Exhibit (2 page)

By the time Stephanie gets back home from work, I’ve just about managed to do what she’s asked of me. The sheets are laundered and back on the beds, the house has been cleaned and tidied, Maddy's had her daiper changed, and I've gone mad watching endless fucking repeats of cartoons because Harry wouldn't let me leave him alone with them. That kid can scream if he wants to, and every time I tried to sneak off to get a break from him, he yelled to make it clear he was the one in control. I'm so tired, all I want to do is go home.

Stephanie points out all of the things I've done wrong and then digs into her wallet for my pay. She's not all that liberal with her emotions anyway, but I expect more from her than this. I expect her to thank me at least. She gives me what she owes me for the week, wishes me a happy Christmas, and walks me to the door. No fucking bonus. No fucking season of goodwill Christmas cheer in the form of a hundred dollar bill.

The bus home takes fucking ages because of some accident that blocks the road. I end up jumping out half a mile from the house and walking the rest of the way home through muddy snow. When I eventually get there, my feet are freezing and the bottom of my jeans are soaked wet through.

It's only 6pm and already so dark it looks like it should be the middle of the night. I get changed, jump in the shower and wash myself with lukewarm water, just as cold under the water as I am out of it.

I've got a three bar electric heater which I fire up and stand in front of to try and get warm, but I can only keep it on for a while because it sucks so much electricity that the light bulbs all start to flicker, and I shit myself that the thing is going to explode and burn the whole apartment down.

I pay way too much for what I've got here, but I'm locked into a contract and I can’t get out of it for at least another year. The electrics need to be rewired and the boiler's on its last legs, but that doesn't seem to matter to my landlord, nor any of the adjudicating authorities that should be looking out for my rights. He refuses to do any work on the apartment, even though he's got more money than I'll ever see in my lifetime. The ass-hole owns a huge house in Manhattan, and several other apartments in this area as well, two more on the same floor as mine. I bet they're both just as fucked too.

I'm shivering now because of the cold, so I dry myself quickly with a towel and get dressed again. All I want to do is get into bed, but I can't. It's my best friend's birthday tonight and I have to go out again, because I've already promised her I'll be there.

This is not where I expected to be in my life at this age. Two years out of University and instead of working in the field I’ve trained in, I’m clearing up someone else’s children’s shit.

I’d be a bit more positive if there was something in the pipeline for me to work towards, but with the crisis still hitting this country hard, and hitting the arts and publication industry the hardest, I can’t for the life of me see a way out.

My parents want me to move back home, but there is fuck all around for me in the shit hole town I grew up in. I’d much rather scrape together a living here on the pittance Stephanie pays me, chasing that ever eluding dream of a full time investigative journalist contract with one of the nationals than even spend one minute thinking about the state of depression that would bleed into me if I had to go back home.

As long as I can afford this shitty apartment, and I can, just about at the moment, then I’m going to stay put.

Most of my clothes are either dirty, wet because they haven’t fully dried yet, in need of ironing or too old to wear. I dig something out I haven’t put on for a while, thank God it still fits me and pray that someone buys me something new this Christmas.

I
lower myself into the hot tub, a glass of very expensive, limited run scotch in one hand, the newspaper article about myself in the other. Above me, through the glass ceiling, I can see a handful of stars, strong enough to shine through the cloud of stench that rises above America, and snowflakes that looked like frozen leafs continuing to fall. Outside looks fucking freezing, but here in the tub, I'm as warm as I want to be.

'New York's youngest trader gets biggest bonus', the headline reads. 'City trader Bain Power is amongst the biggest earners this year in a record breaking moment in Hampton Schutz's history. Twenty six year old Bain, in only his second year at the company, nets more than ten million dollars in salary and bonuses.'

“Twelve million, six hundred and seventy five thousand, four hundred and thirty two dollars, sixty five cents”, I say, and cast the paper to the side. “There have been many people romantically linked to Mr. Power over the last few months - Stephanie, Rachel, Alice, don't forget Sylvia, how could I forget Sylvia, but this Christmas, it seems like New York's most eligible bachelor might be spending the festive period on his own.”

I sip down scotch and press a button on the side of the bath that jets out a jacuzzi stream of bubbles into my back. Satisfied, I continue.

“With no family to speak of, and rarely spotted in public, especially at this time of year, despite all of that money available to him, is this former actor turned city golden boy, unable to buy the one thing he's so desperately looking for?”

“What's that Steve?” I say, playing out the conversation in my head.

“Well, I think you know exactly what it is I'm talking about. Love.”

“What a load of bullshit”, I say, arguing with myself. “I want it, I can buy it. There isn't anything in this world that can't be bought with the right money, and I'm fucking rolling in it. Everything has a price, you just need to work out how to negotiate for it. Even love.”

When I'm done with the bath, I get out, dry myself and choose a suit. The way I look is very important to me. Jack and Stuart and even Craig to a certain extent, don't go in for all of that, but I do. It's part of the fucking look, and it works. There's no point in having as much money as I do if you don't look the part. Sure the other guys will get suited and booted, but that's only half of it, you've got to feel it to do the rest. The clothes I put on, the watch, the rings, the cologne, the jewellery, even the fact that I have my teeth polished and whitened, it all costs money.

I pay almost six hundred dollars to have my haircut the way I want to every month, because it makes a difference. You can't pick up girls like Rachel and Alice if you don't do it like that. That's why Jack has to pay for every fuck he gets, and everyone who fucks him resents him for it. Jack will never get it. He squirrels his money away like animals do food, the little he earns of it compared to everyone else.

Carter knows, but he just hasn't got the style to go along with it. He'll pay six hundred dollars for a McDonald's burger, just because he'll want to be seen flashing the cash. Fucking idiots, all of them. I only hang around with them because it makes me look all that much better by comparison. I'm the only king in the room when we're together, and there isn't anyone who can touch me. They all think I'm the golden boy and want to stick to me like glue, Jack included, even though he whines about it the most. They aren't wrong.

Christmas fucking day tomorrow. The girl who cleans this apartment left me a Christmas tree as a present and it now sits exactly where she left it, on the coffee table in the living room, untouched. It will sit there until she comes back to work next week and clears it away, and neither one of us will say anything about it again. She's lucky I don't sack her, but I guess she just doesn't know.

It's just gone 7pm. I'm dressed, I'm rich, and I'm ready to play. Nothing can stop me.

I know where they'll be. They'll have gone there straight after work, and it's where I'm heading now. I make sure the only card I carry in my embossed silver card holder is the black credit card with the gold K sculpted into it, which I wrap ten fifty dollar bills around for tips and other expenses, and then I call a driver.

Jingle Bells is playing on the radio when I get into the car.

“Turn that fucking shit off”, I say angrily.

He turns it off. “Where to?” he asks, craning his neck awkwardly so he can face me.

“Aces”, I say.

“Coming right up”, he says, a nervous laugh to break the ice, and manoeuvres the car out onto the road.

I was an actor for five years because I like being the centre of attention. The reason I stopped was because I like making money even more. The two worlds aren't all that much different. You work stupid hours, nobody really understands what it is you do, everyone's an asshole and they all think they're better than everyone else at what they do. It's just as a city trader the salary and the bonuses are a hell of a lot sweeter. It took a while to transition and a lot of hard work. People see how much money I earn and how much I spend, and they don’t think about the hard work I’ve put in that’s got me here. I was successful before and I’m even more successful now, but nobody put a million dollars in my bank to start me off, like some of the other fuckers I work with.

Every cent I own I’ve earned, and I’ve busted my balls for it too. You put the hard work in, you’re going to reap the rewards. If you don’t, you’re either not doing it right, or you’re doing it wrong. It’s a s simple as that.

We round the park and head down fifth. Snow has been cleared off the road here, but it's piled up pretty heavily on the sidewalk. I see kids throwing snowballs at each other and it reminds me of doing the same at high school. It's only ten years ago, but it seems so distant it could be a hundred. Traffic slows because of what looks like an earlier accident, so we divert around it. The driver seems to know what he's doing, but I avoid telling him in case it means he thinks I want a conversation. He may have driven me before, maybe not. Something about his face is familiar, but I never pay enough attention to be able to tell. It's a completely different world from mine and I don’t want any part of it.

This city hides secrets most people never get to see. Behind closed doors, in basements and garages and bedrooms up and down this island shit goes on you wouldn’t believe. I saw a lot of that when I was acting, but believe me, nothing at all like what I’ve seen as a trader. Everybody has this image of actors and rock stars as the ones that party the most, but believe me, money corrupts. You work so close to it, it fucks up your mind so much you begin to see the whole world differently. Maybe that’s the reason so many people in this city are alone, walking about like fucking zombies with their brains already chewed out. This season is the worse for it, drunks falling asleep in banks of snow, drug addicts getting so strung out they tip over bridges and sink silently screaming into the Hudson, prostitutes every which way you look.

Everybody’s on the game, and money makes the world go round. Some of us just know how to play it right.

I
try my best to keep my jeans dry on the way to the bus stop, but it's fucking impossible. Even though I roll them up well away from the ground, somehow the damp gets to them like it's climbed there by itself. I have a pair of shoes that are supposed to be waterproof, but they clearly aren't, because by the time I get on the bus and find a seat, I realize how cold and wet my feet are. It's only 8pm and the bus is already full of drunks, and before we're even five minutes into the journey someone's already hitting on me.

He's sweet enough, but his breath stinks of alcohol and his lips are all red where it looks like he's been drinking wine by the gallon load. He puts his hand on my thigh at one point, maybe just to balance himself, maybe because he figures boundaries don’t exist over Christmas, and I show him I don't appreciate it at all, by getting up and standing over by the doors. At the next stop he gets out, along with about six other men in suits and stupid cone shaped kids hats, I presume from the same Christmas office party.

'Bitch', he says to me as he leaves.

I flick him the bird when the bus pulls past them, but he’s already forgotten about me, lost in the huddle of his friends. Fucking asshole.

When I get to the right stop, I have a ten minute walk through Greenwich Village to the bar Vicki has chosen to celebrate in. It's fucking cold, despite the several layers I'm wearing, and I hug myself against it try and keep warm. It's at times like this that I miss Daniel.

I'm much better off without him, that's for sure, and I wouldn't want to get back together with him even if I could, but doing everything constantly on my own is beginning to make me feel much lonelier than I ever thought would be possible. It’s especially difficult at this time of year too. What I really miss, much more than Daniel I suppose, is having somebody special, just to be there for me. Someone that would be able to hug me against this fucking cold weather. Perhaps someone with a car, or at least enough money to pay for a taxi to take us directly to where we’re meeting.

Daniel was never going to be that person. I gave him a chance, but he fucked it up.

As I hurry along, I wonder what he might be up to. We spent two awful Christmases together - one with his parents and one with mine, and I wonder if he’s back with them now, or still trapped in this city working, sucked in and lost in the system, like an incorrectly addressed Christmas parcel.

From here, the city looks beautiful lit up for Christmas, but dominant too, overwhelming, at turns futuristic even. Even though it's expensive, wildly fucking expensive, overpopulated, and never quite sunny enough for my liking, I do love New York. In my limited travelling experience, I’ve never found anywhere else even like it. I wasn't born here - I don’t think many people are, but I've definitely made it my home. How long I can continue keeping it that way is another question.

I'm one of the last to arrive, and Vicki's pretty drunk by the time I get there. I get myself a drink, sit down at the table and Vicki introduces me to anyone she thinks I haven't met before. Most of them I already have, but I laugh it off and let her continue. Someone slaps a Christmas hat on my head and hands me a tequila shot. I wouldn't normally do it, and try and hand it back, but I get chanted on and Vicki won't accept no for an answer. Fuck it, I think, and knock it back. Merry fucking Christmas.