true pleasure |
Issue 15
|
|
Wallace had seen all of the candidates for the day and his head was banging out a steady rhythm; an acute ache compounded by the sharp fluorescent lighting in the room. Whilst it thumped away his colleagues were making jokes about some of those they’d seen; mocking their answers, their mannerisms and even their clothes. Wallace looked over the suits the two of them were wearing and then down at his own, the pinstripe tie as good as invisible in its complete lack of character. The human capacity for hypocrisy never failed to amaze him, and fittingly he resolved to never again deride anyone in such a vulnerable position, especially for something as trivial as their fashion sense. Otis was one of the managers drafted in from another department to provide an impartial view of the candidates as was company policy, the idea being that he could judge their attributes and personality without the prospective bias of having to work with them.
“The guy was nearly shaking, and the answer he gave to question...” leaning back on the chair like a petulant child his bloated hands poked out from an ill-fitting grey suit framing an almost comically round belly, pushing open the gaps between the buttons of his shirt like blinking eyes. He flicked through the interview guide in a careless manner, his whole aspect suggesting contempt for the process he’d been requested to take part in. This grossly fat man felt superior to the candidates he held sway over, he ridiculed the questions, deeming them ‘outdated’ and ‘irrelevant’ and surely considered himself better than Wallace as well. “... four, question four. What kind of idiot gives an example like that? I don’t know about you two, but that’s when I stopped listening to what he was saying.” The delivery was intended to be comedic and Mark, the other interviewer and Wallace’s fellow supervisor on their team, gave a noncommittal chuckle. Wallace let out an internal sigh as his head raged on unabated. Maybe this was hell? These 40 something year old men continued ragging on any little thing they could use as a tool for belittlement until finally they were done. Quite without realizing it Wallace had nodded and ‘mmhmmed’ his way through the whole deliberation process, and as a result of their arbitrary scoring they were in fact set to hire someone. He struggled to bring Elaine Sharples face to mind, though he was sure she did exist. The three men stood up with creaky grunts and groans, shook hands outside of the meeting room and went their separate ways. Thank god it was 5pm, thought Wallace. The pain in his head followed him through the building, out into the carpark and onto the motorway for the drive home. It was a vexing presence more than a debilitating one with Wallace imagining a cruel fate in which it became his existing condition. At least my mind would be kept busy, he thought, there’d be no room for boredom or languishing on fretful existential matters, contentment being found in simply completing his daily functions whilst trying to mute the constant thudding. Surely anymore than that wouldn’t be expected of him. By the time he was home the headache had subsided to a point of background noise, realizing the last half of the drive had been spent floating around his usual head spaces of ‘what’s for dinner’, or ‘when will I find time to cut the grass’. He’d been relieved of the burden which could have been his savior. Six weeks had passed since the headache began and Elaine Sharples had been on their team for the last two. Wallace was assigned the role of ‘managing her integration’ which could be equated to babysitting, but he tried not to see it that way. Regardless, she was smart and didn’t require any hand holding, getting to grips with the job in no time. With one of his main commitments all but taking care of itself Wallace had plenty of time on his hands, but with that came the extra space to dwell on his still aching head and a mounting issue with his partner, Simone. Simone, he really loved that name. It had such a sultry ring to it and she embodied the sound of Simone almost perfectly; dark haired, green eyed, languid in her movements, unpredictable in her behaviors, she was indeed the most Simone of all beings. Sitting idly at his desk Wallace couldn’t help listing the stresses he faced, most of which were self-made of course and of little consequence when placed against the truly bothersome one; his inability to orgasm. This was the area into which so much of his mental capacity was going these days, and any amount of administrative work or staff development related initiatives were unable to wrest his attention for long. Why on earth couldn’t he orgasm? His sex life had been pretty standard as far as he was concerned, having been with multiple partners, some of which were a one-off, some that lasted a few weeks and the few longer-term relationships he’d had. With different people came different experiences as in any other walk of life, confident with some and out of his depth with others. Wallace’s personal circumstances often dictated the level of pleasure he was able to experience and thus impart, but overall, gradually, he had become a better lover, or so he thought. The problem now was that he couldn’t orgasm despite months of very good sex. In the early stages of his intimacy with Simone he had ignored it, deciding that their precise chemistry was new and susceptible to the unexpected. It would change, he resolved. Their connection grew, and with this their freedom in and out of the bedroom, sharing experiences that had both of them reaching a climax but with something remaining unequivocally wrong. Wallace realized he had been mislabeling the phenomenon, for his body was in fact reacting in the way he expected it to; it would tingle, shake, tighten, release, relax but all the while he wouldn’t feel a thing. He could as well be taking a sip of tea or watching an advertisement on TV for all of the mental detachment as his body reached climax. Simone would get her kicks sometimes, not all the time, but when she did her body would shudder with abandon, her rapturous noises matching suitably erratic movements before flopping into a post-euphoric state, her limbs a beautiful jelly, her features bathed in pure and absolute pleasure. Meanwhile Wallace would feel not a thing, knowing only that a physiological reaction had taken place but nothing more. The first time he had gotten off and was introduced to this void of feeling he didn’t sweat it. Despite it never having happened before there were always firsts in life and he paid it no more mind than he would seeing a new car parked in the driveway next door. When it happened a second and third time Wallace paid more attention and there began his puzzlement. The fourth time he and Simone were eye to eye, she wrapped around him, he enveloped by her. His body went into the uncontrolled jerks and quakes with which he was familiar but this time he reckoned Simone had sensed the disconnect. Whether through an emptiness in his eyes or some other intuition he feared that she knew there was a piece missing, an integral piece which she couldn’t yet fathom. Neither made mention of it though the seed was planted and from that day on the elephant began growing in size. Wallace stewed at his desk and all the while the hum of his aching head continued, seeming somehow married to the predicament. When he thought about Simone there was nothing but fondness, when he was with her he could become excited by the faintest of touch, even a well placed whisper enough to get him going. He scanned the faces and bodies around the office trying to inspire a similar intensity, digging for a lust he didn’t believe in but desperately wanted to identify, hoping in vain that it would provide a clue to the riddle. Wallace was ashamed to be analyzing people like this, as though they were animals on show, but he couldn’t help it. Jan? No. Tristan? No. Tanya? They'd had a thing years ago when he'd first started which lasted a couple of months, the initial intrigue giving way to mundanity very quickly. She now represented little more than an office fixture to Wallace, but, he reflected, he'd always felt electric with her when that time came. Again it was impossible to reconcile so many factors that made so little sense and his spirits slumped further. Across the floor Elaine was sitting in a quiet corner completing some training materials and Wallace dragged himself from his torpor to check on her progress, as his role demanded, and quite aside from his intrusive thoughts. “How’re you getting on?” Wallace offered as he rolled a chair up next to her, his tone perfunctory, his face sporting the placid smile of supervisor-cum-colleague. “Ugh, health and safety inductions. Sure it’s important to know that Agnes from accounting is a fire warden, and god forbid me knowing where the defibrillator is actually ever matters, but this is borrrrriiiiing.” Elaine dragged the last word out with a long, slow roll of her eyes. Wallace registered that she didn’t have the same work persona that many others seemed to display, that of switching into a robotic autopilot setting once they crossed the threshold from personal to professional life, character deemed surplus to requirements. Elaine must have seen the contemplation in his expression and tightened for a second, perhaps in anticipation of a scolding. Instead Wallace smiled, a broad and genuine smile reflecting the momentary escape from his personal woes. “Turns out that Agnes has actually hidden the defib, so don’t worry about having to shoulder that burden.” at which Elaine laughed and loosened again. The clock showed just past midday. “You can take your lunch now if you like? Give you a break from the fun.” “Sure, why not. Any recommendations around here? I’ve run out of leftovers so it’s time for me to dip my toes into the world of paying for lunch.” Wallace’s mind went blank, immediately associating this with the social pressure that came alongside caring about someone’s opinion. What do I eat? Wallace asked himself. Now, which of those options paints me as a man with good taste that also looks after himself but isn’t too snobby about food? The few seconds of musing brought him to the place he’d known he would end up. “Let’s go to Lloyd’s.” he said standing. “Best sandwiches in town.” Wallace lowered himself into the bath, regretting not testing the temperature once his buttocks touched the water but continuing to submerge until the lower half of his body screamed violently. ‘I’m subjecting myself to this’ he said as way of explanation. ‘My body will thank me’ Once the shock had subsided he slid down for his chest to be swallowed by the scalding liquid, exhaling and finding peace in the red-hot embrace. His headache had retreated for the entire afternoon but was now back in its familiar spot, the heavy grasp squeezing his brain like a stubborn lemon. The time with Elaine had offered a reprieve, and reflecting on it now an appreciation of being untroubled; his head either not aching or suppressed to a near equivalent relief. He would never allow himself these thoughts if Simone were home with him, but she was away for a week with her work, thus Wallace indulged the memories of earlier that day, the looks Elaine had given him, the ease with which they had been with one another. His body was a soft, pink, shimmering mass below the water and above it steam rose in thick columns to be pushed apart on reaching the ceiling, separating into different bodies and running sleekly along the surface. He followed the forms until they evaporated and others took their place bringing on a borderline state of hypnosis, sweat beading on his forehead, his vision becoming affected by a mixture of the vapor and a growing lightheadedness. In his blurry illusions he imagined Elaine opposite, her obscured features a merging of expressions, her body round and white and inviting above the waterline. An idea seeped into Wallace’s rolling thoughts, drifting away with the steam and coming back to him over and over again to assert itself. His dilemma was entirely a mystery, and mystery is difficult to deal with, he reasoned. If he were to pursue a simple experiment that gave immediate and definitive results then all of the mystery could be stripped away in an instant, and whilst it might not solve the issue it could provide the clarity that he, and he was sure Simone too, desired. The question was how? Another fortnight passed and the headache was still there, simmering. Simone had been back a week, and whilst their daily life was the usual blend of love and companionship the weight of the situation was clearly oppressing them; both only able to forget about it for so long before a sexual reference on the TV or some off the cuff comment would lump them back in the mire of uncertainty. For the week of Simone’s absence Wallace had spent nights in contemplation, turning over the different ways in which he could tell her his plan, as ridiculous as it seemed when he said it out loud. “So babe, I’m pretty sure we both know that something strange is happening, and I don’t know why it’s this way. I’m certain it isn’t anything you’re doing, or not doing, so I’m at a loss, and I think that the only way I can figure this out is if I have sex with Elaine from work - yes, she’s the new one.. yes, I am technically her boss etc - and see what happens.” Wallace tried wording it several ways and each version sounded ridiculous. Maybe it was ridiculous. It could be that some ideas, sentences, or statements that formulate within oneself should never be vocalized, regardless of how logical or appropriate they may seem in their own niche context; the distance between cognizance and speech sometimes presenting an unbridgeable gap. If he wasn’t going to tell Simone then his options were to leave it all together or take action and deal with the consequences as they arose. Fundamentally he thought that finding a solution regardless of the means would constitute success, and even though Simone might struggle with his methods she’d be accepting of the intention and subsequent result. However, if it turned out that he was none the wiser after sleeping with his rather attractive and increasingly tempting colleague then his actions would likely come across as nothing short of careless cheating. The more Wallace thought about it the further he was from a decision, so he made up his mind to stop thinking and just do. During that week alone he’d had lunch with Elaine everyday, and for better or worse (for worse, of course) heads were starting to turn in the office. The gazes of usually distant colleagues turned from glassy eyed to full of intrigue and he was sure that the rumor mill was in full effect; speculation becoming interpretation, the interpretations being embellished and creating fully fledged tales to be spread around the place. Such was his growing attraction to Elaine that he couldn’t find the impetus to care about what was being said, understanding that he was adopting an Elaine recklessness which was easier to accept when placed against his Simone futility. That Friday after work Wallace abandoned his scruples and went headlong into the post work drinks that were taking place, that he knew Elaine would be attending and that he knew he could use to make good his plan. At the bar they were joined at the hip, neither of them shy to put a hand on the other or press close to share a whisper. Everyone in attendance acted as if there was nothing out of the ordinary, none of them asked about Simone or even registered the fact that Wallace had a partner and he thought how rotten the lot of them were to exhibit such cowardice, or worse indifference. Aside from the fact that the infidelity was his, shouldn’t they too be showing a stronger set of morals? Shouldn’t one of them pull him aside and ask what he’s playing at running around like a newly single teenager? Of course these questions didn’t bother him for long as he made sure to drink enough that all inhibitions were well skewed and duly left the bar with Elaine as soon as she invited him back to her place a short walk away. The air had that static kind of cold that comes with a clear night and no wind to affect their rising breath. They shuffled along, shielded by their drunken warmth when Wallace was hit with something unexpected. Their fingers were intertwined when they weren’t touching each other's backs, hips or legs, clearly painting the image of pure guilt, but instead of anticipatory shame for the act he was about to commit he felt deeply that he was a victim. The perplexity that had multiplied with every bout of his misfiring with Simone had congealed into a huge mass hanging before him like an awfully grotesque mirror, projecting his own ineptitude back at him. Wallace wanted terribly for Simone to be happy and instantly the tingle he had felt at Elaine’s touch vanished, her straying hands now as unwelcome as a snake slithering up and down his spine that forced him to shape his expression into a mask of pleasure sitting atop a newly barren, deadened landscape. “Elaine. I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I have a partner that I love and I’ve let this get out of hand.” Wallace stopped and turned to face Elaine, her hand falling limp by her side at his sudden proclamation. “I think you’re great, really, but I’ve made a mistake trying to convince myself that I’m solving an issue by doing something that would only make it worse.” he was panting as he spoke, the words coming in sharp torrents, and even as he did so he was doubting himself, plumbing the depths of a complete lack of conviction. Elaine’s expression was blank, regarding him in his fraught state with a polar coolness. Wallace wasn’t sure that he had anymore to say, so there they stood for a moment, his stabs of breath pumping out like a steam train, Elaine’s little more than a smooth chimney trickle. “That is a shame.” she said vacantly. Wallace waited for more and imagined how he looked right now, on tenterhooks, his whole body feeling like it had clenched up to the size of a fist. “Don’t worry. I’m not far from here.” and she took the first steps away from Wallace who was frozen to the spot. As she turned her back he felt a wave of relief wash over him, his muscles loosening and a calm flow beginning to course from his head downwards. A few meters away Elaine stopped and turned around, her face showing a glowering determination. “Actually, it’s pretty fucking rude of you to just spring this on me. If you’d known from the start that this might happen then it would have been way more responsible of you to tell me, at least then I could have decided whether I wanted to keep going.” she was now livid, her words well considered but pumped full of venom. “You’ve used me as some kind of toy, and now that you’re feeling sorry for yourself, or scared you’re tossing me aside. You should be ashamed of yourself. No-one with a scrap of decency would treat another person like this.” at that she turned and fled, Wallace left wallowing in her cloud of fury. He had never felt so low as at that moment with all estimations of his character shattered in a way that he hadn’t thought possible; to know that someone could bear such disdain for him made it all too real, his stomach a hopeless, sinking mass, his headache roaring back at full tilt to savage him. The air took on a painful quality that hadn’t been present moments before so that his nostrils burned to draw it in, sending daggers upwards. Displaying all the hallmarks of an empty shell Wallace started on his way home. The next morning was a drag. Wallace woke up to the insides of his skull churning like a slushy machine as best he could tell. Simone was gone by the time he opened his eyes and he was too forlorn to call out for her, lacking the heart to seek comfort from the one he’d failed so badly. Grabbing for his phone it duly spilled onto the floor. Things did not look good. On the other side of the wall the coffee machine rumbled away and Simone went about her routine as usual, the grinding and hissing providing her morning music whilst moving between the various stations; the sink to rinse her mug, the shelf to grab the sugar and back to the machine. From the bedroom came a clatter and she pictured Wallace languishing in his sad state, no doubt hungover given the thick, stale musk of alcohol she’d immediately fled. For a while now Simone had been considering what to do with their relationship, conflicted because of the steady satisfaction she still felt but which was becoming increasingly tempered by her emotional detachment, the bouts of discontentment slowly stripping the shine from the surfaces of their once pristine life together. She took the coffee through to the adjoining lounge and sat in front of the TV, turning it on to be greeted by the news channel. The news channel of all things. Whilst her own life moved through spells of disorder there were millions, probably billions that were going through trials far more desperate than her own, the luxurious couch and $2000 coffee machine an immediate testament to her relative affluence. She muted the TV and followed the silently shifting images of disaster and violence, humming a light melody as a vying attempt at serenity. A report on some far away conflict depicted scenes of a scorched landscape, closing in to two figures clad in layers of off-white material and face coverings wrapped tightly across their forehead, mouth and nose. An interviewer stood with the two men, both sporting rifles, and Simone tried to decipher the looks in their eyes, recognizing an eager shimmer that said excitement, doubt and fear all at once. She was similarly unconfident, she reflected, sipping at her lukewarm coffee. A loud yelping burst its way through the silence which Simone merely registered at first, her existential despondence permeating the strange moment. As it continued to change in pitch and volume she placed her coffee down and strolled to the bedroom, following her curiosity and lack of alarm to the source of commotion which was growing in intensity. Pushing open the bedroom door she was hit by the same claggy air as before and Wallace sat up against the headboard in the darkness. The curtains were still tightly drawn so that his phone screen offered the scant illumination pooling around him, a video playing and reflecting the rapidly changing light in his features. He was still wailing incomprehensibly before looking up to see Simone in the doorway. “I’ve figured it out!” he yelled exultantly. “I’ve found out what’s been happening with us.” “Happening with us?” Wallace angled his phone downward to show the contents of his guts all over the sheets sprayed like confetti, splatter faintly visible on the walls and thick tendrils hung from the ceiling like party decorations. “This is ridiculous.” Simone was exasperated. How naive could he be to think this would get a reaction out of her? “It’s so.. unnecessary.” Wallace had the painted smile of someone high on their own discovery, the cold screen glow still flashing against his pallid face. “Are you going to clean all of this up?” His expression unchanging she turned from the room leaving the door ajar, and sitting down with her now cold coffee the wailing started back up. |
DANIEL FREARS is a UK native that has been residing in New Zealand for close to 10 years. He produces short stories, prose and poetry. He has had short prose and poetry pieces published in The Spinoff, Salient, Quick Brown Dog, Shabby Doll House, Pulp and miniMAG and his short stories feature in CRAFT literary, Northridge Review and Roi Fainéant with further publications upcoming.
|