The Underground (2 page)

Still, he had to get her to bed. He scooped her up, which was no easy feat. Just as Nathaniel strained to lift her, his cell phone sounded with Brigg’s ring tone. "Damn,” he muttered, furious at himself for leaving the ringer on. He couldn't risk putting her down, so he quickly carried his snoring bride-to-be over the bedroom threshold. He gently laid her down on the bed and looked at her. There was a momentary peacefulness, but as the phone stopped ringing, Janice started talking like a broken string-pull doll.

“Anna Marie, sing-it-with-me…long-live-the-queen-longlivethequeenlonglivethe…”

Nathaniel held his breath.

If there is a God, I pray that you listen. Please make Janice stay asleep. Please, as a birthday gift for me.

He felt silly begging to an entity he didn’t believe in. As abruptly as she began to speak, Janice’s talk dissolved to a snore and Nathaniel wondered if there was a God listening. Maybe he should pray more often.

He glanced back at her before quietly closing the bedroom door and checking voicemail: “Good luck, old friend, and happy 25
^th
. I hope this is a good year for you and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I’ll take you out some night when she’s working. My treat. Give me a call if you’re still up or else I’ll see you at work.”

Nathaniel loved celebrating past birthdays with Brigg, but Janice didn’t allow Brigg an invitation to this party. She was too jealous, having only known Nathaniel for a year. That timeframe was no match for a lifetime of friendship that Brigg and Nathanial shared.

Nathaniel was usually annoyed at how she tried to keep Brigg away, but on this night it was a gift. He was ashamed that he had turned into the exact kind of pussy-whipped guy that he and Brigg used to make fun of when they were teens. Now, he kissed ass just like all the other men trying to save their balls, and he understood why they did it.

Things could be a helluva lot worse, he repeatedly told himself over the next two hours as he cleaned the dishes, emptied the ashtrays, and mopped the stickiness off the floor. He found food between the seat cushions, and scrubbed the vomit-laced bathroom, as well as any man-servant could.

Nathaniel then tucked his head back into the bedroom to be sure Janice was still asleep before returning to the kitchen. He locked it from the inside, as Chester had done hours earlier, and his heart boomed as he pulled the book from underneath the kitchen cabinet. Nathaniel wanted to know who gave it to Chester and why. This was probably the most dangerous illegal possession in the country.

 
He looked at the book cover and almost put it back in its hiding place. If there was another kind of life in another time, maybe it was better not to know about it.

——–

If it hadn’t been for the flat tire he got precisely one year earlier, he might never have walked into Eva’s Diner and met Janice. And he might still have the threat of castration hanging over him.

“Can I help you?” Janice said, cracking her gum, as she flashed a smile. Even then he could tell she thought herself sexy by the way she sashayed in her stained polyester uniform, as though she was walking the red carpet at a Hollywood premiere.

“Flat tire,” he said, shaking his head. “My ride meets me here in an hour, so I thought I’d get a cup of coffee while I wait.”

“We’ve got more than coffee!” she said.

 
“Here you go” she said a short while later as she set a burger with fries in front of him, along with coffee. She also sat herself down, as though invited. She was attentive that night, but never again. Since then, Nathaniel served her. Always.
 

“Wow, I only ordered coffee,” he said, feeling funny about her attentiveness.

“I know, but I thought you might be hungry,” she said, flirtatiously, leaning in to him, as though studying every pore of his face.
 

“Thank you. It’s my birthday dinner,” he said, feeling a little self-conscious.

“Today’s your birthday? How old are you?” she asked.

“Twenty-four,” he said. He felt uncomfortable admitting he was getting closer to that life defining birthday.

“Hmmm,” she said, thinking for a minute before she asked for his number. It was a good sign, at the time, and when she proposed a few months later, that was even better. Didn’t he owe something to Janice? She was kind sometimes, and he couldn’t help but remember that she didn’t have to propose.

As he looked at the cover of
Reminder of Truth,
he wondered if reading the book would make him feel better or worse. Should he feel guilty for even considering it? He was grateful for Janice’s proposal and indebted to her. But, he repaid her every day in too many ways to count.

This lure of reading the truth that the Queen tried to hide was too much to ignore and he opened the book.

Reminder of Truth

By Anonymous

A yellowed corner of the first page flaked off, falling to the ground like a snowflake. He didn’t stop to pick it up as he was transfixed on the text:

There was a time long ago when men and women were equal. There was no monarchy or Tasers, nor were there castration centers. Yes, dear deader, there was such a time and I lived in it! I have nearly nine decades behind me. Until my death, I will pray for the balance in our country to be restored. Dear reader, I am writing to offer you a “Reminder of Truth.”

Chapter 3

“Can I please pay you?” Nathaniel asked Chester the next morning, as Chester handed him a bag containing his favorite: a large coffee and an oversized blueberry muffin.

“Not a chance. Family doesn’t pay,” Chester said, sitting across the tiny café table nestled into a corner of the crowded bakery. He always sat with Nathaniel for a few minutes each morning. “Thankfully, I’m blessed with plenty of customers who do pay.” He whispered this, so the throngs of people patiently waiting in line wouldn’t hear.

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said.

“Everything go alright last night? You okay?” Chester asked, raising his eyebrows in question. Nathaniel wondered if he was referring to
Reminder of Truth,
but knew it wasn’t safe to mention specifically.

“I’m tired. It took a while to clean up. I also stayed up late to do a little reading, thank you, which raised a lot of questions for me,” he said, knowing full well they wouldn’t be answered today.

Chester said nothing, but gave Nathaniel a dark look that he had seen the night before. It felt like a signal of something new and secretive between them. Did Chester know the author? By now, “Anonymous” was surely deceased, judging from the aged book. Nathaniel wanted to find out more. The very idea that an American society existed without mandatory castration was mind-boggling. As a Spot, Nathaniel wondered how Chester felt about the book. Did it make him hopeful or resentful?

 
“Can I ask you a question?” Nathaniel said, leaning in toward Chester.

“You can ask me anything.”

“It’s personal,” Nathaniel said, wanting to make sure that Chester wouldn’t mind or be surprised.
 

Chester nodded.

“How were you able to start the bakery after…?”
 

Chester’s jaw visibly tightened.

Nathaniel immediately regretted his intrusion. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay, really,” Chester paused for a moment. The way Chester touched the dime sized purple tattoo on his neck belied his words. “It happened so long ago, and I try not to think about it, but the C Center changed my life’s path. You’ve seen the statistics of homeless Spots who just plain give up. As horrible and as wrong as I believe our system is, I vowed not to become another unproductive Spot who goes through life feeling sorry for himself.”

“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel said.

“For what?”

“For what you went through, for asking you…”

Chester shrugged. “You didn’t make the laws. Keep reading your book.
 
Maybe your generation still stands a chance.” Abruptly, Chester stood up.

Nathaniel walked toward the bakery door, wanting to ask more, but knew this wasn’t the time or the place. He was about to step out the bakery door when a strong hand gripped his arm.

 
“Tasers!” a stranger said, discreetly, staring outside.

Nathaniel was sure they were coming for him! They found out about the book!

The Good Samaritan was gone before Nathaniel had a chance to thank him for the warning. Peering out the storefront window, he saw a man being dragged away by the Tasers with his mouth duct-taped. It was a common sight, but Nathaniel never grew accustomed to it.

Nathaniel wondered how many Parties of Availability that guy attended. He looked decent enough – not overweight, but still he clearly didn’t get picked for marriage.
 

That could be me, Nathaniel realized before gingerly stepping outside and heading to work. A few minutes later, he walked in the door of the Cambridge Public Works and breathed a sigh of relief, though he was still rattled. He couldn’t wipe away the look on that guy’s face as he was being dragged away.

Nathaniel tried to force that image from his head, but realized how goddamn lucky he was to have Janice.

Nathaniel’s thoughts consumed him as he walked down the corridor, and the more he tried to suppress his true feelings, the more he could not. His blood boiled at the thought of that man going through a horror. Still, abuse of men was considered the norm.

On top of everything, Nathaniel now worked for the Queen’s daughter, Shayla Smith, at the Cambridge Public Works. People claimed she wasn’t as extreme as her mother, but Nathaniel didn’t trust workplace gossip.

After the chaos he witnessed on the way to work, he relished the silence of walking alone through the hallway. He needed it. The only sound was the echo of his shoes on the cement floor, with each step. The hallway walls were off-white, lined with photos of woman supervisors in action. There was a consistent theme to the pictures: Supervisors yelling through a megaphone, giving orders to the staff of nervous men. He knew that feeling and hated it. He stopped looking at the photos and moved a little more quickly, but then paused as he approached Shayla Smith’s office. She had hardly been there a few weeks, and her freshly engraved nameplate shined and greatly contrasted the oversized steel office door to which it was affixed.

SHAYLA SMITH, CHIEF OFFICER, CAMBRIDGE PUBLIC WORKS

Maybe it should say: “The Queen’s Daughter – Better Kiss her Ass”

He pulled out a coffee from his brown paper bag as he stared at her nameplate but realized his bag was still heavy. He discovered a second coffee and muffin. Nathaniel supposed it was Chester’s way of offering comfort.

Nathaniel looked down the hall, both ways, and impulsively set down the extra cup of coffee and muffin in front of her door before hurrying along to meet Brigg.

He didn’t know what made him do it, but less than thirty seconds later he thought it was a mistake. They’d probably fingerprint the cup and come arrest him, somehow manipulating a simple gesture of kindness into Nathaniel stalking her. He turned back and thought of retrieving it, but it looked tiny from a distance. He took two steps toward it but stopped.

Nathaniel decided he couldn’t live in fear of everything. Besides, how much trouble could giving a coffee and muffin possibly cause?

Chapter 4

“Couldn’t you at least have warned me?” the Queen said stiffly to her daughter. “Hiding my surprise from the reporters wasn’t easy.”

“Can you please take me off speakerphone, mother?”

“I’m getting dressed for a meeting. Sorry, but I just want to understand
why
you didn’t tell me. I’ve got enough to deal without being surprised by something my daughter
should
have told me.”

 
“Must we rehash this every time we talk?” Shayla said. She couldn’t believe that her mother was still harping on the fact that a few weeks earlier she had chosen to become head of the Cambridge Public Works.

“I promise not to bring it up again if you answer my question. Why didn’t you tell me that you were taking this job?”

 
“Because I thought you’d try to talk me out of it.”

 
“You’re damn right I would have!!” Queen Amanda’s voice rose. “Why the hell do you want to be there?”

“I was curious to see how the other half lived,” she said, trying to shut her mother up. Shayla thought that since Cambridge, Massachusetts was known to be liberal, it seemed like a good testing ground for making small changes to improve male worker conditions. Of course, she knew better than to say that to her mother.
 

But it was the truth, or at least part of the truth. Ultimately, Shayla had bigger changes in mind. Much bigger.

“You can do anything you want… I’ll find something better for you, either in industry or public service,” the Queen said.

“I can get my own job, Mother. I
like
what I do and where I work.” Shayla tried to control her urge to yell back.

“You’re wasting your Harvard education managing tasks in the armpit of the earth.”