Chapter 55 Taylor
Taylor
Jerry and Taylor begin hauling out the trash.
They work in silence, lugging both the cardboard boxes from the parlor as well as the series of kitchen trash bags someone has lined up along the back hall.
It seems Jerry just wanted a moment alone with her, after all—it’s not some power play.
She’s clearly getting jaded and paranoid, thinking the worst of everyone.
Eventually, he asks, “Did ya hear anything from your landlord about the antiques store?”
“No, not yet. Did you drop off the books yesterday?”
“Yeah. I said I would, so yeah, I did.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“When are ya gonna hear from your landlord?”
“I don’t know.”
He grunts, displeasure written across his face.
“Why the rush? I mean, it’s old stuff.”
“That old stuff could be worth a lotta money. People pay a lot for antiques.” He doubles the number of heavy trash bags he’s carrying, now two with each fist. He holds them out like they’re sets of weights. Taylor follows with more cardboard boxes.
As Jerry steps through the back entrance, one of the bags breaks open, its contents spewing out.
“Shit.” He rushes to collect the spilled contents, jamming them back through the hole in the bag.
Taylor sets down her boxes to help. It’s mostly food scraps: meat, vegetables, some pastry-like dessert, but also soaked paper towels, coffee grinds, and a couple of egg cartons. Gross. Also—is the Knox above recycling?
Suddenly, she comes across a discarded medication box labeled “amantadine.” She turns it over in her hands, her nurse-brain automatically kicking in to identify the drug: It’s used in Parkinson’s disease.
Jerry hastily snatches the box out of her hands, quickly depositing it in the trash as if she wasn’t meant to see it. “I got this. You can go grab the other bags.”
“Okay.” Fine with her; she’d rather not have to touch this stuff with her bare hands.
When they finally set down the last trash bag on the pavement, the private garbage company has arrived.
Taylor and Jerry watch as two men toss the bags into the truck’s cavity, the machine loudly grinding.
It’s only then that it fully hits her that the Knox doesn’t set out trash on garbage day, like everyone else does on the street.
No—apparently they use a private company that comes at their beck and call to dispose of whatever they need. Very on point for a secret society.
Jerry’s eyes flicker to the Knox’s outdoor camera attached to the door, and then he squares his back to it. He motions Taylor to come close. “Look, the reason why I keep asking ya about the antiques store is I could use the money,” he admits to her surprise.
“But why? The Knox pays well, right?”
“It does. But that’s only if ya work here.”
“Are you planning to leave?”
He meets her gaze head-on for a good few seconds before looking away. “I’m just looking at options. In case.”
In case what? she wants to ask. Maybe this is because of Oliver. Maybe Jerry can’t get over whatever happened between his sister and Oliver. The idea of Jerry as a protective brother softens her.
“Can I ask ya a favor?” he says.
“A favor? Sure.”
“The bookstore guy called. He wants me to come by later today. I guess he has a question about one of the books. But I can’t go, ’cause I got to drive to New York and pick up the wine for the initiation. Can ya go? And let me know what he wants?”
“Uh, sure. No problem. I’ll stop by on my way home.” She smiles, feeling pleased that Jerry is trusting her with this. “And don’t worry, with your work history—being here at the Knox—I’m sure you could get a job anywhere,” she adds, trying to reassure him.
“Did ya read the confidentiality agreement?” he says, voice flat.
“Oh.” Yes, now she recalls there being some language about never mentioning the Knox for gainful employment elsewhere. She’d skimmed over that section, not realizing its future implications. She, too, would have a work history gap she could not explain. Shit.
“But I guess as a nurse, ya don’t have to worry about that so much.”
“What?” She tenses.
“Ya honestly think they didn’t know that?” Jerry says, working his mouth as if chewing a piece of gum. “That they would just hire anyone and not do a serious background check?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Yeah, they had me ask around about ya. I had a little chat with your nurse manager, Jan. A little ‘accidental’ run-in at the St. Patrick’s Day parade. I pretended to be a friend of yours.”
Taylor opens and then closes her mouth, pressing her tongue hard against her teeth gap.
“C’mon now, Taylor. Don’t be so naive.” He studies her. “Look, I’m not trying to be mean. But there’s shit going down here. Not everyone can see it, but I do. If you were smart—and ya are, ’cause you’re a nurse—ya should get yourself outta here. Go back to nursing.”
She’s quiet. Her brain is spinning backward, trying to reframe every interaction she’s had at the Knox.
Go back to being a nurse. Was Jerry the one who left her that note in her wallet?
No—surely he wouldn’t be so open with her now.
Also, he clearly has no problems delivering this message to her face.
Does everyone know she’s a nurse? That she’s been lying by omission?
As if reading her mind, Jerry adds, “Don’t worry, the others—Liam, Eduardo—don’t know.
That’s for ya to tell them if ya want. None of their business.
The Knox is a place where we can reinvent ourselves.
I mean, I used to work the grill at Chipotle for $14.
25 an hour before I met Eduardo and was brought in. ”
“Does Eduardo know you’re thinking about leaving?”
Jerry’s face gets splotchy, a watercolor of pinks. “No. And ya better not tell him. Some people…They can’t see this place for what it is.”
Taylor is still reeling when she heads to Canton’s to grab the champagne for the so-called celebratory drink with her fellow employees, though she’s feeling anything but.
As she bends down to rummage through the cabinet for the cups Liam mentioned, she tries to organize the information she’s just learned: The Knox knew she was a nurse when they hired her. But they didn’t know she was Vivian’s nurse, surely.
Okay, Taylor thinks, her shoulders collapsing.
She can work with that. So what if she failed to mention her nursing work history during her interview?
They were aware, or they became aware, and they still hired her.
They didn’t care. Like Jerry said, the Knox is a place where you can reinvent yourself.
And that’s what she’s done.
Suddenly, she hears someone enter the restaurant.
“Not everyone’s born with a silver spoon in their mouth, Michael. There are some of us who’ve had to work to get where we are. Some of us who actually paid our dues on initiation night.”
“That’s not what I meant, Peter. And I don’t know why you continually bring up the legacy exemption rules.”
It’s Peter. Peter and Michael. What are they doing here? She knows she should stand up and make her presence known, but she doesn’t. Instead, she dips down lower behind the bar, making herself as small as possible.
“Well, all I know is you got pretty damn lucky being born into that family of yours. So what the hell did you mean, then, about the business plan?” Peter asks.
“I just think we need to proceed with caution here. We don’t know if it’s financially sound—”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Michael.
It absolutely is. It’s forward-thinking and good for the Society’s financial future.
Just because Oliver is at the helm of this plan doesn’t mean it doesn’t have potential.
It has a lot of potential. He’s already tested the waters, and the appetite is there.
And among many of our members. Look, I understand you are cautious, but as a legacy you’ve also had the luxury to be cautious.
It’s like my old mentor used to say: ‘The rich have the richness of time.’ The rest of us are scrappy SOBs.
So I recognize a good deal when I see one and prefer to act on it. ”
“But, Peter.”
“What?”
“There’s more to it than that. I already did the geomancy reading.”
“Is that what this is really about? So what did it say?”
“That this is not a good idea.”
“Well, Michael, maybe you didn’t ask the right questions. You should do another.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Peter. And in fact, I was being diplomatic. The reading suggested that this would be a decidedly bad move for the Knox. We can go review it—”
“Screw the geomancy, for once! This is real life. This is business.”
Michael is quiet for a few seconds, and when he replies, he sounds troubled. “The Knox has always—always—relied on geomancy as part of our decision-making process. It’s been tradition for over two hundred years.”
Peter scoffs. “I’d be willing to bet that if William Knox were alive and kicking today, he would be in agreement with me. Sometimes you have to fly in the face of tradition, Michael. Be daring and bold.”
“Peter,” Michael says, sounding exasperated, “what is the Society without tradition? It’s built on tradition—built out of tradition.”
“Easy to say when you’re the legacy kid,” Peter retorts.
“Tell me, Michael, when was the last time you were bold? You’ve never been, have you?
” His tone has turned bitingly personal, almost mocking.
“You couldn’t even ask out that girl you were so smitten with in London.
What was her name? The grad student who used to study at the café around the corner from our flat? ”
“I don’t remember.”
“Sure you do.”
Michael sighs. “Look, you’ve made your position clear. But I have to ask: You’re not going along with Oliver…just to go along with him, like some of the others who’ve quickly changed their tunes now that he’s almost in charge?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Like I said, it’s a good financial plan—”
“And this has nothing to do with your…personal interest in the product?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asks sharply.
“Peter, I understand you’ve been through a lot—”
“You have no idea what I’ve been through.” There’s a surprising hardness to Peter’s voice.
Michael pauses. “You’re right. I don’t. I’m sorry. Sometimes I wish you would tell me.”
There’s silence, tense. Then the sound of a chair being pulled back.
“So this is where I was sitting last night. Do you see it?”
“No, I don’t. Should I call you?” Michael asks.
Ah, Peter left his phone.
“Wait—here it is.”
“Glad you found it.”
The footsteps come dangerously close to the bar.
“Anyway, Michael, it’s quite popular these days, as we’re learning. Now I’ll admit…It does have certain medicinal qualities that have helped me in the wake of, you know. Frankly, I wish I’d had this stuff earlier, at other times in my life.”
“Peter—”
“I’m in control. Like I’ve always been.”
“You think you’re in control because you avoid conflict.”
“Well, I’m not avoiding it now, am I?”
There’s a pause, and then Michael says, “I didn’t realize that you viewed me as a source of conflict.”
Peter laughs. “Come now, Michael. Don’t be such a stiff. You ought to try it. Might be good for you. Make you bolder. Like Popeye’s spinach.”
“I do use it, as you know. For the geomancy readings, as our founders intended. Not for personal consumption.”
The voices fade as they exit.