by Kenya Wright
Quarantine and Chill © 2020
Cover Design © 2020 Designs by Mahinoor
Interior design and formatting by EbookJob
1st Editor: Roxanam
2nd Editor: Jade Editing
Proofreader: M. Thompson
Beta Readers: K Killers
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means such as electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the authors of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Any characters, names, places, brands, media and incidents are used solely in a fictitious nature based on the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to or mention of persons, places, organizations or other incidents is coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2020
ISBN 0-9000000-0-0
www.KenyaWrightBooks.com
Table of Contents
Dedicated
Prologue: Kamal
Chapter 1: Jade
Chapter 2: Kamal
Chapter 3: Jade
Chapter 4: Kamal
Chapter 5: Jade
Chapter 6: Kamal
Chapter 7: Jade
Chapter 8: Kamal
Chapter 9 : Jade
Chapter 10: Kamal
Chapter 11 : Jade
Chapter 12: Kamal
Chapter 13 : Jade
Chapter 14 : Jade
Chapter 15 : Kamal
Chapter 16 : Kamal
Chapter 17 : Jade
Chapter 18 : Kamal
Chapter 19 : Jade
Chapter 20 : Kamal
Chapter 21 : Jade
Chapter 22 : Jade
Chapter 23 : Kamal
Epilogue : Kamal
Dedicated to
All the HEROES on the frontline of this pandemic.
Courageous workers risking their own lives to save ours.
Nurses, doctors, and medical staff in the eye of the storm.
And to the ESSENTIAL WARRIORS
who continued to work while we stayed at home complaining about boredom.
To the truck drivers and grocery store employees.
Warehouse and postal workers. Packing and delivering.
To the police, military, and fire fighters. Protecting and serving.
To the garbage men and janitors keeping our streets and buildings clean.
To the bus drivers, Uber/Lyft people, and train conductors getting us back and forth.
To those caring for the sick and elderly.
To the bank employees and all forms of front-line customer service.
You watched your co-workers fall ill.
You have children and loved ones at home.
They worried about you. . .every day.
THANK YOU!
“Love is like
a virus.
It can happen
to anybody
at anytime.”
—Maya Angelou
Prologue
Kamal
State Lockdown
What a way to spend Friday!
I turned my small office television up.
A stern expression covered the news reporter’s face. “The COVID-19 death toll for New York has risen to 200 people. Hospitals have reported 1,000 citizens are now infected. Governor Ellis is considering a possible lockdown and will be holding a press conference soon. We are waiting for his arrival in the next—”
I muted the television in my office and stared at the screen.
The coronavirus has officially come to New York. There’s no ignoring this.
When the virus first broke out in China, I’d been following the news coverage. Other countries began to report on COVID-19 linked deaths—Japan, Korea, Iran. It seemed so far away. I knew Americans would be safe. Then Italy enforced preventive measures as their death toll rose. Next US cruise ships discovered many infected. Next, the ships disembarked along the east and west coast. American COVID-19 cases rose. Still, I felt protected, guaranteeing that the deaths and infections would not get out of hand. Usually, they never did. Scientists and governments always found a way.
But by the end of February, I’d bought a mask but felt too silly to wear it around Manhattan. I kept a positive outlook, confident that everything would turnaround.
Things didn’t get better. San Francisco declared a state of emergency over COVID-19. The global count of infected hit over eighty thousand. Countries all over the world confirmed cases—Switzerland to Israel, Jamaica to Algeria. Travelers coming from Europe were banned unless it was US residents or citizens.
And I began losing sleep little by little. An hour here and there. My eyes grew red from weariness. My head ached. I lost my appetite.
Not even my live-in girlfriend Amber could ease the fear. When she became stressed, she resorted to chemical relaxation. She started taking some pills that she swore had been prescribed by her therapist. But even with the new pills, she argued about small things. One time, I left the toilet seat up, she screamed and pushed everything off the sink. Shampoo, conditioners, and other bottles crashed to the floor. She squeezed out all of the toothpaste and smeared it on the mirror.
Insanity.
Not close to done, she shouted for several minutes from the bathroom doorway. Somehow I kept my cool, although I wanted to scream back. At six feet, I towered over her small frame. With my muscle mass, I outweighed her in every way. If I yelled back, I would have felt like a bully.
Instead, I walked off to the back and worked out my annoyance in my home gym, hoping she would calm down enough to talk. Clearly, I shouldn’t have left the seat up, but there was no need for her to make a mess of the entire space. An hour later, she cried and cleaned the bathroom up.
I looked at the framed group picture on my desk. We’d taken the photo at my sister’s wedding last Friday. It was in one of those party photo booths that printed the picture right there.
Just a week ago and a much simpler time.
I picked up the frame and studied the image. Dressed in a white gown, my baby sister Zora had opted out of the traditional Indian wedding. Her new husband Corey sat next to her. His dreadlocks had been pulled back for the day. He’d played college basketball and now was an assistant coach at Wagner on Staten Island. For once, my sister had met a guy taller than me, and just as nice.
He better treat you right or I’ll break his neck.
I grinned, knowing that Corey would be the perfect husband. Since my father died from a heart attack five years ago, I put myself in a fatherly position with Zora. Last month, I had a long conversation with Corey, letting him know all the things I expected from their marriage—respect, communication, loyalty, and undying love for my sister.
Sighing, I looked at the rest of the people in the picture.
My sister’s maid of honor sat next to the newlyweds. Always silly, Jade displayed a goofy smile, tongue out, and eyes intentionally crossed.
For all the years I’d known her, Jade could never keep a serious expression for a photo. She’d been our next-door neighbor forever. During high school, I was enrolled in a community college photography class. For the final project, I asked my sister and her best friend to model for me. I’d really wanted it to only be Jade. Her beautiful brown skin always glowed in the sun. I yearned to capture it on film. However, it would have been weird for me to just ask Jade to take photos, so I included my sister. While Zora took the project seriously, Jade remained the clown, constantly givi
ng me funny faces. Lucky for her, I aced the course.
Why didn’t Jade bring her boyfriend Jason to the wedding?
She’d never answered when I asked.
Maybe she finally got rid of that loser. He never seemed right for her.
Studying the photo, I turned to my girlfriend and me. We sat on Jade’s other side. Amber was from Los Angeles. She had the California look—long blonde hair, tanned skin, and bright blue eyes. In the image, I smiled next to her. Next to her, my complexion was more sun-kissed. My black curly hair hit the middle of my ears. My brown eyes twinkled with the joy of new love. Unfortunately, the new love hadn’t represented us. It was for my sister and this new journey she’d embarked on.
What happened to us, and will we ever get it back?
I’d met Amber during my senior year at UCLA. She was a theater major that minored in psychology. She loved makeup design and volunteered backstage at a lot of UCLA’s plays. My best friend Ross worked as a costume designer. One night I walked backstage to bring him a case of rum for their current play’s finale and bumped into Amber. We dated a lot after that.
When I graduated from UCLA, we lost communication. She stayed in California, while Ross and I headed to New York to start our individual businesses.
Several years passed.
And then I bumped into her at a UCLA homecoming game. We started things back up with a long-distance relationship and saw each other when we could. Probably too fast, I moved Amber to New York in January. Currently, it was March, and everything changed between us.
And now we have the coronavirus heading our way. I thought love was supposed to make rough moments in life easier.
My relationship proved to be the opposite. Amber’s pill usage created a toxic environment. I buried myself in work. At times, I didn’t go home until late in the evening. When I arrived at the condo, Amber would be passed out. Sadly, I started to be grateful that I didn’t have to talk to her.
Long ago, fucking Amber until she screamed my name would have been the perfect thing to put me to sleep. Now, I preferred a beer. I couldn’t get an erection when she was near, no matter how much she begged or what lingerie she wore.
Amber and I will be locked in together. This will either make or break us.
The biggest event in March was supposed to be my sister’s wedding and nothing more.
Surprises. Surprises.
Already States had banned gatherings of more than ten people. The National Basketball Association ended its season. Other sports organizations followed suit. Coachella was canceled. Broadway closed as well as most museums in New York. Every damn state had reports of its citizens being dead or infected by the coronavirus.
And somehow New York had become the epicenter for the virus.
The Governor is considering a lockdown? Of New York? How?
I spun around in my chair and gazed outside my office window.
We sat on the thirtieth floor of the North Tower—a super-tall mixed-use building in the West Side of Manhattan. Right by Hell's Kitchen, Chelsea, and Penn Station area.
I drank in what had been my second home for these past three years. Sunlight sparkled along the skyscrapers as Manhattan moved busily under me.
How will this city change?
Already people packed the streets with masks on. The poor souls that couldn’t get masks, had scarves wrapped around the bottom half of their faces. Cars drove at a snail pace. There were starting to be fewer riders on the subway.
What is everyone thinking? Am I the only one that is exploding within myself?
Fear seized my chest. Anxiety tightened around my neck, choking my breath away. This recent news had gobbled up the norm in my day. It consumed me. It seeped in my pores, traveled down through my insides, and burrowed deep within my soul. I did my best to push the thoughts out of my head—the worrisome fucking thoughts on death and sickness and. . .my family. . .
Will they be okay? Will any of us be okay?
At least I was lucky enough to be rich. Many would be worried about their jobs and livelihoods.
Money filled my bank account. My company, Z.E.N. had experienced three successful years since I started it.
Z.E.N. dealt with tech security and surveillance. With so many data breaches splashed across the news in these past years, my patented AI tech enabled several defenses from cyberattacks on networks. Last year, I raised $5.5 million in seed funding. After so much struggling and working at my startup, I’d become a millionaire at thirty. 2020 was supposed to be my year. In January, I bought a new luxury three-bedroom condo with cash and moved Amber in. I had planned on proposing to Amber and maybe starting a family.
Now it was March and all marital thoughts and future dreams ended with her recent pill-popping and my rising anxiety. Personally, I just wanted to survive this year.
A global pandemic? Are you serious? And the governor is talking about a lockdown? How? What’s going to happen to Z.E.N.? What am I talking about? I should more be worried about not catching this fucking virus.
I loosened my tie, not used to feeling powerless.
Relax. This may be a one-or two-week thing. Nothing more. But what about Italy?
With a horrific number of deaths, Italy had been on lockdown for over a month. Footage played of citizens posting videos from indoors.
Will that be New York’s fate?
I glanced back at the television.
Governor Ellis is speaking.
I grabbed the remote from my desk and turned mute off.
“We believe if more New York residents stay at home, we will reduce possible infections where the virus is not yet widespread.” Worry lines wrinkled along the governor’s forehead.
A news reporter raised her hand. “Governor, how long will the lockdown be?”
“At this time, all schools and nonessential businesses will be closed until April 1st.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“Masks will now be required in public. They must cover noses and mouths when in places where social distancing is not possible.” Governor Ellis cleared his throat. “All subway riders and operators must wear a covering. This will go into effect tomorrow morning.”
In a daze, I listened to the rest. Somehow I had to get my employees safely home. Last week, I had ordered several managers and IT staff to come up with a proper work-from-home plan, if necessary.
Hope they’re done.
I pressed my intercom.
My secretary’s voice rose on the speaker. “Yes, Mr. Patel?”
“Get Alicia Johnson and Morris Grant in here. We’ll need to start operation A.”
She cleared her throat. “Y-you think. . .that’s necessary?”
“New York is going on lockdown. A security tech company is not essential. The majority of us can do our jobs at home. There’s no need to put everyone in harm’s way.”
“I understand, sir.”
“But. . .maybe, everyone is blowing this all out of proportion. I remember bird flu and—”
“I’m a big believer in the thought, better safe than sorry.”
“You’re right, Mr. Patel. But, how long would working from home last?”
“This virus is getting worse every day. The death toll is rising. As far as I’m concerned, my employees will work from home, until people stop dying.”
A strained tone hit her voice. “Yes, sir.”
“Additionally, instruct all supervisors to get in touch with their team members. Plus, make sure Operations are ready to be flooded as employees check out their laptops.”
“Yes, sir.”
I sat back in my chair and checked my watch.
It’s not even lunch time yet, and the apocalypse is coming. We’ll have to close now.
This could give everyone a jumpstart back home before the crowds of other employees packed the trains. Perhaps, this would even give my people a moment to breathe. Many had kids to pick up from school and other worries.
Yes. We’ll implement the work-from
-home plan now.
I saved the spreadsheets I’d been working on, shut off the laptop, and grabbed my mask for the meeting. The rest of my work would have to be finished at home.
I considered that for a moment. How much would I get done with Amber around? She’d been a wreck since the virus news. Would there be more arguments? My head throbbed. One more of her crazy outbursts and I’d be thinking about kicking her out of the condo. However, my mother had taught me better than that.
I groaned.
It will be fine. This virus will come and go fast. My company will adjust to the changes. And Amber will be the woman that I fell in love with long ago. Everything will return to normal.
Those positive words filled my head, but none reached my heart.
Or is this all just wishful thinking?
I put on my mask, fixed my tie, and rose.
Welcome to the new normal.
Two hours later, I stepped on my condo building’s elevator. I had my laptop bag strapped over my right shoulder. Bags filled my arms. Lucky as fuck, I grabbed Amber and me a few more masks and plastic gloves from a corner store. They’d been the last set. I also bought some other necessities, including a six-pack of beer and her favorite wine.
I even stopped by our favorite café—Ferdinando’s. It was a famous Italian spot on Union street that had been around since 1904. So popular, Martin Scorsese filmed a scene from his movie The Departed right in the shop. There, I ordered two Panelle and Croquette Specials to-go with tomato sauce on the side. The Sicilian sandwich created a combo of fried chickpea patties and potato croquettes. They were served on a soft roll with parmesan and homemade ricotta cheese. Both provided different levels of crispy yumminess.
This will be good. We have food and alcohol. What could go wrong?
Getting off the elevator, I whistled Queen’s song, Under Pressure. For some reason, the damn tune had played in my head all day.
When the elevator stopped on my floor, I left, arrived at my door, and set all the bags down.
Amber’s laughter sounded from the other side.
Thank God she’s in a good mood. I have no patience for her drama today. But what the hell is she laughing about?
I was eager for something myself—anything to get my mind off of the horror at hand. I smiled and hoped that her cheery mood would get us back to how we used to be.