"i'm sorry, were going to have to let you go. if you'd like a reference i think that can definitely be arranged." richards face drooped into a mask of panic.
"i was the top seller for all of last quarter! i made 25% more than the normal average commission on condos in greater riverside county."
"what more do you want from me?!"
"no, no, richard, your figures are fine. it's just that the way you talk to buyers, you know?"
"i'm personable, honest, and punctual. i am an asset to this company."
"again, what more do you want?" richard begged. there were wells in his eyes. the last thing nancy needed was richard breaking down on her. it had just happened two weeks prior when she had fired geraldo fukiyama.
"it's, you know, the way you talk to them about..."
"about what!?!"
"about god..."
"you don't understand, jesus his son the lord our savior brought me from a very dark place! he uplifted me like, like, like [he was trying to show he wasn?t searching for the name] like..."
"like who, richard?"
"lazerius"
"lazarus" she corrected him
"yeah!"
"and now i'm on solid ground for the first time since chocolate. please nancy, you gotta give me another chance" he continued
"well..."
nancy could see that richard was gonna end up in one hell of a shithole without this job. and looking into those regular squinty puppydog eyes wasnt helping this at all. she did have a bit of a weak stomach about firing people, her own father being somewhat of a job-to-job workaday deadbeat, who dragged the family all over the i.e. and o.c. in search of an affordable house, affordable meaning still having enough funds to spend on a wine habit that would make paul giamatti in sideways look like a guy in a different movie who doesn't drink at all.
"...you gotta give me another chance to tell these potential homeowners about jesus christ."
"NO. GET THE FUCC OUT."
"NOW!" she added, rather sternly
"what if i..."
"what if you what, i have 2 pm tea with mr durocher"
"what if i went down on you? my wife likes that"
"are you fucking serious right now richard?"
"i uh...for jesus i...i..." chronic fucking stammerer. "i..."
"spit it out...wait, for jesus? no. get the fuck out of here richard"
"ok ok ok ok ok ok sorry, i mean for durocher real estate, i would, i i i "
"i would put it all on the line"
"good." nancy maneuvered around to the door, momentarily sticking her head outside to give the office a once over.
she drew the blinds of the interior windows (this is why interior office windows have blinds) and shut and locked the door. then she moved around richard and sat atop the desk in front of him, undoing her hair, and unbuttoning the top button on her blouse. "whenever you're ready richard..."
to be fair, it must have been such a drag for richard to have to begin at this point, when she was already bored, or at least acting bored. like this was the same routine she went through with geraldo.
"oh b b b b bbbbbbbbb boy this is like a pppppppppp pp p p p p porno" richard awkwardly shriveled his nose a little bit.
so richard undoes nancys skirt, its tight and businesslike, cause when you're in a position of power like she is you need to be in gear that doesn't encourage you to slack off. the figurative stick in your ass and all that. she read that in an article awhile back and applied it to her wardrobe. whether that's true or not, who knows, but hey, some lunchtime head, tea with mr durocher later...its probably hard for her to complain.
although when richard began, it was in fact pretty easy for nancy to complain. she had always suspected, since her early sexual experiences at a catholic youth group - the youth group so bizarrely, over-the-top horny - that christianity was just a sort of sex cult, like you pay for all the sex you're having with your lunatic life partner with all the kids you end up having, and then those kids end up in the same sort of fuck happy multi kid marriages, keep the cult alive, etc, etc. a pyramid scheme. this was partly why she allowed richard to go in in the first place, and also because she wondered if his pro skateboarding past taught him some freak shit. she heard he knew lee smith. geraldo had definitely not had a similar opportunity, accepting his firing with almost a gusto, and although she was hesitant about the whole clean-out-your-desk-you-little-slug situation, it was the first time she was sure her whole dominatrix vibe was working, she was durochers #1 bad bitch.
anyway, there was definitely reason to complain. richard was doing that shit where you move your tongue really fast but just aimlessly, and he was making a weird throat singing noise in the back of his throat. in fact it seemed like an extension of his stammering.
still, occasionally he would hit spots that felt okay, and she would make him stay on those spots for as long as she could get him to. then he'd go back to his whole aimless wandering about thing. it was like he was content to just throw things out and hope they worked, like the goal was the path itself, but he wasn?t really enjoying the path either. aaron, sam, and rick had told him something similar once.
"it'll be a pure ss nosegrind over a grating gap here, and then you'll be off doing varial flips...it's just inconsistent, is what were saying..."
"but gino does varial flips..."
they had all paused
"please don't bring gino into this"
"look, it's like...you're stagnating. you see the possibilities, you can perform many of them quite well. but you need direction, you need an internal voice that tells you to be selective. otherwise it's just a mess, its a shitshow."
"have you heard of frank stella?" rick offered. "he's a painter, he just paints like, lines...he can paint anything but he just paints lines, because thats what he paints. look at anthony. he just does ollies, and were fine with it!"
"anthony has AIDS though!"
"you dont know that"
"look, what we want from you is either extreme minimalism, or a focus on pure hi tech triccnology and some serious time with ty"
"you guys really think i need direction?"
"yes, we do. you need something in your life that will show you the path. whether that's hi grade dank endo or creating little stools, its up to you."
later that night, richard was watching tv when he saw an ad for a san bernardino megachurch. "do you need direction, etc etc?"
needless to say, he was hooked instantly, and revealed as much the following monday in torrance. "i've got direction...god is my direction, and jesus is my compass!"
to this, rick cut him a final check and wished him well on his journey. "im glad you have direction now, man. i really am. unfortunately your direction is leading you away from torrance..."
nancy was turned on, but richards actual physically physical action had little to do with it. the moistness he took to be a sign of his prowess was more due to the fact that they were in a situation that WAS "just like a p p p p porno". she WAS durochers #1 bad bitch. she was starting to lose control of her thighs. she knocked a coffee mug full of pens off the desk. she cast her head back and sighed. all of this shit WAS happening, and richard grinned, knowing the spirit of the lord had once again grinned upon him.
so yeah, it was enough to make nancy come, but not enough to make her forget that she was the controller. as weird as it was for her to imagine, richard disappointed. didn't she come into this expecting to be disappointed anyway? it was a confusing thought. was she expecting to be surprised about expecting to be disappointed? did she think richard would suavely morph into lee smith before her eyes? i mean, LEE SMITH. she knew there was a difference, she wasn't stupid. not just anyone gets invited to tea with durocher.
for a conversation that had begun so curtly, there was certainly a lot of silence in the room.
richard had his hands folded behind his head, one leg crossed over the other, with an air of calm conceited satisfaction that he had allowed himself maybe three or four times in his entire life.
nancys thighs still faintly pulsed, her legs were still slightly parted, her skirt still sat around her calves, and her gaze pointed somewhere between the ceiling and the top of the door, looking for some kind of sign. maybe i could just have him come in and do this once a week. keep him on to keep the bad bitch levels high. manslut. manhooker. my own private manhooker.
she looked down at him, still contented in the chair. their eyes met.
"now do you see the power of the lord?" richard asked earnestly.
that's when it hit her. this wasn't her call at all. it was durochers. she paused for effect.
"clean out your desk by 3:30." still the baddest.
Topic: RICHARD (Read 1274 times)