Elevator Love
Tonight Frank Buffay sat at the casino, surprisingly not as a customer, but as an employee. It was no secret around here that he now spent all his waking hours at that institution. Every dollar earned from this employer went back to his employer. His life had descended into a spinning carousel, where not a single cent earned was ever his to keep. All thanks to his addiction.
Frank sat alone in a cramped dingy office, dressed in a blue polyester shirt and black pressed trousers, with a walkie talkie on his hip. He tipped the last remnants of stale cold coffee into his mouth, struggling to stay awake. He had been tasked with keeping an eye on the East wing elevators from dusk to dawn. The repetitiveness of being a security guard dulled his senses, which, all things considered, was a good thing. He'd gladly take numbness over the blinding terror bearing down on him. Lady Luck had taken his money, his dignity, his soul. Would she take his children and their mother too?
Frank stared blankly at the rows of black and white television screens, his mind filming over. A chubby man in a fine suit entered the elevator. Frank raised his eyebrows, leaning into the screen. He recognised that face. After some heavy eye-squinting, Frank realised who it was. Senator Charles Bing, a man touted by Republicans nationwide, as the next party leader, and who knew? Perhaps in years to come, the President of the United States. Frank's stomach did a flip. There was nothing like celebrity appearances to spice up an otherwise stiflingly mundane day at work.
The elevator boy, a young Indonesian of about 19 years, flashed Charles a coy smile. Charles glanced sideways, an odd expression crossing his face. Frank squinted at the screen, scrutinising Charles closely. The man was the future US opposition leader, a person of immense wealth and power… two things Frank craved most in life. Charles's every move fascinated Frank. The Senator was so commanding, so decisive in his demeanor. An alpha male, the ultimate cap of a man.
Why couldn't have I have been born to be that guy? Frank sighed inwardly.
Charles strolled over to the Elevator Boy. Pressing up against him, he leaned over the teenager's shoulder, reaching for the "Emergency Stop" button. Frank's eyes widened. He choked and spluttered on his coffee.
"What the fuck?" he coughed, sending a mouthful of coffee spraying onto his shirt.
Senator Bing wrapped one arm around the teen's petite waist, pulling him close. The Senator slipped one hand under the boy's chin, tilting his face upwards. Closing in to seal the deal, the Senator pressed his lips against the boy's. Frank almost toppled out of his chair. What the fuck indeed. No, this was no ordinary day at the office. Frank's heart began fluttering hysterically in his chest. He was a combustive mixture of excitement, shock and anxiety all at the same time.
Anxiety? I hear you ask. Why would Frank feel anxious about the secrets of another man? How was it even his business? His concern? Could it be because the second he caught wind of the situation, he knew he would exploit it? Well, you tell me. What would you do if faced with a gun-toting loan-shark breathing down your neck and threatening your kids?
Senator Bing had built his empire from the ground up with the votes of the white Christian Conservative middle class. With an attractive blonde wife, a young bright-eyed son, Sunday church services, and a white picket fence to boot, adultery was a no-go zone for Charles's political career. As for homosexuality? Goddamn. Don't even get me started on the Senator's policies on gay marriage (or the lack thereof). Oh the explosive irony that would occur if the Nation ever found out. This was the opportunity Frank had been begging, yearning, longing, wishing with every fiber of his soul for, since his daughters were born.
Little did Senator Bing know, he had just sealed his fate with a kiss. With shaky sweaty hands, Frank furtively slotted his hard drive into the security computer, downloading the illicit recording for personal keeping. That's right, folks. It was time for Frank to place his bet. And where did he place his bet? He placed it upon the goldmine that was Senator Bing. Fingers crossed, this gamble would pay off a hell of a lot better than his previous ones. Yes, Frank was a man plastic chips and green velvet table tops. What he planned to do involved a heavy dose of sheer luck and blind faith, two things that, along with delusion and self-denial, had come to define who he was completely.
"Let the chips fall where they may," he whispered.