Outsourced

2

Gordon Carmichael sucked in his gut as he studied himself in the bathroom mirror. At fifty-eight he still had a full head of thick blond hair, and as far as he could tell, not a single gray hair in the mix. He moved his face from side to side as he examined his skin for wrinkles. Satisfied, he took a step back. He pushed his bottom lip out, raised his chin, and patted the flesh under his jaw. If it weren’t for those damned jowls he could pass for his early forties. He pushed the flesh back with his hand, seeing what he would look like without them. Mid-thirties, maybe. If he could only afford the surgery to take care of them there was no reason why he wouldn’t be able to pass for a much younger man.

He gave himself one more look in the mirror before turning away. He had already shaved five years off his resume and was going to need to shave a few more off to get his age under fifty. Forty-seven seemed as good a target as any, jowls or not!

Gordon sighed. He made his way out of the bathroom, through a cramped bedroom, and to a third room that served as a combination dining room, living room and computer room. There wasn’t much to his condo – only four hundred and twenty square feet. At one point he had it paid off. During his three years of being out of work he had taken all the equity he could out of the place. He had tried making his monthly living expenses by trading stock put and call options, but a bad few months had cut his savings down to under five thousand dollars. Now he had a stack of home equity loan bills that were past due and last week received his first foreclosure notice. If things didn’t turn around soon he was in deep shit. He sat down in front of his computer, brought his resume up and gave it a facelift by changing some of the dates while slicing four more years off his tenure at Vixox Systems. He felt a twinge of regret as he looked over his cosmetically updated resume. One of the few accomplishments that meant anything to him was his twenty-one years at Vixox. Now, after two adjustments, those twenty-one years had been reduced to ten. For some reason, the thought of that made him feel a bit empty inside.

He posted his updated resume on several high-tech job sites. Before turning off the computer, he checked his email and saw he had something new from Elena. The letter simply stated that she could no longer contact him because she was marrying someone from Oregon. Even though the letter was only two short sentences he had to read it several times before it registered. When its meaning finally hit home, he sat frozen for a long moment, wanting nothing more than to put his fist through the computer screen.

“That’s it!” he yelled to his empty condo. “I’m out of here!”

He grabbed his car keys and made it to his front door before stopping. What he wanted to do was get in his car and drive until he hit the Jersey shore. Not that he knew anyone there or even liked being in Jersey, but it was far enough away that he could distance himself from his problems. As he was about to head out he remembered he had agreed to meet Dan the next day for a few beers. He thought about blowing Dan off but decided it wasn’t in his best interest. So the Jersey shore was out, at least for the time being.

Still, he had to get out of there. For the hell of it he decided to visit Peyton. The two of them had been friends for over twenty years, even longer than he had been friends with Dan. At the peak of the tech market craziness – right before the tech crash of ’01 – Peyton had struck it rich. The startup where he was working had been bought for a ridiculous amount of money and Peyton had cashed out at the top, clearing almost eight million dollars.

Gordon drove to Peyton’s house, if you could call it a house. To Gordon it seemed more like a collection of ill-fitting structures. Like some sort of three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle gone awry. Peyton had owned what was for the most part a small shack before becoming a multi-millionaire and, instead of moving into a larger home, had instead added one extension after the next. The original dwelling was no longer recognizable and the monstrosity that was left in its place didn’t fit in with the simple farmhouses making up the rest of the street.

Gordon felt somewhat uneasy as he pulled up to the house. The last couple of years he had been seeing Peyton less and less. No real reason, other than that he was beginning to feel like a leech when around his old friend. He parked in the driveway and, after ringing the buzzer a few times, Peyton answered the door wearing a robe.

“Hey, hey, what’s up, man?” Peyton asked.

“Not much. I was driving by and thought maybe we could go out for a couple of beers?”

“Hey, you know I’d like to, but, well…” Peyton hesitated, flashing a sheepish grin. “The kids are out of the house and I’m entertaining my wife right now, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh jeez, sorry I interrupted you.”

“No sweat, man. Maybe next week I’ll get us tickets for a Sox game. Maybe I’ll even be able to pick up a couple of Green Monster seats. Sound cool?”

“Sure, sounds like fun. Uh, I wanted to tell you about an email I got from Elena.”

“Now’s not really a great time, but next week, okay, Gordon?”

“Uh, sure, next week. Um, I’ve been thinking more about that restaurant idea.”

“Yeah, man, so have I. Probably not the best idea to mix business with friendship, you know what I mean? But we’ll talk about that next week. Cool, man?”

“Sure, uh, cool. And give my best to Wendy.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do that and in a few minutes I’ll also be giving her my best.”

“Oh, uh, just one more thing, Pey-”

“I got to go, man. Next week, okay?” Peyton said as he closed the door.

Gordon stood frozen for a moment, feeling red-faced, his hands shaking. “Stupid idiot,” he whispered to himself. “Why’d you have to bring up that restaurant now? Stupid!”

Even though there were no neighbors around, Gordon couldn’t help feeling self-conscious, as if people were watching him and seeing how much of a fool he had made of himself. With a sick grin stuck on his face, he lumbered back to his car. Once inside, he smacked himself on the side of his head with an open palm.

“Stupid!” he swore to himself. “Well, that’s it. I’m not going home now!”

It was only three in the afternoon. Too early for dinner, but he could drive to Lowell and pick up some takeout Cambodian that he could eat later. For him Lowell was an oasis, one of the few places nearby where he could get good ethnic food. When high tech was booming, most of the companies settled within a rural area about thirty miles northwest of Boston. Not a bad area if you were into horseback riding, or maybe raising a family, but it sucked as far as eating out went. Lowell, though, was only a twenty-minute ride.

Traffic was light, and Gordon got to Lowell in less than fifteen minutes. He decided to bypass his usual Cambodian restaurant. The last few times they had skimped on the portions, and besides, he didn’t like the vibes he was picking up there. Instead he pulled up to a newer restaurant that he had noticed a few months back.

A young Asian girl sat bored behind the cash register. As Gordon approached, she glanced up and gave him a slight smile.

“Very hot weather we’ve been having,” Gordon said.

“Yes it is,” she said softly. “Very hot, muggy.”

“No air conditioning in here?” Gordon asked.

“No, not now. Later we’ll turn it on.”

“I guess it’s too early for dinner and too late for lunch. Normally I get takeout at a Cambodian restaurant a few blocks from here, but I noticed that you had opened last time I drove by.”

“Thank you. I am sure you will like our food.”

“I certainly hope so. What do you recommend?”

“Everything is good here. The shrimp is very good.”

Gordon looked at the menu. “I notice your shrimp dishes are your most expensive,” he said.

“They’re very good,” she said, her slight smile weakening.

“Well, in that case, why don’t I order this shrimp dish, the one with peanuts and spicy lemon grass sauce.”

“I will have the kitchen rush your order,” she said. “No more than five minutes.”

Gordon watched as she walked towards the kitchen. The girl was tiny, slender, with long black hair reaching almost all the way down her back. The tight green skirt she wore outlined her hips and legs. He felt a drying in his mouth as he watched her walk away. When she came back, she smiled politely at him before turning to the magazine in front of her.

“Are you Cambodian?” Gordon asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, it’s not so obvious. You could be Vietnamese. I do know Vietnamese who work in Cambodian restaurants.”

“I am Cambodian.”

“What happened in Cambodia under Pol Pot was simply awful,” Gordon said. “People wearing eyeglasses shot for being intellectuals. Can you imagine that?”

“I only know what I have read. That was well before my time.”

“I’m sorry, of course. I have to say your English is very good. How long have you been in this country?”

“I was born here.”

“Really? I wasn’t trying to imply anything. Only that your English is really quite good. Much better than what I hear at other Cambodian restaurants that I go to.”

“I guess I should thank you.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Gordon said. She looked a bit flustered as she turned towards him, her smile now completely gone.

Gordon put his hands on his hips and stuck his chin out as he posed for her. “How old would you guess I am?” he asked.

“I – I don’t know. I will be right back.”

She turned and hurried away. Gordon dropped his pose. He felt like getting the hell out of there, but he had already ordered his food. A couple of minutes later a Cambodian man wearing a suit came out of the kitchen. He headed straight towards Gordon. When he got to him, he handed Gordon a takeout bag.

“Food today is free,” he said. “I am the owner. Please do not come back here.”

“Why not?”

“You were making the girl working here very uncomfortable.”

“How was I doing that?” Gordon asked. “Jeez, all I was trying to do was be friendly.”

“That is not what she said.”

“What did she say? That I was hitting on her? Come on, I was only trying to make conversation while waiting for my food.”

“Please leave here.”

“Because I asked her to guess my age? Jeez almighty. I only asked her that because I wanted to know if she thought I could pass for under fifty.”

“Your age? I will guess your age. You are dirty old man. That is my guess for your age. Now please do not come back here.”

Gordon stared into the other man’s eyes. He resisted his initial impulse to punch the man in the face. Instead, he dropped the bag, stepped on it, then turned and left the restaurant.