Lily Hoang - Unfinished - stories finished by Lily Hoang

There is nothing suspicious about this. The man is high on the food chain, which is funny because he has been eating a single doughnut for most of the morning.

It could be expected that he would call employees into his office.

Only the man does not call them into his office.

The employees come into his office because he is a kind “suit.” He never tells on them and allows them to do whatever they choose in his office, although there is a version of taxation in that if his door is unlocked, he is inside, and if he is inside, he is allowed — by virtue of being a “suit” — to watch and participate, if he so chooses.

The man — in an attempt to be as casual and unobtrusive as possible, lest others suspect he has the treasure — is pleasant towards those who chose to come into his office, even when they have no business being there. It first happened a few weeks after he’d discovered his treasure. He had not yet learned to build compartments in his clothing. At this point, he’d simply put it in his briefcase, beneath a layer of semi-important, necessary papers. One employee came in. He was a line-worker, no one particularly noteworthy to the man. The employee complained of pain caused by repetitive motion.

The form the employee needed to fill out was in the briefcase. The man did not know what to do, so he simply sat there. He told the employee to rest a while. There: on the very lush, ergonomic couch. The employee eventually fell asleep, during which time the man put on a glove, which he’d stashed in his drawers, and removed the treasure from his briefcase and put it in shirt pocket. Although it was hot, the man put back on his suit jacket, to make the treasure seem less protruding. Then, the man transferred his treasure into his pants pocket, although it made an even more impressionable lump there. The man thought: This will have to do for now.

The employee napped until it was time for him to leave. He cleverly forgot to sign the papers necessary for him to get medical attention, thereby allowing him to begin working again.

The next day, the employee arrived at the man’s office before the man arrived. Flustered, he allowed the employee to nap again because again, he’d put his treasure in his briefcase.

That day, the man devised a series of secret compartments for his clothes. The employee spread the word that this “suit” was a good one, and other employees began to enter his office for rest and other miscellaneous activities.

There are three couches in the man’s office. Originally, there was only one, but the man asked his secretary to buy more and arrange to have them delivered. The man did not want his employees not to have a space when they came into his office. Somehow, his office expanded to accommodate the increased furniture. His office never felt crowded.

Sometimes, the employees would sit or lie with a pillow, or even a blanket if they were particularly tired, all of which the man provided. Sometimes, they would even kiss each other if they wanted to, and the man never complained about it. Sometimes, they would rub each other’s crotches with various objects, including their own crotches, and the man would mimic their behavior.

The man watches without watching. He is a busy man, filled with appointments and letters to write, calls to make, so on and so forth.

It is the man’s office. He can do as he pleases.

But he does it only to seem natural. He does not want to stick out and make others suspicious of his treasure.

Before lunch, the man transfers his treasure from hidden compartment near the spine of his undershirt to the hidden compartment in the lining of his corduroy jacket.

During lunch, the man goes to the restaurant with the seafood, and he sits behind an aquarium in a dark corner next to a mysterious door. The door says: Mysterious Door. Do NOT Enter.

He nibbles on garlic bread from a bottomless basket and drinks Pepsi from a bottomless glass. He looks at the fishes. He thinks: How are they any different from my employees?

The man does not include himself in this category. Before the treasure, he would have, but not any more.

Remember: the treasure is tucked in the man’s corduroy jacket.

It is unseasonably warm inside the restaurant so the man removes his jacket and puts it on the seat across from him.

The man looks at the empty seat across from him. Here, now, the man sees how very alone he is. Even though he has his treasure, he has shared it with nobody. He once thought of showing to his children, but their hands were unpredictably dirty and too small for gloves. He’s never considered sharing it with his wife, although when sexual intercourse is required, he thinks of his treasure while fucking her. Without that aid, he is sure he would never reach orgasm. Nor would his pecker be peppy enough for the challenge.

The man considers his secretary worthy of looking at the treasure, but she should never touch it. Of course, the man knows that once seen, the natural desire would be to touch it, which he could never allow.

While eating his bottomless basket of garlic bread, the man realizes how very lonely he is. It is a great burden, that of holding a treasure.

Just then, the mysterious door opens and a mysterious woman emerges. The man thinks: She is a chameleon. Look how she dresses as the other waitresses dress.

The mysterious woman sits across from the man. Her body hides the man’s treasure.

The man thinks: This is it. She is the one.

The mysterious woman says: I have been watching you lately and you look so sad. Are you tired? Overworked? I’m overworked. I’m always overworked.

The man thinks: She speaks!

The mysterious woman says: I’ll be right back.

The man is flustered. He does not know if he should grab his jacket and flee or stay. He is frozen.

The mysterious woman turns around twice, and in her hands, she holds a cup of coffee. It has hazelnut-flavored cream and almond extract in it, in just the right proportions. She is a mixture of the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and his secretary.

She says: This ought to help.

She says: What’s your name?

The man drinks the coffee in one long breath. Then he says: I have to go. But will you be here tomorrow?

The mysterious woman says: You know where I am every day.

The man reaches into his silk jacket to remove his wallet. His hand scratches the treasure. He doesn’t mind the blood.

He puts enough money on the table to cover his bill and tip.

He returns to the office, where his secretary will have dressings ready for his wound.

At the end of the day, the man is the last to leave the office. He uses a pass to enter the subway that takes him to the train, that takes him to the bus, that takes him to his car, that takes him home. When the man walks through his front door, there is his fat wife, waiting with creamed chicken, and his ugly children, screaming to tell him about their day.

We had jobs at an old department store downtown, between 7th and 8th. We worked late, not late like bars are open late, more like closing department stores late, which is still late but not that late. We were the closers. We had roughly two hours to ourselves — two hours of silence after a shift of nagging and interrogations — alone in our separate departments. We cleaned, counted tills, made deposits, and so on. No sweeping or vacuuming. There was a whole different crew for that. They came in hours after we’d gone. Once, we tried to wait for them, but Zane got sleepy so we took off.

Kyle was in Men’s Wear. He dressed in three piece suits and shining oxblood wingtips. He was like a businessman — smart but conservative haircut, boyish face, royal eyes. Like a perfect doll. He had something of a New England accent, though he was from South St. Paul. We’re full of illusions.