Never Turn Away by Marshall Moore

Author:Marshall Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Signal 8 Press
Published: 2013-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Two: ROBERT.

Avoirdupois. Steroids and psychic healers. Cold clear glass.

A black epiphany struck Robert at work: he couldn’t breathe when he sat down. He needed yet another pair of trousers an inch larger in the waist. Just six months had passed since the last upgrade. Robert believed he looked like a snake digesting an egg, and his favorite coping mechanism, red wine, only exacerbated the problem. At these moments, too early in the day to start drinking, his sister usually provided the best comfort.

Today she provided cobra venom.

He had it coming, he supposed. When your husband fucks every woman in sight, just because he can (and Grace had no idea the extent of it), you’re bound to be irascible at times. On top of that, the upcoming business trip to Europe provided a fresh load of angst. Grace knew Robert would be there. Robert knew Grace wanted him to spy. Grace knew better than to ask Robert to do it. Their relationship, while close, was laden with topics they could never discuss, and overt spying was near (but not at) the top of the list.

Robert decided to push her nastiness out of his head, take her advice, and update his appearance. At lunch, he dashed out to Union Square to buy a pair of trousers he could wear without blacking out. If he was going back to Paris, he deserved to enjoy himself, didn’t he? And wouldn’t an unimpeded flow of oxygen contribute a lot to the trip? Especially on the flight across the Atlantic? He also visited his barber and left with his hair mown down to the scalp. After that, he darted into an optical shop and purchased new glasses. Considering how many of the partners took long lunches to fuck people they weren’t married to, Robert had no compunction about his time away from the office. When he got back, Davies didn’t comment on the new frames (stylish red rectangles), and Robert didn’t point them out. Let the asshole overlook the obvious in order to dwell on the mundane.

“Buzz cut. Nice. Going for that Folsom look?” asked Steve Davies, one of the firm’s founders (and a bloated prick of a contracts lawyer), when Robert returned to the office after lunch. Davies had lived with his partner Bruce, a photographer, for a couple of decades. They vacationed at their flat in Paris several times a year and had sex with everyone but each other.

“Wait till you see the piercings,” Robert said. “Or on second thought, maybe not.”

Robert had no intention of getting his parts pierced, but the idea popped into his head. Why not? What did he have to lose? Self-respect? If the big boss wanted to believe Robert had a Christmas tree ornament hanging off the end of his penis, great. Deck the balls with boughs of holly.

Legalese and jet lag are a lethal mix. On his last trip to the Paris office, Robert had subsisted on strong coffee and sticky, disgusting pastries. In the depths of

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