Chances Aren't Read online

  Lying in bed, I'm trying to decide how to spend my first morning as a bachelor elect. Should I jerk off in this quiet house? I could really do it up right, watch a little Internet porn, break out the good lube and I could even do it in any room I choose without worrying about being discovered. With my head pounding from my night of drinking, I come to the conclusion that I'm much too exhausted and decide to take a rain check.

  It's 7:12 a.m. and if I was a normal person I'd still be asleep, but I get up early no matter what. It's a curse and I'd give anything to be able to sleep late. Suddenly I remember that it's Wednesday, not a national holiday and sadly I'm not independently wealthy so I need to get my ass to work. I forgot to set the alarm, so I'm already late. After popping up out of bed a little too quickly, I grasp my head, pausing a moment before I slowly make my way to the bathroom.

  Stripping out of my boxer shorts, I turn on the shower and step in front of the mirror to study my naked body. If it was even possible, now I feel worse. My thinning hair looks like crap, I don't care what anyone says, nothing ages you faster than going bald. Other than Bruce Willis, there isn't another guy on the planet who can pull off this shiny head thing and not look like an old man. I haven't shaved in a few days, but in the interest of time and laziness, I'll have to push that off at least one more. I turn to the side and cringe at the sight of my semi-pouch of a belly. I once, a long time ago, sported a respectable four pack, but now I'm all out and desperately in need of a consistent workout regimen. I'm only about twenty pounds over where I should be, but it all settles in the worst possible places— my stomach and my ass. After last night's pasta and beer party, I don’t want to know how far over my target weight of one hundred fifty pounds I actually am. To save myself from more bad news, I'll skip climbing on the scale today. I mention that as if I check my weight with some regularity, which is laughable.

  I wasn't blessed with broad shoulders, but instead cursed with wide hips, so the extra poundage around the middle is emphasized by my already pathetically challenged and unforgiving frame making matters much, much worse. Thank God I at least have some decent biceps, probably from all that chronic masturbating, but if I'm to get back out on the market, I've got to address all those other issues before I do. After one last look, I shake my head in disgust before heading under the water. Once I'm dressed, I pack my gym back with every intention of slipping away during lunch to break a sweat.

  During my hour-long commute, I'm struggling to stay focused as I drive on these mostly empty back country roads. I'm a mid-level manager in one of the information technology groups at a mid-sized Lawn and Garden Wholesale Distributor. Not the sexiest of professions, but it pays the bills. I oversee data flowing in and out to our customers as they order things like bags of mulch, shovels, garden hoses and Japanese beetle traps. It's not like I expected a career featuring red carpets and A-list parties, but come on, it could be slightly more pulse quickening.

  At work, I settle down in front of my computer and open my email hopeful that no disasters await me. I'm pleasantly surprised to find nothing of concern. Heading to the hot water dispenser, I pray it can produce enough for a cup of tea. It's attached to this ancient coffee maker piece of crap that definitely has some issues, but for some reason we never can get a repair guy to fix. The same model runs fine downstairs and produces scalding hot water, barely needing any time to recover. Ours will produce one eight ounce cup before needing a full fifteen minutes to get back up to a temperature just north of tepid.

  My cup of water isn’t up to the challenge, so I curse under my breath as I head to the water fountain and pour it away before returning to my desk. I'd trek all the way downstairs, but my head is still pounding. I dive into a minor task for this mindless and mostly unnecessary project we've been working on for just over seven years. That's right, seven years. Ninety five percent of the time it's been on hold for one reason or another, but somehow at the most inopportune time it always rises to the surface and becomes a priority again. And that's just until something else comes along and we're ordered to push it aside. I'm pretty sure when I finally retire, they'll all still be working on it, but for now, it is back on my plate. I push the files to our test system, do a quick review of the data and fire off an email to the project team. The ball's in someone else's court now. Mocking the whole process, I keep my sanity by wiping my finger across my brow and making a noise as if what I just did was somehow taxing.

  Returning to the hot water dispenser, I get lucky and my cup steams barely enough to brew my tea to drinkability. I take a sip then start to tackle my email inbox. My boss Greg Mathews walks past my door, briefcase in hand and says good morning. He's in his early sixties and has been married for more than forty years. He joined the company before he was married and was promoted to director about fifteen years ago. He has told me he's retiring in two years at least seven times over the last ten and frankly I'm getting sick of hearing it. In fact, the last time he told me, about six months ago, I put a reminder in my Outlook calendar for the exact date two years out in the future. In some ways it's the bright spot that keeps me going. I can't wait for the day it pops up on my desktop and I share this nugget with him. I wish I had thought to store the date three or four announcements ago.

  He's also been telling me he's grooming me to take over his position when he leaves. Don't get me wrong, I don't really want him to go because if I do get his job, I really might have to kill myself. All he does is go to meetings and nod his head at the appropriate intervals as he pretends to be paying attention. All his remaining time in the building is spent bullshitting with the ten people who report to him, listening to talk radio and surfing the Internet in his office.

  He's incredibly upbeat and maybe just a tad flaky but I love the guy. He once was reprimanded by his boss for announcing his ground breaking liberal vacation policy. His policy stated that if you're taking a vacation day and happen to receive a support call from work, that even if it only takes ten minutes to complete, you should record the day as a full work day instead of vacation. Our group universally applauded this, since we all have had occasion to be interrupted while taking much deserved time away, but I'll admit it goes a bit far. Maybe there is some happy medium to be worked out there, but none has yet to be formally approved.

  He pops his head into my office and cheerily says, "Do you know what today is?"

  I give him a confused look. "No."

  "My birthday."

  "Happy Birthday. How old?"

  "Sixty two." He plops down in a chair in front of me and smiles.

  "Wow."

  "How do you do it?" I ask.

  "Do what?"

  "You are always happy."

  "It is my birthday."

  "No, you’re like this every day. You're either on some amazing drugs or maybe are having much more than your fair share of sex."

  He flashes me a smile. "Well, it is my birthday if you know what I mean."

  "Oh, gotcha."

  His smile fades as he mutters, "If only it was my birthday every day."

  "What?"

  "Oh, nothing," he says and suddenly his smile reappears somehow even brighter than before. "Hey, when I retire in two years you'll be this happy too."

  Okay, that's number eight.

  "I know…" Struggling to hold back my chuckle, I curl my lip. "I'm looking forward to that."

  I bring my closed fist to my mouth to hide my smile as I reach for my keyboard itching to show him the outlook calendar entry documenting his last announced retirement date. I can hold out with the knowledge that the reveal will carry so much more weight eighteen months from now. "I was thinking of taking Tuesday off next week. Do you see any—"

  "Take off Wednesday too."

  I smile. He's such a refreshing change from the first boss I worked under here. That lady would sneer at you no matter how far in advance you asked for time off. God, I love this guy.

  "No, Tuesday is all I need."

  "Are you sure?"


  "Thanks, but yeah."

  Suddenly serious, he says, "Hey, remember we have that meeting in Washington tomorrow. I'll meet you here at 8:30."

  "I haven't forgotten."

  He looks me over seemingly with concern. "You okay?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "I don't know. You just look tired."

  "I didn't sleep much last night."

  "Everything all right at home?"

  "Oh, yeah it's great," I lie.

  "Good, you know what I always say a happy wife equals a happy life."

  "Don't I know it." I paint on a happy face.

  Rising from his chair, he heads for the door. "Make sure you don't miss my cake at lunch. Becky is bringing in her famous red velvet."

  "I'll be there." I say cheerily, even though I absolutely hate red velvet cake. What the hell is it anyway? It kinda tastes like chocolate cake loaded with lots of deadly red dye in it. I mean, why do people like it?

  A pop up appears on my PC screen. It's for a project meeting that's starting in fifteen minutes, but it's in building one and will take me just about that long to get there. Grabbing my planner and a pen, I head off through the warehouse.

  The meeting is short and uneventful and when I arrive back at my desk, I have a voice mail waiting in my synchronized email inbox. Ah technology is amazing. Now I don't actually need to go through the absolute nightmare of hitting a few buttons on my phone, I can simply click twice in my email box and the message plays. Wow, what will I do with those four seconds I'll save? After giggling out loud at my own warped sense of sarcastic humor, I recognize the number as Emily's from her office, open up the message and press play. Emily's voice booms loudly out of my computer speaker.

  Ben, it's me. Laurie from work, um, her sister is a— what? Oh, yeah ok... look sorry, I'm late for a meeting. I'll call you back.

  I stare at the screen, dumbfounded. Her sister is a— a, a, an amazingly sexy woman looking to do nothing except please a man and she thinks you're hot. I chuckle... there is no way she's trying to fix me up all ready, hell that would be awkward no matter how far out we go. Her sister is a lawyer and she's going to sue you in divorce court for everything you have, yeah maybe that's it. I delete the message and get back to my exciting job.

  At 11:30, I head out to the gym, making my first appearance in a little over a month. I suffer through my fifteen minutes of stretching and core stomach and back exercises, ten minutes of cardio followed by twenty minutes of pretty hard core circuit weight training which keeps my heart rate up just enough and spare me from logging a real stretch of cardio, which I absolutely despise.

  After showering, I return to the office just as the crowd is gathering for Greg's birthday celebration. Years ago I became the unofficial corporate newsletter photographer, tasked with capturing all the important moments in the company's history, so I use my iPhone to shoot a few pictures of him opening presents and cutting the cake.

  I'm not in the mood to socialize, so I slip into my office with my slice and take one small bite before hiding the remnants at the bottom of my trash can. I work the rest of the day without receiving a follow up call from Emily, but I don't bother calling her back. I figure she said she would call and if it was truly important, she would.

  An urgent issue materializes in one of our production systems and it occupies what's left of my work day, making it fly by quickly. Wrapping it up just after five, I ensure all is well before heading out of the building.

  Chapter 3

  I arrive home at just after six and find two cars in the driveway— Emily's and another one I don't recognize. My first irrational thought is that Emily is there having sex with some guy with amazingly fertile super sperm. For a moment I consider driving away and returning hours later, but instead I go inside.

  Walking through the kitchen, I discover Emily and a woman wearing a pant suit standing outside in our relatively new outdoor kitchen area looking over our overpriced in-ground pool. Both unnecessary improvements we rarely use and were added to the house to fill the childless voids in our lives. I've heard kids can be expensive, but filling voids can't be that much cheaper, trust me.

  I head through the patio door and Emily spots me. "Hey."

  "What's going on?" I ask.

  "Diana, this is my, uh, this is Ben."

  Diana powers over with her hand extended— all six feet of her. "Ben, good to meet you."

  I narrow my eyes at her, confused. "Yes, um, nice to meet you. Emily, what's going on?"

  "I told you." Emily gives me another one of her disappointed looks.

  I fucking hate her looks. I take a deep calming breath before replying with forced cheer, "Told me what?"

  "Laurie's sister is a real estate agent."

  "You didn't tell me. You started to leave me a message, but—"

  "Sorry," Emily says. "I got side tracked at work and thought... anyway, I think we should sell the house."

  "Um, I'd love to, but we've got to owe more on it than it's worth."

  "The market is starting to come back," Diana says as she runs her hands along the counter top. "Nice granite. Did you pick this, Emily?"

  "Yes."

  "How much did you spend on improvements out here?"

  Emily looks toward me wide eyed as Diana turns her attention to me as well.

  "Um, let's see, the pool she had to have was, with the fencing and landscaping… about eighty… plus the kitchen, outdoor fireplace and all this." I point up to the covered extension area. "Seventy, um about one fifty total."

  "Well, it's lovely," Diana says, smiling.

  "So how much value does this add to our house?" Emily asks.

  The sharply dressed Amazonian real estate agent pauses a moment studying the area. "Forty… maybe forty five."

  "What?" Emily asks, shocked.

  "A pool only adds maybe fifteen to twenty and all the rest another twenty five or so. But it's gorgeous."

  "Yeah, thanks," I say rolling my eyes.

  Suddenly looking concerned, Emily asks, "Ben, how much do we owe?"

  "The first mortgage is four twenty and the second is about one twenty five and the credit line it a little over sixty, I think."

  Diana's eyes bug out of her head. "Six hundred, that's, uh—"

  Emily scoffs. "How do we owe that much? How did you let that happen?"

  "Me?" I ask, perplexed.

  "I knew about the second mortgage, but what is that credit line?"

  "Remember the cruise, oh and your Lexus. We also consolidated our credit card debt."

  "This doesn't make any sense." Emily shakes her head and sighs. "Diana, so what do you think we can get for it?"

  "You could move it pretty quickly at four fifty… it's probably worth closer to five hundred, but it could take nine months or more to sell at that price."

  "We want to sell it quickly." Emily announces.

  I scoff. "Hold on a second, there's no way I—"

  "I think I know a couple looking for a five bedroom like this." Diana bulldozes over me heading toward the pool. "Is that a salt system?"

  "Great…" I put on a fake smile. "So, I just bring a check for a hundred fifty to the closing table and we can sell it, right?"

  Diana glances back and says authoritatively, "Uh, more like one eighty."

  "What?" My jaw drops, flabbergasted.

  "Commissions and closing costs."

  "Oh, I forgot about those," I say. I see Diana typing into her smart phone, so I turn and give Emily a bug-eyed look.

  Glaring, Emily swats her hand at me and mouths 'stop!'

  I raise my hands as if to say, 'what did I do.'

  "I'd like to take some more pictures of the bathroom." Diana looks to Emily.

  "Oh, sure. Go right ahead."

  Diana heads past us toward the house sporting her super high heels, which snap loudly against the patio and make her even more unnecessarily tall. After she's safely out of ear shot, Emily glares at me. "Stop being rude."

  "What am I doin
g?"

  "You know what!"

  "I don't."

  She gives me a tired look. "Nevermind."

  "Why all of a sudden are you selling the house?"

  "I can’t take living with my parents."

  I scoff. "You've been there one night."

  "And that's enough. All they do is fight. My father is crazy and… you know how it is being around those two."

  "Yeah." I nod in agreement. "But you know we can't sell the house right now. Maybe in five years or something."

  "How about I let you have it and I'll—"

  "Oh, that's so nice. I get the house and you get to take your name off of it. Are you going to give me seventy five thousand… sorry, ninety thousand to buy me out?"

  "No, I'll just sign it over to you."

  "I appreciate that…" I close my eyes and sigh. "But I can't make the payments on my salary alone."

  "You can't?" She gives me a look like she smells something foul.

  "No, I'm sorry my career is a crushing disappointment to you." Rolling my eyes, I look away from her.

  She ignores my remark and says, "There has to be something we can do."

  I don’t reply and instead focus on our beautiful, sun shade arbor that we added to the outdoor plan at the last minute. I try to remember exactly what that set us back.

  "What about renting it?" She asks.