Redeye

PROLOGUE
SOUTH BEACH, MIAMI
Saturday, June 2001
“I brought you something,” Nate said.
The hotel room was barely lit. Noise from the hallway was
coming in faint as he focused on the task at hand. She was
standing next to the bed as he opened his suitcase and started
fishing through the carefully packed articles of clothing.
She was still standing.
“Here,” he said as he pulled out a gift-wrapped box and
brought it over. “Sit, sit!” he said, as he took a seat himself on
the edge of the bed. She accepted the gift, looking down at him.
He regarded her as a goddess. It felt so fitting for him to look up
to her, he truly and deeply worshiped her.
Why is she STILL standing?
“You didn’t have to,” she said, as she opened the gift.
“It’s your favorite, remember? First edition. You said it made
such an impact on you when you read it.”
She held the fresh new copy of Cane River by Lalita Tademy
and sighed. “You remembered.”
“Of course, how could I forget? I would never forget and

never could forget even the slightest detail when it comes to…
why don’t you sit down so we can talk?” Nate asked.
“Because I can’t stay.”
“Yes, you can…”
“But I’m not going to. I’m sorry,” she said flatly.
He reached out as she took his hand and he looked into her
eyes.
“I know you want this to happen but—”
“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t have to
explain… I understand.”
He fought back the tears and caressed her arm, then lifted his
head to put on his best smile. “You should go. They’re getting
kinda wild out there… someone’s gonna wonder where you
are…”
“You coming?” she asked.
“I’ll be in the lobby to meet everyone for the farewell party.”
She nodded, and as if time accelerated somehow, she turned
and took two steps, then the sound of the door closing behind her
echoed in the room.
It’s Sunday now. The company farewell party was over, and
everyone was checking out. For the last two years, the firm had
worked on the court case for Deutsche Bank. Scanning records,
printing emails, providing OCR cleanup, and creating a document
database for the attorneys to reference.
The two-year document scanning contract was completed,
and it was time to move on. Group pictures were being taken, as
goodbyes and hugs were being exchanged. Nate left his hotel
room dragging his wheeled suitcase down the hall. He was on

the third floor as he walked into the empty elevator and watched
the doors close in front of him.
In this moment of solitude, his emotions finally got the best
of him like an overflowing pond breaking down a weakening
dam. He exhaled a stifled cry and let the tears streak down his
cheeks in a moment of utter defeat. He almost wanted to howl a
loud and anguished cry, as if his leg were broken from falling off
a bike. But, unfortunately, it wasn’t his leg that was shattered to
pieces.
The elevator car shifted to a halt as he gathered his composure
for a second. The floor indication light was on ‘2’ and
suddenly the doors split open in front of him. He quickly stepped
back and wiped his face of any tears as an elderly couple stepped
inside to join him. Just before the doors closed again, two
women walked to another elevator car that was opening on the
opposite side.
One of them turned towards him, and they locked eyes for
what felt like an eternity. She saw him in his frail, defeated state.
Eyes still red, face caught off guard, revealing a crestfallen
broken shell of a man. He dared not let her see him like this. He
needed to let her know that he was going to be alright.
It was too late to smile, but he saw her acknowledge him and
he, in turn, nodded while simply raising his hand in an attempted
half-hearted wave. And like that, the door was closed again.
That final awkward exchange would be the last memory he
would have of her. He would probably never see her in person
again. He would move on. He had to. He couldn’t let her break
him. He had to carry on and never dwell on what could have
been. To do so would drive him mad, to the point of no return,
and he simply refused to let that happen.

THE HUSTLE
NEW YORK CITY
August 2013
“Ben Affleck can’t be Batman! Are you out of your fucking
mind?!”
The news broke the internet last night, sending message
boards, blogs, and Twitter ablaze in an outcry of protest. It was a
few minutes after nine in the morning and podcasters Calvin
Reid and Kate Fitzsimmons were recording their weekly show in
a broadcast studio in downtown Manhattan.
Calvin was wearing a blue short-sleeve T-shirt, with the
legendary comic book artist Jack Kirby’s name on it, inside a
circle. Wearing dark horn-rimmed glasses and sporting a baseball
cap turned backward on his low-cropped gray hair, he sat next to
his co-host shaking his head.
“C’mooon Calvin, give Beanboy Ben a fair chance. I think
he can pull it off!”
“Kate, no offense, but you’re a woman, you don’t know jack
about comics…”
The two started a few minutes of guffaws and mock arguments
until Calvin said, “I wanna hear from today’s guest

commentator… blogger, photographer, and overall jack of all
trades, Nate Durant… what say you, Nate?”
“All I can say is the jury is still out… Ben can probably play
the smooth, yet aloof billionaire type that is Bruce Wayne, but
The Dark Knight will be the challenge of a lifetime. Affleck’s
dabbled in action with Paycheck and The Town, and don’t forget,
he played Daredevil. Say what you will about his performance,
he did that role justice. Pun intended. Christopher Nolan is
producing the film, right? It was his call, and I trust Nolan.”
After the podcast finished, everyone took off their headphones
as the producer worked the soundboard and signaled that
the recording light was off. “We’re clear!”
“Thanks for stepping in, Nate!” Calvin said, with a
handshake.
“No problem.”
Nate fanned a hand through his sandy blond hair as he stood
up from his chair at an even six-foot-one. His boyhood smile
beamed from ear to ear. He was wearing a long-sleeved blue
button-down dress shirt draped over a pair of loose-fitting denim
jeans.
“Hey, lemme get your headshot again. I got some new scouts
looking for extras for Law & Order, as well as other local New
York productions. Movies too!”
Nate rifled through his knapsack and inside was an eight by
ten photo of him with his contact info typed neatly at the bottom.
“Here ya go,” he said to Calvin.
He noticed Kate was stealing a few glances at him, while
pretending to check her smartphone.
“Good, you better answer when they call. What else you got
planned today? From what I hear, you’re a regular renaissance
man.”
“Well, I’ll be heading to Bryant Park near the library until
11:30 am for some writing, another podcast at noon, a tech expo

I need to cover and do an article for, a listening party around
5 pm…”
“Damn boy! Don’t you ever sleep?”
“I am unfamiliar with that concept, what is this ‘sleep’ you
speak of?” he asked, with a chuckle.
“Why you burning the candle at both ends? You got some
terminal disease and don’t plan to live past 45?”
Nate pulled out his phone, did an unlock swipe, and showed
him his home screen. “You see that?”
Calvin looked at a picture of an obese young man who
looked like he was over four-hundred pounds.
“Okay?” he said, not getting the message.
“That was me… seven years ago.”
Calvin did a double take, going back and forth between the
screen and the man standing in front of him, “Bullshit. What the
hell happened?”
“Bariatric surgery. Got three-fourths of my stomach cut out
and my intestines got rerouted, affectionately known as the
Gastric Bypass.”
Calvin did a nod of approval. “I’ve heard of that. Well, I
must say, can’t argue with those results. It’s like you were an
entirely different person.”
Nate put away the phone. “The procedure is only the start.
Since your stomach is the size of a small pouch, your enzymes
can’t break down your food like you used to. It’s a dramatic lifestyle
change. You need to take supplements to get the nutrients
you’d normally get from food. And don’t get me started on
issues with extra skin once you start losing the weight.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re doing over seven jobs
a day like you West Indian.”
Nate smiled at the comparison. “When I looked like that, I
was a prisoner in my own body. I couldn’t walk up steps, I was
ashamed to ride the bus, and I hated going anywhere during the

summer. Despite all that, I was lucky enough to find someone
who would love me, and we got married.”
As soon as Nate said that, he noticed Kate stopped looking at
him and immediately walked out of the recording booth.
Nate turned his head, and then looked back at Calvin. “Suddenly
I’m unattractive, huh?”
“There’s nothing out there that’ll repel a woman more than a
married man,” Calvin said.
“The good ones, anyway. The bad girls still make their
passes at me. Once I decided I was going through with the
surgery, I made a promise. When I lost the weight, I wouldn’t
just settle for a regular nine-to-five job. I’d find a way to work
damn near ‘round the clock. Weekends are dedicated to my wife,
Cynthia, but everything else… is the hustle.”
“Alright man, I’ll let you get going,” Calvin and Nate shook
hands again. “Anybody tell you that you look like Brendan
Fraser?”
He headed towards the exit. “Yea, around 14 years ago when
The Mummy first came out and I was over 300 pounds,” Nate
said sarcastically. “See you around, Cal.”
“A seven-letter word meaning, “To settle down or be calm”?”
“Compose,” Nate replied.
The Great Lawn in Bryant Park was located behind the main
branch of the New York Public Library in Midtown Manhattan.
Nestled between Fifth and Sixth Avenue, as well as 40th through
42nd Street. The area was a well-known place to go “People
Watching.” Offering free Wi-Fi since 2008, it also became a
networking hub for screenwriters, app developers, and online
gamers conducting various campaigns in the virtual world.

“Six-letter word for Portuguese dollar?” someone else
called out.
“Escudo!” Nate answered again. He couldn’t remember the
last time he did a crossword puzzle… they were too easy
for him.
“Hmmm, fits. Thank you!” the stranger replied.
“No problem.”
Nate was sitting on a green metallic tablet chair, browsing
Tumblr on his MacBook Pro. He knew nearly every person
around him and the projects they were working on. Freelancers
were even known to swap assignments amongst themselves in
the secluded group. Another writer approached the area and
greeted everyone with, “Happy Friday! Anyone sell that Great
American Novel yet?”
There were grunts and moans for replies as Nate smiled to
himself. You couldn’t find a surlier group of people, even in a
bar, and the group kept to themselves, not sharing any depressing
news.
Like the average emasculated married man, Nate had a guilty
pleasure of occasionally looking at images of porn. He had no
particular preference, but being previously overweight himself,
he favored Big Beautiful Women, aka, BBW’s.
He was scrolling through countless pictures on his dashboard
when one made his fingertip freeze in mid-air. Nate’s eyes
bulged as he took in a shallow gasp of air. The woman was
spread-eagled, revealing a bush with a huge stomach and a
massive bosom. Any other time, those would make his body
react a certain way, but it was the face he was concentrating on
the most. He knew this woman.
After a double take, he squinted to study and try to identify
her since the face was the furthest from the camera. Without a
doubt, it was her.
“Stephanie?” Nate whispered.
People look at naked people online all the time, but when it’s

someone you know… he shook his head and then examined the
background. She was sitting on a green leather chair in what
appeared to be an ordinary room. There were no windows or any
other furniture. Her blond hair was down nearly to her shoulders,
she was wearing eyeshadow and there was a silver chain around
her neck with a heart charm laying on the cleavage.
She never wore makeup or jewelry… this can’t be her, a twin
possibly? He mused to himself.
A wolf whistle from behind startled him. “Damn, she is hot!”
Nate slammed the MacBook closed and looked up to see
Hiram Weyler standing behind him. The Jewish film school
playwright was wearing slacks and a buttoned-down white dress
shirt. A copy of the current week’s The Village Voice newspaper
was tucked underneath his armpit.
“Hiram, what the fuck? You mind not snooping on me?”
“Hey sorry, man… you looked like you saw a ghost or something,
then started mumbling to yourself. Just seeing what was
wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong… keep what you saw to yourself, you
hear me?”
Hiram put his hands up, and the newspaper fell to the
ground. “Hey… I didn’t see anything.” He picked up his paper
and walked past him.
Nate looked around and noticed others were watching him.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when his ringtone exploded
from his pocket. He fished out his iPhone and answered while
the onlookers went back to what they were doing.
“Hello?” he said to the receiver.
“Nate, it’s Clancy… got a film screening that I need a 250-
word review article on, if it’s good I can shop it around to the
usual mags, give you $65.00 if you have it in by Monday.”
Clancy was a freelance headhunter, always looking for
writers of articles to be placed in all forms of media.
“What movie?”

“Can’t tell ya, you want it?”
“Hmmm, can you do $100.00? I’ll double the word count.”
“Alright, sending you the email, print it and be at the theater
by 8 pm.” Clancy hung up the phone. A second later, the email
notification went off and Nate opened it.
“Prisoners? Never heard of it.” He skimmed the email for
details of the film and the location. His phone flashed with
another incoming call.
“Hello?”
“What are you wearing?” a female voice asked.
“Nicky! How’s it going, you freak?”
“I’m just sitting here in the tub, thinking about you and
masturbating.”
“Uh-huh, fascinating,” he replied nonchalantly. The stand-up
comedienne would flirt with mannequins if they were anatomically
correct.
“Got a slot on my amateur hour show tonight at 8 pm, guarantee
you a pair of c-notes and a blowjob, you in?”
He thought about it, boring film screening or stand-up set?
You should have paid more, Clancy…
“Yes, to the gig, but I must decline the offer for oral sex. It
might be frowned upon by my wife.”
She let out a disappointed moan. “I swear, I’ll wear you
down someday… okay, be at the Times Square Comedy Club by
9 pm. I’ll slip you in the middle of the lineup, then hopefully
between my thighs…” she hung up.
Nate rolled his eyes and stood up. “Hey anyone want a film
screening review? $65.00 for 250 words, 8 pm tonight on the
lower east side?”
“I’ll take it!” someone called out.
Nate pointed. “Give me your email and I’ll forward you the
details. Print the email and be there. Don’t leave me hanging,
man…”
Clancy would be furious he subcontracted, but he didn’t care.

After packing up, he started walking towards Sixth Avenue. The
picture was still stuck in his head.
It couldn’t be her… what are you doing out here, Stephanie?
The Century 21 department store was at 22 Cortlandt Street,
several blocks from the Freedom Tower as it neared completion.
Cynthia Durant maneuvered up and down the aisles in the
women's section. She couldn’t help but smile as she found every
item fitted her athletically fit body perfectly, because it hadn’t
always been so.
While her husband, Nate, had weight loss surgery several
years ago, Cynthia went from a size twenty-four to a size nine on
her own, while supporting him. She remembered a time when
she had to buy clothes from secondhand thrift stores and remote
full-figured boutiques outside the five boroughs. She walked up
to the cashier and paid for three outfits with her credit card.
After leaving the store, she took a stroll down Fulton Street
heading west. It was a few minutes after four-thirty, as she
window-shopped various stores while turning the heads of businessmen
(and a few women) as she passed. She loved to walk
long distances. By the time she arrived at the South Street
Seaport, it was five o’clock.
Cynthia walked into the Watermark Bar, a fairly new place
that was part of the resurgence of the seaport after being hit hard
by Hurricane Sandy last year. Taking a seat in the back facing the
entrance, she ordered a mojito and waited. A tall Hispanic
gentleman in a charcoal-striped suit took the seat next to her. His
skin was olive-colored and his black hair was slicked back. He
cleared his throat several times in a feeble attempt to get her
attention.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked her, after
being ignored.
She turned to look at him and smiled politely. “I don’t
think so.”
He nodded. “My apologies.” He let a few minutes tick by,
while he tried to think of another line. “I uh, loved you in Femme
Fatale. It was very erotic…”