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“Yeah,” she said nodding her head. “I’ll see you soon.”
As I walked out of the building, I stopped and shook several other protestors hands. I didn’t know how I had become the face of this movement, locally, but it was kind of exhausting trying to get the job done when everyone wanted to have a conversation. The day was over, though, and I had promised my sister, Lisa, who also happens to be my best friend, that we would meet for drinks at a local pub in the Art District. She wanted to go to this uppity club, Exposé in Manhattan, but I was not feeling that at all. I was glad that she conceded and picked a more low-key spot.
When I arrived, I paid the cab driver and wandered inside, looking around for Lisa. I spotted her at the end of the bar, sipping on a pint of ale and trying to ignore the idiot guys behind her at the pool table. I smiled as I made my way over to her, hugging her tightly.
“My sister,” she sighed. “How was your meeting? You save any small children or large animals?”
“Not today, my friend, not today,” I said laughing. “It was the outsourcing organization. We have a protest next week.”
“Nice,” she said looking up at the bartender to get his attention. “Did you quote Thoreau this time?”
“No,” I grumbled. “That goes right over these people’s heads. I went with Dr. King this time because I was talking about peaceful protesting.”
“Good choice,” she said nodding her head. “So, what exactly are you working on with outsourcing.”
“It’s a social injustice, another way for big business to further separate the classes,” I said taking a sip. “People in this country are working jobs that don’t pay the bills because there isn’t anything else, especially for the working class. In the meantime, big companies with the money are sending jobs overseas, paying ridiculously low wages, and then using that money so they can buy bigger houses and more jets while Jane starves in the streets. Not to mention they skirt most of the labor laws this country has enacted to ensure workers are treated fairly, furthering the degradation of other countries and keeping their poverty line at unnecessarily low levels.”
“Don’t companies do it so they can stay in business because of the extremely tight measures on taxation and manufacturing guidelines?”
“They use that as an excuse. But the reality of it when you look at their quarterly earnings, they make more than enough money to keep everyone in the company happy and still create jobs in the United States which would help in decreasing our own poverty line,” I explained. “In the end, though, Joe CEO and his shareholders don’t want to take a million dollar pay cut.”
“I mean, would you?”
“When I made hundreds of millions a year? Yeah, I’d sacrifice that million or two,” I said shaking my head. “It’s greed and power driving them, and their want to keep the classes so far apart that no one will ever be able to move up, better their lives, and create a fairer wage system in this country.”
“I don’t know,” Lisa said. “There are pros and cons to everything.”
I did not want to have that conversation with her again. We had very different views on a lot of things, and we kept our peace with that by not discussing it. She was intense, I was passionate, and the two of us in a debate always turned into a screaming match. So, a long time ago we decided to cut off conversations before they reached that point.
“Yeah, there are,” I replied. “Anyway, so what’s up! How’s work, life, all that stuff?”
“Good,” she said, obviously okay with me changing the subject. “Stressful and always go, go, go, but you know how that is.”
“Yeah,” I snorted. “I don’t think I’ve had eight hours of sleep since I was a kid. And to think I complained when mom got me up during the summer after ten hours. I’d kill someone with a Twinkie to get 10 hours of sleep.”
“Oh,” Lisa said turning toward me. “That reminds me. I want to set you up on a blind date.”
“Okay,” I said cautiously.
“He’s a nice guy, a friend of mine,” she said shrugging. “He wants to take you to dinner on Friday.”
“Sure,” I said smiling.
“Really? I thought you would put up a fight,” she laughed.
“Nah, I need to meet people, even if it’s not a romantic match,” I said. “Everyone I know is in the business, it gets hard to have a conversation after a while. I need to get out, step out of my comfort zone.”
“That’s awesome,” she said, raising her glass. “To new beginnings.”
“Here, here,” I said clinking her glass and taking a sip.
Sure, the guy might be an immature tool like every other guy I’ve dated, but at least I would meet someone new. I had a challenging time with guys because they all wanted to play games and have fun. I had goals, a life, and a lot on my plate. I was starting to think there wasn’t a mature guy left out there.
Chapter Three
Nathan
I lived on the 51st floor of The Avalon, an apartment complex dedicated to the service of the excessively rich. There were 69 floors, maid service, concierge service, a café and roughly every amenity you could come up with. I liked it because everyone had their own little cliques, and I wasn’t part of any of them, so they left me alone. I was born into a wealthy family, so having a maid and all of that was perfect for me. I never had to worry about the little things. I stopped off at the café and grabbed a cup of coffee, saying hello to the usual barista, Gabby, who always had a sweet smile for me. I liked pleasant people, they made me want to be friendly to others as well.
