The Boss & The Assistant - Rewritten Edition of "The Boss"

Chapter 11 - Emerson

 By the end of the first week, staying at Mr. Jett's home felt normal. Calling him Lafayette instead of Mr. Jett did not quite feel normal yet, but he seemed to prefer to go by his first name. So I was still making an effort. Having Mr. Jett sleep in the house, just one floor above me, made me less anxious at night, so I was getting better sleep. I don't think Lafayette had the healthiest sleep schedule, but then again, some people thrived on an asynchronous schedule. I think daVinci had a unique sleep schedule, so maybe Lafayette did too.

Thursday night was the first night that Richard called in over a week. I had been getting a ride with Lafayette almost every night after work (I performed the past weekend at the club and slept at another queen's place Friday and then a hook up's place on Saturday), so I decided to stay and deal with the aftermath of the phone call. When he was inside his office on the phone with whoever this asshole Richard was, I contemplated ways to save him. 

If only a rat would run across the floor so I could scream bloody murder and hop onto the desk. Lafayette would drop the phone, come running out, and either cower with me or laugh at me. Maybe he would even laugh more than just the occasional chuckle I get from him. I was usually good at making people laugh, so sometimes I was disappointed in myself when I couldn't make Lafayette laugh. Maybe my jokes weren't his preferred type of humor.

The phone call seemed to be longer than normal. After twenty minutes, Lafayette shot me a chat message, telling me I did not have to wait. It was almost October, so it was actually getting cool outside. The sun was below the skyline. I sent him a message back, I don't mind waiting. It's kind of cold tonight and I didn't bring my jacket. This was a lie. I had a very light jacket today, but I shoved it into my cabinet drawer.

I might be awhile, Lafayette messaged back.

I don't mind waiting.

It was only a few minutes later when I heard Lafayette's voice raise, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. Silence followed, and then I heard him walking around. A moment later, I smelled marijuana coming from his office. Marijuana was not new to me, but I guess I didn't think of Lafayette as a pot smoker. I had never smelled it on him before or in the house. Maybe he only smoked it when he was really stressed out. Against my better judgments, I knocked on his office door.

"Come in," he called.

I had never been inside his office before. His desk was large and L-shaped with a big leather wheely chair. Behind it was a big window covered by a curtain. To the left of where I was standing was another floor-to-ceiling window also covered by a curtain. Bookshelves lined the office. A cabinet was to the right. A few chairs and a coffee table were in the center of the room in front of his desk. A door was to the right. I assumed this is where he went to get to his little apartment here.

"Are you ok?" I asked, watching him light a bowl.

After he exhaled, he said, "Yes. Do you mind if...?" He gestured to his bowl.

"No, no, go ahead.," I said. I didn't know what to say. "I mean, every time I walk home people are always smoking something. One time a guy, he was kind of cute actually, he was like 'hey cutie, you want some of this?' I was like eighteen and had smoked maybe once or twice. So I was like, 'oh sure, I smoke pot all the time.' Total lie, of course. But then he said, 'no baby, this is crack.' I was dumbfounded."

Lafayette laughed. It was still kind of a chuckle, but not the type of knee-slapping laugh I wanted to get out of him. Still, he smiled with his teeth, which was always nice to see on the rare occasion. "I'm going to assume you said no," he said.

"Yeah, I said maybe next time," I said.

He took another hit off of his bowl and when he was done exhaling it, he handed it out to me. "Maybe it's a little unorthodox for your boss to offer to smoke with him, but it's not as unorthodox as living with your boss," he said. "You can say no. I'm just being nice."

"Sure, yeah, I can...partake," I said. He smirked as I took the bowl from him. "So, I just like..." I had only smoked blunts at the drag club. I was lucky I even knew it was called a bowl.

"Put your thumb over the hole," he said.

I did as he said and then took the lighter, bringing the bowl to my mouth. I didn't understand how to light it without burning my thumb. "Ow," I said.

He was smiling, with his teeth showing, so I was glad my idiocracy was amusing him at least. He took the lighter and lit the bowl for me as I inhaled. He chuckled as I coughed when I exhaled. "Like I said, you can say no," he said.

"It's fine," I coughed.

He opened up a cabinet against the wall. The inside lit up. It had glasses, alcohol, a stash of marijuana, another bowl, bottles of water, and snacks. He handed me a bottle of water as I kept coughing, but drinking it helped. He took another hit.

"Thank you," I said, feeling better.

"You're welcome." He passed the bowl back to me and we did the same routine. He lit it while I inhaled, but this time I didn't cough as much.

"Do you only smoke when you're stressed?" I asked, watching him.

"Well, for one, I'm always stressed, but I usually smoke a few times a week," he said.

"Oh, I guess I've never noticed or, you know, smelled anything."

He shrugged. "It's legal, so."

"I mean plenty of bosses take their employees out for drinks, so it's like that but with another legal substance instead," I said, mostly to convince myself that it was okay.

"Valid," he said. He finished the bowl off after I shook my head at his offer. When he was done, he said, "I could really go for some flaming hot Cheetos. And a Big Gulp."

I paused, then said, "That was my nickname in high school."

He looked at me, mouth agape, and then busted out laughing, a laugh I had never heard before. He wheezed with laughter, making me laugh my annoying bird-like laugh. Maybe it's just because we were getting high, but I like to think he would laugh even if he weren't high. "That is so rotted," he said, making me laugh harder.

"I'm kidding, of course," I said.

He put his hands up. "No judgment either way," he said. He grabbed his jacket and put it on. "Well, ready to get out of here?"

"Sure. Are you good to drive?" I asked.

"Yes, but if you are uncomfortable we can walk. Maybe we can stop at 7-11 on 8th Avenue," he said. "You can borrow one of my jackets, too."

"Well what about tomorrow driving here?" I asked.

"I have another car," he said.

"Oh, well, sure. A walk sounds nice," I said.

He reached into another cabinet that was actually a wardrobe with a couple of outfits inside. He pulled out a black sweater jacket and passed it to me. It was too big on me, but it was cozy. I tried not to smile while putting it on. He was just being nice because it was cold. He had plenty to spare anyway.

We left the office and walked the thirty minute walk, stopping at 7-11 first to grab some munchies and two Big Gulps. At the townhouse, we continued watching The Last of Us, me sobbing uncontrollably at a particularly sad episode, which Mr. Jett for some reason found amusing. He was hungrier for more than just snacks so he ordered food, but I could barely eat any. I retired to bed before him, but I could barely sleep. Later, I heard him walk up the stairs to his bedroom.

I turned the air down in my room so it was colder. I slipped on the sweater jacket he gave me and lied back down in bed. I hated the feeling I was feeling. I couldn't bear to feel it, but I couldn't stop the thoughts rushing through my mind. I couldn't let the intrusive thoughts win. Go upstairs. Lafayette was my boss. He was intelligent, kind, talented, creative, good at what he did. He was humble but troubled. I wanted to know what went through his mind, why he was sad often, why he'd look to the distance and disappear some place else sometimes. I over shared with him and I wanted him to over share with me. I wanted to make him smile more and laugh more.

I wasn't hired to be his friend. But maybe I was? I remember what Don said before the interview. In a way, I was hired to be his friend. He was my boss and would always have authority over me, but he just needed someone he could trust. I had to be that for him. Lafayette would never say it, but I couldn't just schedule his appointments. I had to be there for him, no matter what, even if it made me feel the feelings I didn't want to feel.