Take My Coat

Take My Coat(U Thaker) Chapter 1

“Inmates of Guan..ta..na.. Bay..” Buxton could not keep up with the teleprompter, “Cut, cut!” he blurted and gestured slicing his neck with a bent palm.

In a remote corner of the newsroom, Holger Piglip was sipping caffeine in a hope to boost productivity while struggling to calculate his monthly pension at the earliest eligibility. He caught the word ‘cut’ on his headphones that whenever he shouted, generated a commanding effect similar to a gunfire warning - the actors froze and the camera stalled. However, the fact the director’s lingo was uttered from a throat other than his own, caused a great deal of turbulence in his gut. Once again, some oaf of a newsreader attempted to take over director’s duties, the livelihood of Piglip. In panic, he sprang off the chair as if his bottom detected a pointy object and gushed to the broadcast platform.

When his searching finger located the zealous intern newsreader, who was engaged in telling something humorous to the camera operator, Piglip filled up his lungs and exclaimed, “Hey you, what the heck are you doing? Are you directing my cameraman!?”

Untrained in dealing with a roaring bear and an aiming finger that looked like a pistol barrel, Buxton raised his hands instinctively in surrender. Owing to such dramatic turn of the event, the newsroom morphed into a wax museum and trembling Piglip seemed addressing a particular one of several statues around. Only proof of another life existing in that room was camera operator Manmeet Singh’s lips, which began twitching every few seconds.

Buxton lowered his hands rather quickly, Piglip taking it as an incompliant behaviour pushed his finger-pointing arm back and forth and yelled, “Didn’t I instruct you to just read the freaking prompter?” Now looking as impressive as a predatory bear, he turned around in anticipation of consenting nods from the statues. Calvin Fishbone, an intern screen operator, a couple of yards from Piglip, avoided the eye contact. Manmeet kept observing the design of the floor tiles and his lips continued involuntarily movements. The sound engineer Elsie Dolittle had already eloped, most likely for a washroom break, and the corner camera operator Stefanovich had assumed a position of a private staring at a distant wall while waiting for Sergeant’s inspection.

Seizing a lull moment, Buxton expressed his desire to comprehend the situation, but his meek attempt went unnoticed by the news director interested in a continuum of the reprimand.

“Do not!” Piglip paused to refill his lungs, “I repeat, never ever try to do my job, period!” Marilyn, sitting on the anchor chair, nodded obediently as Buxton’s proxy. Piglip removed the lid from the cup; gulping some coffee, he stared in a chilling silence at Buxton whose body had visibly shrunk in the last couple of minutes.

“And Mr. Painskill, if you cut my cameramen one more-” Piglip raised the hand that held the coffee cup. The high Celsius liquid spilled apparently on the intolerant body parts, resulted in his immediate departure from the scene.

“Inmates of Guantanamo Bay,” Buxton’s head jerked a bit, “dug a kilometre long tunnel from the prison cells and escaped last night.” He turned to the side camera, this time suppressing the head jerk. “US Marines are hunting sick-teen, I mean, sixteen runaways hiding in the Cuban Island.” Manmeet was still rolling the camera and nervously watching him from the open eye. Buxton felt the dews popping on the edge of eyebrows. The tie stifled him and it was quite uncomforting to maintain a stance of a neutral but an affable newsreader. He hated the overly artificial place with tall walls with dozens of ugly fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

The finger aiming his forehead replayed and Buxton ached to chase down that polar bear and bite off the finger.

In a short week of working at JH Broadcasting, the intern newsreader had witnessed disturbing realities of corporate world bursting with greedy hyenas and mindless miserable worker bees. He had heard that privately owned JHB was the toughest place to work. The unwritten code of the broadcasting industry was that new entrants have had to survive at least six months at JHB before applying to respectable companies.

Waiting for the prompter to start, he wondered if the Tom Brokaws and Peter Jennings of the news luminaries ever had to deal with directors’ atrocities.

He read the rest of news in a cheerless spirit and felt relieved to see the end of his segment coming.

“This is all from the orb news at five.” Although not having been directed by Piglip and despite in a retched state of mind, Buxton felt compelled to conclude his delivery like his idol Adam Grand; he looked at the principal camera still rolling, pointed his thumb to the juxtaposed anchor and spoke with alacrity, "back to you, Marilyn."

At that juncture, not anticipating Buxton’s thumbing act, Marilyn had bent down from her chair to fix a wrinkle on the stocking. When he glanced beyond his thumb, Buxton got perplexed. Instead of a cheery anchor, he spotted a crisp shadow on the light-diffuser umbrella a few yards away.

In times of comfort depriving journey, the well of optimism dries out quickly. Buxton judged the size and shape of the shadow to be that of a supple female lurking in a decisive crouching position. After a moment of reflection, he was convinced that the hidden intruder purportedly holding a long pointy object was none other than his estranged girlfriend, Vifareli, who worked as a security person at JHB. He recalled her last voicemail had a forecast of chopping his specific body parts.

With aide of his imaginative faculty, Buxton built a quick scenario of what could happen next. A flabbergasting vista of a love-delirious woman, with a detrimental intent, manifested in his mind. She could leap on him any moment and carve his heart out. Such a jolting possibility uprooted him from his chair and the vocal cords shifted instantly to release yelps for a rescue.

Marilyn, as an exception to her usual leisurely reaction to the events, rose instantly to identify the source of what she thought was a sudden primate invasion. After banging her head to the table above, she stood disoriented and contributed to the newsroom commotion with a shrill verity of a screech. Calvin, by now had toppled a computer and landed himself on the floor in an attempt to jump over spaghetti of wires. For an unexplainable reason, he had been shouting “Call Holger Piglip!” Elsie sneaked out for a washroom break.

To Buxton’s incredulity, the person manifested from behind the umbrella did not match the profile of his ex-lover. It was production manager Otto Ramhorn, whose shadow had been a bit misleading owing to his broad bottom and a frame of a ballet danseur. Instead of a dagger, he had held a long but benign screwdriver that he had brought along to camouflage the real intent of loitering in the newsroom. He had pretended to muck with a loose screw behind the umbrella while waiting for a chance to rendezvous with Marilyn in the greenroom.

Piglip returned to the scene with a fresh cup of coffee accompanied by a couple of security persons. Without a word, he handed the letter to Buxton and placed a copy and a pen on the table for his signature.

“Throw that goof out of here. I mean immediately,” he instructed the security in an anticlimax.


Chapter 2

Bloated clouds began drizzling and the studio pavements turned dark wet. When Katya Humfry walked out of the NEWS Building and slumped on the lawn, it looked as if she was performing an inconsolable Cinderella in a heart-wrenching scene. The falling rain seemed to accentuate the mood of that scene.

All that had happened abruptly and unprecedented when, searching for her beau, Katya had pushed open the greenroom door already ajar. What had looked initially as a comic pose of Otto whose torso had bent forward awkwardly under the weight of a clinging bimbo, she realized that his lips were locked with the blonde-news reader. And his tongue was attempting to reach new depths in her mouth. Seeing the full reflection in the mirror, Otto appeared to be in a mood quite similar to that of a canine eager to maximize the carnal pleasure on the last day of the mating season. The surrounding had started a tango and she stumbled out in the open air.

The anxiety of people, especially Otto, finding her in such pitiful state dominated her mind. She scooped herself from the lawn and loped to the giant iron gates of the JHB.

The guard recognized her and stood up instantly. He did not hide his surprise of seeing her not in a car and strangely, without a raincoat in pouring rain. He hesitantly mumbled to her whether she needed an umbrella. Katya registered his lips moving but did not comprehend and told that she was going to walk to the station.

As the gate closed behind her and nobody but the vehicles zooming by, she slumped on a bench and broke down. Inexperienced in dealing with a cheating lover, her hurt and anger were testing new heights. The vision of Otto making out kept recurring in her mind and each time the question quaked her head: how a simpleton ballet instructor turned production manger could have deceived her.

The aggressive side of her persona stopped her sobbing and she desired to run back and kick Otto at the split of the pants to attain permanent damage to his jewels. However, pragmatism prevails especially when a romance dreamer is shaken up by a bite of ruthless reality. After some deliberation, while watching the vehicles passing, she picked an option vaguely based on a theme of incognito based revenge and gradual increment of the torture on now her enemy ex-boyfriend Otto Ramhorn.

Still on the bench, Katya resumed sobbing in a smaller magnitude, on recalling that she had misled her poor dad in the morning. He had a big smile on his face when she had asked to go with him to appreciate nitty-gritty of his work.

She resorted to the last bout of her willpower and headed to Avenue K subway station where she could get a cab. Detouring a less busy sidewalk on the harbor, she kept walking, treading through the rain. She was unaware of the attention she drew from drivers.

Closer to the station, the walkway became crowded and the rain got heavier. Katya thought whether she was in a surreal dream in which she had just finished seeing a witch swinging by the neck of a weak demon and now watching the wet raincoats and ponchos brushing one another and umbrella colliding under a giant waterfall from the sky.

Under the canopy of a packed café, Buxton stood in uncomforting proximity with strangers. Before catching the quarter-to-five-bus to Shiva’s place, he was having a double doze of Macmillan poured in a can of coke. While sipping the divine cocktail and watching the raindrops bouncing off the sidewalk, he meditated on related metaphysical topics: ‘What happens to one’s self worth after getting escorted on the first job. And, can Holger cease to exist in one’s mind and hence considered dead.’

When a banker type of man in a silk tie frowned at him, Buxton realized probable audibility of his self-murmuring. He thought that the last things the Banker must have heard, ‘God, I stand before you in possession of a good voice, now please help me apply it for material gains for myself.’

Something must have happened on the walkway towards the Harbor as heads including banker’s had turned. The baker snickered. At the risk of directly breathing on the neck of an onlooker, Buxton stretched his neck to find that a young girl clad in white was unhurriedly ambling as if performing a catwalk for a French perfume advertisement. Like other eager souls under the canopy, he curiously waited to have a closer look.

Rainwater was streaming from beauty’s hair locks and her body of a model was drenched. However, Buxton’s amusement was short lived as at a few yards, the Greek goddess appeared to be quite dazed, crestfallen and, indeed deeply engrossed in pathos of her thoughts. He felt strongly that she was weeping and a mere observer would mistake the tears to be the raindrops sliding down her face. The wet cloth had clung to her body and upon closer inspection, he realized that her white costume had turned a complete see-through. He lost a breath in a shock. How on the earth, a pristine goddess of beauty was walking through lanes of ordinary people?

A gang of lads coming from the station gazed at her and one of them said something to which all giggled. The kid with a yellow poncho made a gesture of cupping his palm in front of his chest. One white-collar worker from the crowd snickered as the kids debated whether to follow her.

Buxton yelled at the kids, walked under the rain hastily and hollered her. Now a few more onlookers stood watching the event in progress. Failing to get her attention, Buxton removed his coat, walked past and blocked her. Katya almost bumped into him.

“Move away, get lost!”
“Take my coat!”
“What? Who are you?”
“That is all visible!” He looked away.

Katya crossed her arm in front. She wished she could evaporate into the air at that moment. Still arms crossed, she covered her face and sobbed. She longed for the dark solitude of her apartment where she needed to hide and cry buckets.

“Put it on you crazy!”
Annoyed of her inaction, he wrapped the coat on her shoulders and stood there waiting for something to happen.

The fragile girl looked up just to scream, “Go away, go away” and continued sobbing.

Buxton assumed her ungrateful reaction was due to her mental state. Nonetheless, he found her exaggerated response insulting. He waved at her to leave. She stared in his eyes for a few moments and abruptly turned and walked off towards the station. He stood there recovering from a jolt of seeing the sad green eyes of purity, suddenly realized that the bystanders were still watching him.

“What happened, Mister?” asked the hotdog vendor. Buxton did not bother to look at him.

Someone said, “Well, his coat is gone now.” Buxton observed stream of water falling from the shirtsleeve. He ran to the shade and glanced back if he could see her.

On the bus to Shiva’s apartment, Buxton shook off the event at work and reflected about his relationship with Vifareli. With somewhat of a clear conscience in an eerie peace caused by the heavy pour, he felt remorse for having low regard of her. Yes, granted that her curiosity in him had revolved only around the animal love. All metaphysical and platonic needs of living she believed to be excessive baggage of life. She was an unadulterated soul.

He recalled her opening the fist, one finger at a time, and counting her needs, “Juicy meat, old single malt Macmillan, nature’s scenery, nice touching,” she demonstrated it by rubbing his palm on her and continued, “and yes, country type music, smell of men and some flowers too, and last but not the least long ding ding.” She had laughed heartily that always sounded like diesel engine running on a steep slope. She had punched him on shoulder,” now, you tell me, honcho, what else matters in the life?”

Time with that lean, mean and tall daredevil was simply great. ‘She had gotten me the interview with JHB’. Leaving the matter, he muttered, ‘Oh well, I am already punished for dumping my obligee’

He wished that Vifareli stayed happy and hoped that he would never bump into her. As usual, the remorse cleansed his soul and he felt his life was perfectly aplomb at that moment. He can start fresh from next day.

Seeing a man with feathered-hat adorned in a coat quite similar to what he had not too long ago, his own words echoed in his head, ‘take my coat’. What a crazy thing, he had done in spur of a moment, for that blue-eyed girl. He actually felt satisfied even after sacrificing his precious passion. He wondered what on the earth could bring such a beautiful, well to do, healthy girl to such a dismayed state. ‘Well the world is full of mysteries’; he left the matter at that.

After hearing Buxton’s days report, Shiva replied in heavy wisdom, “It’s all karma. It is all karma of yours, Bucky.” He stared at the wall calendar and spoke, “Do you remember in the first year of college, at the lotto line? You had let an old man go ahead of you. And you had had won five hundred that day.” Buxton nodded and smiled although he could only recollect that they had once lost over a grand in a trip to the casino.

Before going to bed, Shiva solaced him about his job loss and suggested that one door of opportunity always remains open regardless of time and place. Buxton agreed.

When she woke up early despite little sleep, Katya realized that presently Otto was not jumping frantically and fumbling to grab a water flask from her dangling hand while her riding a hot air balloon in a desert.
A few missed calls, three from dad. His messages were increasingly agitated. She text-messaged him, ‘Dad I am alright! I was zzz. Y’day, I was at a friend’s - she broke her engagement! I tried calling but the phones lines knocked in storm. I love you so much!!!  bfn wb’

Her stream of thoughts got diverted to Otto. She felt disgusted to think, ‘that little otter must kissed me, I don’t know how many studio rats before kissing me.’ Spying the coat on a dining chair changed her mood though, she wondered about that coat man. She was not sure but something about the coat man had haunted her all night, his act of unconditional kindness or the innocence of his face. ‘Why didn’t he give me his address or number or something? I should have asked him for his phone number.’ She made a plan to go back to Avenue K.

She wondered how she looked in the coat. When she checked in the mirror, she found it amusing. She then, put on the sunglasses and walked like a somber detective man. Feeling the crisp morning rays at the window, she placed her hand, like Sherlock Homs, in her pocket; she felt a paper.


Chapter 3

The sun sprung in the east radiated the sky with its raw energy. The crisp rays entering the room gave no trace of previous day’s downpour until he came out of Shiva’s place. The trees a bit soggy the air still damp. Nevertheless, Saturday mornings always felt charming and more so in spring.

As Buxton approached his parents’ condominium, the rabble of butterflies began flying in his tummy. For a newsreader, breaking the news with an emotional restraint was not tricky if it was not about one’s job loss and the viewer was not Byron Painskill.

‘Well, I can look in old man’s eyes and take his humiliating lecture’ He considered telling them the truth right away and his spirit climbed a couple of notches.

‘On the other hand, mom will be really sad.’ It was always disheartening to see guileless mom attempting to hide her own despair and cheering him. He decided to defer thinking about that matter until next day. He just had to tell them a plausible story of why he had lost his coat. After all, losing an expensive all-season shiny polyester coat with detachable cashmere lining needed a compelling justification.

“What happened? You have flu?” just turned teen brother Joshua at the door asked and ran back to his room without waiting for the answer.

Byron Painskill had settled on the usual living room sofa spot and, he was watching a rerun of Two and Half Men with Gizmo, who always remained within five feet radius, crouching next to him. He was presently pointing the remote to Megan Fox to draw Gizmo’s attention. “Look at that silly girl!” Gizmo looked at the screen and raised its ears to display interest. Byron continued, now looking at Gizmo, “If you wear that kind of bikini and roam on the Harbor Square, some Tom or Dick will kidnap you, for God’s sake!” After shaking his head, Painskill returned to the TV screen with interest but a disgusted look on his face. Gizmo continued looking at him for a while as unsure if Byron has more to elaborate.

Upon noticing Buxton’s presence, Senior Painskill enacted a front desk receptionist, “oh, welcome, welcome back to Painskill’s humble hotel. Sir, we missed your patronage yesterday!”

Buxton replied in an annoyed tone while looking at Gizmo, “Mom knows that I was at Shiva’s for his birthday.” He looked at he dad, “And just to let you know, I am not feeling well today.” Gizmo acknowledged Buxton’s presence with indifference.

At the dinner table, the family congregated. Mom presented Indian Chicken Curry at the table. Byron and Josh quickly served their plates and began relishing the food. Interestingly, both were eating in identical manner with their heads down looking at the plate engrossed in rapidly eating. Mom was a slow eater and she enjoyed, more than eating witnessing that her dish had turned out well.

“Oh, by the way, you guys wouldn’t believe what happened yesterday!” Buxton felt it was opportune time to broach the topic. Mouthful mom widened her eyes to signal her interest.

“Well, I was eating lunch on the outdoor set. And, they were getting ready to shoot some thriller sort of TV serial. There were, you know, cops squad and a bunch of dogs and that kind of stuff. And, you know my brown coat. Well-“

“What is the name of the film?” Josh inquired while chewing his food.

“Don’t worry about the name, I don’t know”

Byron threw bony meat in Gizmo’s plate, admonished impatient Gizmo, “this is last one, don’t screw with you health, Giz!”

Buxton resumed his story, “Oh where was I? Oh yes, I had my half sandwich saved in that coat. And guess what?” He looked at his dad in particular who was belching a chicken leg while watching Gizmo chewing its. Byron seemed not interested in guessing anything at that juncture.

“Out of the blue, two giant dogs came running and started sniffed my coat on the bench. They were big, scary beasts!”

Seeing a meager interest at the table, irritated Buxton spoke louder, “long story short, those crazy dogs tore apart my coat literally.”

Hearing a synonym of destruction, Byron was suddenly interested in the dinner talk, he looked up from his plate and asked, “Who? What?”
“Coat? Oh - ” Josh chimed in.

Buxton continued without stopping to entertain the queries, “well, the good news is that we got our money back.” He pulled a wad of bills from his trousers and waved in the air.

“How many times I have told you, don’t keep money in a role. Are you a mafia hit man!? Bucky, you gotta respect money!” Byron shouted.
“Oh, speaking of the coat, there was a man from JH film or something like that. He left the coat and he said it belonged to you. And he gave some envelope to give it to you” Junior said this in one breath and ran to his room and came back moments later.

“It is not my coat,” Buxton said calmly hiding his feelings

“Okay, then I will take it” Joshua proceeded to go to his room.

“But darling, they probably felt terrible and sent you another coat. How nice of your friend to-” Mrs. Painskill was interrupted by Painskill Sr. who was now fully interested in the matter, shouted at Buxton,

“Do you know that thing cost two hundred dollar. Where had you left it?” he pointed at the coat that Joshua was holding as if was an exhibit for the jurors. Gizmo too looked at the coat with interest.

“But, mommy, he doesn’t want it” Joshua tried his case.

By now, Buxton reckoned to leave the coat matter, he snatched the envelope form Joshua’s other hand.

As parents were busy arguing about proper mannerism in talking with kids and significance of money, Joshua had eloped with the coat, Buxton opened the letter.
The first thing he noticed was a logo of JH Broadcasting Inc on the letterhead and Joffry Humfry himself had signed it. He turned sideways on the chair and started reading:

‘JH Broadcasting, Inc. is pleased to offer you a job as Junior Anchor for our news segment, Around the World in Ten Minutes. We trust that your knowledge, skills and experience will be among our most valuable assets. Should you accept this job offer….