Billy nodded, not wanting to go there. He could see himself putting back on all his weight, and then some. He’d have gone off the deep end already, if it weren’t for Denis.
“How much?” Shaw asked.
Billy shrugged, needled by the three pounds he’d regained. “Over fifty pounds.”
“How have you been losing it?” Shaw asked.
Billy wouldn’t meet the doctor’s beady eyes. “Exercise, dieting. The usual.”
“Over fifty pounds, in…” He checked his chart. “In less than five months. That’s significant. You really should have come back to see me before now. It’s important to do this under medical supervision. If you go too hard and too fast, you could very well give yourself a heart attack.”
Billy pretended to listen. Now that he knew he was all right, at least physically, he wanted to just get a sick cert to keep the factory off his back, and to get out of there as fast as possible.
Shaw’s voice turned graver. “Your mother was in with me, too, Billy. She told me about your fund-raising efforts, said the stress was getting to everyone. It’s really taken its toll on her, and clearly on you, too. I think it’s best to slow down. Take a step back from everything for a while.”
Billy struggled off the exam table and marched out. Slammed the door after him for good measure. Why the hell was Shaw telling him about his mother? What about supposed doctor-patient confidentiality? Billy didn’t need Shaw, anyone, to make him feel any worse than he already did.
*
The following week, Billy returned to work. He didn’t want to, but he had to. First thing, Bald Art was lying in wait. “Welcome back,” he said.
Billy grunted, and moved around the man, took his place at the conveyor belt. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, least of all Bald Art.
“You feeling better?” Bald Art asked.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I’ll get straight to the point. I don’t mean to play hardball, but there’s clearly an issue with you and the seconds,” Bald Art said.
“What?”
“The seconds,” Bald Art said, his scalp slick and shiny under the fluorescent lights. “You’ve started taking them again.”
“So what?” Billy said. “Please, go away.”
“Like I said, I’m not trying to play hardball. I know you’ve been through a lot—”
“I’m serious,” Billy said, feeling at breaking point. “I can’t do this right now.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to cooperate, Billy, and to give me your word that the seconds will be disposed of in the manner mandated by factory policy.”
Billy shook his head. “Are you for real?”
“This is very real, Billy. We have policies for a reason—”
“What reason?” Billy asked.
“There has to be order—”
“Don’t talk to me about order—”
“I’ll thank you not to raise your voice or take that tone. I’m your supervisor, Billy. I’m also the one who could report you to management—”
“And tell them what?”
“Tell them you’ve been stealing factory property.”
Billy almost pushed Bald Art away. He would have, too, if the man hadn’t participated in the march. “Please,” he said, waving Bald Art away. “Go on about your business and leave me alone.”
“I’m trying to be understanding here, Billy, but I’ll have to insist you treat me with respect and that you toe the line.”
“I’m warning you, Art.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Oh, get lost, would you?”
“I’m not going anywhere until I get your word you’ll stop taking the seconds and will place them in the bin each day, as per your job description. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to take this further.”
Billy reached up and turned on his machine. He saw himself hauling Bald Art onto the conveyor belt and ferrying him on up to packaging.
“Do I have your word?” Bald Art asked.
“Yes,” Billy said through gritted teeth. He didn’t need any more trouble, or stress.
Throughout the rest of the day, anytime he dropped a damaged toy into the black bin, it felt like the nick of a knife at his insides. He wasn’t saving anything anymore.
*
That night on Michael’s bed, Billy couldn’t drift off, his body vexed by energy that demanded to be spilled. There was nothing for doing at this hour, except eating. He would knock out his own teeth, though, before he’d go back to secret pig-outs in the night. Secret pig-outs at any time. The march had changed the tide of things. Had made him feel like a loser. He needed to get back to feeling like he was in charge and in control.