by Neil Plakcy
After lunch I tracked Kaitlyn down in her office. “You hear anything from Victor Kunin, the modeling guy?” I asked. “I e-mailed him the link to his app yesterday.”
“Haven’t heard a thing. You want me to call him?”
“Yeah, could you? I want to know if there’s anything else he wants.”
“And I want to know if we can invoice him,” she said. “I’ll call.” She picked up her phone, but Victor was in a meeting, and she had to leave a message for him.
I went back to my desk. Was this part of Victor’s game-playing? Leave me hanging about my work, think it was another way of punishing or tormenting me? What a jerk. I called Leroy’s cell but got no answer. Was he asleep? Had he taken that header off the balcony? Or had he wagged that big dick at Gavin and was in the middle of hot sex with my roommate?
Yuck. The idea of my brother having sex creeped me out, whether it was with Angie or Gavin or anybody else. Then there was Julian. I wanted to work on his project, but also to see him, talk to him. More than that, if he was willing. But how could I with all this other stuff going on?
At four Kaitlyn bopped in with Boris behind her. “You are awesome, Larry!” she said.
“What? Did Victor like the app?”
“He must have, because he sent us another client. You are a one-man referral band.”
That was good. I was showing Boris that I did good work, and I could bring in clients. He stood behind Kaitlyn, grinning like a monkey.
But it was bad too. What if all these people were coming to AppWorks because I was letting Victor fuck me? If I stopped, would they drop us, or refuse to pay their bills?
It was craziness.
“This one’s a sandwich shop,” Kaitlyn said. “They want their whole menu to be available, so you can order for pickup or delivery.”
“This going to be big job,” Boris said. “Dominic, you work with Larry, because you do this kind of thing before.”
“Sure, boss,” Dom said. “I’m almost finished with the car-dealer app.”
After Boris and Kaitlyn were gone, Dom wheeled his big butt back to my cube. “So you’re like some kind of rainmaker,” he said. “Bringing in clients like crazy.”
“I’m not trying. I don’t even know these people, or why they’re asking for me.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. And I sure wasn’t going to share the truth with him. At eight o’clock, as I was winding down and getting ready to head for home, an e-mail from Victor popped into my mailbox.
Great job. You have met or exceeded all my requirements. We start using it tomorrow. Will be in touch re: performance.
Okay, I thought. It was so bland and businesslike but gave no indication of what he expected of me in the future. Fuck him, I thought. Or not. Depending.
I checked my personal e-mail, and there were messages from both programmers in India and the interface guy Julian had hired. When was I going to get the time to work on what they’d all sent? I fired off a quick e-mail to Julian, letting him know what I’d received, and that I was going to try and squeeze some time in that night.
Thinking of Julian, and how I’d missed seeing him the day before, reminded me that I’d left my brother alone in my apartment all day, and that he hadn’t answered his cell when I called. I tried him again, and this time he answered. “Hey, Leroy. How’re you doing?”
“All right. I slept most of the day.”
“Well, you must be hungry by now. Want to get something to eat?”
“Oh.”
“Oh, what, Leroy?”
“I kind of ate some of the food in your kitchen. The chocolate-chip cookies from the cabinet, and that butter-pecan ice cream in the freezer. And that half gallon of ginger ale in the fridge, and then that macaroni salad and the leftover barbecued chicken.”
“Some of that stuff belonged to my roommates. We’ll have to go to Publix and replace it.”
“Oh, and that box of crackers and the spray cheese, and the four cans of crushed pineapple and three bottles of water.”
“Those were our hurricane supplies!” Hurricane Leroy had hit our apartment. “Get your wallet, bud. I’ll be home in a half hour, and we’re going grocery shopping.”
“I don’t have any cash.”
“Don’t worry; they take plastic.”
“I don’t have a credit card either.”
“Jesus, how do you live? You have an ATM card, at least, right?”
“Yeah, but I forgot the number. Usually I give my paycheck to Mom, and she takes it to the bank for me and brings me back cash.”
I was going to harass him, but then I remembered all he’d been through. Instead, I said, “Call the 800 number on the back of your card and ask them how to reset your PIN number. Can you do that?”
“I guess.”
“Fine. See you in thirty.”
While I waited for the bus, I sent quick texts to Gavin and Manny promising to replace all the food Leroy had eaten. When I got home, I found my brother sitting at the kitchen table in a T-shirt and sweats, with the debris of his daily feed all around.
“See that round thing over there?” I asked, pointing. “It’s a garbage can. You put trash in there.”
“Don’t get smart with me, asshole,” he grumbled.
Except for the “asshole” on the end, that could have come direct from our dad’s mouth. “Mom is not here to clean up after you,” I said. “Throw your trash away and put your shoes on.”
“I called the bank,” he said. “They can’t reset the number over the phone. You have to do it online or at a branch.”
I looked at my watch. “The branches are already closed. So we’ll go online.”
Leroy looked down at the table. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Don’t worry, bud,” I said, heading to the bedroom for my laptop. “You’ve got a brother who’s a computer geek.”
I had no idea Leroy was so computer-illiterate. When I set the laptop down next to him, he looked at it like it was a snake with fangs bared. “Don’t you have to use computers at work?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it’s all set up for you. You type in your ID and your password, and the menu comes up.” He smiled. “It calls me Mr. Leavis. Nobody else ever does.”
“Well, you’re smart enough to work with nuclear reactors,” I said. “You can sure as hell manage a laptop.”
I forced him to do it all himself—opening a web browser, typing in the address for the bank’s website, reviewing the options, and choosing the right one. His fingers were thicker than mine, and he only used two of them to type, but he managed.
“That wasn’t so hard,” he said, sitting back after he finished.
“Let’s make sure you have some money in your account,” I said, moving the mouse to account balance. I was astonished to see how much he had. “Jesus, Leroy, where’d you get all that cash!”
He shrugged. “I never looked at the balance before. But I don’t spend much money, only taking Angie out and stuff.”
Remembering his ex-girlfriend made him sad all over again. “Come on.” I reached over and shut down the laptop. “Let’s get some groceries.”
Even food shopping was a new experience for my brother. “I go to the Seven-Eleven when I need a snack,” he said, looking with awe at the long, fully stocked aisles. “Mom buys everything else.”
Probably even his underwear, I thought. Jesus, how could you be twenty-four years old and still be such a baby?
We walked up and down the aisles, loading the cart. I’d never bought so much food in my life, but we had to replace what Leroy had eaten, and I wanted to make sure there was food for him until I took him home. He was like that kid in the proverbial candy store, throwing all kinds of crap into the wagon. “They make chocolate-covered Oreos!” he crowed. “Cool!”
“Remember, we have to carry all this stuff home,” I said. “On foot.”
“It’s only a couple of blocks,” he said.
We w
ere in line before he said, “We didn’t go to the bank for money.”
“They’ll take your ATM card at the register,” I said.
“Really?”
Since when had I turned into some kind of consultant to the clueless? Helping Dylan shop, getting Dom to clean up, now teaching my big brother how to live as an independent adult? Christ, and I thought I was naïve.
Which reminded me of Victor Kunin. It was Thursday night, and I was waiting to hear whether he wanted another date or not. If Victor came through for the next night, I’d have to figure out something to do with Leroy; I sure couldn’t take him to my BDSM fiesta. But Victor had made the rules clear; he would be the one to contact me. All I could do was cool my jets and wait.
Leroy and I dragged all the food home. The air was hot and humid, and we were drenched in sweat by the time we got there, even though we’d only gone a half dozen blocks.
Gavin and Manny were both waiting in the kitchen. “Hallelujah!” Gavin said. “We can eat.”
“Sorry, dudes,” I said.
They fell on the groceries like a pack of ravenous wolves. The four of us devoured two chickens—one fried, one barbecued. One tub of coleslaw, one southern-style potato salad. Two bags of potato chips and two half gallons of Mountain Dew, topped off by the box of chocolate-covered Oreos.
We were all groaning by the time we were done, sprawled in the living room watching dumb reality TV until it was time to crash.
I kept thinking of Julian and his project, and the way I’d promised to do some work that night, but I didn’t have the energy to open my laptop.
“Your roommates are cool,” Leroy said when we were back in my bedroom.
“Yeah, I like them,” I said.
“You don’t think they want to...you know...”
“Jump your bones?” I asked. “Nah, both of them get laid enough without having to try and convert straight guys. And Manny has a serious boyfriend.”
He sat up on the sleeping bag on the floor as I pulled off my polo shirt. “How about you?” he asked. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Tricky question to answer, I thought. “I’m seeing this guy,” I said. “Victor. But he’s really busy. So it’s, like, no big deal.”
“I’m not keeping you from getting laid, am I?” he asked. “Because I could, you know, sleep in the living room or something.”
“No big deal, bud,” I said. “I’m going into the bathroom.”
By the time I got back, Leroy was already asleep on the floor. I lay in bed for a while, thinking about the two men on my mind, Victor and Julian. I could never explain those relationships to my brother, when I hardly understood them myself.
18 – Happy Hours
When I woke up Friday morning, Leroy was snoring beside me. I grabbed my phone and checked my e-mail. There was an urgent message from Julian, with one of those red flags next to it. How’s your brother? Really need to see you. Can we meet?
I did some quick calculations in my head. Victor Kunin hadn’t contacted me yet, but I had a feeling he’d expect me to be available. And if I didn’t have to see him, I should probably spend some time with my brother. I looked at the clock. It was only eight, and I thought I could sneak in an hour’s work on Julian’s website before I had to leave for AppWorks. I could handle some of the quick things and then have something to show Julian. What if I took my laptop with me and arranged to meet him at lunchtime?
I texted Julian as Leroy woke up. “I, um, might have plans tonight,” I said to my brother. “Not sure yet.”
“’S cool,” he said and yawned. “I can hang here, right?”
“Sure.”
My brother went back to sleep, and I took my laptop out to the dining room. I was able to incorporate the new routines from the Indian programmers as well as catch a few bugs before I had to leave for work.
As soon as I got to AppWorks, I jumped into the bank app, and I was deep into it when the meeting alert on my computer popped up, reminding me of my lunch with Julian. Thank God for Outlook, I thought. Without it I’d probably work through the apocalypse.
The other guys had gotten in later than I had, and they were all busy when I sneaked out, carrying my laptop in a messenger bag over my shoulder. “I’ve got to run out for lunch,” I said to Mila as I passed her desk.
“Hey, you’re the golden boy right now,” she said. “Have fun.”
That was a good place to be, I thought. Then I remembered a poem we’d had to memorize in middle school, about how nothing gold could last. Great.
It was a hot, bright afternoon, and with the sun nearly overhead, there wasn’t much shade as I hurried to the café to meet Julian. He was already there, looking cool and handsome, as I slipped into the seat opposite him and wiped sweat from my forehead.
One look at him reminded me how far out of my league he was. He looked better than he did the last time I’d seen him. He must have caught up on his sleep and gotten a haircut. Even his fingernails were neatly trimmed—unlike mine, which I had a tendency to gnaw on when I was worried.
“Thanks for meeting me, Larry,” he said. “I really appreciate it. I need to get a clear idea of how much more work we have ahead of us so I can tell my investors.”
“You mean your father,” I said as I opened my laptop.
“Not just him. I told you I was hoping to get some more capital from Latin America, and a friend from Stanford introduced me to this rich Argentine guy. I met with him two days ago, and he’s willing to put in a half million bucks, once the site is operational.”
Half a million, I thought. Of course, that wasn’t like profit for Julian. But it was still a couple more zeroes than I’d ever seen in my bank account.
We ordered sandwiches, and I showed Julian what I’d done. “This is awesome,” he said. “You did all this?”
“Well, Rajesh and Rajneesh helped,” I said. “I thought we could go through the rest of the work that’s necessary, and you can prioritize it for me. I’ve already finished the interface where authors can upload their books, and where translators can register for work. If you could find some people to start registering, even if it’s false data, then that would help me figure out if there are any bugs.”
“Absolutely. I know two authors who have been eager to get started with me, and a couple of translators too.”
“Great. I have a few more things to do on the marketplace—you know, the place where the author puts up the request for translators, and the translator responds. It’s all based on e-mail, so it should be pretty quick to finish. Who is going to hire someone to review the translation? The author or the translator?”
“That’s a tricky part.” Julian picked up his sandwich and took a bite. When he finished chewing, he said, “All three parties need to work together. The author is the one who controls the rights, so he or she should be the one to hire the reviewer.”
“Who actually makes the changes?” I asked. “Say the reviewer finds a passage that needs to be fixed. Does the reviewer do it?”
Julian sighed. “It’s so subjective. The way I see it, the reviewer can suggest a different word, or a different phrase, and then the translator says yes or no. If there’s a bigger issue, then I think the author has to step in and negotiate.”
“What if the reviewer says something is wrong, but the translator refuses to change it?”
“I’m going to have a mediator on my staff,” Julian said. “For each language. A disinterested third party who can review any problems. The contract that the author and the translator sign gives the mediator final say.”
“And the authors are okay with that?”
“They have to be, to work with the system. Unless an author is fluent in the language of the translation, he or she has to be able to trust somebody.”
“So I need to add a feedback loop for the mediator.” I made myself a note. “I didn’t realize that person existed.”
“As you can see, I’m still working out the details. I’m planning a soft launch,
only letting in authors and translators I invite, until I see where the kinks are in the process.”
“It’s so cool the way you can keep this whole thing in your head,” I said. “You must have been a killer student.”
“I did all right. But I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and talking to a million people about it.”
By the time we finished lunch, I had to head back to the office. “I’m planning to devote most of the day tomorrow to this project,” I said to Julian. “I have to get my brother back to Homestead. Maybe we could meet again tomorrow night? Eight o’clock?”
“That would be terrific. And I’ll start getting people to put data into the system. We should have some results to look at together.”
I left Julian and hurried back to AppWorks. There was something about seeing him that put an extra spring in my step, and I didn’t notice the heat or the humidity. I went back to the bank app and got caught up in programming and testing. I was startled around four when my phone buzzed with a text from Victor. Can’t 2nite. WGB later.
Well, fuck you too, I thought but fortunately didn’t say it out loud. Instead I called my brother. I’d often passed the ads for a Friday-evening happy hour at Gilligan’s—one of the straight bars on Lincoln Road. I knew from Mila and Pharah that it was a happening place. Just the ticket to cheer Leroy up.
He sounded like I’d woken him. “Be ready at five thirty,” I said. “That means take a shower, shave, brush your teeth. Put on those black jeans and the nice white shirt Mom bought for your birthday. We’re going to happy hour.”
“Oh, no,” Leroy said. “I don’t want any guys hitting on me.”
“Don’t worry; it’s a straight bar.”
He started to say something, but I said, trying my best to imitate our dad, “No arguments. Be ready.”
I went out to Mila’s desk. “You busy this evening?” I asked. “I want to take my brother to happy hour at Gilligan’s. Don’t women drink free there for the first hour?”