Chris Bachelder - The Throwback Special

“You really think he’ll have it?” Derek said.

“Definitely.”

Derek made his way through the men toward the door. The journey across the room was long and complicated.

“With your shield or on it, Derek,” Gary yelled, and Steven moved in close to mitigate the historical damage.

Derek took the elevator from the third floor to the fourth floor. In Room 440 he replaced his Clint Didier jersey with a crew-neck sweater from L.L.Bean. He washed his hands and face. He stared out the window at a wet dumpster. He rode the elevator down toward the lobby. Derek thought the ball that Trent had selected from the wet towel had not looked like his ball. Of course, it was difficult to see, but Derek felt pretty sure that his ball was not as yellow as the ball Trent held aloft. Why would Trent single him out for this unpleasant task? What had he done to Trent?

Derek walked slowly through the lobby to the conference room. Here he was, looking for handouts. Hey, brother, can you spare an A/V interface? He passed by the conference room, but did not stop. He walked a circle through the lobby, then another. Television, clock, fountain, pineapple, arbor. It was possible — yes, it was entirely possible — that Derek just did not need this anymore.

The door of the conference room had a small window. Derek peered in, but there was a presentation under way, and the overhead lights were out. He could not see well, and he did not, he realized, even know how to identify Cyber Jim. His khakis, even if visible, would not very well set him apart. A man in khakis stood at a lectern in the front of the large room. The lectern had a reading light, and the man was lit from beneath like a political aspirant or an archfiend. Derek missed the hallowed space of the conference room. Behind the man at the lectern, projected on a screen, was a picture of a water mill. Derek could knock, or he could simply enter. The next projected picture was a suspension bridge. The next projected picture was a searing desert landscape. Derek thought he heard people laughing inside the room. The next projected picture was a colorful hot air balloon.

“Can I help you?”

Startled, Derek turned to see a young hotel employee in an ill-fitting uniform. A large ring of keys clipped to his belt loop threatened to pull down his overlarge pants. He held a brown paper bag dotted with oil spots. His left eye twitched. Or rather, his right eye twitched. He could have been eighteen, saving money for college, or thirty-five, with an ankle monitor. His name tag read Robbie .

“Sorry,” Derek said. “Wrong room.”

“There’s only one conference room,” Robbie said.

“And it’s wrong,” Derek said. “Sorry. Have a good day.” He began walking toward the elevator.

“Are you a corporate spy?” Robbie said.

“What?”

“Should I call security?”

“There’s really no need,” Derek said.

Robbie laughed. “We don’t have security.”

“I’m moving on,” Derek said. “I’m minding my own business.”

“No, really,” Robbie said, taking a step toward Derek. “What do you need?”

“Nothing at all.”

“No, really. I’m here to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Derek said. “I was just looking for a guy who might help me get a computer cable.”

“VGA?”

“No, his name is Jim.”

“No — you need a VGA cable?”

“Oh. No. HDMI.”

“Right,” Robbie said. “Follow me.”

Derek stood outside of the elevator. The bell rung, the doors slid open. He watched Robbie walk toward the front desk, his ring of keys jangling with each step. The next projected image in the conference center, which Derek could not see, was a lion bringing down a sable antelope. The elevator doors slid closed. Derek walked toward the front desk, following Robbie against his better judgment. Robbie unlatched a swinging gate at the edge of the desk, and held it open for Derek.

Behind the front desk was an office. In the office Derek saw a desk, a chair, a bulletin board, a computer, and a large framed poster of a vibrant rose resting in two hands (cupped, Caucasian). Even in the frame, the poster was wrinkled and warped, and Derek was forced to consider that the poster concealed an escape tunnel in the wall. Robbie placed his oily paper bag on the desk, then removed his key ring from his belt loop.

“Who are you this year?” Robbie said, flipping through his keys.

“Excuse me?” Derek said.

“Which player?”

“Oh,” Derek said. “This year? This year I’m L.T.”

Robbie looked up from his keys, peering at Derek through his stringy bangs. Derek felt the urge to confess his lie, but he remained quiet, and Robbie resumed his search for the key.

The closet was three times larger than the office. Floor-to-ceiling shelves ran across all four walls. On the shelves were clear plastic containers of various sizes. In the containers Derek could see phones, keys, watches, dentures, hearing aids, jewelry, laptops, MP3 players, CDs, DVDs, electric toothbrushes, vibrators, gloves, mittens, dog collars, scarves, video games, GPS devices, chargers, mouthguards, neckties, shoes, shirts, pants, blouses, skirts, sweaters, knives, toys, games, headphones, hand weights, jump ropes, prescription medications, shaving kits, cosmetic bags, purses, clutches, handbags, duffel bags, garment bags, knapsacks, backpacks, satchels, wallets, hats, visors, socks, photographs, retainers, heating pads, massagers, wigs, stuffed animals, noise machines, dehumidifiers, humidifiers, sleep apnea devices, blood sugar monitors, blood pressure monitors, heart rate monitors, ear wax vacuums, dolls, Charles’s brown canvas bag, sewing kits, knitting needles, thimbles, riding crops, thermometers, fingernail clippers, scissors, tweezers, books, notebooks, canes, lighters, pillows, maps, umbrellas, glasses, sunglasses, contact lens cases, porcelain figurines, travel mugs, pet food bowls, eyeshades, tennis rackets, harmonicas. In a corner there was an antique wooden crib, and wedged snugly inside the crib was Fancy Drum.

“So this is the lost and found?” Derek said.

“We just call it the lost,” Robbie said, searching a low shelf. He pulled out a container full of HDMI cables, intertwined like snakes in a mating ball. “We got two-foot, four-foot, six-foot, or eight-foot,” he said, pulling out cables from the container. “Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know,” Derek said. “I guess I’ll take a six-foot.”

“Good choice,” Robbie said. “Here, take two, just in case.” He handed Derek the HDMI cables. The twitch in his eye made it difficult to tell if he had winked.

Derek nodded.

“You want anything else while we’re here?” Robbie said. “You want some thumb drives?”

Derek shrugged.

Robbie scooped out a handful of thumb drives from a bottom-shelf container, and offered them to Derek.

“Thank you,” Derek said, dropping the thumb drives into the front pocket of his corduroys.

Robbie looked around. “Headphones? Viagra?”

Derek moved a footstool to the corner. On the stool, on tiptoes, he reached into a container on the top shelf. Gently he pulled one end of a lavender scarf out of the container. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. He read the tag to confirm it was silk.

“You like that scarf?” Robbie said.

Derek nodded.

“That’s been here longer than I have,” Robbie said.

“It’s nice.”

“You want to see other scarves? We’ve got boxes of scarves. I’ll get them down for you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said.

“You like that purple one.”

“I like this one.”

“It’s all yours,” Robbie said.

Derek pulled the long scarf from the container like a magician.