by Andrea Wolfe
"How was that restaurant the other night, Sam?" I asked. I presented the question as innocently as possible. "Did you ever find it?"
He looked shocked that I had asked, his benign expression fading fast. "Huh?"
His tone made me take a step backward and assess what I had said. No, it wasn't anything too serious. "When I ran into you the other night. Don't you remember? You weren't just stalking me, were you?" I laughed, hoping to lighten the mood.
Sam stopped eating and stared down at the table. Had I really offended him? After a quick glance out the window, he responded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do now. It was pretty good."
"Cool," I said. "The restaurants are good in my neighborhood, even if they don't compare to the fancy ones." I had nothing else to contribute. In fact, I was feeling pretty bad about asking and then joking around about it. He had sounded so shocked.
There was the divorce and the talk of losing his job if he didn't get this deal. Something wasn't adding up. That night he had seemed weird too, not quite like himself.
Did he have a drug problem or something? Was he meeting a dealer when I ran into him? With all of the stress he was under, I guess I could understand his need to seek "treatment" and self-medicate. I felt horrible for him and wished I had never said anything at all.
"Are you okay, Sam?" I asked.
"I'm fine," he said, rebuffing my concern. "Just fine." I faintly smelled whiskey on his breath, just like I had the other night. Hmm...
We were the last two people in the break room, so I decided to prod one step further. It turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back. "If something's up in your life, it's okay to talk about it. I'll listen."
After he started talking, it all came out at once, his message unequivocal.
He was going through divorce proceedings and his soon-to-be ex-wife was going after everything he had. On top of that, the label was going through a corporate restructuring and trying to become more efficient. Everyone had been given a sales/signing quota, and if they didn't meet it, they'd be cut.
"I've been so depressed," he admitted. "I haven't been able to control myself."
"Aw, Sam. You've got to hang in there." I felt like my words carried no significance at all, especially due to the serious nature of his problems.
"I just really need that deal with Jack Teller. My cut of that deal will be just enough to cover my fuckin' legal fees. No more fancy cars for me, just... the ability to survive." At least avarice wasn't his motivating factor.
Dammit. I was hoping that wouldn't come up. I knew how Jack felt about it, how he was opposed to signing with a label that wasn't perfect for Lexy. If I went to him and begged, it felt like it would only make things worse for all of us. Every sympathetic part of my body tensed at once.
"Don't those guys shop around?" I asked. "Try to find the best deal? Are we offering the best deal?"
"His terms are so fuckin' crazy. He wants full creative control. He won't let us suggest anyone that he doesn't approve himself." He paused as he coped with the tumult of his thoughts. There was a look of pure defiance on his face when he continued. "I've got people hurting here, and all he cares about is his bullshit art. The whole industry is in a slump, so what does he expect? If the label goes under, we're all out of a job."
"Is that really gonna happen, Sam? Aren't you being a tad bit overdramatic?"
His response was ready as soon as I finished. "The numbers that you're crunching used to be ten times what they are now. That's the truth. The industry is changing, Effie. MCI might wind up a thing of the past, a dinosaur in the industry. Happens all the time. I've already heard news of a possible buy-out."
I didn't like where this was going, but then again, I was the one that had encouraged him to vent. At the very least, I was getting his perspective outside of his usual blowing up and then hassling me, all because Jack had said he liked me at the first goddamn meeting. Why had Sam been so fixated on that stupid interaction? I couldn't figure it out.
I was finding myself caught in the middle of something pretty damn serious. I wanted to support my label—it was my job, after all—and I wanted to support Jack. Based on what Sam said, the two things apparently were mutually exclusive, and MCI would lose money if they signed with Jack's unwavering terms, further obscuring the best possible solution. One way or another, Sam would get what he needed out of the deal, even if it all went to his legal fees and I wasn't sure how to feel about that. What about the rest of us?
In a way, it felt like I was in quicksand.
I realized that this was exactly what I was hiding from. This was the reason for the break, the reason for my indecision and fear of getting carried away. This was my job, and it sounded like it might not be around much longer if Jack didn't compromise his values and sign with MCI.
I wouldn't beg him either. If I was so concerned about making it on my own, I didn't want to rely on him for that support, especially when I pushed him away so I could think this through.
Why couldn't the answer be more clear?
This was a new curve ball—and it was terrifying. What if I lost this job and lost Jack? I'd have literally nothing here. I wanted both things, but what happened if I couldn't have either?
After a few minutes of silence—what the hell could I have said back to Sam, anyway?—I excused myself and said I wanted to get back to work after wishing him the best. Just a stupid platitude.
"Thanks again for the food," I added. Sam gave me a solemn nod as I wrapped up the remains of my giant sandwich and left the break room. This whole impromptu discussion had really put me on edge. I felt especially bad that he had paid for my lunch at all given the state of things.
What the hell was I going to do?
***
My desk seemed lonely, despite the fact that I had plenty of work to keep me company. Every time I totaled up a sales column, I thought about what Sam had said about the numbers being that much greater in the past. I kept imagining the huge number of zeroes extending beyond the page onto the desk and then spilling onto the floor...
This wasn't going to be easy, and frankly, I was going to need some outside perspective—and not Jesse's this time—if I was going to get anywhere. I still didn't want to ask Jack just because of this development, especially not when we were supposed to be apart. I actually cared about the relationship more than this, but my professional urges had led me to this treacherous point. Even if it wasn't actually treacherous, it felt that way.
I was sympathetic toward Sam's situation as well. Honestly, I didn't want to take sides in business transactions I barely understood. I wanted everyone to be happy. Why was that so difficult? Wasn't there something that would satisfy everyone's requirements? Jack sounded just as bull-headed as Sam, and I wasn't sure if I should be critical of either of them.
I thought about it around two hundred times per hour for the rest of the day, my head like a piece of dilapidated machinery that would soon be permanently out of service at the rate it was working. Sam didn't bother me again, another reason why I got so carried away. And then my phone buzzed. It was a text from Jack.
Him: Come with me on a quick weekend trip. Please don't say no.
I set the phone on the table like it weighed a thousand pounds. Opportunity had come knocking in the best possible way, but I still felt apprehensive about giving up on my plan. Still, despite my workplace goals, I couldn't stop thinking about him each and every night—that, and my hope that the deal would work itself out naturally was evaporating fast.
Me: Okay, I'll go. But no tricks.
My eyes were on duty watching for Sam. He never left his office.
Him: I promise. Pack before work. A car will be there to get you at 5:30 on the dot. See you tomorrow, Effie.
My heart fluttered. I wanted to return the thanks, but didn't feel that it was necessary. Maybe it would give me some extra bargaining chips if I sounded like I was going out of the way for him, bending my very tenuous and wobbly rules just for him.
I wanted him to think that I was going because I wanted to go, not because this situation with Sam had turned my life into a very complex game and I didn't know how to make my next move.
But who was I kidding? Appearing excited would be easy, because I was excited. My heart was racing at the prospect of a weekend with Jack after four very long days apart. By this point, I was really craving Jack's professional input. I was certain he'd have something to say that would put me at ease right away.
Well, I hoped it would be the case. And if not, seeing him would be really nice.
***
I packed that night, not really sure what I was packing for. The summer weather could be unpredictable—you never know when a storm might pop up and try to drown you!—so I decided to include a full array of outfits, a couple for heat, a couple for if it got cool, and something fancy in case Jack had some extravagant surprise for me that involved an upscale party. Oh, and a rain jacket.
The whole time I packed, I wanted to call him and ask him what was up. But part of me craved a nice surprise more than anything. I think I needed that more than I needed more information.
Even though I didn't know what was coming, I slept soundly, the mere fact that I'd see Jack the next day enough to put me into peaceful slumber. The game had changed, and so had my short-term goals.
It was just the way the world worked, the way life worked. Whenever you planned for something specific, there was always some variable you overlooked, some crucial element that transformed the situation into an entirely different animal. The variable might be simple, life-threatening, or somewhere in the middle.
The result might be obvious, or a dreaded gray area. Sometimes not knowing was even worse than the possibility of a bad outcome because you just didn't know what to do. If it was the worst scenario and you knew it, at least you could respond.
Jesse had given me much-needed perspective, for sure. Those were angles I hadn't considered in the least prior to speaking with him. And now, there was the angle of the label going under and everyone losing their jobs. It was probably just Sam being overdramatic, but what if he was right? I didn't have an answer to this, and my desire to act apathetic wasn't going to cut it. I cared, even if I was trying to act like I didn't.
Jack would clear this up. I was sure of it.
Even though there were risks involved with seeing him, what difference did one weekend really make?
Friday went by quickly without any serious incident. Sam seemed at ease, but once again, no talk of a deal. He had a meeting with another artist that afternoon; he didn't let me sit in on that one. I hoped that having a meeting meant good news, but chances were it didn't actually amount to anything.
When I left, I felt something different than I had ever felt before when leaving the office. Something was changing, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The feeling wasn't good or bad, just significantly present.
I turned to wave at Sam—he just didn't seem to be around. Was he hiding from something? It didn't matter. I was going to solve all my problems starting now, not because I wanted to but because I had to.
Jesse wasn't home when I got back to the apartment. I was early, but not by much. I spent those extra minutes double-checking what I had already packed and having a quick snack. Giddiness went through me in waves that were almost painful. I needed to figure this out.
I was super excited about whatever the hell this trip was. Jack had a natural talent when it came to surprises—and gobs of money to make them happen. At 5:28, I looked out the window and saw the long, black limo waiting. The usual.
I smiled as I carried my suitcase down the stairs. This was some treatment I got, and I couldn't deny how good it made me feel. I was like faux-royalty when I got carted around like this.
When I got to the stairs outside, I noticed Jesse walking up the block. "Effie!" he called.
"Hey, Jesse," I said quietly. "I'm leaving for the weekend."
"Really? Where are you going?"
"I don't know, actually. It's with Jack." I lowered my head, feeling mildly ashamed. He noticed.
"God, Effie, don't feel like that. It's cool. Have a great time. I just want you to be happy. I'm not judging you at all."
I couldn't prevent myself from smiling. "Thanks, Jesse. Any big plans for you?"
"Playing catch-up with work stuff. Laura might come by tomorrow."
"Well, I hope it's fun." I noticed the limo driver eying me. "I gotta go." I pointed sheepishly at the limo. "My ride is here."
Jesse shook his head and laughed. "That's for you?" he asked. "Damn, maybe I was wrong about this guy." He started to climb the steps, but stopped at the top one. "I'll see you Sunday, Effie. Have fun."
"You too." I watched him disappear into the entrance.
Slowly approaching the limo, I waved at the driver as he stepped out and came around the back. He opened the door and patiently waited. Jack wasn't here, but that was okay.
"Hello again, ma'am! So glad to see you. I'll take that." He grabbed my bag and put it in the back for me. It was Percy, the same driver that had taken us to the Broadway show.
"Percy, right?" I asked, my cursory guess causing his face to light up.
"That's terrific that you'd remember an old man like me. Really makes your day when the pretty ones pay attention."
He laughed, the sound just as booming and deep as I remembered it. I immediately felt at home and gave him a smile in response. He raised the window, but left a small space at the top in case we needed to communicate.
"Thanks! Nice to see you too." This was already off to a nice start.
I tossed my suitcase on the seat across from me; it was the only other guest I had in back with me, so I decided to pick it up instead of leaving it on the floor. Relaxed and ready to go, I got comfortable and put my legs up and my head back. My phone vibrated as soon as the car started moving, Jack, of course.
Him: I can't wait to see you.
I smiled and put my phone back in my purse. I tried my best to zone out, thinking about my situation in the most passive way possible. Soon, I wouldn't be worrying about it so much and that would be a very good thing.
After about ten minutes of driving, my curiosity got the best of me. "Percy?" I shouted. "Where are we going?"
"JFK airport, ma'am," he said matter-of-factly.
"Thanks, Percy." I lowered back in my seat and felt a little upset all the sudden. I didn't pack appropriately to get through airport security if my bag was a carry-on. Why hadn't Jack told me we were flying somewhere? I guess I had assumed it would be a car ride, but I didn't know why.
I convinced myself it would be okay, whatever it was. I didn't want to throw away my full bottle of shampoo and conditioner, but if I had to, I would—and I'd make Jack front the bill to replace them. Or I could just check the bag.
Traffic was heavy around rush hour, but Percy was a damn good driver, even though he was driving an enormous luxury vehicle. On top of that, he obviously knew the streets well. When we got to the airport, he drove right past the arrivals area and stopped at a checkpoint, showing a badge to the man on duty.
After the gate rose, he started driving down a private drive that led toward the busy runway.
What the hell was this?
He kept driving, but I didn't say anything. We were approaching slowly-moving planes and it made me a little nervous to be so close to them in a car while they frolicked around the airport. They were so loud and huge from down here.
But when we pulled up to a cute private jet, all of my uncertainty faded away, evaporating into thin air. Jack was standing there on the steps in a pilot's hat, grinning from ear to ear. Could he fly planes, too? He was the very sexy gatekeeper to this aircraft.
The limo slowly rolled to a stop. After it was parked, Percy hopped out and again met me at the door, pulling my bag out ahead of me. "Have a safe flight, ma'am. Hope to see you again soon."
"Thank you, Percy." I met his eyes and couldn't help smiling. He seemed so u
nbelievably happy in the most contagious of ways, happy to spoil me with his outstanding etiquette. It was clear why Jack liked him so much.
I grabbed my suitcase from the ground and started to walk. As soon as I did, a gust of wind hit me and knocked me off balance, but I remained steadfast and continued toward Jack.
"Jack! What the hell is this?"
"It's a plane, ma'am," he laughed.
"Very funny," I said. I got to the step in front of him. He didn't move. "Are we going to board, or what?"
"You didn't go through airport security. Hands up."
I shrugged and played along. Jack patted me down starting with my feet. "Hmm, what do we have here?" He gave my ass a firm grip and a nervous chuckle escaped me. "Is this some sort of contraband, ma'am?"
"No, sir," I said quietly.
He nodded and then continued up my body until he was at my breasts. After fondling them mechanically—and extracting more laughs from me, of course—he asked what they were for.
"Floatation device, I guess." I was mildly impressed at my spontaneous, goofy answer.
"All right, ma'am. Go on ahead."
I paused. "Can you actually fly a plane, Jack?"
He burst out laughing and broke character. "Hell, no. I just borrowed the hat from the pilot to throw you off. Worked pretty well, huh?"
"Oh, Jack." I pulled off his hat and stroked his hair, admiring his gorgeous features with both my fingers and my eyes.
We went inside and he closed everything up. I sat down on a leather couch and left my suitcase on the floor this time. It was the real deal inside—there was a TV, a couch and chairs, and a dining table with corresponding kitchenette. Jack disappeared up front and then returned without the hat.
"You're going to have to buckle up for take-off. Then do whatever the hell you want after that." I complied and followed him over to the seats.
"Where are we going, Jack? You still haven't said anything."