The Bountiful Garden
Copyright 2010 by Denise Fayhee-Wolf
Jamison’s alarm clock had been squawking intermittently for a good fifteen minutes. He grumbled to himself as he rolled over to turn it off. God, I feel like shit, Jamison thought to himself. He winced as he climbed out of bed and headed for the medicine cabinet and the best hangover cure he knew of—a packet of BC powder.
Jamison had spent Sunday with his buddies down at the bar watching the football game. The post-game festivities—too many bloodies with beer chasers—were taking their toll on him this morning. Oh well, he thought, this too shall pass. Nothing a hot shower and a strong cup of coffee couldn’t cure.
He looked at the clock. Seven fifteen. He’d have to put a move on it to be ready for his nine o’clock conference call. With sixteen hungry sales managers to lead, and sales down, he had a few asses to chew and some hefty sales quotas to impose. He needed to be on his game.
Jamison made his way through the living room of his high-rise condo and opened the blinds to reveal a gorgeous view of the city skyline. It was overcast, typical for late November in Nashville, and the sun was bleeding through in pinks and purples. Probably not cold enough to snow, but it wasn’t likely to warm up much either. The weather, Jamison thought, sort of matches my mood.
At forty-six, Jamison Lucas was on the right side of the fast track to success. Even with sales down, his year-end bonus should put him over $150,000 in earnings. His 401K was solid even if his marriage had unraveled three years earlier. He made his child support payments on time and had a small mortgage on his condo. His owned his car free and clear, and had a decent nest egg started. He could afford impromptu weekend getaways now and then. And while he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, he was still good-looking enough to get dates pretty much any time he wanted.