― McKenzie Wark, Gamer Theory
I was talking on the terrace with my colleague, Tom Barron, trying to defend my dedication to work, but it was futile because I omitted the real reason I’m a driven man—I need to win.
Oh, and I also omitted my darker purpose—gaining the real trophy—Sylvia, a girl twenty years my junior.
Naturally, Tom was puzzled because he didn’t see why I just didn’t retreat from the rat race and jet off to some Caribbean island.
He couldn’t wrap his mind around it because he didn’t see it wasn’t just about money.
I have a gaping chasm inside me nothing seems to fill.
After an hour of trying to make sense of my motives and failing, he yawns, stretches and gets to his feet.
“I’ve got to be going, Pal—tomorrow will be a long day what with Victor’s retirement party at Coro’s and all. Take care, Gray.”
“See you then, Tom.” I smile and tip my glass to him.
My cell buzzes and I see Tess’s name. I sigh, turn off the ringer and push aside my guilt.
I told her I’d go clubbing tonight, but can’t bring myself to go through the charade.
Tess is Sylvia’s friend—and the only reason I cultivated a friendship with her.
My mind goes back to that first meeting with Tess—she’s twenty-three, a year older than Sylvia. But Tess isn’t beautiful—in terms of looks, I’d say she’s quietly attractive.
The one outstanding quality I’ll grudgingly give her is that she’s vivacious.
She lights up a room just by being in it.
At first, I was smitten and flattered she’d be intrigued by me.
But then, I began noticing small things—how she’d park her car beside mine in the corporate parking lot, and eagerly go with me on errands until we became ‘best buds’ as she put it.
It was harmless – exhilarating though, to be seen with a young woman on my arm—an ingénue who was obviously deeply infatuated.
I even toyed with the idea of allowing her to move in, but that’d be inconvenient, seeing as I was obsessed with Sylvia
But the more I pursued Sylvia, the more distant she became.
I might have given up the quest, except I was convinced we had a mystical connection—hers was the last face I saw before sleep, and in my dreams we shared the romance our everyday lives belied.
I burned to know if she experienced the same astral connection—if her nights were filled with blurry images, whispered conversations and touching intimacies.
It was damnably frustrating, yet deliciously sweet at the same time. But I never acted remotely interested when with her.
Inwardly though, I constantly daydreamed wondering if she secretly longed for me.
A painful thought crossed my mind that perhaps I was someone she despised.
Although the latter prospect was crushing, it was better than to think I might be inconsequential—a faint star in the background of her life.
In a worse case scenario, I might be a pitiful fool she laughed about with her friends.
So brutal to fear being a washed-up broker--worse yet, a loser...
I couldn't bear being someone younger women laughed about,
But it's so damn hard having to prove yourself when you’re not just competing with bulls in the market but racing against time as well.