Perhaps she didn't need the door locked after all.
Tuesday Afternoon, 1:47
He didn't call. Thought about it a million and a half times. Even went so far as picking up the phone and dialing the number. But he hung up just as the first ring met his ear, feeling curiously tentative, like a kitten confronted by a bird twice its size. In between the suffocating bouts of indecisiveness that nearly sent his nerves sizzling like tripwires, boredom tortured him to no end, and repetitive trips to the fridge amounted into nothing more than mutely staring at the paltry contents inside. Was this what unemployment would be like, day in and out?
Amidst a surge of sudden anger, he called the office and got Royce Mills' receptionist on the phone. Bypassing the formalities, he asked her to speak to Stroebecker. As well, Susie thought Stroebecker was a big sweaty rat, and Gary figured she'd probably let him slide through without much of a fight.
"Gary, I'm so sorry about what happened." She expressed herself in an honest voice, yet her weak sidestepping of the subject was all too evident.
"Suze, please. I need to speak to him."
"He's in a meeting."
"Can't pull that one on me."
"What are you gonna say to him?"
"I'm gonna wing it."
"You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you?
"Not really, I--" He stammered, unable to fully express himself to the receptionist. What would happen when Stroebecker came on?
"Give him a piece for me, will ya?"
"I wish I could, but I don't think I've got enough guts for myself."
"Good luck." She hesitated, then said, "You know, I'm probably gonna get chewed up and spit out for this."
"Thanks, Suze. Lunch on me. Soon as I get a job."
"And I didn't lie, he is in a meeting. Hold on."
A tinny blare met his ear, an instrumental version of Lola composed of violins and cellos. A click interrupted the lame symphony, and before he made up his mind to hang up, his voice came on the phone.
"Stroebecker."
"It's Gary Riddell."
An uncomfortable silence ensued, one that ensured Susie would get reamed out as soon as their conversation was over. "I'm in a meeting right now, Gary. Is there something I can do for you?" A shaky tremor of annoyance crackled his voice.
"I-I was wondering why you really let me go? I thought you'd had different plans for me, sir. A promotion, actually." The phone handle shook in his hand along with the rest of his body, a hot ball of discomfort knotting his gut, nearly rising as vomit. He hadn't planned out the call out, and the words spilled from his mouth like dropped marbles.
"Gary, as I explained yesterday, we need to cut back. We're simply keeping on those employees who possess the best potential for our current needs. Those who show the most promise. I felt that given your...intermediate expertise in the field, we would both be better off pursuing our corporate interests elsewhere. I wish you the best. Good luck."
Gary felt the steam rise, and if he hadn't hesitated, Stroebecker would have heard him explain how angry he felt about being let go. But the rat hung up after finishing his cold bit, leaving Gary testing the true grit of a dial tone, and cursing himself for being so damn polite.
Intermediate expertise! The words stuck in Gary's mind like a circle of gum on the sidewalk. He thinks I'm dumb. The cold rat truly thinks I'm D-U-M-B, that everyone else at Royce Mills is smarter than me.
"Damn him," he muttered, pulling the business card from his pants pocket and staring at it until the words blurred into nonsensical shapes--until he found the gumption in his "dumb little brain" to phone the folks at Smart, Inc.
"I'll show you, Stroebecker. I'll get you back, and then you'll be sorry."
A female voice answered. "Smart, Incorporated. Can I change your life?"
Tuesday Evening, 5:57
A drop of anxious sweat fell from Gary's brow the very moment a loud rapping fell upon his door. He shot a nervous glance in that direction, staring hesitantly until another more forceful knock broke his inaction. With the business card grasped tightly in his sweaty palm--a security blanket of sorts--he paced briskly to the door and peeked through the peephole.
A warped image of a man met his gaze, the heavy curvature of the tiny lens distorting his features into cartoonish proportions, the nose huge and balloon-like, the eyes sad and gloomy.
"Who is it?" Gary asked.
"Mr Riddell?" the man answered, his gaze unblinking and aimed straight into the lens as if he could see Gary looking out at him. "It's Brett Hogarth, from Smart Incorporated. We have a six o'clock appointment." His voice echoed pure confidence, and perhaps a bit of arrogance--a combination that told Gary there would be no backing down now.
Gary opened the door to let the man in. Brett Hogarth smiled, boldly nudging past Gary much like the angry pedestrian on the street did yesterday. He walked into the kitchen, placed the black briefcase he carried on the table, then sat down, clicked it open, and silently perused its contents.
Gary stared long and hard at the man, a mixed-up welling of emotions trying to find justification in Hogarth's ill-mannered entrance. He took a step forward, hands weakly positioned on his hips, all the while wondering what to say. The Smart, Inc. salesman eventually broke the uncomfortable silence, putting Gary in his place.
"Your mind's an utter mess, Gary," he said in a brusque manner, keeping his gaze in the briefcase. "All your chaotic insecurities are clouding my thoughts. It's no wonder you can't land a date with your neighbor."
What? The man's veracious words sent a nauseating shock rippling through Gary's body, his mouth falling open in a gape forced through confusion and dismay. He tried to move forward but could only manage a faltering baby step, unable to serve up the proper retort. It was as if Hogarth had taken control of Gary's mental puppet strings, and was holding them taut.
Brett Hogarth finally looked up at Gary, his features crimped with annoyance, perhaps disgust. His blue eyes pierced Gary's soul. "C'mon Riddell, spit it out. What's the matter, can't deal with the fact that I, a perfect stranger--whom you invited over, mind you--just waltzed right into your world a few minutes ago and set up shop on your kitchen table, and could very well have you eating out of his ass if he so desires because you don't have the balls to step up to the plate and take a swing for team Riddell? Is that it, loser, huh? Is it?"
Gary spread his arms in question, nearly lightning-struck by the harsh words. "What the hell are you talking about?" Despite the volume he mustered, his comeback was weak and ineffective, and he knew it.
"I'm talking about this Gary," Hogarth said, quiet but potent.
And then Brett Hogarth reached into his briefcase, pulled out a tiny object and placed it gently upon the smooth white surface of the kitchen table. At first it appeared to be a small gem, an earring perhaps, its surface glittering like the plane of a diamond. But it clearly wasn't any type of jewelry Gary had seen before, as it also carried the luster of something metallic, like polished steel. It looks like a drop of mercury Gary thought. He sat at the chair opposite Hogarth, reaching for the tiny silver bead.
Like a bolt of lightning, Hogarth's arm jutted out and grabbed Gary's wrist. The tight squeeze he administered sent fiery jolts of pain up Gary's arm. "Don't touch."
I n-need some m-money...
They remained in that position for a few tense moments, staring at each other until Gary nodded, succumbing to Hogarth's stern demand. He pulled away the very moment the salesman's grip loosened, rubbing the pain from his wrist.
"Now, let's get started."
Gary inspected the small bead with the curiosity of a cat. "What is it?"
It.
"It's the answer to all your problems, Riddell." Hogarth paused a moment, grinning, appearing to revel in Gary's curious yet doubtful expression. "This is what we call a smart pill."
Gary smirked at the simplicity of the expression. "Is this part of your tutoring process?"
Brett ignored the statement, ca
sting aside his previously arrogant demeanor for a more quiet, serious tone of voice. "Imagine if you will living a life that allows you to absorb and recall all information you encounter, a life that allows you to understand anything at all by simply looking at it. In this life you can never forget what you have learned and be able to recall every single bit of information that you enter into yourself at the drop of a hat. You can pertain a photographic memory able to record even the most minute details. You can become a living, breathing computer able to eschew any piece of information you retain at will. No more forgetting, no more slow, tedious learning sessions, and no more floppy disks. You, Gary Riddell, lifelong loser, can store and recall information with the same capacity of any electronic brain. You, Gary Riddell, can become a human supercomputer."
It appeared that Brett was an overeager expert at overselling his service. Gary joked, "Kinda like Commander Data on Star Trek, right?"
"Exactly."
Trying hard but unsuccessfully convincing himself that this was all a scam, Gary pondered standing up and showing Hogarth the door. But he kept thinking back to the amazing Carolyn and how awed he was at her sudden influx of wit and intelligence. He wanted to know more, at least enough to rationalize her unexpected behavior, even if it all was just a joke, which seemed more and more unlikely now given the level of complexity this whole episode was reaching. "So how does it work?"
"You take the pill."
"All right, this is a joke?" He shifted in his seat, again hoping that he was wrong in his accusation. "Did Carolyn put you up to this?"
"No Gary, it's very real. Learning will become second nature to you. But only after you take the pill. I assure that you will be quite fascinated with the results."
"Do you really expect me to believe in all this? You come in here, quite rudely I might add, then make up some old--or should I say new?-- wives tale about smart pills and human supercomputers? C'mon, I'm not that much of a fool."
Hogarth retrieved the pill and placed it back in his briefcase. "Then you're not for us. Thank you for your time. I'll be on my way."
Gary hadn't expected this sudden departure, and felt suddenly committed to giving Hogarth a chance. The man's efforts had seemed passionate enough. As well, Gary had figured on a slightly stronger sales pitch to help convince him of the validity of Smart, Inc. and their so-called smart pill.
"Wait--" he said. "You're saying that all I have to do is take one of those pills, and presto, I become a human supercomputer?"
Hogarth nodded. Convincingly.
"How much does this pill cost?" he asked, expecting the worst.
"The charge is one hundred dollars."
The affordable price surprised Gary. "That's it? You're saying I pay you one hundred dollars and I become as smart as Carolyn?"
"Maybe smarter."
Gary chewed his index finger. His felt wetness in his armpits. Crazy, but he actually considered trying it. He gazed at the pill Hogarth returned to the surface of the table. It still looked like a drop of mercury.
"Any side effects?" he asked.
"Just a higher I.Q.," Hogarth answered, a secure grin upon his face that wasn't there before.
He's lying. I can tell. There's something he's not telling me. But Carolyn, she seemed fine. And so smart. Beautiful too. She'd only go for a guy who was as smart as her...
That was the clincher.
Suddenly his train of thought shifted gears. There had to be some truth behind all of this, it had to be legit. He wanted to believe now. Besides, it was only a one hundred dollar gamble.
"What if it doesn't work?"
"I'll refund your hundred dollars."
He thought of Carolyn, and the yellow silk robe she wore that almost revealed the silken mysteries beneath.
"Okay, let's do it."
Tuesday Evening, 7:17
Gary stood in the bathroom and filled the plastic cup he kept in the medicine cabinet with cool water from the faucet. He looked at the pill, then placed it in his mouth and sucked on it for a second. It was hard and smooth like a ball bearing, had no taste whatsoever.
Taking a mouthful of water, he swallowed it.
Gooseflesh rippled across his skin, a brief passing of dread that gave him the weak urge to induce himself to vomit. He took another mouthful of water to wash it down as a finality, then sat on the couch and waited to be smart.
Tuesday Evening, 8:10
He heard her footsteps and nearly leaped at the door, pressing his right eye against the peephole in effort to glimpse her as she unlocked the door to her apartment. He'd obsessed over Carolyn's return ever since Brett Hogarth left, maintaining a steady post behind the entrance to his apartment, taking quick glances at the sound of every near or far echo, at every distant footstep.
So badly he wanted to tell her about taking the smart pill.
He wiped the thick sheen of sweat from his forehead and barreled out from the apartment. "Hey there!" From behind she looked dazzling, an olive green blazer and short skirt hugging every curve of her body from nape to ankle, blonde hair caressing her softly rounded shoulders like a distant waterfall. Unanswering to Gary's greeting, she kept her head down, eyes to ankles, shoulders stooped as she awkwardly fumbled with her keys. Gary watched curiously as she made three unsuccessful attempts to unlock the door, the intense level of concentration she maintained in trying to complete the simple task keeping her worlds away from Gary's endeavor to communicate with her.
"Carolyn? You okay?" He took a hesitant step forward and put a hand out to assist her, but the keys fell from her hand, jingling to the floor. She released a bark of frustration and banged the door, stopping Gary from advancing further. Trembling, she gripped the doorknob with both hands and twisted at it in mad desperation to get inside, all the while grunting and making no sense of her actions. She was behaving like an actress in a slasher film, the readied knife of a murderer about to fall upon her.
Gary slowly hunkered down and retrieved her keys. She attempted to hide her face with trembling hands, but couldn't fully conceal the dark circles of mascara smeared beneath her eyes, the tears streaming down her cheeks, the saliva jeweling upon her scowling lips. "Carolyn, what is it? What the hell happened?"
When she finally broke her sobs and spoke, her voice fell in stark contrast to the erotic nature that saturated it this morning. It sounded much like it used to when she was Carolyn the waitress: raw, parochial. Even worse. She sounded helpless and dazed, like a troubled child in search for a lost parent in the mall. "J-just help me open the...the friggin' d-door."
Gary slid the familiar looking building key into the lock, twisted the knob. Carolyn charged in and abruptly slammed the door behind her, leaving Gary basking in the dull light of the hallway, sniffing the aroma of chicken soup seeping from one of the adjacent apartments. Utter confusion consumed his mind as he listened to her wailing cries from within.
He could do nothing else but return home.
Tuesday Evening, 10:15
Gary was still dumb.
He'd waited and waited in anxious anticipation, hoping for something to kick in, any sign of mental greatness signaling to him that the time to absorb information, so to speak, had begun. What kind of dope am I? he thought, pacing the apartment in endless circles, reading from the first few pages of Roget's Thesaurus and understanding no more of it than he had prior to taking the pill.
When he was dumb.
The fact of the matter was that now he felt even dumber for ever assuming the "smart pill" would actually work. If Carolyn hadn't been so upset earlier, he'd be out there right now banging and banging on her door until she answered it, and then he'd give her a piece of his simple mind, let her know exactly how he really felt about her now that she had taken him for an utter fool.
Bitch!
It also seemed that Brett Hogarth had lied about the pill not having any side effects. Since taking it he'd worked up a constant flow of perspiration that kept his body swamped for the past hour--his skin clamm
y, his clothing drenched. He felt disgusted about it, hated himself. Frustrated, he'd turned the shower on and sat in the tub for forty-five minutes as the water rained down on his head, wondering what motive Carolyn had to play this horrible joke on him. He also wondered who this Brett Hogarth actually was, and what that smart pill of his really did to him.
He also wondered if suicide would be the easiest answer to all his woes.
Early Wednesday Morning, 1:15
Gary awoke with a start.
Something felt different. His brain. It called to him, as if alive, a separate entity with a mind all its own. He leaped from bed like a bird taking flight, leaving the sheets behind in a cold and sticky pile. Pacing maniacally about the bedroom, his body brimmed with nervous energy as if he'd just downed a pot of coffee. His blood raced with an anticipation like nothing he'd ever experienced in his life. As if kept by unseen forces, Gary charged to the bookshelf and pulled down a volume from the aged set of Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedias he impulsively purchased at the Chamber Street fair last year. Scanning the dusty pages, information jumped out at him at an unfathomable rate. Philosophy. The problems and perspectives of Descartes, Kant, and Spinoza, searing into his conscious memory like a brand on a cow's hide, every word as he read it becoming an integral realm of immediate knowledge as if his brain had been wired to a computer, processing all information as it was fed. He estimated his reading capabilities at seventeen times faster than his normal rate of word consumption, yet it was still not sufficient enough to feed his starving brain. He suddenly retained an animalistic desire, an immense hunger and thirst for knowledge. It was absolutely incredible! Nearly insane! Not for one moment in the past had he ever realized the true capacity the human brain could utilize for the storage of knowledge, and the ugly truth became obvious to him: prior to taking the smart pill he'd only tapped into one thousandth of one percent of his brain's true capability. The remaining capacity had lain dormant, in the dark, completely untouched. Until today that is, when he found Brett Hogarth and Smart Inc.
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