“Jamie, Jamie!”
They were sitting at a table in the middle of a lively restaurant. It was away from all others, private and of high status. The ceiling was at least fifteen feet above them and the chandelier was dimly lit. Around the table sat men in tailored suits with groomed beards and freshly cut hair. Their presence was heavy.
“Hello?” prodded Paul.
The sound of other conversations was like white noise to the table of titans. However, Jamie was listening to the noise — lost in it. He heard people talking about their lives, friends, hobbies. He looked over and saw a couple with locked eyes, a deep connection. Parents sat listening to the stories of their teenage daughter. Laughter burst out from a table behind him. He didn’t turn.
“Sorry. Was thinking.” Jamie answered finally.
“Whatcha thinking about there boss?” asked Aaron.
Jamie couldn’t truly tell anyone what he was thinking about. His mind had wandered down trails less traveled, deep in the dark and lonely forest of thought. He could have pulled himself away from such thoughts, to stay out of that part of his mind, but he had been exploring it recently. There was something lost in there.
“Details of the acquisition.”
“Don’t worry,” Paul said putting his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “We got this covered. It’s all routine at this point. Let’s stop thinking about work and order a round.”
Every interaction Jamie made, he questioned. Every person who was his friend, he did not trust. Every word that was uttered by those around him, he felt was forced. It happened a few weeks ago. He stepped behind the curtain. His mind finally let him see the world for what it was — a false world filled with poorly written characters with hidden motivations. He longed for something real and he wouldn’t find it here.
Jamie pulled out his wallet, took out a few hundred and threw it on the table. “I think I am heading out boys. Boss has to sleep. Unlike you drunks.”
“Ahh come on, was it something we said?” joked Aaron.
“It would be if I ever listened to you.”
The table burst out with laughter. Aaron was shaking his head up and down with a sarcastic smirk. This simple banter was all his employee’s needed to stay inspired. He knew it was fake but he played his part. He hardly had to think about it.
As Jamie stood, the men at the table stood as well and shook his hand farewell. Paul reached for Jamie’s hand, slipping a piece of paper to him.
“What’s this?”
“My mother’s number,” Paul smiled as the table snickered. He continued, “remember that girl from the other night? The one you asked about?”
Jamie nodded.
“I got her for you. Just call.”
Jamie smiled and took the paper, sliding it into his jacket’s inner pocket. He turned, making his way to the door. When he reached the front of the restaurant, the valet called for his car. The car arrived in a matter of minutes and Jamie’s driver, Earl, jumped out of the driver’s seat and rushed around to open the door for him.
“How’s your night going?”
“Ah, you know, can’t complain, sir,” he replied as he shut the door and made his way back to the driver’s seat. Earl was an older black man with a traditional, southern accent. He was the closest thing that Jamie had to a true friend, although he paid him. Earl felt like a real person, opening up to Jamie in ways no investment banker would.
The car pulled off and made its way down the web of streets.
“Did you finish your book?” asked Jamie.
Earl looked up in the rearview mirror, “Why yeah, I did.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“You gotta read it, sir. I ain’t one for spoiling.”
“I would if I had the time.”
“You the boss, you can make the time.”
“I wish it was that easy.”
“Well, you can take it if you want, just let me know.”
“Thanks, Earl.”
It took fifteen minutes to get back to the Park Avenue building. It was one of the tallest residential towers in all of Manhattan and Jamie had one of the penthouse units. Earl opened his door and Jamie took a step out. He glanced down the sidewalk for a moment, seeing people with normal lives walking to plays, dinners, and bars. Those people seemed foreign to him.
He walked into the lobby, being greeted by the doorman, and approached the private elevator. He entered, making his way up to the 94th floor. The elevator let out in his foyer. It had a marble accent wall and light hardwood flooring. The main area’s walls were white and filled with large paintings that were tastefully selected by his interior designer.
Through his floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see the entire skyline before him. The sun was just under the horizon, producing a purple and orange gradient in the sky. The buildings were glowing from those working long hours. Streams of light pulsed throughout the city streets. The sound of the city disappeared at this height. He was isolated from the groans and pains of Manhattan.
The condo was an open concept, save for the private quarters. He stepped from the foyer into the living room, which had a modern leather couch, with accompanying chairs, sitting in front of an elegant television panel. A modern chandelier hung above a coffee table. At the other end of the floor was a dining area with a table set for ten. It was only ever used for business and client dinners. He had never used it for a dinner party with real friends. It had a modern chandelier as well, along with a marble table.
He had purchased this condo a year ago, living alone. The size of the space seemed to magnify the loneliness that he had been feeling deep in his dark forest. It had only gotten worse over the last few months. Anyone who saw his place was amazed by its beauty. The view over the city. The sophistication. But no one knew the emptiness of being here. An ivory tower that ended up being an ivory prison — wholly solitary.
He loosened his tie and slipped off his jacket. Reaching into the inner pocket, he pulled out the number Paul gave him. He paused for a moment, considering the fake connection he could have, before crumbling up the paper and throwing it across the room toward a small trash can. Not today. He slipped off his shoes, untucked his shirt, and walked over to the window that overlooked lower Manhattan and the financial district.
“Hey Siri, play Night playlist.”
“Playing playlist, Night.”
Slow, atmospheric music began to play. The music seemed to echo through the space, filling its lonely expanse with the resonance of synth. It covered Jamie like a blanket. Just as a musician plays an instrument, the music played his emotions. For some reason, music that felt empty, mixed with his own emptiness, seemed to negate those crushing feelings.
So many people were interacting with each other in the buildings below him. Many of them genuine, some of them false. He wondered where he could go to find a true connection. He couldn’t find it at work or with those men. He wasn’t able to find it in the call girls that he used to frequent. He had tried matchmaking services but still was unable to find what he was looking for.
His status was a scarlet letter of sorts, marking him for a lifetime of fakeness. It had not been a problem before. He had been okay with it for most of his life but the recent catalyst set it off. He had been sitting at a private table in a swanky nightclub weeks ago. Beautiful women were sitting all around him with endless bottles of spirits. The world was at his fingertips. He stared off into the sea of dancing bodies, watching them move back and forth. His colleagues had set their sights on their targets for the night and moved in, flashing money, status, and drugs to attract the women of the club. He would usually be out there with them, preying with the pack. But tonight, he couldn’t shake the thought that this was all fake.
He watched as the women laughed at the men’s jokes. Fake.
He spoke with one of them who wandered over to the table, trying to pull him out there. Fake.
He saw them go to the bathrooms to snort coke with the ladies, among other things. Fake.
He realized that he had played a part in creating this world. Fake.
Looking down on the city, a revelation hit him. This was his punishment for his contributions to the world. The higher up the ladder one goes the darker it gets, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s as if the ladder was stretching into space and he had climbed out of the atmosphere and into in the cold, lonely void. It only made sense that he was in one of the highest penthouses in the city. As close to the void as he could get. Why was this his goal? He wished to go back down — back to a life where meaning was hidden, connections occurred, and reality existed. He wanted to be normal and simple.
No one told him what happened at the top of the ladder. No one told him his mind would betray him. That he would finally see the truth after a life spent climbing. That the game would fade away and all that was left was a false world. That no one would be able to see the truth that he did because they were too lost in the pursuit. How could he get back down? There were too many people in his way, trying to climb up. Climbing down seemed impossible.
He turned, made his way to the couch, and collapsed. Grabbing the remote, he switched on the television and navigated to his Netflix account. He found his show. The one that made him feel connected to something. Or at least showed him what real connection felt like. The great irony of it was that these people were actors, acting connected, just like the real world.
