The Next by Rafe Haze

Author:Rafe Haze [Haze, Rafe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay Mainstream
Publisher: Wilde City Press
Published: 2014-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Mr. Layworth emerged from the walk-in closet holding a measuring tape, retracting more than seven feet of its yellow length with a snap. He jotted some measurement on a piece of paper, then dialed a number he read off his laptop screen. He began a conversation with the listener about the measurements.

His body language exuded impatience and irritation. Clearly he was being required to repeat himself and clarify his requests. Apparently the person to whom he was speaking couldn’t give a shit about whatever the King needed, and the King really needed this person to give a shit.

Rich, educated, white folks have the carpet rolled out for them in almost every aspect of life, so they inevitably lose their aptitude for adapting to landscapes in which the natives could give a flying fuck about their needs and their entitlements. Plumbers. Union card bearing Comcast technicians. Chilangos from Mexico City. Puerto Rican nail salon girls. Airport security screeners. And added to that list, it seemed, was whomever Mr. Layworth was presently talking to. Therefore, I could only assume the King was addressing the kind of lowly nincompoop blue-collar peasant he’d ordinarily ask his subordinates to interact with. Conclusion: if the King himself was undertaking this task, it was urgent but not work-related. I could not for the life of me conclude any more that, or narrow down what it was.

Regardless, it was delicious to see the King get his gilded panties in a wad over this conversation. He showed his escalating irritation in the reddening of his cheeks and forehead and the clenching of his fist. His need was strong enough that he opted to remain as vocally cool as possible; otherwise he’d hit the resolute brick wall of a dial tone.

What did he so desperately need done with these measurements?

There’d been the usual activity from the Layworth’s one would expect on a Monday morning as they ushered the children out the door to school with all the contained tranquility of expelling two Tasmanian devils from the New York Public Library. In the midst of the bowls of Cheerios, the brushing of little teeth with little glittery Disney toothbrushes, and tying of little shoelaces on little bling-bling high-tops, the cleaner arrived with her placid smile of barely buried Dominican disdain that I knew meant: “Get your spoilt bratty offspring out of my way so I can scrub your gigantic Manhattan apartment in peace.”

In her haste to get the hell out of their apartment, Mrs. Layworth simply rubbed her armpits with deodorant, splashed water on her face, spritzed some perfume on her neck, threw on a loose black silk dress, grabbed her heavy navy pea coat and leather tote bag, and dashed out the door to work without even a farewell peck to her husband.

The cleaning lady first attacked the kitchen, then moved on to the living room, and tackled the children’s bedrooms. I watched her listlessly gather clothing to be washed then Windex all the white and espresso brown surfaces. I watched her wrestle the vacuum cleaner up and down the stairs.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.