Primary Termination Read online

  “So, why not get free today? Why not throw all those worries away and become a much happier, anxiety free you? Why not take back control of your life?”

  “Is this for real?” I silently ask myself. “Of course it’s real. You’ve known it’s real for a long time. You just refused to believe it. But now that your own parents believe it, maybe it’s time you did, too.”

  My phone buzzes. The buzz and the vibration that goes along with it means I have a new text message.

  Heart be still . . .

  I pick up the smartphone, gaze at the digital face. It’s from Tony. I open the text. I spot my original text to him.

  Hi there Tony. You’ll never guess who this is.

  His response: I heard you were back in town, Tanya. A little birdie told me.

  My heart feels as if a soft little fluffy puppy has cozied up to it. I wrack my brain for something witty to text back. Oh, crap, just tell the truth and hope he’ll find it witty enough.

  I’m afraid my life has become a bit of a train wreck, Tony. You wouldn’t like me anymore. LOL.

  Nonsense, he writes. The world is changing, and I guess we sort of have to change along with it.

  If you remember, I hate change, Tony Smart, which I guess makes me Tanya Not So Smart.

  Back in the day, Tony used to call me that, as a joke. We’d introduce ourselves as Tony Smart and Tanya Not So Smart, which always elicited a laugh or two. The point of the joke was this: How smart was I if I was hanging out with Tony Smart?

  He writes: And if I remember, you are one of the most stubborn women in the world. Lucky for you, you didn’t ride the Titanic, or you would have gone down with the ship.

  Excellent metaphor, Bestseller, because God knows I’m drowning.

  Let’s talk about it. Meet me for a coffee in the morning, Tan.

  Are you asking or telling?

  Asking, Lady.

  Don’t you have to work on the word count, Bestseller?

  I’m my own boss, Tan. I’m even my own publisher now, which probably makes you want to slap me. I can decide my own hours.

  One eye on the Everest Primary Program on my laptop screen and the other on my text messages.

  Let me guess, Bestseller, you’re also an Everest Primary Program member.

  Hey, I’m a writer. You are, too. Or used to be, anyway. That program was heaven sent for any artist, Tanya. Use it or lose it.

  I’ll be dipped, but he is absolutely right. As an editor, the artist angle of the Everest Primary Program never even dawned on me. Had I been thinking about it as a writer, like my dad suggested while we were out at the park today, I might have put two and two together and signed up ages ago.

  Thanks for that, Tony . . .

  I’m in for coffee, I write. What else do I have to do with my time?

  How about meet me at the Everest Starbucks across from the old Times Union Newspaper building? Ten AM. Wear something sexy and revealing.

  Oh my God, that is so Tony . . .

  Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. How do you know I’m not four- hundred pounds and toothless?

  Ha ha, because one, your mom would have told me, and two, I’ve been keeping up with you and your accomplishments on the web. Oh, and thanks for publishing me, BTW.

  My stomach sinks.

  We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Bestseller. Looks like you didn’t need me in order to conquer the literary world.

  Would have been nice.

  Goodnight, Tony Smart.

  Good night, Tanya Not so Smart. Glad we’re in touch again.

  Is that what we are, back in touch? I suddenly feel lighter than air. And yeah, I certainly hope my new underwear gets here on time. You never know. Setting the phone down, I once again stare at the laptop screen and the Everest Primary Program website. I click on the PDF application form and it comes up for me. There’s a whole bunch of terms and conditions which I skip over (I’m too lazy and way too tired to read the fine print. Who isn’t?). I scroll all the way to the electronic signature portion of the contract.

  In my head, I see my Dad’s face, hear him talking about what a relief it is to not have to worry about money. I see my mom laying out a feast of Everest pot roast and red wine. Very good red wine, I might add. I reread Tony’s text without having to look at it again . . . the one text that’s really hit home.

  Hey, I’m a writer. You are, too. Or used to be, anyway. That program was heaven sent for any artist, Tanya. Use it or lose it.

  Now, if the people I love the most (and used to love the most, in Tony’s case) are signing up for the program, maybe my worries about Primary Program violators disappearing are entirely unfounded and the result of my rather overactive imagination.

  Just do it, Tan . . . live a worry-free life . . .

  Electronically signing the contract application, I thumb the Enter key and send it back to Everest.com.

  “I wonder when I’ll find out if I’ve been accepted or not,” I whisper out loud.

  “You already have been accepted,” says Jacquie. “Congratulations, Tanya. You’re not only debt free, you never have to worry about money again. Just remember to use only Everest products and services exclusively. I hope that you find the Everest Primary Membership Program an enjoyable and satisfactory, stress free life experience.”

  Why am I not surprised that Jacquie chimed in so quickly?

  “I’m sure I will, Jacquie,” I say, closing the laptop and setting it beside my smartphone, and To Kill a Mockingbird. “It’s a new, worry-free era for old Scout.”

  Shutting off the lamp, I lie in the dark staring up at the ceiling. So, why is it then, that I’m still worried?

  Next morning I’m up early. Making my way downstairs, I greet my dad who’s sitting at the head of the dining room table, reading the news on his Cradle device. Set before him are the remnants of a bacon and egg breakfast. The television is going in the living room. My smartphone in hand, I give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “A pleasant good morning, Dad,” I say. Then, making my way into the kitchen where Mom is already pouring me a cup of coffee. “Morning, Mom.”

  I take the coffee in hand and offer a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Morning, Jacquie,” I say perhaps a little too loud.

  “Good morning, Tanya,” Jacquie says from out of nowhere. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a baby on some killer drugs,” I say.

  “That’s great,” Jacquie says. “I hope you have a satisfactory and worry-free day.”

  “You know I will, Jacquie.”

  Bringing my coffee back into the living room, my mom follows.

  “Okay, lady,” Mom says, “either you downed some very serious happy pills before you got out of bed or something’s definitely different.”

  “Well,” I say, “first off, I have a coffee date at ten o’clock with an old friend—”

  “—Flame, you mean,” Dad interjects, not without a smile. Okay, let’s call it for what it is: a shit eating grin.

  “All right, yeah, flame,” I say. “And second, I’m one of the newest members of the Everest Primary Membership Program. Which means I am now debt free and do not have to worry about my income any longer. So how’s about them apples?”

  My mom takes my coffee from me, sets it onto the table. She gives me a big hug.

  “I’m so happy for you, honey,” she says. “You’ve embraced the future.”

  “See how that happens?” Dad says. “You took control of your life and made an executive decision that will give you the freedom to write some books or travel or whatever you want to do, Scout. Good going.”

  “I guess you could say, I’ve gotten with the program,” I say, the knot in my stomach telling me I’m still not convinced it was the right move.

  I pick my coffee back up and take a sip. It’s hot and delicious. Everest dark roast, no doubt. Or maybe a special roast from one of their many thousands of associated vendors.

  “You look like you’re read
y to hit the bricks,” Dad says.

  He’s referring to the fact that I’m wearing my running shoes, running shorts, and tank top over a purple sports bra. Strapped to my arm is the black holster that will hold my smartphone. Attached to my ear lobes are my blue tube pods that allow me to listen to the Everest Music app while I run.

  “You wanna throw on some sweats and come with, Dad?”

  “Are you out of your mind?” he says. “You know how many miles per day they made me run in the Army?”

  “We know already,” Mom says, taking her seat at the long table across from Dad. “Enough for all three of us.”

  “My body is purely for pleasure now,” he says not without a sly smile. “Isn’t that right, Sar?”

  “Shhh, Bradley,” she says, “not in front of the child.” Then, getting back up. “Oh, speaking of pleasure, I have a gift for you, honey.”

  She heads into the kitchen, comes back into the dining room carrying an Everest box.

  “My new undergarments,” I say. “I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting me to wear these today.”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” she says.

  “Somehow, I don’t think Tony and I will be jumping right back in the sack, Mom,” I say. “But thanks for the thought.”

  Dad’s got both hands covering his ears.

  “Do I really have to listen to this?” he asks.

  “Sorry, Pops,” I say. “Your wife is already picking out her dress for the wedding.”

  “I can certainly help with that,” Jacquie chimes in. “I’m sure Everest dot com could come up with a more than satisfactory choice.”

  I laugh. “Thanks, Jacquie, but we’re good for now.”

  “Oh good God,” Dad huffs.

  “Okay then, I’m off,” I say. “See you all in about forty minutes.”

  Sipping a little more coffee, I set the cup back down and head out of the dining room and into the living room. On the flat screen high def hologram television, I can’t help but notice that an ad is running for the Everest Primary Program. It’s the same one they’ve been running on the Everest Corp. official website. The one I watched prior to applying for the “worry-free” lifestyle. Again I see the happy couple walking hand in hand in a place that resembles Central Park on a beautiful, crisp fall day, happy-go-lucky smiles on their youthful faces, and an anxiety free swagger to their step.

  I guess I’m one of them now, minus the perfect relationship. I am not just an Everest Corp. customer, but instead, a part of the massive global Everest machine. A dependent part of the massive corporate machine. Which begs me to ask the one-billion-dollar question again: If I’m supposed to be so worry-free right now, why does the very notion of being so dependent upon Everest for my physical and financial well-being send a wave of ice water up my spine? Why does it twist my stomach muscles into knots? Maybe my gut is trying to speak to me. Or what the hell, maybe being worry-free takes some getting used to.

  Heading out the front door, I descend the porch steps and then the concrete steps until I get to the sidewalk. I’m about to engage the Everest Streaming Music app, then shove the phone into the bicep holster when my phone chimes and vibrates. I recognize the number. It’s Kate.

  “Answer,” I say, while placing the phone into the holster, making sure it’s strapped in securely (you know how many phones I’ve destroyed while jogging?). Then, “Kate, where are you, baby?”

  “I’m in NYC, baby,” she says. “Nice of you to call since you abandoned us.”

  For those not in the know, Kate, who is both my now ex-neighbor and best friend, used to work as a marketer at a competing publishing house, prior to their collapse two years ago.

  “I didn’t abandon you,” I say. “I got canned, remember? No job means no apartment, no New York City.”

  “You could have stayed with me for a while, till you got back on your feet.”

  “Yeah right, just another New York acquisitions editor out of a job in an industry that no longer exists. How long would you have planned on me squatting in your place for free, Kate?”

  “Hey, you’re an editor and a writer, which means you’d be a shoo in for a job at Everest PR. They’re currently hiring. Did you see my ad on the website and TV?”

  In my head, I see the happy, worry-free couple walking through the park.

  “No way, that’s yours?” I say.

  “So, you have seen it then. It’s not mine entirely, but I was a part of the team that put it together.”

  I’m picturing the spunky, thirty-something, big brown-eyed redhead seated on her couch in the living room of her midtown, Park Avenue walk-up—my old building. She’ll be dressed either in a pair of underwear or a pair of old sweats, maybe a black t-shirt that says CBGBs with the sleeves cut off. If her boyfriend is staying over, he’ll still be asleep. That is, she still has a boyfriend. Kate likes to play the field. And who can blame her.

  “So, you like working for Everest?” I ask, my curiosity peaked.

  One of the little scruffy kids I noticed yesterday when walking with my dad passes by on his bike. I smile at him, but he hardly notices me. I must be ancient to him. I start walking the sidewalk in the direction of the park.

  “Love it, baby,” Kate says. “Great people, great team.”

  “Ha,” I say. “You’re just saying that because Jacquie is listening.”

  Kate’s still got the old-fashioned stand-up, plug-in Jacquie model from the twenty-teens that everybody wanted for Christmas at the time. At least, she had it as of last week. Soon those will be relics of the past while the entire world switches over to a new generation of direct Everest Jacquie AI system—a satellite system that’s supposed to be launched into orbit soon.

  “No,” Kate insists, “I’m dead serious, baby. The team is fun. The hours are good, and the money is even better.”

  “I thought you went Everest Primary back when you got canned?” I say. “Why work at all?”

  “That doesn’t mean you still can’t work for the corporation. In fact, they encourage it. It’s in the contract fine print. If you take a job with Everest . . . and by the way if you’re a Primary Program member, you’re only allowed to work for Everest . . . they put your weekly credit allowance into an Everest Savings account. So you could say, I’m getting rich.”

  Goosebumps breakout on my skin. But I’m not sure if they are the result of my seeing the enormous potential of being a Primary member while working for the corporation, or they are happening because a woman like Kate, who has always been a little naïve, is going further and further down the rabbit hole. What I mean to say is, the Everest Corporation owns her entirely. And let’s face it, she’s not writing PR for them, she’s writing propaganda.

  But what’s even worse, is now I have to admit the truth to her. That I too have entered into the rabbit hole.

  “Listen, baby,” I say, while taking a left at the corner. “I have news on a couple of fronts.”

  “Spill it, baby T.”

  I tell her about Tony, how he ran into my mother and how he, in turn, gave her his business card to give to me. How I’m meeting him for coffee.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she says, genuine excitement if not awe in her voice. “You have a coffee date with the Tony Smart. I’ve never personally met him, but he was with my first publishing house for years, and every now and then he’d pay a visit to meet with his editor. And I must say, Tanya, he is like totally hot. Kinda short, I will admit. But still hot.”

  “Yeah, well I used to date him in high school, Kate. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Oh my God!” she barks. “Why did I not know that until now? I bet Jacquie knows it. She probably knows how many times you went down on him. Are you going to sleep with him?”

  “Jesus, K babes,” I say, “between you and my mother I’m getting the feeling you want me to be a mommy.”

  “There’s still plenty of time.”

  “We’re just meeting for a friendly get reacquainted coffee and that’s
all,” I say. “He’s divorced but I can bet he has some girlfriend who’s a young, tall drink of water and a Ford Agency model.”

  “Everest Ford Agency, that is,” Kate corrects. “Well, if I were you, I’d dress like a slut for the date. Can’t hurt.”

  “Thanks,” I say, as I approach the park on my right. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

  “So what’s the next bit of news?” Kate presses.

  I clear my throat while out the corner of my eye, I notice a youngish man stretching out inside the park. He's wearing black Lycra running pants and matching shirt, and dark wraparound sunglasses. Like me, he’s also got a smartphone holstered to his arm. He spots me, and smiles. Returning his smile, I keep walking.

  “I’ve joined the Everest Primary member ranks,” I say. “And you know what convinced me to do it? Your commercial. So now I’m debt free and don’t have to worry about money. Theoretically speaking anyway.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Kate says. “Well it’s about time you joined the modern world, baby. It’s only a matter of time until they make the Primary Membership Program mandatory, or else you’ll have no choice but to be banished to Elba or something.” She laughs.

  “Well, I’m told if I don’t like it for any reason, I can quit.”

  Dead air.

  “Ummm, earth to Tanya,” Kate says after a few long beats, “once you’re in, you’re in.”

  More goosebumps, more ice water shooting up my spine.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean, Kate?”

  “Let’s just put it this way, Tan,” she says. “First of all, I never once heard of anyone quitting the program. I’ve heard of a few people violating the terms and conditions, and what happened to those people isn’t exactly pleasant.”

  “Meaning what?” I press.

  “It just means that once Everest makes an investment in you by agreeing to let you join their program, they don’t take kindly to anyone who violates their rules. Think of it like an author who signs an exclusive series contract with a publisher, cashes his advance check, and then immediately goes out and signs with another publisher for the same series. You just don’t do those things.”