Afterwards

by Nia Forrester

  “How about this? I get my driver to get her and she meets me at my place in the city, and I take her to work from there.”

  Karen said nothing for a moment, as she considered the compromise.

  “Yeah,” she said finally. “Okay.”

  “So tell her to be ready to go at seven.”

  “No, I’ll put her on the phone. Wait a sec.”

  And before he could protest, Karen was gone and he was listening to the silence. And then there was Jasmin’s voice in the background. She sounded hesitant though Chris couldn’t tell what she was saying. Finally, she picked up the receiver.

  “Hi Daddy.”

  Every time he heard it, his heart lurched. Daddy. It pained him that he couldn’t even remember the first time he’d heard her say it. No doubt it had come at a time when he’d been too young and selfish to care. And now, the label seemed misplaced somehow, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t like hearing it.

  “Hey babe. So you’re coming to work with me tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You guess so?” he said. “You don’t sound excited. I’m excited.”

  “You are?”

  God bless nine-year old girls. By the time she was thirteen, she would have learned not to wear her heart on her sleeve as much.

  “Of course I am. I’ve got all kinds of cool stuff planned for you, too, okay? So get lots of sleep.”

  “Okay, Daddy. What should I wear? Like work stuff?”

  Chris laughed. “No. You can wear whatever you want, baby. I’m sending a driver to come get you at seven and then you’ll come to my apartment and we’ll go to the office together.”

  “Are we having breakfast, or should I have breakfast before I come?”

  Oh yeah. Breakfast. Chris generally ate in his office. A bagel and glass of orange juice that Chastity knew to have sent up minutes after he arrived. Well, Karen said they should do whatever he normally did.

  “We’ll eat together when we get to my work, so just have some juice or something.”

  “I’d like eggs and bacon,” Jasmin said. “Like a real breakfast. I usually don’t eat a real breakfast before school because I’m rushing, y’know?”

  “Okay, eggs and bacon. Got it. So I’ll see you tomorrow. Lemme talk to your Mom again real quick.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  When Karen came back on the line, she spoke first.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice low again. “You should see her face. She’s so excited . . .”

  “So what’s all this about her not having a real breakfast before school?”

  Karen said nothing.

  “You have help at home, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “So make sure she eats real food before she leaves for school. What’re you giving her? Like Pop Tarts or some crap like that?”

  “Chris,” Karen said. “Jasmin has swim practice every morning. She gets up at five a.m. and is in a pool by five-thirty. She doesn’t eat a full breakfast because she can’t. It would give her a cramp, or she would throw up. After swimming, she gets fruit and hot cereal with the rest of the kids on the team before she goes to class.”

  Her tone and pace were measured, as though she was speaking to an insane person. If this had been Sheryl, the very same explanation would have been delivered as a tirade, accusing him of not knowing all this because he was an asshole and a bad parent. But this was somehow much more humbling.

  “Oh,” he said, “that makes sense. So I have to go. I need to see about making plans for tomorrow.”

  He hung up before he could further embarrass himself, and then buzzed Chastity.

  Moments later, Chas showed up with her sidekick, Stephen in tow. Stephen, as always, had his iPad at the ready, poised for action.

  “Did you know that tomorrow is Bring Your Daughter to Work Day?”

  Chastity nodded. “Yeah. I’m bringing Peyton.”

  Chris thought of something. “How old is she?”

  “You send her a gift every year on her birthday,” Chastity said rolling her eyes. “You don’t know how old she is?”

  Actually, Chris asked one of the other assistants to send the gift on his behalf every year, so he had no clue how old Peyton was.

  “She’s twelve, Chris,” Chastity said.

  “Jasmin’s coming in with me tomorrow,” he said.

  Chastity grinned and took one of the seats opposite him at his desk. “Really? That’s great.”

  He didn’t know what to make of the fact that his assistant sounded so surprised. So he was a lousy father and everyone knew it, huh?

  “Yeah. Except I have no idea what to do with her. What’s my day tomorrow look like?”

  At that, Stephen consulted the iPad and then looked up almost mournfully. “Almost wall-to-wall meetings. The good news is that most are here in the office. And you have lunch free.”

  “Any meetings with artists?” Chris asked. Jasmin might want to sit in if she knew he was meeting a recording artist she’d heard of. The idea that he might actually succeed in impressing his daughter was suddenly very appealing.

  “No. Sorry,” Stephen said. “Just suits tomorrow.”

  “HR has a special lunch planned for the girls,” Chastity offered. “They have goodie bags and the whole nine. They’re giving them CDs, a couple t-shirts, posters, stuff like that.”

  “For real?” Chris wrinkled his brow. “How come I never . . ?”

  “You have good people working for you,” Chastity shrugged. “If you let them do their job, they’ll do it.”

  “I let people do their job.”

  “Uh huh. Anyway. Yeah, so lunch is taken care of. But the rest of the time you’re on your own.”

  “What’re you doing with Peyton?”

  “You’re not handing Jasmin off onto me, Chris. She’s here to spend time with you. I’m sure Stephen can figure out which meetings are fine for her to sit in on. And I can set up a little workstation in here for her, so she can get online and stuff.”

  “Okay,” Chris nodded. “That sounds good. But she won’t be bored, you think?”

  “Of course, she’ll be bored,” Chastity said, wearily. “Was there anything else?”

  “No. That’s all. Thanks.”

  Chastity left the office shaking her head and when Chris looked up, Stephen was hanging back.

  “Y’know Mr. Scaife,” he began.

  “Chris.”

  “Y’know, Chris, there’s a Mommy and Me Salon next door.”

  Chris looked at him, not comprehending.

  “If you could find someone to take her, you could make an appointment and she could go get her hair and nails done, and get a kid-appropriate makeover.”

  Chris looked at Stephen fully and with interest for the first time. He wore colorful suits with skinny pants that stopped just above the ankles; all the better to show off his eccentric taste in socks. And the wild shock of hair was an attention-getter as well. Chris didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that when he wasn’t at work, Stephen probably went all the way live, maybe even in drag. This get-up was probably his conservative look.

  “Maybe you could take her,” Chris suggested.

  Stephen smiled and looked pleased at the idea, but shook his head. “I wish. But I keep pretty busy all day. I don’t even leave the building for lunch. Just booking your meetings and evening events is a job and a half, Mr. . . . Chris.”

  Chris nodded. “Okay. So I’ll think of someone else. Good idea, though. Thanks, man.”

  Stephen left the office with instructions to book the Mommy and Me appointment and Chris thought for a moment. But only a moment. If he had to send Jasmin off to the salon for an hour with someone, what better person than the woman who always looked perfectly pulled-together?

  ___________________

  If she didn’t know any better she would say that Chris was staring at her.

  After a long morning of meetings where she was one of
those expected to do all the talking, Robyn was happy to be in this one, where she was simply part of the audience along with Frank, a couple other folks from legal and Chris. Jamal Turner was giving a rundown of Pouvoir Noir’s stable of talent, including his sense of their long-term trajectory in the business; and he’d even managed to dig up dirt about each one, like who had a little bit of a drug problem, or a tendency to get rough with women. Now she understood why Curtis was so eager to get introduced to him—this brother was nothing if not thorough.

  Thorough, and a comedian. Jamal’s presentation, as informative as it was, was also a humorous, tongue-in-cheek mock-up of a CIA review of targets, including blow-ups of grainy photos, fonts that resembled the type from an old-fashioned typewriter and the transition between slides designed to look like the turning of pages inside a file folder. For those artists whose contract he recommended they not renew, Jamal had superimposed a bulls-eye over their photo. Everyone else seemed accustomed Jamal Turner’s showmanship and didn’t react one way or another, but Robyn smiled at each new effect.

  And each time she smiled, she looked up to find that Chris’ eyes were on her. Of course, she only knew that because she’d been looking at him as well. And way too often. The first time she smiled, it was casually, the way she might have with anyone else but he didn’t respond in kind.

  So moody!

  Just that past Saturday after her riding lesson, instead of returning to the house, she’d walked around his property, as far beyond the house as she could, until it was almost a quarter of a mile in the distance. It looked like an English manor from afar, and made Robyn think of the old classics she used to read obsessively, like Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (her favorite), and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, novels featuring lonely men of means, haunted by some long ago sadness. She didn’t think Chris was haunted, but he did sometimes strike her as sad. Or maybe not actively “sad” but certainly without joy.

  When she made her way back to the house, she was sweaty and tired, but exhilarated and hungry as hell. As she got closer, she could smell barbecue, and saw that Mrs. Lawson had something on the grill for lunch. Surprised not to find Chris in his office as usual, Robyn had bumped into him coming out of the kitchen. He’d sighed and rolled his eyes when she told him where she’d been and mumbled something about her not wandering off like a lost puppy. The analogy made her smile, though she’d hidden it because he was clearly a little upset with her for disappearing.

  Were you looking for me? she asked, her amusement revealed in her voice.

  He didn’t answer, but just headed back to his office, Robyn following, determined to get him away—and keep him away—from his computer for the remainder of the afternoon.

  Chris’ being alternately abrupt with her and then friendly again was something Robyn was getting used to, mostly because she had come to believe it often had nothing whatsoever to do with her, and was more likely because of the extraordinary stress in his life. Later when they were eating lunch together on his terrace, she’d glanced over at him working on his iPad and spotted his email inbox. The number of unread messages was what any average person might consider astronomical. Asking him whether he got to them all, he’d nodded and said that Chastity did some of the triage for him.

  Triage. A word of crisis and response. Robyn couldn’t even begin to think of how someone might handle that kind of pressure 24/7, so instead she’d taken the iPad, sliding it away from him and shutting the leather cover.

  I wish you could ride with me sometimes, she said, to deflect his attention from work.

  For a moment he said nothing, and then finally. I’ll ride with you today. I’ll take you home on the bike.

  And so he had, and Robyn got to wrap her arms about him, and hold him tight, and close her eyes and feel the warm, summer breeze against her face. So now that was their deal. He promised he would take her home on Saturdays, on the back of his Ducati. It was perfect, because he would get an hour or so of relaxing into the incomparable feeling of riding, and she could hold him close, and pretend that it was only to avoid being thrown from the motorcycle moving at high-speed.

  So Chris’ frowns and moodiness didn’t faze her at all. Not even the inscrutable looks he was throwing her way now.

  After the meeting, as everyone was leaving the conference room, Robyn stopped Jamal to compliment him on his presentation.

  “The most entertaining I’ve had all week,” she told him.

  “Oh, I’m very entertaining,” Jamal said, grinning at her. “Just ask around.”

  Robyn smiled at him, not quite sure how it was he managed to make such an innocuous comment sound dirty. As she was gathering her things, she glanced Chris’ direction once again. He was still sitting in his place at the conference table, watching her.

  “What?” she asked. “Didn’t you find Jamal entertaining?”

  “I’m used to his routine, so probably not as entertaining for me as you.”

  Robyn shrugged. “Well, it certainly woke me up after a long day of dry-as-dirt meetings.”

  “I need to ask you a favor,” he said.

  Robyn leaned against the conference table, intrigued.

  “Okay?”

  “Tomorrow is Take Your Daughter to Work Day,” he began, twirling a pen between his fingers. “My daughter Jasmin is coming in with me.”

  Robyn smiled wider.

  “And I have lots of meetings, so I can’t always have her with me. Stephen made an appointment at this place next door. The Mommy and Me Salon? Have you . . ?”

  “Yes,” Robyn said.

  “You don’t even know what I’m about to . . .”

  “If you’re asking me to take Jasmin to the salon, I would love to.”

  “You would?” he looked surprised.

  Robyn’s shoulders fell. “You disappoint me, Chris. Of course I would. Why wouldn’t . . .” Robyn thought for a moment. “And you’re sure her mother would be cool with this?”

  “Yeah, but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll call her and check.”

  “It would make me feel better, yes. But other than that, I would love to. I can’t wait to meet her. And beautiful name, by the way.”

  “Yeah.” He stood, gathering his things, and pushing back his chair. “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Robyn rolled her eyes. “Chris. Not every question requires a strictly honest answer. Next time someone tells you your daughter has a pretty name, maybe just say, ‘thank you’?”

  Grabbing her things, she brushed by him and out of the conference room.

  12

  A large box wrapped in plain peach paper of a heavy and clearly expensive stock was sitting on her desk when she arrived at work. Confused for a moment, Robyn sat at her desk and touched it, turning it around before she spotted the small card affixed to the side. Taking it off, she opened it, and read. Thank you.

  Smiling, she carefully removed the wrapping and opened the box. Inside was a beautiful red calfskin bag, embossed with the label Henri Bendel.

  “Oh my god!”

  Robyn looked up. It was Pam, the floor receptionist.

  “I was nosy, so I had to come in and see whether you’d opened it yet,” Pam said coming closer. “That is so beautiful. Who sent it? You must have a really generous boyfriend, Robyn.”

  “It’s a thank you gift,” Robyn said smiling.

  “That’s pretty impressive for a ‘thank you’ gift. From a man?”

  “Pam, please.”

  “Okay, okay. But I couldn’t help it. I mean if it’s a man, and that’s just a ‘thank you’, you can only imagine what an ‘I love you’ gift from him would be.”

  “Well,” Robyn said with a short laugh. “There’s no risk that I’ll be getting any ‘I love you’ gifts from this particular man, believe me.”

  “Hmm. Too bad. I would throw myself at him if I were you.” Pam sauntered out.

  Already did that, Robyn thought, remembering the moment on the stairs that first Saturday when
Chris had arranged for her motorcycle lesson. She’d all but offered to sleep with him and then rescinded when he hesitated. Beyond embarrassing.

  And it was clear he had no interest in her anyway, because Chris had a reputation of lovin’ and leavin’ them, and he hadn’t even tried to get to the lovin’ with her although he had ample opportunity on Saturday afternoons. She would ride with Jon, they would have lunch or dinner and he would take her home. That was the sum total of it.

  Except for this week. When he’d called and asked if she could take his daughter to the salon downstairs for Bring Your Daughter to Work Day, she’d been surprised, but more than willing. First of all, she wanted to meet his daughter, and second, it was the only opportunity she had to even the score. He’d done so much for her already, it was beginning to feel very, very imbalanced. When she asked how much it cost for her to get private lessons on the bike, he’d looked just as insulted as he was when she asked him how much the bottle of wine cost that time. So she just took the lessons and shut the hell up.

  Cooking for him every once in awhile was about all she could do. So helping him out yesterday when Jasmin showed up was well worth the two meetings she had to cancel. And god, the girl was just gorgeous. Robyn thought at first she was a little quiet but when they were alone, Jasmin came out of her shell, chatting up a storm.

  Are you my Dad’s girlfriend? she’d asked.

  No, Robyn told her. Just a friend.

  My Mom’s not his girlfriend either, Jasmin said. But she used to be. That’s how my brother and me were born, because they were boyfriend and girlfriend. But then they broke up.

  Does that make you sad? Robyn asked.

  They were getting manicures done, and though the topic of conversation bordered on prying, Robyn consoled herself with the knowledge that Jasmin was the one who brought it up.

  Nah. It’s okay. My Mom has a boyfriend now. His name is Hector. He’s nice to us.

  After that they talked about girl things, but it was interesting how often Jasmin managed to work questions about her father into the conversation. She was yearning to know him better, clearly, and viewed him with something akin to awe. Well, Robyn could relate.