The first of our two major assignments, "A Cost For Anything Gained," was my first story of any length. Prior to this, I had written some small things and was attempting a novel in 2015, but I abandoned it after six months.
The assignment was to write a story where the protagonist gained something but came at a cost. This was my pre-workshop story.
It was late August on the calendar and summer was still squeezing the state with its hot grip, suffocating the area. The relentless heat hammered the blacktop surface of the Mazzio’s Pizza parking lot. In the near background, cars sat, their lower portions distorted by the effect of wavy mirage, creating a surreal landscape of smoky color rising from the black tar pit to form solid images of the used sedans driven by the pizza place’s employees. They stood in underprivileged contrast to the new SUVs parked closer, the ones that were purchased to chariot wearied mothers and their demanding offspring. While school and fall’s reprieve were a few weeks away, in this version of Hades, no one could escape the heat of boredom alone.
Inside the Mazzio’s was a vibrant world, one full of escape from the brutality of outside. Cool air welcomed the arrival of families in its cold embrace. Off the main entrance was the retro arcade. It called to the arriving patrons with bright neon lights and the loud chiming of a Siren’s call. It longed for stacks of $1 and $5 bills to be inserted into the arcade’s boxy, brown token machine in exchange for bronze coins. In turn, these very coins would be used to feed the ravenous arcade games themselves, two at a time as if the players were making offerings to the boatman Charon himself. Loud pop music pumped through the sound system, designed to raise the intensity level of the juvenile horde. The mothers were forced to surrender the monetary contents of their purses as tribute to their howling children. They turned to plastic credit card to place their orders, pizza offerings to their respective flocks while making sure to include a “Mommy drink” or two. Together they wearily congregated to start collectively numbing their senses to the fever of the weather as well as the wailing for their children demanding more money for their arcade addition. Plastic goblets of cheap wine was consumed with complete ease as if it were vinified from Lotus flower nectar, slowing time as it uplifted the spirits of the mothers. Their pain was momentarily anesthetized from the summer break that had lingered for far too long. In this place, time was forgotten and attentions distracted. It was the perfect location to have a discreet business meeting.
Christopher and Alexander sat at a table off-centered to the right from the middle of the main sitting area. It was the perfect location; concealed in its openness as opposed to sitting noticeably in a far corner by themselves apart from the general mass of sensory dulled moms and their shrieking harpies. They were dressed in t-shirts and jeans, typical of most men who were hanging out on an early Saturday afternoon. They had their phones out, a scene emblematic of today’s technology consumed world. At the moment, they were involved in informal conversation about the growth in the area over the past year since the completion of the new turnpike. New businesses were popping up everywhere so it was a matter of time when places like Mazzio’s, that had been part of the community for decades, would lose favor with the trend-chasing suburbanites that were moving in like a swarm of locusts as if they were from Exodus themselves. The town had doubled in population in the past seven years; projections expected it to double again in the next four. It was creating an environment for new business, one that Christopher and Alexander were looking to capitalize on.
Christopher lowered his eyes to his phone and opened a file. He said to Alexander, “Ok, let’s talk business. Looking at the reports, we are sitting at a 97% success rate with our package deliveries. Loss prevention reports show the loss rate is 0%. All in all, this campaign has been more successful than anyone expected.”
Alexander nodded with a slight frown. “I agree the numbers are good,” he said, “but there is the delivery intended for Recipient 3 that wasn’t successful. I’m sorry but I can’t help that this failure really bothers me. We worked hard on that job. The planning for it was crisp, we had all the materials we needed and everything was lined up. It was perfect. It frustrates me that something as stupid as a flat tire caused the entire plan to collapse, one that failed to deliver for that recipient.”
Christopher lowered his phone and smirked, letting out a slight chuckle. He knew that it was important to Alexander to deliver to Recipient 3. Of all their recipients, Recipient 3 was the most important to Alexander.
“Alex, don’t beat yourself up over it. In this business, unforeseen complications can arise. The facts are that sometimes thing just happen. You have to let it go and move on to the next delivery.”
“I’ll never get past this one though Chris,” replied Alexander, looking down at the table. “It’s not just about being perfect in the job. It’s that this one was the one most deserving of our services. I just wish we had been able to meet our obligation.”
“Alex, what if there was an opportunity to make this right and get a second chance to deliver to Recipient 3?” asked Christopher.
Alexander looked up at Christopher, intrigued. He asked, “What do you mean by a second chance? Has another order come in? Why would the Client A want to use our services again?”
Christopher opened his bag and pulled out a manila folder labeled “Confidential: Recipient 3”. He passed it across the table to Alexander and said, “Take a look at this. Client A contacted me and proposed a new delivery for Recipient 3. I think that you will find this to be more than satisfactory. If you agree with the project assessment, I need you to sign off and green light the project.”
Alexander took the folder, opened it and reviewed the contents. After a few moments, he closed it and sat it back down on the table. “Do you think this will work? Are we going to be able to make amends and do right by Client A?” Alexander asked.
Christopher smiled at his partner. Christopher was the better researcher of the two. Over the past three weeks, he had worked through several contacts and found that there was an opportunity to undo the one blemish on their campaign. Unlike Alexander, Christopher didn’t prioritize recipients. Instead, he was focused on the end result, the statistics of the job. He wanted the unblemished record too but he wanted delivery perfection. Here was a second chance to correct their one gaffe. Christopher had put in the work and constructed a plan that he believed was foolproof. The plan only needed Alexander to agree and sign off. Then they both would be able to get to work to correct their respective regrets.
“Alex, it doesn’t get better than this. The best part: we will get the opportunity to make a bigger impression within the company as a result. We will become legendary.”
Alexander sat silently for a moment, internally weighing the pros and cons of Christopher’s proposal. While there was significant risk, there would never be an opportunity like this again. They had to take advantage.
“Ok Chris,” said Alexander. “Green light.”
Christopher reached across the table and shook Alexander’s hand. As he took a drink, he noticed the server bringing their order, a large pepperoni pizza. He took the folder and put it away in his bag. Zipping it up and sliding it under his feet, he took in a deep draw of air through his nose, allowing the aroma to engulf him and bring a smile to his face. Grabbing a slice, he said, “Excellent decision Alex. This is going to work beautifully. Now let’s eat and stop looking like a couple of nerds in here.”
***
The soft glow of yellow light ebbed and flowed from the strings of party lights surrounding the patio and pool, illuminating the night sky like a multitude of fireflies hovering and signaling. A slight breeze lifted over the scene, making the night magical. The sounds of 80’s top hits poured from the DJ booth through the various built-in speakers, lifting through the party into the sky, singing to the stars themselves. The aroma of beef, chicken and shrimp fajitas lured the partygoers into walking around, balancing plates and glasses filled with margaritas or Mexican beer, engaging in cheerful celebratory chatter. Among the festive mass of celebration, Recipient 3 moved gracefully from one person to the next, providing courteous kisses on cheeks and accepting congratulations for surviving to see her 40th birthday. She drifted about, powered by the starlight of her Lucky Star outfit. It was her day and she was consumed with celebration.
In the corner of the large backyard was a large arrangement of shrubs and other suburban plants that created an artificial oasis. The sound of the fountain was loud enough that it would drown out the conversation that was quietly coming from within if anyone wandered close by. Hidden in the oasis were Christopher and Alexander. Dressed in black, faces blackened out, they were doing their final checks before they delivered their package; to take out Recipient 3.
“She’s working her way around but there is still a lot of traffic in the line of sight between the rally marks and target,” whispered Alexander.
Christopher observed the scene. There was around 80 people, all dressed in attire from the 1980s. Some wore normal clothes fashionable during that decade where others were dressed like well-known celebrities of the time. Though he wasn’t well versed of that particular decade, he did recognize some of them and used them as reference points.
“Do you see Miami Vice over there near the grill,” asked Christopher? “Behind him is the wireless microphone. When old Jeff Spicoli starts the congratulatory speech, everyone will step away to allow the focus to be on Recipient 3. They are using a spotlight to highlight her so when the lights kick back on, she will be blinded by her star light, star bright. That’s when we will have a clear line of sight to strike.”
“I can’t believe she is wearing that outfit,” exclaimed Alexander. “What a stupid thing to wear. Who does she think she is supposed to be?”
“Madonna,” answered Christopher. “All the more memorable for the witnesses.” He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes to go.”
Christopher and Alexander sat in silence, continuing to observe, watching for any potential actions that could throw off their carefully constructed plan. After their failure in the first attempt for delivery to Recipient 3, they worked extra on improvisation techniques and adjustments. They scouted the area every night for the past nine days, studying and mastering every detail of the terrain, the neighbors and their animals, the timers for outdoor lights. Everything was studied, everything was rehashed.
Alexander glanced over at Christopher. “What hardware did you select, Chris? Are you going quick or big?”
Christopher patted the rifle sitting across his lap. “I went with the modified Hydra. This calls for leaving a big impression and I want to leave no doubt. How about you?”
Alexander answered, “The Streamer. Since I am running Initiator, I needed something light. I am using the extend magazine though.”
“Excellent choice Alex,” responded Christopher. He was proud of how much Alexander had learned and was pleased with the quality of their partnership. Their teamwork had become so intertwined they were easily anticipating one another’s movements. At this point in their campaign, they knew what the other was doing with no surprises.
They returned to observing the party as their attention was returned by the playing of “99 Luftballoons” poured out of the speakers. Christopher flipped open the wristband and read the DJs playlist. One more song between the song playing and the trigger song.
Christopher turned to Alexander. “The speakers are on a Bluetooth connection so tripping the GFI will only affect the lights. It should take Twisted Sister about a minute to make his way over to the outlet and reset it. That gives you about 50 seconds to be on mark and ready. As soon as those lights turn on, we shoot on my command. Any final questions?”
“Nike,” answered Alexander.
They slowly separated to a distance of 25 feet, allowing Christopher and Alexander to effectively whisper their mic checks.
“Hermes, this is Apollo, over,” Christopher whispered into the mic of his comm headset.
“Check Apollo, this is Hermes reading you clearly,” said Alexander’s voice in the earpiece snuggly fit into Christopher’s left ear.
The song changed to “The Heart of Rock & Roll” by Huey Lewis and The News. That was their queue.
Christopher commanded, “Check Hermes, loud and clear. Two clicks then switch to visual and engage Phase One. 90 seconds to Rally Mark Bravo. Break.”
Christopher and Alexander took one last look at one another. Christopher gave Alexander the thumbs up signal and positioned himself into a squatting crouch, ready to pounce like a big cat setting an ambush for its prey. Alexander returned the sign, took a deep breath and silently exploded from the oasis in a full sprint along the fence line. He moved quickly and stealthily in the showdown of the fence line. Rifle slung to his back, he was able to place his hands on the top rail of the wrought iron fence and hurdle it effortlessly. Without breaking stride, he reached the corner of the house and came to a stop. Pausing for a moment, he scanned the area and disappeared around front.
Christopher lowered his night vision goggles and adjusted his sights. He lifted his rifle and adjusted his feet. In silent intensity, he listed in his earpiece. He was aware the song change to Madonna’s “Lucky Star” and watched as Recipient 3 danced her way over to a makeshift throne centered by the pool, back to him. He took a deep breath and held it. “Click, click” resonated in his earpiece followed by the lights cutting out. He sprang from his spot and sprinted across the lawn to his designated spot, Rally Mark Alpha. It was positioned to the right of a palm tree which was at a 45-degree angle behind the target. The location was concealed and would remain dark when the lights returned, not affecting the night vision. He came to a quick stop, took a knee and entered firing position. He quickly flicked the safety switch to fire, turned on his laser targeting scope and aimed carefully. He could see the recipient, illuminated through the goggles like a frozen statue, unsure of what to do in the darkness. But she was standing up, back to the marks, exactly what they wanted.
Christopher heard a rustle to his left. Without taking his eyes off his target, he instinctually knew it was Alexander. Alexander was fast and gifted in his athletic abilities. He made it to his mark quicker than expected which means he would be better positioned to take his shot. It had all come together for them. Christopher listened to the chaos of the scene in the darkness. Semi-drunken guests laughed at what they perceived to be a tripped breaker because the party lights were drawing too much amperage. He could hear Dee Snider loudly proclaiming everyone was in good hands and that the “Shining Star of Tonight” would be illuminated again in just a moment. But she was illuminated as two green dots, only visible to Christopher and Alexander, centered in convergence spots in the middle of her back. Game, set, match.
The lights flicked back on brilliantly and Recipient 3 was lit up in bright light. She raised her hand to shield her eyes, trying to adjust to the spotlight illuminating her. Adjusting his position slightly, Christopher called out to her.
***
In the darkness next to her makeshift throne, Recipient 3 stood. She let out a small sigh as she waited for her husband to reset the GFI outlet. She told him all week that the outlet needed to be replaced because it wouldn’t take the load of all the lights and the DJ equipment. Naturally, her husband told her everything would be fine. Yes, nothing is quite as fine as standing alone in the dark on a milestone birthday.
Suddenly, the lights exploded, illuminating her in bright brilliance. She shielded her eyes as her ears filled with the gleeful exclamations of the guests to the return of the party. She was so focused on the brightness she was startled when she heard “Hey, Mom” from behind her.
Recipient 3 turned quickly, lowering her hand from her eyes. She peered into the darkness that was behind her but could see nothing but a black void. Before her eyes could adjust, she felt as if a cold, wet sledgehammer struck her squarely in her heart. Gasping at the shock of the impact, she took two stumbling steps backwards and slipped, falling into the pool. Pool water, warmed due to the relentless summer sun, engulfed her. As she sank, the water turned scarlet but it was not from her blood. Her rage seethed from her eyes as the bright red fire of an angry woman engulfed her, sending waves of water dancing up the side of the pool and leaping onto the stone deck to escape the coming wrath.
***
Christopher and Alexander rose from their positions, lifted their goggles and converged in front of the pool where their mother fell. They lowered their Super Soaker water guns, still dripping from the ice cold water that had filled their tanks. They gave each other a quick celebratory high-5. At last, 100% completion of all objectives in the campaign. They turned their heads to one another and laughed. This was the signature event for their business they started, “Party Pranks.”
Recipient 3 broke the surface of the water, full of rage as she spit water from her mouth like Kharybdis. “You little assholes,” she screamed, channeling all the fury of a force of nature. She rose to her feet and reached out with her arms to grab Christopher and Alexander as if Scylla were plucking sailors from a passing ship. Missing in her attempt to drag her boys in with her, she sloshed towards the pool steps, eyes never breaking contact on the boys. She was shouting their names intertwined with profanities, verbally writing an epic as her wrath burned brighter. It ended with her yelling, “Get your asses to your rooms!”
Twisted Sister walked up to them, hands extended while shaking his head. He said to them, “Boys, I can’t tell you what is going to happen but this is by far one of the ballsiest pranks I have ever seen. Now hand them over and head to your rooms before we have 80 witnesses to a double homicide.”
Christopher and Alexander unslung their super soakers and turned them over. They both looked at their mother as she stepped out of the pool. Water poured down the front of her hair to her mouth, a dripping stream like venom from the fangs of a viper. She was transformed into a violent Gorgon, her curly, soaked hair twisted like a nest of snakes while the black lace stuck to her arms like the scales of a snake. The boys looked away, fearing that their mother’s death stare would turn them to stone on the spot.
But the Christopher and Alexander weren’t ones to give up so easily. They had a reputation to create and now was the most opportune moment to cement their status as the best in their line of work. At the risk of further punishment, Christopher spoke with his back to his mother, saying, “Happy Birthday, Mom.”
Alexander, not looking back either, nodded in agreement, saying, “We love you.”
The epic saga of this night was finished with a closing stanza of profanities that followed them into the house as they waded through a sea of disapproving adults while Twisted Sister covered his shivering wife with an oversized towel.
***
Christopher lay on his bed, looking at the void on his dresser where his TV once sat. His room turned into Tartarus, a darkened abyss devoid of anything electronic or even electrical save the overhead ceiling fan and lamp, alarm clock and an oil diffuser on the nightstand. The blinds were drawn and while his room was clean and organized, it felt still, nearly lifeless. The only noise, besides his breathing, was the diffuser blowing. It was releasing the scent of lavender into the internal atmosphere intended to combat the smell of teenage athlete. Like all young men at this age, being in his presence after practice could best be described as standing next to Calibos on the Thessalian plains in the middle of a hot summer day. It was three weekends ago when he and his brother made their final delivery. Alexander was confined to his room, the next room over. Christopher guessed that he was probably reading one of his books since there wasn’t anything else for a15-year-old to do during a six-week confinement.
Christopher, who was nearly 17, was grounded for an additional two weeks. Being the older brother, it was assumed he was the ringleader. Not only had he lost all of his electronics, he was also confined to his prison cell of a room. With the exception of school, football practice and games, and meals and other biological needs, he wasn’t to step foot outside of his room unless summoned by his parents. Mealtime was especially fun since not a day went by when his mother didn’t bring up her birthday incident. She dramatically bemoaned how embarrassed she was to have two unruly boys that reveled in provoking and humiliating her. Christopher had already resigned himself to accepting he would hear about it for as long as his mother lived. When she went about her retelling of the humiliation, Christopher would sit there, wisely not making eye contact with Alexander. To do so would add additional theatrics.
Christopher looked at the clock. It read 3:00 in the afternoon. He sat up and stared for a moment at the opposing wall, pondering his sentence. In addition to his current situation in home, it also had an impact outside the home. There was this girl he was interested in all summer, Callie, who he wanted to ask out. However, since he was grounded, Callie was going to attend homecoming with his teammate John. John was also a senior, a glorified big shot in their school. Christopher knew once Callie accepted John’s invitation that it would be the end of any chance he had with Callie. After all, John was a walking sculpture and also nice person. This was the most significant cost but one he had to endure.
Christopher had to ask himself if the cost was worth what was gained? Despite all the punishment at home, despite the loss at school, the campaign had paid off. People were talking about the business.
The prank Christopher and Alexander pulled resulted in the summer’s most talked about incident. Now that school was in session, the mothers that once were forced to enter places like Mazzio’s instead gathered in new lairs to drink their Lotus flower elixirs and shamelessly spread messages of gossip about themselves. Helen, formerly known as Recipient 3, was a frequent topic of these conversations. The assembly of mothers told tales of how rotten Christopher and Alexander were, how Helen needed to control her boys and how Gregory, formerly identified as Twisted Sister in the delivery, should be more watchful of his son’s antics and teach them how to behave like gentlemen.
As for the fathers, it too was a topic of conversation during their poker nights and football watching parties. However, the tone of these conversations was very different in nature. Instead of disgust and disdain, the story was told with wonder and merriment. Phrases such as “the brass balls on those boys” and “that was the most sophisticated prank I have ever seen” yielded an odd praise heaped upon Gregory for having two sons that were perceived by the dads as being smart, funny, brave and future members of the guy’s club. No matter how it was viewed, the fact is that night was a legendary act, one that was creating its own mythology. It was exactly as Christopher planned and everything that he hoped it would become.
Smiling, Christopher concluded the cost was worth it. Alexander would be released in three weeks, followed by Christopher’s own release a couple of weeks after. He rose from the bed and sat next to the opposing wall, the one he shared with Alexander. He knocked on the wall twice.
After a moment, three knocks answered. Christopher took a deep breath and pulled his curly hair back into a ponytail. Cracking his knuckles, he started lightly tapping on the wall.
Christopher tapped in Morse, “Alex, what is your answer? We need to decide to go to Phase 2 or scrap the campaign”
Silenced followed for a moment but the wall between them answered. “I’m in. Let’s do this.”
Christopher sat for a moment then got up. He went to his bookshelf and pulled the red bound book on the third shelf from among several books related to Greek Mythology. The book was titled “The Dangerous Book for Boys.” Sitting back down next to the wall, he opened the book and turned to the chapter on famous battles. From the story of Thermopylae, he pulled out a small clasped envelope with “Thanksgiving” typed across the front in red ink. He emptied the contents in front of him: a bound stack of eight small notepad pages consisting of an outline and preliminary plans, the anticipated guest list for Thanksgiving dinner this year and another small envelope that had “Client A” written on it. He opened the small envelope and read the note within.
Nice job at your mother’s birthday. You two are a chip off the old block. I’m proud of you both and I look forward to seeing what you pull off on Thanksgiving. Let me know if you need anything. -Dad.
Christopher returned the note to its envelope and slid it back inside the clap envelope. He had learned a lot from his father, most of all how to make time for fun and adventure. Christopher was a serious child, prone to literalism and was somber by nature. But his father had told him when he turned 13 that life is about balance, that there is a time and place for everything. He taught him that if you lose that balance, your life as a whole suffers. Gregory reinforced the message when he gave Christopher this red bound manuscript for life on Christopher’s 13th birthday. Now, Christopher was growing into a well-rounded young man, balancing his life appropriately.
Christopher unclipped the stack of papers containing his workup for Phase 2 and pulled the outline. He turned back to the wall and started tapping again, relaying the contents through the wall to Alexander. It was time to start planning the next campaign. After all, business never sleeps.
The End
My classmates mostly gave the story positive reviews, though some did not care much for it. During these weeks of reading and critique, I learned much about the workshop process and, more importantly, the ego of writers. There are those who want to support their fellow writers to succeed, and there are those in it for themselves. The latter are typically incapable of growth.
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