Cesspool (3 page)

“It’s lactic acid,” Matt said, laughing. “He’ll be all right.”

Chapter 3: Guest

Chapter 3

Guest

James sat alone at a round table covered in white linen. The placard next to him read Lori Wells-Fisher in fancy cursive. His placard read Guest. He ate yellow cake with white icing and silver sprinkles. He finished his cake, reached into his suit jacket pocket, and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through the headlines on his favorite alternative news site.

He shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket. He stood and surveyed the ballroom. The ceiling had sheer white fabric hung across the room like elegant clouds. In between the clouds, white lights shone like stars. The expansive room was raucous with men in suits and tuxedos and women in formal dresses, all standing and talking and drinking. Lori was across the room, wearing a clingy black cocktail dress and spiky heels, holding a glass of wine. She held the attention of two men in tuxedos. James trudged across the ballroom. He sidled up to Lori and tapped her on her lower back. She turned with a scowl.

“It’s getting late,” James said.

“I haven’t seen
you
all night,” Ron said.

“Hey, Ron,” James replied, his eyes on Lori.

“I’m not ready to leave,” Lori said. “You can go. I’ll catch a ride with Ron.”

“It’s still early,” said the man next to Ron.

“James,” Ron said, “this is my friend and managing partner, Walt Davidson.”

James turned toward Ron and his balding, bookish friend. “Hi, Walt. I’m James Fisher, Lori’s husband.”

Walt’s beady eyes lit up as they shook hands. “You’re the one with all the interesting theories.”

Ron dipped his head and covered his laugh with his fist.

Lori groaned.

“I guess so,” James said, blank-faced.

“He thinks the stock market’ll blow up in our faces,” Ron said.

“I’ve seen some insiders with dire forecasts,” Walt said. “The S&P down as much as 20 percent in 2015.”

Ron chuckled. “He’s not talking about a bear market. He’s talking about a total collapse.”

“Like 1929? The seventies?” Walt asked.

“Much worse.” Ron lifted his chin to James. “Tell him, Jimbo.”

“Why don’t you go home,” Lori said to James.

James ignored his wife. “It’s a mathematical certainty. And it won’t just be the stock market. It’ll be our entire way of life.”

Lori shook her head. “Here we go.” She frowned at Ron. “See what you did.”

Ron smiled back at Lori like a mischievous child.

“We’ve always had doomsday predictions,” Walt said, “and yet here we are.”

“The problem is that our system must grow exponentially,” James said, “but we live in a world with limits in terms of raw materials and energy and food and water and a million other things we need in modern society.”

“Are you familiar with a book from the early seventies called
Limits to Growth
?”

“Great book,” James said.

Lori gulped the last of her wine. “We’re going for refills,” she said, holding up her empty glass. Ron and Lori moved toward the bar.

“I agree with you that our system must grow,” Walt said. “A debt-based money system has to grow or the debts can’t be paid.”

“We saw what happened in 2008,” James said. “GDP growth was down but still positive, and it was like the end of the world.”

“What I don’t agree with is that we can’t overcome the limits you talk about with respect to energy and raw materials. We’re becoming more efficient every day, and technology is growing, keeping up with our growth rate.”

James nodded. “I agree that we’re finding ways to be more efficient, but technology is not an energy source. All this technology requires more energy, not less.”

“Solar and wind technologies have had vast improvements over the past few decades,” Walt said.

“We get less than 5 percent of our energy from renewable sources, and most of it is in the form of hydroelectric and biomass. Solar and wind are just a drop in the bucket. And how much oil and coal do we burn to dig up the metals required to make a solar panel or a wind turbine?”

“In Brazil they get a lot their fuel from sugar cane.”

“There are some bright spots. Human beings are certainly ingenious. I’m not disputing that.” James pursed his lips. “I’m just saying that our economic system requires growth, and that growth has been destructive in terms of using up natural resources and polluting the environment in a way that’s unsustainable. And every day it gets worse. Every day we have more people, with more energy used, more stuff, more of everything. Anything that’s unsustainable will eventually end.”

Walt smiled. “And yet the stock market is near all-time highs, and commodities are in a bear market.”

“That’s true,” James said with a crooked grin, “but I would imagine it’s easier to manipulate computer digits than the real world.”

Walt cackled. “You know what, James? You might be on to something there. Prior to 2008, we used a proprietary trading system that worked very well for us, but, after 2008, it’s been ineffective. Thankfully we were smart enough to follow the herd back into equities, and we’re using high-frequency trading algorithms now.”

“And what’s changed since 2008? Do we have more or less derivatives? Are the banks bigger or smaller? All we’ve done is postpone the inevitable, making the outcome more destructive.”

“What’s the solution?” Walt held out his hands. “Go live in the woods with a truckload of canned goods?”

“There isn’t one. We have a predicament, not a problem. Problems have solutions. Predicaments have outcomes. You joke about living in the woods with a truckload of canned goods, but it isn’t the worst idea. I definitely wouldn’t want to be here, where everything’s trucked in. Seriously, where’s the nearest farm?”

Walt smirked. “Ultimately you may be right, my friend, but not in my lifetime.”

James deadpanned, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Walt glanced over James’s shoulder. “Do you and Lori have any big plans for the holidays?”

“I assume we’ll go see her parents and her sister, but we haven’t had a chance to talk about it. How about you?”

“We have two boys, but they outgrew the Christmas magic long ago. Now it’s all about the electronics.”

James nodded.

Walt looked around the room. “I should probably find my wife.”

“It’s been a pleasure talking to you,” James said, holding out his hand. “I should do the same.”

They shook hands and parted ways. James trekked to the bar but found no sign of Lori or Ron. James did a lap around the ballroom but still nothing. He had to pee, so he exited the ballroom and walked down a marble-floored hall to the bathroom. He placed his hand on the brass handle, and the door burst open. He stepped back, the door almost hitting him in the face. Two young men in suits departed, laughing. James entered the marble-tiled bathroom. One wall had a bank of mirrors and sinks. Opposite the sinks were eight stalls. Against the far wall were a slew of urinals, with two thirtysomething men peeing side by side. He heard groans from the handicapped stall as he walked to the urinal at the end, as far away from the pee buddies as possible.

One man said, “Aah,” as his flow started.

The other said, “Fuckin’ beer runs right through me.”

James unzipped his fly and pulled out his penis from the hole in his boxer shorts. He stood, the pressure building in his bladder, but not a drop released. The men walked away, one after the other, pulling up their pants and zippers in one grand motion. They left without visiting the sink, and James then began to pee.

Afterward he zipped up and moved to the sink. The urinal flushed automatically. He washed his hands, grabbed a towel from the stack, and wiped them dry. He gazed into the mirror. His nose dominated his face. James forced a smile. His teeth were straight and white. Like a predator, his eyes locked on movement in the mirror. He saw spiky heels and shiny men’s dress shoes intertwined under the handicapped stall door. James frowned.
Get a room
.

James marched past the stall toward the exit. He heard a giggle that stopped him in his tracks. He turned around and knocked on the stall door. She squeaked in surprise.

“Occupied,” Ron said.

“Let me talk to my wife,” James said.

He heard hushed whispering, the rustling of fabrics, and a zipper zipping. The stall opened just enough for Lori to fit through. She appeared with her head down, and her lipstick smudged.

“How long?” James asked.

She didn’t reply.

“How long!”

She jumped at the volume and looked at James through red eyes. “A year—I was going to tell you. I’m sorry.”

“And all this time … I’m a fucking idiot.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “We grew apart.”

James rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “And Ron? Seriously? He’s a superficial douche bag.”

The stall door yanked open. “Watch it,” Ron said.

James clenched his fists, his face red. “Or what? What are you going to do? Fuck my wife? Oh, you already did that.”

“James, stop,” Lori said.

“Aren’t you married?” James asked Ron.

“They’re going to get a divorce,” Lori said.

James nodded. “That’s great. That’s fucking great. You guys have it
all
figured out.” He pointed at Lori. “You’re a lying, … fucking … bitch.”

James didn’t see the fist that connected with his glass jaw. He was sprawled out on the marble floor, Ron standing over him.

“Get up, you fucking coward,” Ron said.

“Stop it, Ron,” Lori said, grabbing her man and pulling him away from James.

James stood, rubbing his jaw. He looked at the couple, their arms interlocked in solidarity. He marched out of the bathroom to the parking lot and yanked open the door to his Honda Accord. He drove fast and erratic, almost hoping for an accident. The tires screeched as he pulled into the parking space in front of their town house. He slammed the front door and plopped down on the sofa in the dark living room. He kicked off his shoes and lay on his side, his legs pulled to his chest. Tears slid down his face, until he fell asleep.

* * *

James was jolted awake by banging on the front door. He rubbed his eyes. The house was dark. He moved his aching jaw back and forth as he stood. He was still in his rumpled suit and jacket. More banging came at the door. He glanced at the clock on the DVD player. It read 2:44 a.m. He staggered to the front door and peered through the peephole at two uniformed police officers. They held their hats in their hands. James’s stomach turned as he opened the door.

“Yes?” James said.

“Are you James Fisher?” the stocky officer asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Officer Koch, and this is Officer Johnston,” he said, motioning to his thin partner. “Could we come in?”

James let the officers in. He turned on the overhead light in the dining room. They sat at the square table. As soon as they sat, Officer Koch delivered his message, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“I’m very sorry sir, but your wife died in a car accident at approximately 12:15 a.m.”

Chapter 4: Dr. Dicks

Chapter 4

Dr. Dicks

James sat at the end of the front pew, squeezed in among Lori’s family as an afterthought. He gazed at the stained-glass windows and the ornate ceiling.
They extol the virtues of humbleness, at the same time spending a fortune on extravagant churches and lawyers for child molesters. What a bunch of bullshit.

James glanced around at Lori’s friends and family, many of them unfamiliar to him. The men wore dark tailored suits, the women in black designer dresses. He saw Yolanda a few rows back. She flashed a sympathetic smile. He put his hand up in acknowledgment and turned back around. He heard Lori’s sister, Rebecca, whispering to her husband. In the cavernous church, voices carried farther than the gossipers realized.

“They were going to get a divorce,” Rebecca said. “She wasn’t happy.”

“It’s not the time,” her husband whispered.

“At least she and Ron are together now.”

James remembered the steely stare he had received when he called her Becky and not Rebecca.

“My parents met him you know,” Rebecca continued.

“Who?”

“Ron. Who else?”

“
Shhhh
. People can hear you,” he whispered.

“I’m not being loud. I’m just saying, they liked him … a lot.”

“Rebecca, stop.”

“That’s all I was going to say.”

A white-haired priest began the funeral service with a prayer. The old man was the only person in the church that didn’t get on his knees to pray. James was lost in his own world as the priest spoke in clichés and platitudes about a life taken too soon. Lori’s father, Mr. Jack Wells, was invited to the lectern to speak.
I wonder if he let Ron call him Jack
.

James felt hot as the bald man told stories portraying Lori as daddy’s little girl. James loosened his collar, but it didn’t help. He felt sweat rings developing under his arms. He was having trouble breathing. James slipped out of the pew and raced along the edge of the church toward the exit. He heard whispering in his wake. He stumbled outside and sucked in the cold air, his hands on his knees. He staggered down the concrete steps and headed for the parking lot. The lot was full of shiny luxury cars. He fumbled for his keys as he approached his Honda. He heard heavy steps behind him as he opened the car door.

“James,” Yolanda said.

James turned around as Yolanda huffed toward him, an overcoat covering her black dress.

“Are you okay?” she asked, catching her breath.

James exhaled. “I can’t be in there anymore.”

“You want to get some lunch and talk?”

James shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

She frowned. “You don’t look okay.”

“Have you ever heard of the term
hypergamy
?”