Diamonds in the Deep

The chlorine stung Marcus's eyes as he stared across the pool at the Pyramid Resort, its glass facade catching the desert sunset like some ancient monument to capitalism. He'd been here three days for the annual sales conference, listening to men in expensive suits explain why this multi-level marketing opportunity wasn't a pyramid scheme, just a revolutionary approach to wealth distribution.

His phone buzzed. Another text from his father: *Did you make your quota?*

Marcus typed back: *Killed it, Dad.* Then deleted it.

He remembered summer evenings in Chicago, his father pitching baseballs at him in the park until Marcus's arms ached. "You've got to swing for the fences," his father would say, spitting sunflower seeds. "Life rewards the aggressive."

Now Marcus sold nutritional supplements to people who couldn't afford them, part of a compensation structure that required recruiting three new sellers for every one who quit. The mathematics didn't work—his father the accountant had proven that with a cocktail napkin and a Sharppe last Christmas—but the money had been too good to refuse.

A woman in a red dress climbed onto the diving board, hesitated, then jumped. The splash sent ripples toward Marcus's dangling feet. He'd learned to swim at the YMCA, eleven years old, the summer his mother left. The pool had been his refuge, a place where sound traveled differently, where the world above didn't matter.

"Marcus?"

He turned. Linda from accounting stood behind him, two drinks in hand. "Thought you might need this," she said, handing him a whiskey sour. "Saw you sitting here looking like you're solving the secrets of the universe."

"Just thinking about my dad," Marcus said.

"The baseball guy?"

"Yeah. He always told me to swing for the fences."

Linda sat beside him, kicking off her heels. "And what fence are you swinging at now?"

Marcus watched the pool's surface smooth out again. "I think," he said slowly, "I think I've been standing in the batter's box watching the pitches go by. Too scared to swing."

"So swing," Linda said.

The pyramid of the resort gleamed behind them, improbable and beautiful in the desert darkness. Marcus finished his drink, stood up, and walked toward the deep end. He didn't jump. He stepped in, one foot at a time, letting the water rise around his ankles, his knees, his waist, until he was floating on his back, staring up at the stars, finally not afraid to fall.