Friday, September 6, 2019

The Executive: Prologue

47 years. I’ve made it 47 years existing on this sorry ass planet. Doing what? I don’t really know. I woke up here in this statement of my existence and value. My name is on the deed but I don’t ever feel like any of this belongs to me, not the house, the cars, or the women who come and go. My ex-wife doesn’t come here, I haven’t seen much of her in the last ten years. I remember the day we signed the papers, my Blackberry was constantly buzzing as news started to spread of Lehman Brothers bankruptcy. She didn’t want much, just enough money to keep our daughter’s lifestyle the same and the title to her X5. We decided that neither of us wanted our main home so we decided to sell it and split the proceeds. All of that meant nothing though, I moved myself into an empty house near Morrocroft and haven’t looked back.

My daughter, Kayla made it to 15 without me for the last 10 years. Her mother let me see her from time to time when she was younger, but all I ever really was to her was the dad that wasn’t good enough for her mother or her as far as she knows. They started adding me to the Christmas card mailing list about three years ago out of some sort of pity. The pity radiates from that family unit smiling at me while I grab ice from the freezer. All of the smiles look like they’re holding laughter behind their teeth. I shake the image as I fill a highball glass with ice then pour gin and tonic water into it. 

I don’t care much about how the drink tastes, it’s Saturday morning so I don’t even judge myself for starting with a drink. I look at my iPhone XR and read the date: December 22, 2018. This is my first day free from the cloud I work within in months, and the first day of my holiday vacation from work. If I wasn’t so talented at my job, I would’ve been terminated years ago. The company putting up with my hijinks has slightly numbed my ability to behave well in general. This could also be evidenced by my private Instagram, chock full of models and escorts posing in front of my hand-made furniture or one of my cars. 

It’s not so much that I expect people to be shocked or appalled by the way I live, be it disgusting to them or otherwise. I just want people to know what I stand for, where years of wondering has placed my soul, and to remind you people actually live this way. I haven’t had to use my name in years, my business card says it for me. I’m not here to touch your soul, make you feel sorry for me, or ask for help. I’m here to tell you who the fuck I really am, card be damned. I’m here to let you know there is a man behind the executive.

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