Choice

Welcome to “Short Stories” not necessarily for “Shut-Ins” anymore. Something here for June to help you decide what you want to do with this bright month, to help you make a CHOICE.

CHOICE

By Gerald DiPego

Ben Schulman is 32, single, fairly fit, and nervous. He has an important decision to make and he’s not at all confident that he’ll make the right choice. He has made some poor life choices in recent years, and this has left him with an easy-access pass into the thicket of worry, a place of thorns that he knows well, and, as he walks among the morning throng of downtown L.A. workers, his jaw is tight and his pace is quick, even though he’s early for his job at the accounting firm. He’s actually too early to show up for an important meeting with his boss who is waiting for his decision, and that’s why he keeps walking this fast-paced jagged circle through the canyons of downtown, giving himself one last bit of time to think about his choices.

He has been offered, along with other accountants, the possibility of transferring to the new offices opening in Portland Oregon, and being part of the start-up there with a small raise, or he can choose to remain in L.A. He doesn’t have full confidence that the new branch will do well in Portland, and he could be struggling there for years, but since the firm picked him for this, would a choice to stay in L.A. seem ungrateful and cost him points with his boss?

He’s moving across a street on a green light, among a swarm of office workers who are coming and going, and he notices that one man is approaching him as if they’re about to collide. Ben tries to angle to the right, but the throng is tight, and the young man is coming on quickly for this possible crash, but then, at the last sliver of a second, the man moves slightly to miss him, brushing against him, glancing at him, and saying these words…

“Stay in LA.”

Ben is standing still in the center of the street, his mouth open, his eyes drilling into the back of the hurrying man, when he finds that he is finally able to shout. “Hey! Wait!”

But the man keeps walking, and Ben tries to follow, turning against the herd of workers who are speeding to cross before the light turns green and the cars, waiting like high-strung horses, rush the intersection.

He has lost sight of the man, but he shouts anyway. “Wait!” And some people turn to follow his look, which is a wild, frenzied, unbelieving look, but the man is lost among the crowd, and Ben, now standing on the corner, is moving, in his mind, through all the possible causes for this impossibility: He didn’t hear the man correctly. The man wasn’t talking to him. The man was telling EVERYBODY to stay in L.A. because…because it’s a great town, or…. But none of this feels right. The man spoke to HIM, and said what HE needed to know. He couldn’t have imagined it, could he? No, it was so clear, and he still carries a detailed picture of the man in his mind, like a sharp and precise photograph.

“Stay in L.A.” He remembers the quality of the man’s voice and tries hard to think if he ever saw him before, but no, never. He wonders, oddly, if maybe the man has something to do with his accounting firm. But that’s crazy. Ben wasn’t even near the firm’s building when it happened. He was blocks away and moving in the wrong direction. So, here he is, standing on this busy corner and shaking his head, which is the only option for this situation.

He continues on, but more slowly, aiming himself toward the streets that will take him to the firm, and once there he’ll proceed to his boss’ office, and there he will be asked for his answer: take the Portland offer or…stay in L.A. He is surprised to realize that he’s not so uncertain now. He knows what to say, and this is a great relief. Of course, he’s not completely sure, but he’s not completely lost, not drifting anymore. He has something to hold on to – those three quick words, no matter how they came to him. He holds them tightly and enters his office building.

It’s two years later, and all of this has happened to Ben Schulman: He gained 14 pounds and then lost it – He noticed some hair loss – He was promoted at work and was glad he did not go to Portland -- He met a young woman named Amelia and they dated and became a steady couple – He found a small, appealing house and was thinking of buying it and asking Amelia to move in with him – He bought an engagement ring – He was wondering just how and where and when he would ask her, when she told him, sobbing, that she was seeing another man, an old boyfriend. She was very sorry – He and Amelia broke up.

Ben is depressed of course and also nervous again. He really likes the small house he found in Santa Monica, and knows it will be off the market soon if he doesn’t buy it, but, will living in the new place further depress him because he’ll think of Amelia, who will not be there to share it with? It’s a property that will only increase in value. As an accountant, he would advise a client to buy it, but he’s afraid of being even more sad than he is, if possible.

He’s at a mall now where he often goes, looking for furnishings that would look very good in that new home and then not buying them. He has it almost fully furnished in his mind, still looking for the perfect sofa to not buy. He finds the sofa and feels a moment of joy that’s pushed aside by a wave of sadness, so he walks toward the mall doors to get out of there, outside into the sunshine. He steps back to let an older man enter, and the man looks at him in passing, not smiling, and says, quickly “Buy the house,” and then he keeps walking on. Ben watches him go, his mouth open. He starts to follow, but the man is walking swiftly, and the mall is very crowded. Ben hesitates, remembering, of course, the last time some stranger told him what to do.

Now he sits in one of the chairs outside the mall, in the sun, his brain whirling. He becomes truly dizzy and closes his eyes, takes several breaths. When he opens his eyes, he feels better. He sits a long while, then pulls out his phone and calls his realtor and makes an offer on the Santa Monica house.

Four months later Ben is in a bar, deep within the jolly cacophony of a Friday night. He’s with one of his best friends, Jim, from work, and he’s telling him more about the house than Jim cares to know.

“Enough about the house,” says Jim. “That’s all you talk about lately. I’m supposed to care about a hassock? What else is going on in your life?” Ben laughs and apologizes and then, as he finishes his second beer, he finds that he’s in a bold, why-not mood and says, “I never told you WHY I bought it. It’s because somebody told me to. Some…stranger. Really.” Jim, looks at him doubtfully. “So what did this guy know about real estate? Why trust HIM?” Ben is smiling, tingling even, he has never told anyone about these encounters. “He just told me – ‘buy the house.’” Jim grins now, “You mean like he was giving you a tip? like he goes around giving tips? Like…a tip on a horse? What is he, a guru?”

Ben looks at Jim, staring deeply, as if weighing his words. He’s losing his smile, moving inward, wondering about something, something about the words ‘A tip,’ and he’s deciding two things – that he will not tell Jim or anyone what’s going on or…where he’s going tomorrow.

The next day he goes to the Santa Anita race track, feeling guilty but excited. What IF one of these people…these people who talk to him and tell him what decision to make, what if one of them is there, the man from the street, the old man from the mall, somebody. Maybe they WILL give him a tip. But no one talks to him, and he loses 70 dollars.

At his second visit to the track, he is moving through the betting area, listening, while reading about the horses who are running. He is also glancing at the swim of faces, but, mostly, he’s waiting, waiting for someone to…

“Fancy Danny.”

He looks around quickly to see who spoke. It was a female voice, and he spots an older woman, maybe sixty-five, standing among the crowd, alone, studying her choices. He walks to her, his heart picking up its rhythm. “Excuse me, did you say Fancy Danny? I see he’s running in the next race.”

She looks at him a moment, slightly bothered and says “I said nothing at all.” But Ben is sure that it was her voice he heard. He repeats the name, “Fancy Danny,” and now she’s angry. “If you keep bothering me, I’ll have you thrown out of here.”

Ben gets in line at a betting window. He’s trembling slightly as he pulls out all the cash he brought with him, one thousand dollars, and puts it on Fancy Danny to win, even though the odds on the horse are thirty to one. He walks down to the rail to watch the race, his body tight and each breath shaking in his chest. He wins the thirty thou and ends his gambling days. He doesn’t want to be greedy and he doesn’t want the strain. He buys a new car and two expensive suits.

He is promoted again at work and he feels that part of the reason he was noticed and advanced is because of his high-end suits. He’s promised a larger office. He begins a love affair, but mostly in his mind. She’s a very real young woman, another accountant, same grade as him. Her name is Emily Woo, and, to him, she is beautiful, but she attracts the attention of other men, also, and the boss of Ben’s section of the firm seems charmed.

Ben speaks to her now and then, greetings, work details. She’s very pleasant and has a very real laugh that he begins to treasure. He asks his work friend, Jim, what he knows about her, and Jim says that she dates now and then, but the boss has shown an interest, and this keeps the sharks away.

The boss is married, has kids, but is very smooth, and Ben is worried. Should he just…ask her out and chance it? He’s afraid she’ll say no and that will kill all those possibilities dancing in his mind. He’s also afraid that the boss will find out, and that could hurt his career, just when things are going so well.

He begins taking long walks during lunch and even showing up early to the downtown area to move through the throngs and… wait for a tip, wait for that next ‘teller,’ wait and hope for that certainty, that knowing what to do. The streets do not favor him with a tip, so he tries a nearby park and walks the paved lanes and grassy areas, and he listens, listens. He’s sometimes late getting back to work, and when he is at work, he watches for her, just to catch sight, and he makes up scenes where they’re together, laughing together, holding each other…

He’s back in that park now, and rattled, his breath short, his eyes raking over the faces again as he walks. He feels that he’s coming apart and he finds that he’s speaking under his breath, saying, “now, tell me, now.” People begin looking at him as he passes, and he realizes he has begun speaking aloud, “Tell me…say it…please!” He walks on, losing control, shouting, “Will you tell me?! Will somebody tell me?! You? You?” And people are staring, some smiling, some afraid. He stops walking, but the shouting continues and a small crowd gathers. He doesn’t know how long this lasts, but now a police officer is walking him to a bench and having him sit, talking to him as the crowd of ten, twelve, comes closer.

With great effort, he is able to calm down and to convince the cop that he is all right, that he’s sorry, that he won’t be shouting anymore, that he will rest a few minutes and then walk to his workplace. The cop asks the crowd to move on and most of them do, only a few linger, and then only one, a woman somewhere in her mid-seventies. Ben sits there breathing and noticing how she stares at him, and now walks close to him.

“I don’t listen to them anymore,” she says.

Ben, shocked, stares at her as she goes on. “We just have to stop listening. Can I sit down?” He is still staring, but he nods and she sits. They look at each other a long while. “It’s OUR life, not theirs” she says. “Understand?” Ben slowly nods and finally speaks to her, his voice breaking. “Who are they?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I used to think…angels? Then maybe devils, then nobody at all. Maybe I was doing it, but…. I just don’t know. I just know we have to stop listening.”

Ben is nearly in tears now, asking “How…will we know what choice to make?” and she stares deeply and says, “Usually it’s the hardest one, the one that takes the most courage, the scariest one.” In a moment Ben sniffles, and nods. When he returns to work, he finds that they are ready to move his office to the larger one that was promised, and he spends the day moving – and watching for Emily Woo. He sees her once and nods and she gives him one of her smiles, one of her best.

The next day he comes to work in one of his new suits and enters his new office. It’s only one office away from the boss. He tries to look busy, but he’s watching the hallway, watching for Emily so he can seem to be just stepping out as she passes, and he can ask her inside to show her his new space, and he can ask her…really ask her to have dinner, make the choice and take the chance – and there she is, walking down the hallway. But the boss is with her, his hand lightly on her shoulder as they talk, smile, and move toward the boss’s office and enter.

Ben stands there, pinned as if shot with an arrow. He wants to retreat, but can’t move. He keeps staring at the boss’s closed door, tries to will her out of there, hoping, and, in two and a half minutes, the door opens again. The boss holds it open for Emily, both of them smiling. Ben doesn’t hear their words, but sees that the boss’s hand is now on Emily’s waist, just lightly there, and, as Emily steps out the doorway, the boss, who can’t be seen by anyone in the hall, drops his hand down to Emily’s ass.

Three things happen. Emily, surprised, turns quickly to the boss. The boss smiles, winks and closes the door. Ben steps deeper inside his office, rattled, hurt, disappointed, afraid to be seen. He knows she’ll be walking by his open door soon. He should sit at his desk. He should…. But she doesn’t pass his door and he can’t help himself. He peeks down the hall.

Emily is still standing at the door to the boss’s office, standing still, then she turns quickly and walks away, and Ben sees that she is upset and angry, shaken even. He steps back so she won’t see him, so he won’t be involved, so he won’t get in trouble with his boss and lose his position, so he won’t…. Emily walks past his office, her eyes intense, her jaw shaking. He hears her steps moving further away, and he suddenly knows what to do, all by himself. It’s the scariest thing.

He hurries out of his office and catches up to her. “Emily?” She turns to him, eyes moist, chin rigid and she says, “Can’t talk now, Ben” as she walks on, but he calls after her. “Emily, I saw that.” She stops. She turns to him. He nods, walks close to her. “What he did?” she asks, and Ben nods. She stares and then says, “I’m going to HR now, Ben. I might get fired, but….”

“Tell them I saw it,” Ben says. “Tell them I’m a witness.”

“Are you sure,” she asks, and he nods, and she smiles as best she can, and he basks in that smile, and she walks on.

The rest of the morning is calamitous: accusations and denials and statements to sign, but at the end of it, Ben feels good, actually very good. The future is in doubt, but, then, that’s the thing about the future. It’s always in doubt. He’s walking in the park now before leaving to go home, hoping to see the woman he spoke to on the bench and to thank her, but he doesn’t see her and now he’s just walking aimlessly, at an easy pace, when a teenage boy on a skateboard rattles toward him down the lane, coming very close, brushing past him and saying these words…

“Good Choice.”

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