Primrose

Primrose- Chapter Three

There were no words or gestures that could have spared Kourt from her termination at Learning Box International. When she turned her MacBook over to IT, it was a ritual of severing. On that computer she had helped uplift numerous counties through her sheer devotion to LBI's mission of enhancing education for those who were most vulnerable. Sure, she may have been completely unaware that the entire company was a venture capital front, but it wouldn't have even mattered, her devotion would have remained the same.

Pride, as practiced, was something she had come to cultivateonlyin her professional life. There was seldom anyone else at LBI that applied herself to her craft with such devotion. Despite the inherent flaws of the company's products, she believed that for every project that she had managed, orchestrated, and executed, was bettering students everywhere. She believed in their mission while seldom others did, instead hiding behind veils of cynicism to further their profits.

At rare times for promotional material she could be seen in classroom presentations, demonstrating the benefits of LBI's learning software. She adored looking at their little faces, despite the yearning she had to have a family of her own. Dave objected to the idea vehemently. Stating that "they didn't need crotch spawn" caused her to bury the dream entirely.

The only motivation she held now was to return home. She tried to stave off the overwhelming despair she felt. She tried to focus on anything. All of the feelings of failure and humiliation culminated with her murmuring and crying. Soon her makeup which was once flawlessly applied was running down her cheeks in long obsidian rivers that turned to inky blobs against the back of her hand.

There was no complex calculus to process. She knew that their savings weren't enough to survive multiple mortgage payments. She had estimated two and a half months at most, until their dream would end. At a stoplight she squinted her sore eyes and tried to force a smile, wanting to manifest a happiness to wear, even if fraudulent. That smile never came, just a grimace at her reddened eyes, sorrowful pout and ache at the base of her neck, her muscles knotting into forced rigidity.

She drove the whole way under the speed limit, hands gripping the wheel tightly her manicured nails carving into her hands. She wanted to cudgel the console with her tiny fist, and scream till her lungs burned. But she was taught long ago that anger wasnevernecessary for a woman, let alone a wife.

Pushing it down of course was the healthy thing. She had been told that by Dave numerous times. She had at several points questioned why his anger was allowed to be expressed so brazenly, but realized that it was because his passion was different from hers. As a man he was permitted that indulgent rage.

She drove in silence the rest of the way. She parked and exited the vehicle without ceremony, every movement cold and drained. Once inside she sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the retention pond. Billowing clouds of emerald colored gas were emanating from it, as the water bubbled furiously below, the acrid stench it produced was widening in its reach everyday. She jumped when she heard the front door open, unaware of how long she had been staring out their patio.

Dave barged in, Sun Mountain Limited Edition Marucci Golf Stand Bag by his side, one of the few gifts Kourt had bought him that he actually used, albeit poorly. At $1,999.99, it seemed excessive, but to her, ever so smitten and full of love, it wasexactlyenough.

He was wearing an expression of surprise on his face as he struggled to pull the bag inside, its ends getting caught on the door frame and scraping it, each inch of shed paint causing Kourt's eye to twitch. He sighed, feeling his teeth lock together, surmising there was a dreadful reason why she was home far earlier than she should have been.

Lips held tight together, he didn't say a word, fetching from the fridge his personal artisan water "Kucc", priced at an affordable $150.00 per liter, it was made from naturally pure glacier water enhanced with "micro-thematic-Ph enhancing-alkaline carbon neutralizing gold and silver essence solution" she of course, wasn't permitted to have any.

"We need to talk." Kourt's shoulders slumped forward, her posture crumbling with every breath.

"I'm exhausted. We can talk later."

She steepled her fingers, sorrow turning her tongue soft, her tone cold. "It's... I lost my job."

He shook his head and slumped against the wall of the kitchen, wearing an expression of disbelief, his swollen face still wearing a greasy veil of labor from golfing. "Did you even try to fight babes? Even just advocate for yourself a little bit?"

"There's nothing I could do!"

"You know Kourt. I worked really,reallyhard to get us here. Maybe if you had done the same, you'd still have a job right now."

She couldn't offer any response. His words would have elicited tears normally. Now, in the emptiness of her loss, her eyes ached, yet no tears followed, whatever dignity she had, he had surgically extracted with his words alone.

He sat down at the table. "That was too far. My bad."

She rested her hands in her face, cupping her own cheeks as she stared at the old table. One of the only items they brought with them everywhere they had went. She ran her nails down the familiar scratches, gouges, and stains. Each one of those markings told a story from her youth, and even as Dave lectured, his words turned to a droning miasma of splitting static as she fell into the void of memory.

Kourt could seldom see it, but her naivete wasn't self inflicted, it was conditional. Growing up in rural Utah in a household that didn't even celebrate Halloween or Christmas, she had no true concept of the world around her. When through their church, she and Dave went on a mission trip, she felt a fondness for him. He was kind, considerate, and helpful throughout the trip. Their first kiss was one of her fondest memories, one of the few she didn't misconstrue or alter to fit the narrative that Dave had written for her. Itmeantsomething to her. Her phone buzzed, a calendar reminder for the HOA party, to welcome new residents, she wondered if they had one for those who were leaving, so she could sign them up in advance.

***

Penelope Jovanović was the president of the HOA of Primrose and had been since its founding. Her husband Andre, along with their son Maverick, even had their family photos used in early advertising for the community. With their photogenic qualities and flaunting of their boundless wealth, they easily attracted ample amounts of future residents. Yet, Penelope was never one to merely celebrate their past successes, she took the development of the community with a sobering dedication, which is why monthly the Jovanović home hosted a seasonally styled soiree, fully catered and tended.

It wasn't long after the throngs of residents had arrived, when Penelope took to the small gilded podium that had been put in their backyard. Why someone would own a podium of all things, was a common thought among the residents gathered.

Penelope's lips were overfull, tightened with an abundance of filler; face angular and fixed, her skin plastic and chin, trimmed. Her manufactured complexion was derived from sun tanning booths, which had erased her once milky complexion. Her unnaturally obsidian black hair was overly layered and sat past her shoulders. All of her movements were painfully rehearsed, every measure of her speech equally exaggerated. The lack of conviction and totality of her discomfort she tried to hide with her still artificial, but impressive appearance, to failure.

Residents watched and listened to her attempt to elucidate about the growing fiscal values of their properties. Of course, she spoke about new initiatives, such asCTEor "Consistent Tidiness Enhancement" which was enacted neighborhood wide for the low cost of $1000.00 monthly per family. Every buzzword, every sentence she uttered was another fixture, an endorsement for a class of people that seldom could imagine a world outside theirs, for they were those that never did the painful math to see if they could pay rent, and seldom did any of them recognize that blessing.

The party began in earnest when Penelope's speech ended, to a courteous, but completely anemic applause that she awkwardly bowed to with a scowl on her face. As Kourt went to mingle, Dave went his own way, figuring it would be good to make small talk with Penelope. He figured a man like him shouldn't have any problem impressing a woman twenty years his elder.

As he lackadaisically approached her, he saw an ogreish older man, an overweight beardedslobresembling a disheveled, sun burnt bear with greasy uncombed hair, worn flip flops and cargo shorts. Surprised to see a new face in the neighborhood, Dave walked over, and extended his small hand outwards, his voice trying to manifest the utmost confidence. "Hey. Name's Dave. You live around here?"

Peneople gave Dave a lacerating glance, partnered with an exasperated sigh, swirling her Chardonnay, infuriated that he had intruded on their conversation. The beastly man took Dave's hand, and squeezed, nearly crushing it before he slapped him on the back hard enough to jostle him forward several steps. The man's voice was a gruff bellow. "Name's Roy. Owner of Marino Development. Hehe."

Dave was stunned, raising his eyebrow he examined Roy further. He certainly didn't fit the image of a wealthy real estate developer. The only sign of wealth Dave saw was a faded gold Rolex, its bracelet chipped, scratched, and dented. He sheepishly nursed his hand, desperate to maintain his confident posture, and pushed his glasses up his nose. Penelope made no attempt to stave her growing anger and discomfort. Dave was of course, completely oblivious to the weighty conversation he had waddled into.

Roy rested his heavy hand on Dave's shoulder, soon sliding his entire arm around him, a friendly gesture that even Dave could sense was coming from a place of quiet malice and dominance. The scent of sweat, peaty scotch, and miserably cheap cigars overwhelmed him as Roy licked his lips, leaning in close as he spoke. "You work in development? I got a lot of projects, especially overseas. You gain the best friggin' deals there.Everything'salways cheaper."

Clearing his throat, Dave's voice cracked at first. "No. I work in IT, kind of a big deal, I'm responsible for three entire networks for Paul's PC Emporium. Was an honoree for employee of the month."

Penelope interjected, every word tinged with annoyance and disgust at Dave's presence. "Yes Dave, we've all heard you reassure dozens of your... prowess."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Oh that's real friggin' nice. I saw your ring, so where's wifey?"

Dave pointed vaguely towards Kourt's direction. Roy immediately recognized Kourt stood from the others. He studied every inch of the short woman, wearing dark green leggings that hugged the contours of her thighs and accented her heavy apple bottom, a slouchy khaki midriff that delicately framed her creamy, soft navel, autumnal colored hair in a messy bun, projecting a warmth and optimism with her broad smile.

Roy grinned and clapped Dave on the shoulder hard enough to make the man teeter. "Lucky man! She's a beaut! Hehe."

"Yeah a lot of people say that, but it's really, she's the lucky one." Dave checked his phone casually.

Penelope looked down, sipping her wine, looking to the golden liquid as if to offer an answer for the pest that was Dave Hobbes. She wiped a smudge of her mauve lipstick from the rim and spoke. "Yes, Dave, she's certainly lucky. To have a man. Like...you."

Roy lit a cheap cigar, and inhaled, soon blowing the smoke towards Dave's face."Hehe. You should always appreciate what you have. Don't wanna become a friggin' cuck do you?"

Dave offered a quieted, meek response. "Awhat? What did you say?"

"I said aduck. Get it? Quack quack. Now you mind introducing me to wifey?"

Dave shrugged. "Yeah sure. Why not?"

As Dave and Roy started off, Penelope let out an audible groan, hurrying to catch up to Roy, her heels digging into the manicured grass, ankles nearly rolling with each step. With a tactful interception, Em dashed in front of Dave and Roy despite her seven inch heels. Bursting with energy, Em threw her hands around Dave's collar. "Hon! It's so good to see you! Don't you look soooo dapper with that... lovely button down. Banana Republic? I can tell. Great taste. Glad you guys could make it!"

As Dave stood grinning stupidly, Em glanced over at Roy.

"And you are?" Em of course knew exactly who he was, as well as his reputation.

He growled. "Roy. I believe we've met, haven't we?"

"Oh sorry, I don't mean this inthat way, you're just kind of a forgettable guy. Good to see you again... I guess."

Roy's attention was still on Kourt, every predatory urge compelled him to push past the buxom bitch in front of him and figure out a way to get Kourt alone. His glance carefully shifted, his hulking frame moved towards Kourt. Dave remained blissfully unaware, checking his phone for more PGA updates and the latest post from his favorite pod "Louder with Chowder" which managed to combine not only astounding stew recipes but also tips on developing learned helplessness as the man of the house.

Penelope adjusted her blazer again, tugging at her steeply leveled blouse to flash her heavy, freckled, plastic cleavage, kept unnaturally smooth and firm, doing everything possible to regain Roy's attention.

Em darted ahead of Roy and grabbed Kourt by the arm. "Come on I want you to see this really cool... rock I found. Samuel told me so much about its igneous thing. Something about dinosaurs. You like dinosaurs right?" Em lead Kourt away, giving Roy the middle finger.

As Dave still stood blissfully unaware, Roy's face turned from a grimace to a deep scowl as he looked at Dave. He turned back to Penelope, and spoke to Dave one last time. "Nice meeting you buddy. Hehe. Make sure to treat wifey nicely."

Dave looked up. "Sure. Yeah."

Penelope slid the door open from the patio that opened wide into her sprawling McMansion, gilded foyer with spiral staircase and faux diamond chandelier sparkling overhead. She set her wine glass down. "God I thought that asshole would never shut the fuck up."

Roy cracked his knuckles. "Hehe, I'm more interested in-"

"Shut up. We have business."

"But I'm only here for one night. I wanna see about-"

"Roy. Enough. You won. Now come on."

"Hubby tied up?"

"Y... Yes. Now let's get this over with."

They headed up the stairs, Roy chuckled casually as turned over a photo of her family. Thus beginning another accursed transaction of flesh in Primrose.

***

Outside among the subtle chaos of the party, Em led Kourt away, her arm locked around hers, steering her through the crowd. Kourt shouted over the large speaker they walked past. "Who was that guy? Should I meet him?"

"No. He's a huge fucking loser. Trust me. Just stay away from him if you ever see him again."

"Jeez, can I ask why?"

"Gigantic sex pest."

"Eww. Gotcha."

Having saved Kourt, she decided to deposit her into a larger pool of sharks. Along the periphery of the backyard stood Marlowe, Samuel, and Bradley.

"Why don't you go mingle? I'm sure they'd love to have apieceof you." Em purred as she lightly pushed Kourt into the crowd towards the men. To Em's disappointment, Kourt merely stumbled past them and headed to the refreshments table, carefully perusing an assortment of artfully crafted confections, arranged within a spire shaped like a rose. She gawked at it like an innocent, as if she had never seen food at all.

After she finished ravishing several plates of sweets, high on a copious amount of sugar, she soon began introducing herself to others, remaining professional and trying to taper her jubilant demeanor. As she listened and spoke with a bubbly candor, waiting for an opportunity to network, she reminded herself of the tenants of her favorite podcast "The Joy of Labor Outside of Work". She couldn't recall them at all, but she felt motivated regardless.

On the periphery of the crowd, Dave scanned for Kourt, himself having grown bored of being ignored and listening to the tastes of the plebeians that surrounded him. When he spotted her, he angrily snorted, soon stomping over, each step slamming into the ground with an obnoxious thud. He made no attempt to conceal his tone or volume. "Let me guess. Asking people for work leads? You want everyone to know that you're jobless? Huh? And now everything is on my shoulders? This isn't something people need to know!"

Everyone around them fell silent or to menacing whispers that already took residence in Kourt's ears, as an endless hymn to failure. The saccharine, exuberant sounds of Katy Perry's "Firework" was the only interim to Dave's outburst. Kourt stared at the ground, she couldn't even cry. Em watched Dave's petulant shuffling, flapping his flabby arms like putrid wings as he decried Kourt's crestfallen appearance. She chuckled to herself, draining her flute of champagne before speaking under hushed breath, "Oh he's digging his own grave. God this turns me on."

Kourt was completely mortified, she could feel her eyelashes clench like gates to cage the tears that began to flow from her eyes. Browbeaten from youth, she was explicitly told that "crying was not permitted if caused by the transgressions of your husband". The humiliation she felt made her breathless, lungs burning in submission to the deep heavy sobs that overtook her.

She bowed her head and dizzily walked away. As the garden and voices of those gathered disappeared behind her, she turned the corner to the sidewalk and jumped as Marlowe's hand dug into her bicep. She tried to pull away, but found it impossible. His fingers were clenched round her entire arm. He leaned forward, his face alongside hers, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "You need a job? I have one."

She tilted her head towards her shoulder to avoid his lips. She stumbled backwards and away. Wiping the snot away from her reddened nose with the back of her hand, her vintage rings scratched her tender flesh. "I don't need a job from you."

"Funny. I need one from you."

"What? What are... you're a despicable and vulgar man!" Fury animated her every step, heading to home as fast as possible, not caring where Dave was. For now she wanted to be alone, to dissipate into nothing underneath a cave of blankets. She couldn't dispute the feeling that lingered below the surface of her skin, a certain appeal to Marlowe's bluntness and dominance, that ran as a subtle current of warmth to her sex. He was everything Dave wasn't. Everyone was.

Her skin was burning, bridging a gap between despair and desire. She steadied it with a large pour of wine. Staring at the ruby abyss within the glass, she saw a cloudy reflection of her face, lost in a billowing haze of reddened gauze, herself but a wisp in a forest of want and need. Her lips nursed at the glass as is was tipped, throat burning, another thirst quenched with numbness as she clenched her fist to swallow the remnants. She didn't even hear the front door open, merely saw Dave ascend the stairs, as he offered some murmured and meek apology. She heard him shut the door to his office, cocooning himself within.

Apathetically, she looked towards the door where their bedroom was, closed shut, only a single thread of light that strained against the outline of it. She finished another glass of wine, and laid down on the couch. Purging her mind of all thoughts, trying to remain grounded, she pulled the weighted blanket over herself, a sense of despair festered within, and remained her companion, as she drifted away into a drunken slumber.