The Key

The phone rang.

I didn't want to answer it. I'd just sat down for the evening and was absently releasing my mind to the pleasant oblivion of the evening. Before I could think, my body was up and moving against my will, and better judgment, toward the ringing like sailor to a siren song.

I answered. "Hello?"

On the other end was a voice I hadn't heard in nearly a decade.

"Your services are required," were the only words I heard before the subtle silence of the dead line.

I knew there would be no other instruction. I also knew now that my choices were limited. A moment ago, I had the world before me. Tomorrow I could choose to anything I wanted. Now my road of volition was narrowing before my eyes. A storm had come up quickly, interrupting the quiet end to my day, my solitude, my reflection.

"Your services are required."

The words slipped without effort into my subconscious, a key releasing the tumblers in my head into their perfectly engraved spaces, obediently responding to their master and setting into motion a chain of events that I momentarily pretended that I would be able to control. I felt myself struggling against what had just happened. It was not real. It's the wine playing with you. You've imagined it. You've concocted the scenario that you've always feared.

But really, I knew better. Denial was giving way to reality and I was beginning to formulate action. If only I hadn't picked up the phone. If only I'd been a bit more cautious, if only I had enough experience to know what I was getting into then...

The Man was dressed in light colored spring clothes. Short khaki's, deck shoes and a collared seersucker shirt that made him look like he was on holiday in the Bahamas. His face was all smile and sunglasses.

He matched my mood. I was king of the world then. A newly minted, self made, career man, I'd fallen into a bit of luck with a job that I hadn't deserved, but had deftly steered through the pitfalls and convinced everyone in that small office I could be trusted with big clients, in charge of people, in charge of money. I traveled to exotic places and struck deals that I'd imagined were reserved for sages of business seasoned by years as an underling. I went from penniless to powerful. And quickly. I was inflated with the air of success I could never have dreamed of. I could do anything.

He approached me and appealed to my youthful swagger. He'd heard about me. How? It didn't matter much to me, my name was being bandied about town and now I was in demand. He knew my background and convinced me that my flexibility and ability to adapt would be absolutely necessary in his new venture. The money wasn't great, but it would be a challenge. It would be elite. Not many had done this kind of work before.

I'd made myself once, I could do it again. I could do anything. I told myself these things and believed. I committed to the sunglasses and the smile. Perhaps because I wasn't sure if what I'd built could last, but I traded it all for something shiny, new and full of promise. The chance to prove myself again. But it had gone so unimaginably wrong. So, so wrong. Now it had begun again and I knew I was powerless to stop it.