I send the message before I can stop myself.
Me: What are you up to?
I fix the pillows behind my head as I get settled into my bed for the night. This is the usual routine now, with me getting home late and texting Zahra once I’ve eaten and showered. I’ve only been at Dreamland for a few months, and I’ve already fallen into a comfortable ritual that can only lead to one thing: dependence.
A photo of some child’s homework pops up on the screen.
Me: You’re finally learning the alphabet? Nice.
Zahra: No. I’m tutoring kids.
Me: At 10 p.m.? Don’t they have a bedtime?
Zahra: Yes, but I can’t see my clients at their usual times with my new schedule.
Clients? I didn’t even know she tutored on top of everything else she does. When does she find the time to take care of herself if she’s so damn busy helping everyone else?
Something resembling a rock drops into my stomach. Guilt?
Nope. Maybe indigestion.
Me: Don’t they pay you enough as a Creator?
Zahra: I do this as a favor for a single mom I used to work with at the salon. It’s only once a week so no big deal.
Me: Why?
Zahra: Because she works a second job and can’t afford a tutor herself, so I offered to help.
Me: For free?
The concept makes no sense to me. Who works late nights on top of a full-time job to help someone else?
Zahra: Sure. She needs her money more than I do and I like helping.
Me: But why does she need to work two jobs? They give us free lunch and offer us cheap housing.
I thought those kinds of measures were put in place to help lessen the cost of living.
Zahra: Not everyone can survive off Dreamland’s dismal wages.
There’s that drastic heartburn again, trickling its way through my chest.
Is that me starting to care? I swallow back my unease.
Zahra: But we make do.
I type out a response before I lose my nerve.
Me: Wouldn’t people quit if they were unhappy with the pay?
Zahra: They might. I wouldn’t blame them.
Huh. Really? Our annual surveys always report such high employee satisfaction rates.
Zahra: But many people love their job. Some are even multi-generational.
Me: Like you.
Zahra: Exactly!
She tacks on a heart to the message, which is new for her. It makes me smile.
You seem ridiculous obsessing over something as small as that.
Me: It’s hard to forget about the ukulele-playing, Elvis-loving family that happens to work here.
Zahra: It’s kind of nice that you pay attention to the little things.
Me: Don’t set your standards so low.
Zahra: Trust me. My standards were obliterated a while ago.
The burning in my chest cranks up the intensity. I want to do something, but I don’t know what, so I settle for the only thing that might make her better.
Me: Who hurt you? Do we need to find their HP address?
Zahra: Haha so funny. Are you expanding your talents to the computer hacking business?
Me: For you, I’d consider it.
And I mean every word.
I’ve always prided myself on the ability to remove my emotions from any kind of business decision. It took an effort to develop the skill, but I’ve perfected it over the years. I was the first one to suggest laying off ten percent of The Kane Company employees when our company lost millions after two bad movies in a row. I’ve been known to be demanding and clinical, from forcing employees to work Christmas Eve to swapping health insurance policies to trim our bottom line. No amount of crying, moaning, or yelling from our employees could convince me otherwise.
Despite this training, Zahra somehow got under my skin. Her calm and collected conversation about the employee’s finances actually got to me. The thought lingers in my head during every encounter I have with Dreamland employees.
Martha is the final straw.
I frown at her. “Why do you need to work at the bar? Don’t we pay you enough?”
Her smile wobbles at the same time as her shoddy ankle that desperately needs surgical attention. “Of course.”
“Don’t lie to me, Martha. I thought we had a connection.” I even let her go home early last week, for fuck’s sake.
“Sir, our connection is weaker than the dial-up internet at the local library.”
Jesus. Dial-up internet still exists? That’s almost as sad as the beat-up sneakers she swaps with her work flats.
I’m disgusted by her big toe peeking out from the hole at the front of her tennis shoe. “Why do you have a second job?”
She bites down on her frail lip.
“Don’t make me repeat my question.”
“Because my husband has a heart condition and his medications cost more than a monthly mortgage.” Martha’s lips clamp together again.
“Why doesn’t your health insurance cover it?”
The glare she sends my way chills me to the bone. She’s never been anything but respectful and meek in my presence, but the fire in her eyes could flay the skin off a weaker man. “With the company health insurance policy, the copayments are severely out of budget.”
“And you find that your paycheck isn’t sufficient.”
She nods. “Some months are tougher than others. With the holidays coming up and all…” Her voice trails off.
I picture Zahra’s little icepick smacking into my cold heart with the strength of a jackhammer. With my hand, I rub at the burning spot in my chest. “Follow me.”
I walk back to my office with Martha dragging her feet behind me because of her usual limp. “Have a seat.” I stroll around my desk and drop into my chair.
She takes a seat across from me. Her eyes move back and forth from me to the grandfather clock at the corner of the room. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t be late to my job. Every hour counts for someone like me because I don’t make as much as the other young ones.”
I’m pretty sure that comment aged her another ten years.
The loud breath I release has Martha wincing. “Give me a moment of your time. How long has your husband had this heart condition?”
“He was diagnosed at forty-five after our grandchild passed away suddenly.”
Jesus fucking Christ. A grandchild?
She prattles on. “The stress did him in. Instead of attending our grandbaby’s funeral, he was recovering in the hospital. He’s never gotten over that still to this day.” Her eyes water but no tears fall.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Something about Martha working late into the night on a shitty ankle because I don’t pay her enough doesn’t sit right with me. It’s my fault she can’t afford these things.
Doesn’t feel too good to trim the bottom line now, huh?
My skin becomes flush beneath my suit, with my body temperature spiking. At the moment, I can only think of a temporary solution.
I type out an email to the head of Dreamland finances requesting a bonus.
“What are you doing?” Her voice comes out in a whisper.
I flip the monitor so she can read the email. “Consider this your Christmas bonus.”
“But it’s October.” She puts on her reading glasses and gasps. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she passes out.
Fuck. This is why I don’t do nice things.
Something about my encounters with Zahra and Martha have me itching to learn more about the hidden issues of the park. Something is haunting me, stealing away my sleep as I consider the daily struggle employees have. Medical insurance. Retirement funds. Savings accounts. All of it batters against me like rough waves, and I feel like I’m struggling to stay afloat amidst my growing guilt.
This seems like something my grandfather would find important and worth exploring. He cared about his employees like they were family, and although I can’t relate to that, I can pretend for the vote.
So this morning I decided to follow my gut and speak to Zahra. It’s time I talk about her concerns as Rowan, the man who can get shit done, rather than Scott, the lonely asshole who has no pull or stakes in Dreamland. If there is someone who will be honest with me about employee affairs, it’s her.
I find Zahra’s cubicle empty, and a heavy breath escapes my throat. It takes me only a few steps to stop by Jenny’s office.
“Where’s Zahra?”
Jenny looks up from her computer. “She’s doing some recon work. You know, that whole ‘boots on the ground’ mentality.”
“Did we sign up for a war that I didn’t know about?”
She cracks a rare smile. “She asked me for a special kind of workday, and I’m intrigued to see what she comes up with after it.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wants to explore the park as a guest and take notes.”
“A guest,” I repeat.
Her cheeks flush as her eyes roam over my face like she wants to gauge my reaction. “I think the idea is genius, and I plan on doing the same for the entire team. Some are hesitant about giving up one of their unpaid vacation days though.”
Interesting… Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe the fresh take on Dreamland boosts creativity.
I clear my throat. “Consider it a paid vacation day on the house.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? We haven’t had one of those in years.”
You really are a heartless piece of shit. Another thing that’s your fault.
I exit Jenny’s office and text Zahra through my personal messages this time. I tell myself it’s only business. That I’m only trying to meet up with her because I want to discuss semantics and wages and health insurance benefits and employee issues that I’ve done nothing but exacerbate over the years.
Except the small voice in my head calls me out on my bullshit, whispering how all I do is lie.
