Being Alexander

by Nancy Sparling

  And Amber and Noreen are pretty harmless. They’d be considered prey by anyone’s standards so I don’t have to get all ruthless and aggressive with them, I can relax a little. I can’t drop my guard (a successful man never drops his guard), but there’s no need to reveal the extent of my merciless ambition. I can be kind. I can seem kind. If I seem nice, if I act nice when I’m with them, they won’t guess that I’m not nice. They won’t guess that there’s any difference between Alex and Alexander.

  I grab a piece of pepper from Amber’s cutting board before she can add it to the frying pan. “Thanks,” I say, taking a bite. “That smells great.”

  “There’s plenty,” says Amber, “if you want to share.”

  I’d like to think she’s coming on to me, that she finds me irresistible, but I don’t kid myself. She’s cooking enough for three. She’s just being generous in offering me a meal.

  An hour later we’re all munching away (well, Amber and I are eating real food and Noreen’s chewing and chewing and chewing the soggy-looking brown and gray mush on her plate) and I’m amusing them with the Kate-version of my mugging.

  “I kicked the knife away,” I say, a smile on my face and my arms dramatizing my retelling, “and as it skittered along the pavement they turned and fled.”

  Amber and Noreen are rapt and Amber even gives a little clap as I finish. “I can’t believe you stood up to them,” says Amber. “I can’t believe you’re so positive about everything after last week. I know you were cool about Sarah and Jed, but after being sacked as well, you’re amazing.”

  Sacked. I knew the gossip wouldn’t take long to reach her. After all, Amber is the friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a work colleague, but still, it’s only Monday and I left Wilmington-Wilkes on Friday morning. The gossip mill is obviously well developed in London. I glance at Noreen and can tell she’s not surprised. They’ve clearly discussed it.

  I decide to be vague. It wouldn’t do for me to lie exactly but there’s truth and then there’s truth.

  “Oh, that,” I say, waving my hand negligently. “I’ve been wanting to leave Wilmington-Wilkes for a long time and the severance package they offered was generous so I jumped at the offer.” Let them think I was talking about redundancy. If they thought I didn’t care they wouldn’t worry; they might simply assume that the rumor Amber had heard had been wrong.

  Noreen leans forward, treating me to a glimpse of her cleavage. “What will you do now?” I’m suddenly happy that I’ve removed her from my vengeance list. She’s annoying, too sincere, and rather obvious, but she’s really quite adorable in her own warped sort of way. Like a gremlin before the change.

  “You’re looking at the new managing director of Platypus-fox.”

  “You’re going to set up your own business?” asks Amber.

  “I already have,” I say. “In another week or so I’ll need to find some offices and think about hiring staff.” And as I say it I know it’s true. If I can sign up my first three clients, and I will, I know I will, I’ll not only be able to afford a few assistants, I’ll need them to manage my day-to-day affairs while I chase new clients.

  Noreen frowns and suddenly looks disapproving. “You’re staying in advertising?”

  “Yes,” I say. “It’s what I do, Noreen. I’m not going to give it all up and become a professional protestor like you.” I don’t want to spend the next six months camped out in the branches of some tree to prevent its destruction, even if I don’t want it to be chopped down. That’s just not me. I wouldn’t be comfortable. I’d rather donate money. Not time. Time is too precious to waste on such endeavors when they’ll only chop down another woodland while you’re distracted by the first.

  “But you could do so much more with your life,” says Noreen.

  Don’t be ludicrous. It’s all about success.

  Amber meets my gaze and I see her lips twitch. I have to look away or I’ll start grinning inanely.

  “I’m off to Cambridge for a presentation on Wednesday,” I say, wanting to change the subject.

  “Really?” says Amber. “I grew up near Cambridge. It’s a fantastic city.”

  Noreen sniffs. “I suppose the architecture is pretty.”

  Does she have to keep inserting herself into this conversation? Can’t she see that I’m trying to talk to Amber? That I want to talk to Amber?

  “Why don’t you come along?” I say to Amber. The words spill out of my mouth before I can stop myself. What the hell am I doing? What was I thinking? I don’t have time for holding hands. I don’t have the time to spend a day with Amber. I have work to do, I have to get Platypus-fox off the ground, I have to get my revenge, I need to make myself into a success. Alex would want to spend a day with Amber, but I’ve got so many things to do. (Alex wouldn’t have had the balls to even ask her, the sorry loser.)

  “On Wednesday?” says Amber. She looks a little surprised, but she’s smiling and then she nods. “Okay, I can take the day off. I’ll come.”

  Amber works at Christie’s, as some kind of trainee valuer in the art department. I guess the paintings can wait another day for her contribution to their assessment.

  “I’m busy on Wednesday,” says Noreen.

  You weren’t invited, Noreen. I certainly don’t have time to spend a day with you, even if half of it will be taken up with my meeting.

  Amber turns to Noreen. Amber has to know that it was her I was inviting, doesn’t she? Of course she does, Alexander, she’s a clever girl and you were really obvious. Like a schoolboy with a crush.

  “Oh, what are you doing on Wednesday?” asks Amber.

  Noreen doesn’t have a proper job, as far as I can tell. I think she performs odd jobs, but mostly she lives off the dole and dedicates her life—“dedicates,” her word, not mine—to saving the world.

  “We’ve discovered a greenhouse full of genetically modified crops that we’re going to destroy.”

  What a cunning plan, Noreen. You’re going to destroy the greenhouse? Or do you mean the crops?

  Protest all you want, Noreen, draw some attention to it if you think it’s a good idea, but why don’t you use your head and mull it over? There might be unforeseen consequences with GM plants that we need to worry about, but sabotaging the greenhouse and potentially releasing spores and God knows what else into the environment is hardly going to help. We all need to worry about unforeseen consequences. And we need a lot more than just gut reaction.

  “We’ll be leaving early,” I say to Amber, not wanting to get into a long discussion with Noreen in front of Amber. “My meeting’s in the morning.”

  “That sounds fine. Maybe we can go punting in the afternoon.”

  “I’d like that,” I say. And it’s true. I would like to spend the day with Amber, I want to go punting on the Cam with her. But you’re not Alex, Alexander, so don’t get carried away. You can have a good day, you can play the nice man, but that’s as far as it goes.

  Remember that it’s all about success and revenge.

  As the evening wears on, and neither Amber nor Noreen shows any sign of wanting to leave the kitchen, I wonder if I’d be able to sweet-talk Amber into sleeping with me. The idea has its merits, then I catch myself and dismiss it. Amber is adorable, but I must remember that my prey is to be other predators. I must remain true to my motto. The nice do not deserve to suffer. They can’t look out for themselves so it’s up to me.

  No, I tell myself, it’s hands off. Damn.

  But, oh, I think as I lean forward to take another slice of garlic bread, my thigh brushing Amber’s, there’s no law against a little harmless flirtation, is there?

  alexander, master of all I survey

  After the first five minutes of our lunchtime meeting, Steve Kasinski forgets all about food and for the rest of the afternoon his forlorn-looking, half-eaten sandwich lies drying out on a plate in the middle of the table. The other sandwiches and the pastries (I don’t bother to eat, I’m too busy talking) die the same death of negl
ect and I feel a rush of adrenaline and pride whenever I happen to glance at the abandoned food for it proves that my ideas are more distracting than a few mere hunger pains.

  After ten minutes Steve halts the meeting and calls in his assistant. After ten more minutes Steve sends his assistant to scour the building for the rest of his team, and within half an hour the ten men and two women who work for Steve are arrayed around the table, all wide-eyed and astonished at my ideas. And before I can wonder if they’ll invite me back for another presentation to the senior partners, Steve whisks me into the office of his boss and it’s a done deal. We shake on it and I have my first client. Not wanting to appear too eager I tell Steve I’ll send over the contract tomorrow and Steve assures me he’ll sign it straight away and return it with the first half of the payment as agreed.

  Wilmington-Wilkes would have demanded double the fee and probably received it, but for me, working on my own and needing clients more than money, it’s money enough. And it’s not bad for a third of a long day’s work. Not bad at all. Of course I don’t tell Steve that.

  Instead of saying good-bye and sending me on my way like the unimportant backroom worker I was last week, Steve escorts me to the front door. As he shakes my hand I can’t help wondering how long it will be before Wilmington-Wilkes contacts Steve and discovers they’ve lost a client. Two, maybe three weeks. Plenty of time for my new offensive. Plenty of time before they’re even aware I’ve poached a number of their clients. (But not all of them, I don’t want them all. A lot of Kenneth’s clients are bloody annoying, too demanding and interfering for me to want to take on that kind of hassle. No, I’ll leave the awkward clients to Wilmington-Wilkes.)

  To keep suspicion away—and for the health of my company—I know I need to draw in new clients, too. I need to be so big and so successful that by the time Kenneth and his cronies realize what I’ve done it’ll be too late. Thank God they never got round to insisting we all sign the new contracts. Pity for them I never agreed to the noncompetition clauses. But I can be magnanimous. I’ll be glad to take on many of my old colleagues. I will, after all, need a large staff. And it’ll be easy for me to sort the wheat from the chaff. I think I’ll be very good at culling the bad from the good. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to it.

  let’s play ball

  I arrive at Sarah’s at seven, late enough so that Jed has a chance to be there, early enough that he’d have to leave work promptly to make it. I knock on the door and once again it’s Jed who opens it. This habit of his is really beginning to annoy me. Does he think Sarah incapable of opening a door? Does he imagine that his puny little body would stand in my way if I truly wanted to go after Sarah? Is that how he seems himself? As her protector? No. I can see that he only answers the door to gloat.

  His smile fades as he gets his first good look at me. It’s not what he expected. I don’t look cowed and I’m certainly not defeated.

  “Alex, you’re wearing a suit,” he says, holding the door open like an idiot and blocking my view of the inside.

  “No. Really?” I ask.

  You can tell from the way his jaw muscles clench that he regrets his stupid remark.

  “Are you going to invite me in?” I ask before Jed has a chance to do so.

  He flushes, and inwardly I smile. Score two for Alexander. This is so easy. I sincerely hope the bastard will show a little more backbone in the ensuing battles to come, but I’m confident he will once he gets over his initial surprise. I wouldn’t want my victory to be too easy. It’s going to be total and absolute, and I want to think I’ve earned it. I want to take more pleasure in my triumph over him than Jed took from his over me. I was a pushover and easy to defeat. Let’s hope he puts up more of a struggle. I picture him a great big fish wiggling his way deeper on to my barbed hook. It’s an image I want to savor.

  Jed opens the door wider and steps aside. “Come in,” he says.

  I stride past him and into the sitting room to find Sarah curled up on the sofa flicking through a magazine. As if she weren’t waiting for me.

  I nearly set down my briefcase on the coffee table like I used to when I was planning to work at home, but I resist. I’m not that Alex any longer. I am not Alex. I’m not. I am Alexander. I am Alexander.

  “Hi, Alex,” she says, as she looks up, and I can see her freeze. Her eyes widen and her gaze takes in all of me, from the top of my new haircut to the tips of my new shoes. “You look—”

  “Like you’ve been working,” says Jed, as he follows me into the room. He gives me a nasty little smile. “Or was it out interviewing?”

  I’m so happy I want to laugh. Jed’s getting back his nerve and his efforts are so obvious that I want to jump into the air and kick my heels together with glee.

  “I was sorry to hear about your job, Alex,” says Sarah.

  I see the look of pity in her eyes. I’ll accept pity from no one. Especially her. I loved her once and the only thing I want her to feel when she thinks of me is regret. Huge, serious, kick-yourself-for-the-rest-of-your-life regret.

  I smile. A genuine smile, as I imagine her down on her knees keening for the loss of my love. I’ll make her regret what she did to me, I’ll make her suffer as I have suffered, I’ll make her realize the ugliness of her true self, I’ll cut away her excuses and leave her betrayals bare and stripped of euphemisms. She will feel shame for the rest of her life. “It was the best thing that could have happened,” I say. “The work environment was stagnating at Wilmington-Wilkes. I needed to make a fresh start.”

  “Talk about sour grapes.” Jed’s words are muttered but they’re loud enough for us both to hear.

  Sarah flashes Jed a look of disapproval, her eyes and eyebrows telling him to behave. I merely smile.

  “Really,” I say. “I should thank you, Jed, for organizing such a little scenario. It would probably have taken me another year to get round to leaving.” It would have taken the old Alex a lot longer than that. I had been into comfort and stability in those days, I had had a place in the world and I had been happy to fill it. I would never have left. Not to set off on my own. Alex would have been content to plod on with the years passing by and every day the same.

  “But I had nothing to do with it,” says Jed.

  I tut and shake my head, then turn to Sarah. “Really, he’s so modest. He engineered the whole thing, you know, and I have to say I’m impressed. He saw a weakness and he went for the jugular.” Sarah looks confused. I turn back to Jed. “But we won’t go into ancient history, will we, Jed? That’s last week and this is now, and I would so hate to spoil the happy couple’s illusions.”

  “Just what exactly are you implying, Alex?” asks Jed.

  “Please, call me Alexander.”

  “A new name for a new haircut?” Jed’s tone is snide, but I retain my civility.

  “No, a new image for a new me,” I say, the epitome of calm.

  “So why exactly are you wearing a suit, Alex? Out to impress them at the dole office?”

  Sarah frowns and even Jed can tell he’s gone too far in front of her. He flashes her a little smile and shrugs as if to say he’s sorry.

  “I had business,” I say. Let them wonder. Jed will find out when I want him to find out and not before. Dismissing him, I turn to Sarah. “Have my credit cards come?”

  “I think so.” She picks up four letters from the coffee table and holds them out to me. “These are for you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, as I take them, feeling the plastic cards inside the envelopes.

  “How did you lose your wallet, Alex?” asks Jed. “Oh, sorry, I mean, Alexander. How did you lose your wallet, Alexander? Were you being careless of your property again, Alexander?”

  I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “It was stolen. There are so many thieves in the world, don’t you think?”

  Sarah’s had enough and she stands up. “Boys, behave. We’re all adults here.”

  I grin. “If you say so.” I glance around the room. Jed’s obviou
sly moved in or at least moved most of his stuff over. Sarah’s CD collection has quadrupled over the weekend and a couple of abstract paintings hang on the walls where my photographs once were. I don’t know why he didn’t stay in his own flat. Maybe Sarah refused to move or Jed just wanted to rub my nose in it, to stake his claim, declare his absolute victory and take my place as the spoils of war. Cheapskate’s probably letting out his place for a fortune. Slimy bastard. “The old place looks homey again. You’ve done well to fill it up.”

  I can see Sarah glance at Jed, as if they’ve discussed this and are expecting me to throw a big fit, but I must say I’m happy to disappoint them.

  “How’s your room?” asks Jed.

  “Fine. Fine. It’ll tide me over until I find a place to buy,” I say.

  “You want to buy?” asks Sarah. “But I thought you were out of work.”

  I laugh. “Oh, ho, is that what you told her, Jed?” I shake my head. “I was sacked, that much is true, but out of work? Hardly. I’ve never been busier.”

  “And what exactly are you doing, Alexander?” asks Jed. Alexander he says. Emphasizing the word. Trying to ridicule my new name.

  “Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that. You know. I like to keep myself busy.”

  “You’ve got a new job?” asks Sarah. “Already?”

  “I’d be happy to give you a reference, old boy,” says Jed. “I know it was just bad luck last week, you really are a good worker. Normally. I never had any complaints before Friday.” What a creep. It’s obvious he’s just trying to make sure Sarah doesn’t find out what he’s really like.

  I want to take a knife and cut off your fingers one by one, mate, and then your toes and after that your nose, and then how much will Sarah love you? And maybe I’ll stab your testicles or cut them off completely so that no poor children will be brought into this world cursed with your genes. What do you think of that, eh, Jed?