Jules hadn’t spoken to Cort since the night of the play. He really felt he was within his rights to leave that night. The little man, he thought, didn’t seem as bothered by it as she made out. She was being dramatic as usual, Cort thought. And she had to know she went too far with that play since he heard the whole place emptied before it was over. Cort was getting tired. Tired of constantly justifying his actions to almost everyone. No, he thought, as of late it was everyone. His boss, the board, the new mayor, the developer, and his wife. Even Ted was getting to him and he never took him seriously. Last time they talked Cort had to justify his very existence. Ted was getting himself born-again, again, or something. Well, he remembered, he took care of that conversation. He told Ted to justify his girlfriend and then get back to him. And since that morning at Hugo’s, Ted had not accomplished either. Cort thought he might have lost a friend, so to speak. He actually feared he had.
Cort placed his order through the Sonic speaker and turned his engine off. As he waited for his number two burger, with it’s extra onions, he thought his salvation through. He would run the ITC approval through immediately, and Ted would then follow suit. Then papers would be served to Elijah. He gave him fair warning, he didn’t have to. And the golf course deal would just be another cash cow to manage. Then he would change. He would make his yard into the hanging gardens of Babylon. Never miss a game, and show up to every play Jules put on and not care how stupid it was. With the promotion he could take real vacations, out-of-state ones. Maybe they would go all the way to Disney world, definitely to Disney World. He was just pulling out of his spot when his cell phone rang. It was Ted. He never answered those before. Was never sure why Ted kept trying, but he did. For Cort, work had been cold and so was his house. Suddenly it seemed to him a good idea to chat with Ted. To hear a voice, even an annoying one, seemed needful somehow. He pulled his car out of the way and parked next to Sonic’s dumpster. He called Ted back.
“Hey, Ted. What’s up.” Cort faked enthusiasm. He caught himself, chastised himself. He felt he was faking just about every thing he did and said lately. For just a brief moment he found himself wondering if the man on the other end of the line was better than him. Ted’s voice, and all it represented to him, helped him erase that thought.
“You read the paper?” Ted asked almost demanding, yet with fright.
“Sometimes. Why?”
“No. Did you read it this morning?”
“No, Ted, I didn’t read the paper this morning. Are we at war with Midwest City or something?” He was glad he called Ted back. He was starting to feel better. Cort felt the world start to right itself as his sarcasm took hold, took control.
“Okay. Get the Times. Page three. Call me back.” Ted said and hung up.
Cort could not believe that Ted just gave him instructions. That Ted simply hung up on him. Now nothing made sense again. He looked up at the dumpster through his windshield. This was more dramatic than even Jules would come up with. Read the paper. Hang up on me, he thought. Well, he wasn’t going to be in this weird play. He wasn’t going to read the paper. It wasn’t normal and he wanted normal. He called a client in Spindle and asked if they might could meet sooner. She agreed and he drove to met her at a convenience store off Mustang Road. She had a revised business plan to show him and he was going to approve it. Then he was going to process it. And then he was going to go home and do what he could to get Jules to say hello. Say something.
The woman was already there when Cort arrived at the store. She looked very nervous. It seemed to him that she was avoiding eye contact with him. This made Cort feel better. Someone, and because of him, was going to go home happy today. He had already had the loan papers faxed to his car and listed the account as open. But she probably had been up all night preparing for their meeting, he thought, probably nervous that the schedule changed. He would give her time, respectfully, to at least introduce her revised plan. Cort had not even completely sat down when she started in talking.
“Mr. Johnson. I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t tell you over the phone. You have been so nice to me.” Again avoiding his look.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know it is all just a mistake. That it will all get cleared up. But the investors, they’re just in a hurry.” She said.
“Really, I’m sorry. I just don’t...is there some sort of problem?”
“Well, they just really pushed for Central Bank. And they came through this morning.”
“Oh. That’s okay. I really thought we had a better rate, but that’s okay. Can I ask what they came in at?”
“Well, not much higher.” she said as she stood to leave. She so obviously wanted to leave.
“Higher? I really don’t understand.” Cort said.
“They just felt, you know. They are just in a big hurry, that’s all. I really need to get over there, to Central. I really am sorry you had to drive over. It’s just hard for me. I’m sorry.” She was determined to leave.
“That’s okay. Really.” Cort replied as she walked out.
Cort sat for nearly thirty minutes without a thought. Eventually, mechanically, he walked over and poured himself a coffee. He stopped by the newspaper rack on his way back to the table. Why not, he thought. He picked up the Times with the feeling he might read his horoscope. Why not, he thought.
He avoided the third page for the longest time. Reading the editorial, he realized that he had no real opinion about anything discussed. Cort didn’t read the paper, ever. He didn’t care about news much. He considered himself pretty much above politics. Finally, he felt like just updating this account, this almost account, and going home. Cort turned to page three and began to read. There was mention of the Willow Springs Industrial Trust Committee. The piece mentioned a Mr. Cort Johnson. Something about their buying land for pennies on the dollar, selling the land back to companies at fair market value. About their being a possible separate LLC in place that held the gains. Then more mention of Cort Johnson. The words County Commissioner and investigation leaped off the page. A word about a proposed war memorial that never seemed to materialize. And again another mention of a board member by the name of Cort Johnson. And none of it was true. It was tastier, more suspicious. The article was better than true.
An hour later Cort was still sitting at the little table crowded by the candy isle and surrounded by stacks cheap beer. He was just staring at his empty Styrofoam cup turning around and around in his hands. The kid behind the counter at the gas station walked over to clean the next table. Cort moved his eyes just then to study him and noticed that it was already clean.
“That table doesn’t need cleaning.” Cort snapped.
“What? Oh. Just staying busy.” The boy replied.
“You staying busy or just a busy-body?”
“What?”
“Nothing. What’s your name?”
“I ain’t no busy-body. It’s just that you don’t answer your phone. It rang like 20 times. You okay?”
Cort turned back to his fascination with the coffee cup. He had never been so at peace in his mind before that day. He couldn’t even think of one thing to worry about or control. He stayed in his bliss for another hour before calling the boy back over.
“You ever wonder what life is all about?” Cort asked.
“No. You want more coffee?”
“Me either. I never wondered, not even once I don’t think. But I know what it is, what it’s all about.” Cort reached into his wallet, pulled out over 300 dollars and gave it to the boy.
“Yeah. I know, it’s about money.” The boy answered uneasily.
“No, son. You keep it. If it’s about money then you got a real problem. I know what life is about without even wondering or asking. Life just decided to tell me today.”
“Really. You ok? I shouldn’t keep this.” He put the money on the table.
“I’m taking off now. And I don’t know if it’s worth two cents to know this now at your age. Or any age, really. Life is about revenge. You know those kids in your school with the nice cars and who don’t work? Their parents became successful to show the world they were really somebody – revenge. And those kids are stealing and drinking and who knows what else to tick their folks off – revenge. When the Kiwanis club guys raise money to get poor kids boots and coats, that’s good, but revenge as well. You starting to see what I mean?”
“I get it.”
“You know, I think you do too.” Cort left the money and cell phone on the table. He kept the coffee cup and walked out without another word. He even completely forgot the boy and their talk; he was wholeheartedly in the moment. He opened the trunk and dropped his laptop bag in before getting into the car. He drove until it got real dark. His mind felt free but he was troubled in parts of himself that he never knew he had. An awful pain came on him but he couldn’t pinpoint where it was. It was hitting him somewhere deep and heavy but somewhere new and unknown. He thought maybe it was his soul. That maybe Jules was right about all that junk and he needed fixing. He remembered the word she used was something like saving. The notion was not so repugnant to him now but also seemed as futile as any idea that existed. He knew life was just about revenge so what was this silly hope she had. Wasn’t it just another crappy burden, another ideal to spend time defending and promoting? But maybe, he thought, just maybe there was some power that caused this hope he knew she had. Maybe even the reason for the joy he had seen her express many times. That weird, other-worldly joy and care for life and people. God, he thought, how she loved people in trouble and in need. He drove back towards the old spot, to the oil well hoping for answers there. He always felt at peace there. Maybe it could ease the pain and the lack of pain he felt. Or didn’t feel. No more, he thought, no more.
The giant loose bolt on the top of the oil well clanged in perfect time to the rise and fall of the pump. The loud rhythm was to Cort like an amplified second hand of a giant clock. A never-ending time piece. He thought how nothing was that way though, nothing really lasted forever. Just some things seemed to go on and on. Cort realized that this was nothing like the movies. He always thought the guy standing high on the sky-scraper ledge was trying to build up the courage to jump. But he knew in that moment they really needed the courage to not jump. He paced around the well searching his memory for a word or an image. Something, anything. Nothing.
The same paper that exacted revenge on him would soon redeem themselves the next morning. It was a follow-up story on page six and this time it was factual. They wrote about Willow Springs and the man Cort Johnson that didn’t go home the previous evening. How he was found on oil company property sitting leaned up against the base of a natural gas well. And how the .45 caliber handgun was licensed to him.
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