Brant,” Evelyn said. “Was that necessary?”
Brant replied, “I figured his wife deserved a clue. Let the smooth talker explain away a bloody nose and if I'm lucky two black eyes before noon.”
“I'll get ice.”
“No, you won't.”
“Asshole,” Greg said in a nasally voice.
“If I catch you with my wife again,” Brant said, “I won't be so nice.”
The door slammed shut as Abrams left.
“Now what?” Evelyn asked.
Brant didn't reply. Outside the squeal of tires accompanied a revving engine which sped off into the distance.
“Well?” Evelyn prompted.
“I'm going to have another drink.”
“And what about me?”
“You're going shopping.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You can strip the bed and donate the sheets to Goodwill later, but I expect all new bedding by tonight.”
Evelyn's expression turned to that of irritation. “Anything else, dear?”
“Don't be gone long.”
2
Brant got drunk and Evelyn went shopping. In the morning, he woke beside his wife in bed. After a long, hot shower and plenty of coffee he got to work updating his resume. He spent the next two weeks phoning the largest semiconductor companies in the United States looking for work. He followed up with a volley of resumes sent electronically and through the postal system.
He'd received a severance package including two weeks' pay plus balance of vacation time accrued and a modest sum to make Silicon Solutions' top brass feel better about themselves for having let him go.
It was a bitter pill to swallow when Brant Wilson decided to file for unemployment benefits a month later.
During the first few days following Brant's discovery of Evelyn's infidelity, they calmly discussed the situation several times. Those conversations resulted in what Brant suspected all along. Evelyn had simply fallen prey to the suave manner of Abrams. Brant believed and Evelyn corroborated that Abrams had been the only man with which she'd strayed. The two guys she'd slept with at the University of Texas after meeting Brant hardly counted, since it had taken a few weeks for she and Brant to become serious. While they agreed to move forward as if nothing had happened, their sex life suffered. Or rather, it changed.
One evening while sitting alone in his study, sipping the first drink of the night and researching an Internet start-up company based in California, Evelyn walked in. Brant, too engrossed with the task at hand, ignored her entrance.
Hands landed on Brant's shoulders and began to knead deeply. It felt wonderful. Brant opened a link in another browser tab. So far he'd learned that:
Xeno Graphix was experiencing strong growth after a recent IPO on the NASDAQ stock exchange
The Xeno Graphix board of directors wanted experienced leadership to guide the company's staff which was primarily comprised of recent UCLA grads
Xeno Graphix had recently announced plans to break ground on a new, state-of-the-art campus not far from the Silicon Solutions' San Francisco campus
Brant was reading about:
Xeno Graphix' search to attract top talent
And its planned time frame to fill top positions in management and semiconductor research
And how their hiring schedule would correspond with the construction of the new campus
Brant knew he needed to contact Xeno Graphix. In fact, why hadn't a headhunter contacted him already? His past experience at Silicon Solutions seemed a perfect match to meet their needs and he planned to pursue the lead first thing tomorrow morning. He hadn't felt this enthusiastic about a job prospect since losing his job.
The following derailed Brant's train of thought:
Warm breath in his ear
A groping hand at his crotch
Evelyn saying, “Make love to me...”
A nibble on an earlobe
“Not now,” Brant said. “Can't you see I'm busy?”
Evelyn gave a seductive squeeze. “You haven't made love to me since...” she trailed off.
“I'm trying to find a job. This company I'm reading about, it sounds like an amazing opportunity. Of course, we'd have to move to San Francisco, but you like it there.”
“Sounds wonderful. Not as wonderful as your cock inside me right now, but wonderful.”
“Later. Let me finish reading this. I want to write a cover letter tonight. I can proofread it in the morning and have it ready to mail as soon as I get a contact to send it to.”
“Fine,” Evelyn said. “If you won't fuck me, then fuck you.”
The way she pulled away and started out the door infuriated Brant. How dare she press him like this. Didn't she know it was his job right now to find a job? If she wanted to seduce him she could have done so earlier, when they'd been together. Perhaps after dinner or sometime during the movie they'd watched on cable – which, by the way, they should consider canceling for the time being. Otherwise they'd need to borrow from their retirement plan sooner rather than later, something Brant didn't want to do.
And now this, a huffy near-ultimatum to please her sexually, before she decided her husband's inaction warranted another extra-marital affair.
An image of Greg behind Evelyn in bed flashed through Brant's mind.
Frustration drove Brant to action. He grabbed his wife by the hair and, much rougher than Greg or even himself previously, Brant halted her retreat.
Through gritted teeth he promised, “If you want me to fuck you, I'll fuck you.”
“Yes! Please.”
Brant, not quite sure what had gotten into him, gave Evelyn everything she wanted and plenty more. He felt a competitive compulsion initially fueling his sex drive; however, that compulsion soon changed to one of needed stress relief, which expressed itself in lustful aggression.
They eventually found themselves breathless in bed after several stops in route to the bedroom.
“My god,” Evelyn exclaimed, “you wore me out.”
Good, Brant thought. “There are a few things I want to finish downstairs,” he said.
“Okay, honey,” Evelyn said. She gave him a kiss before he left.
Months passed, and despite all the telephone calls and resumes sent, several interviews at local companies and even more within the state of Texas, and others throughout the country, by phone as well as face-to-face, including Xeno Graphix who had flown Brant to San Francisco for three days at their own expense, Brant Wilson found himself unemployed and starting to become desperate.
They'd long since exhausted their savings and were already dipping into Brant's retirement fund. If something didn't happen soon, they'd need to consider selling the house. In the current market, though, they stood to lose plenty.
One evening Evelyn said, “I don't understand why you can'
t find work. You're a smart, experienced man. Any company would be lucky to hire you.”
“It isn't so simple,” Brant explained. “There are only so many semiconductor companies. I was a well-paid project manager who led the highest profile design projects at Silicon Solutions, one of the larger companies in the industry. Smaller companies tend to want ambitious college grads who will work for a much lower salary. Larger companies, like Intel and Texas Instruments, aren't hiring in this poor economy. I mean, sure, big companies are always hiring, but neither are interested in me right now.”
“There are all kinds of computer jobs, honey,” Evelyn said. “I hear about them all the time. Why do you have to work in the semiconductor industry?”
Brant sighed. “Sure, I worked as a systems and network administrator back in college, and I taught myself a few programming and scripting languages over the years. But programming and network administration are completely separate fields than what I went to school for and have experience in. The best I could hope for is an entry-level job in any of those fields.”
“Brant. You know the semiconductor industry inside and out. Maybe you could go into sales.”
“Sales? Sales? Goddamn it, Evelyn,” he said. “Like Greg Abrams? I'm not a likable kind of guy, no lovable extroverted asshole like Abrams who could sell ice to Eskimos. He's a phony, a schmoozer, and I can't believe you made the suggestion.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't—”
“You didn't think before you spoke. It's obvious.”
“Brant... Where are you going?”
“To my study. I'm going to surf the Net and see if I can find something I can apply for.”
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