Richard inspected his freshly shaven face in the bathroom mirror for any stray stubble before lathering himself with retinol caviar oil. Satisfied with the smoothness, he methodically knotted his blue silk tie and shrugged a blazer over his pressed white shirt. As he neared the door, he grasped his leather Prada briefcase with one hand and sunk the other into a bin of dirt that sat expectantly on the entryway table. The worm he retrieved was no bigger than his index finger, and its slimy skin stretched and tightened in his soft, manicured fingers. He slipped it into his pants pocket and pulled open the door with dirt covered fingers. The autumn air smelled of mud and dead things. He hopped in his Mercedes, immediately rolling down the window to get more of that smell, careful to keep his leg a little straight at the hip to not crush the worm. It wriggled gently inside his pocket. He hit the gas and they were off.
They cruised along the FDR, coasting fluidly between lanes. He was not late, but he always liked to get ahead. He couldn’t stand doing anything slowly; an agitated impatience had coursed through his veins for as long as he could remember. When they arrived at the office, he nodded to the doorman and entered the crowded elevator. As they began their ascent to the 32nd floor, Richard huffed at the sea of blue haloed buttons indicating there would be at least eight stops before his. He checked his watch, a silver Rolex that he got as a bonus last year. He was the top earner at the fund. It was three minutes to nine. He let out a loud exhale, patting his pocket. The worm helped his self-control, he realized when he began carrying one around several months prior, a tiny service creature. Eventually, the worms would dry out and need to be discarded, but they were easy enough to replace. Although today was the first day with this particular worm, he preferred not to think of each generation as separate or new, which would require a grieving process for which he did not have the time or emotional capacity. To Richard, he only had one worm since the beginning. It didn’t have a name, it was just a worm. It was easier that way. They were something to love, something that needed him–but only a little. His past girlfriends always asked for too much.
At one minute past nine he exited the elevator and bolted straight for his office. “Let’s make some money today, Dick!” One of the guys shouted from a cubicle with his fist in the air. It was a corner office with a midtown view. Richard closed the glass door and immediately drew the shades shut. He dropped his briefcase and reached in his pocket, still catching his breath. In the palm of his hand, the worm lifted its head sluggishly. It was dark and dry. He retrieved the small tub of dirt from his desk drawer and dropped the worm inside, spritzing it with water from a spray bottle he always kept close by. He tossed in the decomposing banana peel he had left on his desk the night before. With a sigh of relief, he made his way to the restroom with a nail brush tucked in his pocket. He jumped at two men standing at the urinals. One of them looked over his shoulder and snickered, “Hey Dicky, I saw you getting cozy with Rachel last night.” There had been an office party with booze. “Did you?” At the sink, Richard discreetly scrubbed the dirt from his nails, keeping his eye on the men in the mirror. They said nothing more and did not turn back around.
When he returned to his office, Richard was surprised to find the worm had already gulped up the banana peel. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes? It wriggled up to the surface of the dirt and looked up at him earnestly, waiting for its next meal. So much for a low-maintance companion. He snapped the lid shut and paced over to the break room. Surely someone had left something to rot in the fridge. He bent down and rummaged through the towers of Tupperware when he heard the distant clack, clack, clack of high heels growing louder and then pausing behind him.
“Dick? What are you doing?” A woman in a pantsuit with cropped blonde hair gazed at him, puzzled. It was Rachel.
“I think it’s time we clean out the fridge. It’s disgusting,” he replied sharply. She covered her mouth when she saw the moldy contents of the container in his hand.
“We have people that do that for us!” she said with a hint of alarm. She must have thought he had lost his mind like Paul, the accountant, who they caught wrapping himself in toilet paper last month. The stress level was high.
“Please, Rachel. Don’t you have work to do? Money doesn’t make itself,” he snapped. She shifted uncomfortably and then turned and clacked back down the hall. Whatever tenderness he had shown her the night prior had dissipated with the dawn of an important business day.
Richard hurried back to his office with a large container emitting a piercingly sour smell, ignoring the heads swiveling in his direction. He closed the door and removed the worm from its earthen home, plopping it directly into the open tub of fuzzy broccoli Alfredo. He turned on his monitor and reviewed the agenda his secretary, Sherry, had laid out for the day. At ten, he would be meeting with Sunstar Oil and at noon with American Guns. By three, he would be a million dollars richer if he played his cards right. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk, hands behind his head, and gazed down at the city below him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the Tupperware. With disbelief, he watched as the worm opened its mouth wide and swallowed a whole broccoli floret in one gulp as if it were a tiny Burmese python. It thrashed around wildly in Alfredo, slurping up penne with unexpected haste. Panicked, he turned to his computer and typed, “earthworm eating a lot” into ChatGPT. “Haha, yep—they do [grinning emoji]…an earthworm can eat about its own body weight every day.” He glanced down at the worm, which seemed to have doubled in size, and continued skimming the text. “There is an invasive earthworm species known as ‘crazy worm,’ or ‘Alabama jumper,’ that thrash around violently and grow quickly, laying up to 100 eggs.” Richard slammed the lid on the Tupperware and began to pace. It was almost time for his Zoom. Okay, okay, he breathed. The Sunstar oil men began to pop onto his screen. He messaged his secretary, “in a big meeting. NO INTERRUPTIONS,” and then added, “no matter what. Thx.” She was always just popping in.
He would need to keep things brief. Just get the deal done. Then find more rotting scraps. As he began his pitch, the Tupperware rattled incessantly beside him. “Hey, uh, Dick, I’m getting some background noise on your end.”
“Yeah, they’re doing some renovations in the office next door. Sorry about that.” He leaned closer to the mic. “With your support, we can offer you political immunity and—’’ Suddenly, the lid flew off the container and the worm, now the size of his forearm, jumped out and began slinking around his office. He tried to keep himself under control. “—and we can assure you that, through our partnership with the current administration—’’ The worm was advancing towards his small collection of dying plants with its mouth agape. It knocked over a browning snake plant with a clang and swallowed it in one gulp. The rectangular planter began to inch downward, segment by segment, before disappearing into the widening fleshy pink body. It slithered along the corners of his office, hunting for its next victim, bits of Alfredo crust flaking off onto the floor.
“Hey, Dick, if this is a bad time, we can—’’
“No, no! Sorry, these renovations are just a bit distracting, but I’d like to continue. As I was saying, our partnership with the current administration can—’’
The worm, now the size of his thigh, rounded the corner. Its blank, eyeless face was now accelerating towards him. He tried to lift up his feet, but the worm lurched forward at surprising speed and suctioned onto his shoes. “Guys, I’m going to have to—’’ he managed to mute himself but was unable to turn off his camera before sliding off his chair and onto the floor. He squirmed, trying to pull himself back up, but the suction was so strong that his body crunched like fishbones as his legs disappeared into the greedy beast.
Once he was waist-deep, he pounded his fists on the worm’s smooth, squishy head to no avail. He reached for the chair behind him, launching it at the monstrous pink body with one last burst of adrenaline. It bounced off meekly like a fly on a Jell-O mold. The oil men erupted, “Dick? Dick?!” as they saw the last of Richard’s arms flailing in the bottom of the frame. “SHERRY!” he howled from the worm’s mouth. And then he remembered she was not to interrupt no matter what! Thx.