1 CHAPTER 1

Blake Wilson; a man of thirty-two, his girlfriend; Joanna, and her younger brother of twenty-one; Olly, are having breakfast in this their run down, hardly ever tidy apartment in Skid Row, Los Angeles. Blake and Joanna are dressed for work; He's a Junior editor in a book publishing house, while she's a secretary somewhere else. Olly's dressed for classes at college, his backpack hangs on his chair. He's a Computer Science undergrad at UCLA; There on a merit scholarship. Although, he wishes he could get more girls … or just one, even.

Joanna sees Blake look at his watch, yet again. "It's the third time you checked the time since you sat. What are you so anxious about?"

"Show-up time at the office is now 7:30. As if 8 O'clock wasn't bad enough. The new management's coming in today, and they're already making changes before even getting here. Bunch of Jerks."

"Whoa! New management!" says Olly. "I just hope you don't get downsized, bro. That's usually what happens when there's," he does air quotes: "new management."

"Damn, he's right, honey," says Joanna. "It's happened to us. When the place our dad--God rest his soul--used to work got 'new management', he was outta the job so fast he still had a full two week subscription for the bus to work."

"That why he shot himself?" Abie, the girl … or woman(age 34) next door, calls in from outside the front door.

"Screw you," Joanna calls back.

A moment of silence as Blake ponders downsizement… Then, "Look, no one's getting downsized, okay? Something like that 'bout to happen at the office, I'll be one of the first to know. I'm an editor, guys. Nothing gets past the editors. We're the final step in every process. We edit everything."

Olly chuckles. "Then I guess you'll be editing your own termination letter."

They chuckle.

Joanna looks at the wall clock. "Well you better haul ass coz it's already 7:10. You don't want them using you to set an example."

"Yeah, I better get going." He takes the last bite of his sandwich, downs the coffee, gets up, and straightens his attire. "Please help me with the dishes, honey. I'm running late."

"Olly'll get 'em," Olly winces, "his classes don't start till 8:30," says Joanna.

"I'm not good with dishes, man."

"Rise above it, son," Blake teases, "You're a special special boy. Just put your mind to it and concentrate. There's so much you could do,"

"Get a dishwasher, man," says Olly.

"Maybe after we kicked you out we could afford one."

They chuckle.

"Hey, how about me and my loving sister, Jo, here, kicked you out of our house so that we could afford the dishwasher, then.

More giggles.

Olly continues, "After all, we all know she makes the real money around here."

Blake has to laugh… Or is he feigning?

Olly continues, "And besides, you're getting downsized, bro, so you better start sucking up to her real good, you're gonna need her, man. Hard times ahead."

They giggle.

"He speaks from experience," says Blake.

"Yeah, but good thing now I'm an honors student, eh, eh?"

"Bullshit," says Blake, "you've been in college now for like … 7 years or something."

They giggle.

"Isn't that what you'd like to think? After spending a decade in college," says Olly.

More giggles.

"Baby, you're running late," says Joanna.

"Oh darn, yeah." Blake leans, kissing her goodbye. "Bye, baby."

"Bye, honey."

He now playfully ruffles Olly's hair. "Be good in school today, son."

Olly tries to ward him off. "Not the hair, man."

Blake heads for the door. "Don't poop your pants in college again, son."

"We're having breakfast here goddammit," says Olly.

Blake chuckles, shutting the front door behind him.

"What an ass," says Olly.

"Tell me about it," says Joanna.

Then, the chirping sound of a car key fob gets her attention. "Oh hell no!" She rushes to a window, opens it, sticks her head out and sees Blake about to get in their 2002 Camry. Her glare tightens. "Hey! What are you doing?! It's my turn to take the car!"

Blake feigns surprise; "What! How come?!"

"You had it yesterday, idiot!"

Abie appears, heading to get in the car with Blake. "Blake honey, drop me off at the salon, my hair needs a touch-up."

"Hey, nobody's dropping anybody off. It's my turn with the car."

Blake feigns realization. "Oh yeah! That's right! But I really really need it, baby, I'm running late. I'm sorry, honey, I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Abie makes matters worse. "He loves you, honey, but all you do is whine. There's only so much he can take, you know."

Blake'll rather have her shut up. "Okay, shut up, Abie."

Joanna just glares at them.

"I'm sorry, baby, I'll make it up to you." He blows her a kiss. "I love you. You the best." He and Abie get in the car and zoom off. Joanna's pissed, but she knew how this was probably gonna end.

"Son of a goddamned bitch, Son of a goddamned bitch." She removes herself from the window and shuts it.

"He's a real charmer," Olly teases.

"Shut up and eat your breakfast. Oh I'll get him good for this! I'll get him good!"

"If it's gonna be messy, and disgraceful, just make sure I'm there to watch."

Blake and Abie drive through the busy streets of downtown east side. "You know, I feel bad, Abie. It's not my turn with the car, but I had to take it anyway. Now Jo's gonna have to take the bus cuz I'm running late. It's still my fault. It's totally my fault."

"Naw! Don't beat yourself up. You had to take it, you're running late. She understands."

"I hope she does, I hope she does."

"Plus someone has to gimme a lift. You're going my way, she isn't. She can take the bus."

Blake giggles. "Nicely said"

"But I'm just saying … If we were together and you took the car I was supposed to go to work with, I wouldn't be very pleased too."

"Yeah, but here you are, doing it to someone else. Why shouldn't it happen to you?"

"I ain't got no car … Okay, I admit I'd be wrong if Jo didn't owe me one."

"Why's she owe you one?"

"I don't remember exactly, but it's registered in my mind that she does. You too."

"Nice way to live, says Blake."

"Whatever," says Abie. A moment of silence. Abie sees that Blake's really sad about what he's done to Joanna. But why won't he just turn around and go give the car back to Joanna. The rightful possessor. A really twisted man he is. "Okay, I admit it, You were wrong … and I was also kinda wrong for encouraging you, but come on, we do stuff like this to each other all the time. Joanna's the queen of stuff like this. She'll live."

"We took it too far this time, Abs, we took it too far."

"You took it too far. If I had known the whole thing was this serious, I woulda asked you to leave the car to her at once. But you were there huffing and puffing, and I thought it's just one of those things, you know, where you guys have a shouting match, for fun. Joanna herself didn't help in showing just how serious it was."

"She did, Abie, she did. Didn't you see how pissed she was?"

"Joanna … JoJo … J-bae, pissed?! Come on, she couldn't look pissed if I pissed on her."

Blake sighs. "That would be something, Abs."

Abie herself sighs. "It would, wouldn't it."

They both sigh again. A moment of silence.

"Hey, if it's that bad, after you dropped me off, you should turn around and go give her back the car."

"She's probably already took the bus to work, Abie."

"Then drive to her office and go make amends."

Blake contemplates this a moment… A sigh. "I can't take this car to her office, Abie. The same car she was supposed take to the office, that'll make matters worse. I'll look like a psycho."

"Then, what are we saying here? says Abie. "What has this whole thing escalated to?"

Blake's extremely pensive. "Abie, you know, I try, I try to be a good boyfriend, a good partner … a good lover." He's almost in tears.

"Awn, it's okay, I know you, Blake Wilson, and all things put together, you are a good man." She says this putting a puts a condolent hand on his thigh and looking him in the eyes. Blake looks down at the hand, then in her eyes, trying to focus on driving the car. He knows she only means well… Or does she?

No! Not anymore! I can't be that kinda guy anymore. "Thank you, Abie," he solemnly and gratefully says.

"You're welcome." She smiles, taking her hand off his thigh. "Here's my stop," she motions to the beauty salon ahead. Blake pulls over there. "You're alright, dude. Don't beat yourself up!"

"Okay."

"Buh bye."

"Bye."

Abie gets out of the car, and Blake drives away. Four minutes later, he arrives at Prowse Publishing, his workplace. It's a three-story detached single-unit office building with a lot of outside space, no one has to worry about not finding a parking spot. The parking lot is just excessively huge, it makes you think, once upon a time, the place was a car dealership. Prowse Publishing specializes in novels, and Blake being an editor there thinks the job isn't so bad. After all, most of the time it's really interesting and fantastic. He parks the car in the lot. As he walks to the entrance of the building, through the glass double doors, he sees his colleague, Josh, carrying a cardboard box, and heading for the exit. It hits him heavy. This doesn't look right. He pushes the door open, gets in the lobby, meets Josh, and looks in the cardboard box. As feared, it's Josh's personal effects in the box.

"Josh, what are you doing? Why are you carrying your stuff out?" Blake asks worriedly.

"Take a guess, man," says Josh.

"You got fired for sexual harassment?"

"I wish. Then at least, I'd be going with the satisfaction that I got something from this damn place. Got downsized, bruh."

"No! No! No! No! No! … And why are you so chill about it?"

"Ah, it's okay. I was gonna leave anyway. The job was boring me to death. I'm gonna work in entertainment now, I have connections"

"What kinda entertainment?" Blake asks.

"Adult entertainment. Porn to be exact."

"Oh. Josh doing porn? I dunno if I see it, man."

"Whoa whoa whoa, I didn't say I'm gonna be one of the ones fooling around, I'm gonna be on the production side."

"Oh, that suits you, man, congrats."

"Thanks, man, but that don't mean I won't step into the action every once in a while."

"Of course you will, who won't?" says Blake.

"Yeah,"

"But I didn't know you had connections in the adult industry."

"It never came up. It's my uncle, well, he and his wife, they own major shares at DLF."

"Wow, that's nice. Just don't forget a little guy like me when you've made it big."

"I won't, man. And if you get cut off too, just give me a call. I'm sure we can find something for someone like you at DLF."

"Wow, thanks, man. I think I might just switch jobs automatically."

"You know how to reach me," says Josh.

"Yeah, man." Blake now gives his friend a hug, solemn. "I'll miss you, man."

"Likewise, bro."

"Keep in touch?"

"Oh you know I will."

"Take care, man."

"You too, bro." Josh continues out the exit, while Blake heads through the lobby where he walks by the receptionist, Janet, a pretty, tall, slender, shapely woman of twenty-four. Her looks probably played a major role in getting her the job. After all, potential clients will have good incentive if they knew they're gonna be seeing and greeting someone so beautiful on their visits. Blake himself thinks, at any rate, she's good for his work morale.

"Hi, Janet."

"Hi, Blake, they're downsizing."

"So I hear. I hope someway somehow you keep your job, you know how these things work; Last in first out."

"No, I'm not going anywhere, Blake. You, probably. Me, definitely not."

"How d'you figure? Blake asks. "Giving them something besides diligence?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that. But I can confirm I saw your name in a certain list…"

Blake turns sharply, facing her, trying to play it cool, feigning a smile. "You ain't got squat."

"Maybe I don't, but what are the odds? Josh went, how much more you?"

"Yeah, you're right! Well only time will tell. Wish me luck." He heads for the office.

"Good luck, man, I really would hate to see you go. You're one of the fun ones."

"Thanks, Jane."

He walks into the open offices area, meeting a cacophony of anxiety and panic. He gets to his desk.

"Hey, Sam," he regards his desk neighbor.

"Dude, you won't believe this, man! People are getting fired like they wanna cut the place in half or something! They're total sadists. They make you think you're fired, then tell you you can stay, and make you feel like you're good to stay, but you're totally fired. I nearly died in there," he motions to the office where the employees are being grilled by the new bosses.

"You're retained?" Blake asks.

"I am, bro. It's crazy, isn't it? Of all people to retain, it is I; I that hardly knows what he's doing here."

"Come on, man," says Blake, "don't sell yourself short, you're doing a pretty good job here."

"Yeah, when I'm guessing, but can I go through life like that though?"

"Hey, if it's your thing, then, better still."

"Yeah, man. I really hope you're retained as well, bro. I dunno how I'd survive here without you, man."

"I'm not going anywhere, bro," Blake's quite confident. "I've given this company 5 years of my life. They can't just kick me out for nothing."

"Yeah man, but these new guys are crazy though. They change show-up time to 7:30, show up here 7 O'clock and start firing people like it's their hobby. And they've even cut the bathroom break to fifteen minutes, isn't that inhumane? All this crap, within the morning of their first day… Might as well quit and go find work elsewhere before I died of stress here."

"If you're gonna quit, do it now so that if I really got kicked out, I might then take your spot."

"Damn, here I am blabbing about my own experience when your own job is still hanging in the balance. I'm sorry, man. I should be more empathic," says Sam.

"Okay, if you say so."

"Hey, 'think you're up," says Sam, motioning to the HR office across the open offices where an employee trudges out with his head bowed, melancholic. She's definitely been downsized. Blake watches with horror. "There goes Elizabeth," says Sam.

"They downsized Elizabeth?!" Blake is shocked.

"I told you they're crazy!"

The new HR manager comes to the doorway: This is Mr. Louis, an obese, balding man of 55, he isn't wearing long sleeves, but short, hard pressed ones with crease lines like the blade of an ax, Blake thinks, Is this how I get cut off?... How can my mind still be playing irony at a time like this? Well, it's a good thing if I'm not terribly worried. Then, Blake notices that the man's undershirt sleeves are slightly sticking out of his short sleeves, and so Blake decides that the man can't be that strict. Mr. Louis calls out to the employees,

"Blake Wilson."

Blake shows a hand and gets up, despite the lump in his throat.

"You're gonna be fine, bro," says Sam.

"That would be something, man, that would be something." Blake and Mr. Louis lock eyes, then Mr. Louis heads back into his office and Blake sheepishly follows, heart pounding like a wrecking ball. He sits across from Mr. Louis at the polished mahogany that seems to reflect his distress, and sees that his personnel file has been set on the table. The HR manager, Mr. Louis, begins flipping through the file, and sipping coffee a bit too loudly. Blake wonders why the loud sipping doesn't bother him, why he's actually enjoying it instead. He's damn sure that if it were a member of his family doing the loud sipping, he'd want to throw the hot coffee in their face. He wonders, 'How come we love our family, but at the same time, it's they we hate the most. No, not "hate," "annoyance," they annoy us the most. Must be because we're used to them … or sick of them. Is that how it's gonna get between me and Joe? Am I eventually gonna get sick of her? Where is the fix in this life? Anyway, my man Mr. Louis, sip it, sip on, keep sipping.'

Mr. Louis now looks up at Blake. "Son, these are difficult times, no doubt about that. The company's hemorrhaging money trying to keep things afloat with the economy in the toilet. We can no longer afford to pay everyone's salary. This shouldn't come as a surprise to you, there were memos." Blake just stares at him, frozen, blank, heart pounding.

Mr. Louis continues, "We're sorry, we gonna have to let you go." Blake bows his head, anguished. "I really am sorry, son. If only things were a bit better.

"Five years, Five years of my life I've given to this company, and this is what I get?! I turned down higher paying offers from competitors because I believe in the work this company does, and this is how it ends?! Wait, are you serious right now?!"

"I'm sorry, son… If you need any references, just ring me up."

"I need my goddamned job!"

Mr. Louis frowns. "Now, son, I know it's hard, but it's no use losing your temper and burning your bridges. You know how many times I myself have been downsized? What did you think, it was never gonna happen to you? Being downsized isn't cause for you to go berserk and pick a fight. If the economy gets better and the company needs to re-expand, who d'you think we're gonna call?"

Blake bows his head, apologetic.

Mr. Louis continues, "Or if you needed references…"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir."

Mr. Louis takes a letter envelope and offers it to a distressed Blake.

"What's this, termination bonus?" Blake asks as he takes it.

"What? It's your termination letter."

"The fuck am I supposed to do with that?!" Blake let's the letter drop from his hand.

Mr. Louis frowns, staring at him. Blake cannot hold his glare, his eyes waver in partial regret, but he really is pissed.

Sam, watching Blake and Mr. Louis' proceedings through the glass wall of the office, and despite not hearing anything at all of what's being said, knows for a fact that his good friend, Blake, is a goner for sure.

Blake storms out of the office and heads for his desk. Sam receives him with empathy, although, he thinks it's kinda funny that a few minutes ago, Blake was bragging about how he could never get downsized. He almost giggles, but has to stifle it with any thought that would come into his head: Oh, it's the thought of his favorite colleague, Naomi, and how nicely short her skirt is today. But then, a boner ensues. 'At least I can handle the boner, I'm sat, but no one better need me to get up, though. And now I could no longer break into laugh- Goddammit, I shouldn't think about-' He holds his mind on Naomi with the skirt. How lovely. "That did not look good, bro," he says to Blake.

Blake is still in shock by the fact that he's now unemployed, and damn near broke. Come on, he should have seen the signs. The memo, the rumors, the fact that things had been going so well for him this long. But now, he has to live up to reality. "I got downsized, Sam" he says, almost in tears.

And even he knows that Sam will have to feign surprise to be polite. "What?! Tell me you're playing."

"I ain't playing, man," He now motions to the new management offices, "those clowns have gone and decided I should no longer have a job, I should no longer earn an income, despite the fact that I'll still need to eat, to pay bills, to contribute at home ... What the hell is wrong with these people, how could people be this inhumane? How could this happen?" He stares into space a long moment. Sam doesn't know what to say. Blake continues, "I've lost faith in corporate society, bro. Whatever I'm gonna do here on out, I'm gonna do on my own, I'm gonna be my own boss." Blake himself knows the wistfulness of such words, but he had to say it anyway. He had to say something. He can't let himself look hopeless. Though, Sam thinks, 'You're right. The Blake Wilson that I know, become his own boss all of a sudden, or even never of a sudden. That'll be the day.' But he says,

"Yeah, bro. Screw 'em. They don't deserve you."

"Damn straight they don't!" says a frustrated Blake.

The same cardboard box he used to pack in his personal effects Five years ago when he started work here, is what he now has to think about now in his troubled mind because he know he still has the box, under his desk, collapsed down to a flat board, but there's nothing a little Scotch tape won't fix, and he knows he has one in the drawer. The one he borrowed from a colleague and decided to forget to return for his own benefit. If that colleague really needs it, they would ask for it back, and Blake knows he himself needs it, he uses every now and again to tape his books. He asks himself why he kept the cardboard box all these years. Did a part of him know his job wasn't really secure here? No, It's just he's a pathological pack-rat. It's not that he has trouble parting ways with his stuff, but he's just to lazy to give a damn. He takes out the flattened box and tape, and begins mending the box, his hands jittering in the process. Sam and other colleagues can only watch with pity---some, however, enjoy the show, thanking God it ain't them, or thinking it could never be them. The kind of people to think, 'This couldn't possibly happen to me.' Out of false ideals, or they're actually sleeping with someone high up the hierarchy. Blake, having mended the box to a usable extent begins packing his stuff, he picks up a framed portrait of Joanna wondering why she could still be smiling at a time like this. Then, it comes to him that he still has the most important thing in his life; Joanna, and that actually evokes a hint of smile. He stares at his smiling lover, finding solace. She's right. Baby, you're always right. I love you, baby. And you can take care of my broke ass till I find another job. That's if you'll take me back after what I did this morning. Goddammit, wrong time to mess with Jo … I love you, baby. He packs all his stuff, nice and tidy in the box, accepting his ill fate, considering whether in any way, it could be a blessing in disguise; "You're right," he thinks, sarcastic, unbelieving. "Well, this is goodbye." He says to an empathic Sam.

Sam draws him into a hug, sobbing, "I'm gonna miss you, man."

A moment later, Blake, carrying his box of personal effects, and Sam come out into the parking lot of the publishing house. Sam is melancholic and teary, while Blake's just blank; If anything, he feels a little pity for Sam, feeling such pity for him. You'd think Sam's the one got fired, and Blake, the friend seeing him off, or the security man making sure he leaves the premises. Blake has the physique for that, at least, compared to Sam. "It's okay, man, I'm gonna be fine." He says to a sad Sam.

"How can I withstand this place without you?"

"Come on, man, there's Naomi."

"Who's gonna be my wing man."

"Come on, wing men are overrated," says Blake.

"This is just terrible."

"Well, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade."

"True."

Blake puts the box in the trunk of the Camry and shuts it. 'Just another door shut against my strive,' he thinks.

Sam draws him into a tight hug and begins sobbing again. "I'm gonna miss you, man."

"I'll miss you too, bro," says Blake, himself trying not to break into tears. "Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank God I ain't got no damned kids."

Sam sighs relief, "Yeah, kids are just the worst."

"Yeah. So, see you around town?"

"You bet your ass."

Blake gets in the car, and Sam watches him start his departure. His last departure from the office in a five year period. It's something to behold. Both men eye each other, nothing but love and respect, and Blake smiles at his dear friend, who reciprocates amid tears. Blake drives off, and Sam watches him until the car turns a corner, and is completely out of view. He sighs.