Whore.

Chapter 13: Footsie

I considered a course that would cover my intended destinations today, but I was at a loss. Tom's hotel and my bank were two different directions away from Dorian's place, so I had to do a double trip. The final days of the month were here, and as I had no salary to look forward to, I could only hope that the online payments were raking in enough to keep a roof over my head. The taxi inched through the traffic, heading for Tom's hotel. I had decided on sorting everything out this morning, just because I felt the requests would come in later in the day. I drummed my fingers impatiently as I considered my upcoming week. Or two weeks. Two weeks without a single buck to be made. I had offered the idea to Swash anyway, so I had no right to complain. Even though he was the one who overshot my request for whatever reasons he had. The taxi began to move again.

Tom wasn't at all as bad as I had expected him to be. He seemed nice. Maybe it was a facade because he was talking to a stranger. He looked a lot like Jason too, except that he was slightly shorter, significantly slimmer and has a lot more stress lines on his face. Either from his age - he was thirty - or from the responsibilities he carried. His hair was also a different colour: a reddish brown with streaks of what almost looked like red hair. I pondered about why he needed me to get him to the hospital when he could have gone there himself, but I guess he just needed someone to talk to.

"How was he the last time you saw him?"
"Before or after the...incident?" I wanted to say 'stabbing', but it just seemed too tactless. My manners were improving.
"I was thinking about after, but I guess you could tell me both."
"Before the incident, the last time I saw him was at a friend's apartment. He was working." I couldn't add any further details. Tom seemed satisfied with just that and nodded.

"And after?"
"He was sleeping in the intensive care ward. He looked peaceful. The doctor said they had to keep him asleep so his heart won't get overworked."
"That bad?"
"Yeah. But he should be getting better, I guess."

We continued the trip in silence. Every once in a while, Tom's Blackberry beeped and he typed and sent something. He probably brought his work along with him. He noticed me staring at his phone and smiled.

"Oh, just replying some business emails and rescheduling conferences. Boring stuff, really. So...what do you do?"

Bloody hell. This was the conversation I was trying to avoid. I looked away nervously.

"I'm between jobs right now." Simple. Someone once told me that the cleanest lies were the shortest. Can't remember who, but he or she was right.
"What were you before that?"
"Waiter." That was my last real job, not that I saw it as one. Listen to orders, get the orders right, smile and wave at total strangers, take shit from picky guests, sing 'happy birthday' to little kids. I managed to make enough in tips until I got fired. Let's just say I defiled the kitchen environment and was considered more expendable.

"Well, I hope you land something soon. It's tough in this economy."
"Thanks"

The taxi arrived at the hospital and once we got there, Tom took charge. We were ushered into a doctor's office to discuss Jason's condition. Tom asked all the questions and made all the requests and left me hanging around and feeling useless. I had since zoned out of all conversation and I wanted to bail on him, but I didn't want to be rude. After thirty minutes of sitting around and doing nothing, I got fed up.

"Tom, I have to go."
"Why? Don't you want to see Jason?"
"I guess he's okay. I have a couple of errands to run and a job search to resume."
"Oh, sorry. I'm probably taking up your time. Thanks for coming with me. It was a pleasure talking to you."
"It was nice to meet you too. See you around, I guess. How long are you in town for?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow. So much stuff to do at the office. But I'll probably return over the weekend. The wife is going to kill me." He laughed. He looked a little more like Jason when he laughed. Jason was always cheerful.