by Connor, Anne
“It’s not my time. It’s your time. You’re paying me! And don’t worry - we’ll bring these guys to their knees.”
The intercom in the middle of the table lights up and Sarah’s voice comes through.
“They’re here. They’re waiting in the small conference room. They can’t hear me.”
“How many?”
“Five. It’s the two main guys and three lawyers. How long do you want me to keep them in there to sweat them out?”
“A minute. You’re the one who told us to play nice,” I saw into the intercom.
“Got it. Need anything else?”
“Yeah,” my brother says, leaning over the table and shouting directly at the intercom, looking at it intensely. “You can tell them to go fuck themselves. And you can tell them I said it!”
“Sorry, can you repeat that, Eric? I want to write it down to make sure I have it right.”
“That’s all we need, Sarah. A minute. Thanks,” I say, swatting my brother away.
The intercom clicks off and the blinking green light fades.
“You don’t have to yell into the the thing,” O’Malley says, getting up and fixing himself a cup of coffee.
“I’m just a little bit on edge, okay?” my brother says. “Can you blame me?”
“Yeah, but you always scream into the thing,” I say, letting a little smirk pull at the corners of my mouth.
“Maybe I’m always on edge. I can’t be the cool one. You’re the cool one.”
“Sorry if I’m preventing you from being cool.”
The door swings open and Sarah sashays into the room, presenting the five men behind her one by one. I’m impressed that she knows each of them by name.
“Anything else, sir?” she asks, looking squarely at me.
“That’s all, Sarah. Please hold my calls.”
She nods and gives me a look of confidence and assurance. Thank goodness for her. Maybe I should give her that vacation as her Christmas bonus, and even throw in the unlimited drink package.
“Gentlemen, please sit down. This shouldn’t take very long, should it?” O’Malley sits next to Eric and gestures for the five men to take seats across from him at the table.
“No, I don’t think it should take long. I think we can all come to an agreement today. Don’t you?”
Eric nods and leans on one of his armrests. I can see that he’s trying to be confident and casual, but it just doesn’t work on him. He looks rehearsed and stilted.
“Re-read your contracts. We have the right to build on the land in question. It’s ours. We purchased it six months ago.”
“We understand your position,” the attorney for the other firm says. I know him. He’s a nice guy. His name is Ryan Lee, and he went to the same university as Eric did, and was enrolled in the law school around the same time Eric was there for finance. I met him a few times, years ago, and I knew he was working as an attorney in the city.
“If you understand our position, then you understand that we are going to move forward with our plans,” I add to Eric’s comment.
“Look, we don’t want this thing to drag on and on. My clients negotiated a contract with a third party, and part of the deal included the space adjacent to the lot they acquired. It’s very simple.”
“But the third party didn’t own the land,” O’Malley says matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his coffee.
“It is their contention that they did own it. That before you purchased it, the deal was already done for the other firm to acquire it. The money was in escrow.”
“But the contracts weren’t signed. It wasn’t a done deal,” O’Malley says. “That’s a matter of public record.”
“My clients are willing to compromise. For the right figure, they could be willing to drop their claim to the land, and you’ll be able to do what you want with it. It’ll be yours.”
“It’s already ours,” I say. This would be a fucking cakewalk. They have no stake in this land. Someone on their side dropped the ball. “And that’s our firm position. Sorry, but you’re going to have to walk away.”
The other attorney on their side, and their three principals, don’t say a word.
Lee clears his throat.
“We will draw up an agreement to put everyone in the best position to move forward.”
He’s being a little aggressive. I like it.
This is the kind of shit I live for. The kind of stuff I feed off of. The fight, the thrill.
“You can draw up an agreement if that’s what you want to do, but there is no way we are compromising on this one. Just cancel the deal with the old owners of the land. It’s that simple. In fact, there was no deal.”
Lee gathers his jacket and attache case and pushes himself away from the table, and the other four silent men follow suit.
“We’ll be in touch.”
He reaches out and shakes each of our hands and leaves with the other four men in tow.
A few seconds after the men are gone, Eric sighs.
“Damn. This is a little bit more complicated than I thought it would be. Lee is good.”
“The sign of a good outcome for my client is when I barely have to say a word,” O’Malley says. “And when the other side is out quick. They didn’t even touch the bagels. It’s not complicated. We have this one in the bag.”
“I agree,” I add. “This will be fucking easy. Eric, don’t get your panties in a knot.”
“I don’t know. They’re not saying much. Lee was a little bit reticent.”
“Go out, you two. Go to a strip club this weekend. Oh, not you, Drew. Aren’t you married by now?” O’Malley grabs a bagel from the table and takes a bite.
“We actually just broke up. I guess she wants to be more independent.”
I figure it would be ungentlemanly to mention that she’s fucking her ex.
“That’s a shame. You’re still young. You’ll meet someone else. If you want to. Being a bachelor isn’t all that bad.”
O’Malley scoops up his attache case and starts toward the door before doubling back to the breakfast spread and grabbing another bagel.
“We’re taking that extra bagel out of your hourly billing,” Eric quips.
“I’d love to see that. Anyway, I’ll reach out to Lee. We should do this again soon. It was nice to have such an easy meeting.”
“I’ve got to get to my office,” Eric says, following O’Malley out the door and down the hall into the reception area. “I don’t feel right about this. I want to do some more reading on the deal. See if I can get to it from a different angle.”
“I can’t believe you are wasting your time with this,” I say to Eric, following them out of the conference room.
“Your brother is right,” O’Malley says, turning to face us. “Just don’t talk to their side. Let me handle everything. And take a break,” he adds, turning to Eric. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“That’s because I haven’t. Thanks for noticing.”
Eric disappears down the hall and O’Malley exits toward the elevator bank.
“So it went well, I take it?” Sarah says, catching my attention.
She’s sitting at the reception desk with the main computer off. All she has up is a security feed of the elevator bank and the hallway outside our office area. There’s no one around. And there won’t be - everyone in the city is probably still asleep. Even the people who make it a habit to come into work on a Saturday won’t be groggily coming in for hours.
“Yeah. It actually did. We’re going to win. It’ll just be a matter of time.”
“Well, that’s good. They left awfully fast, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. Always a good sign. And they didn’t say much. Lee pushed for an agreement, but we won’t be backing down.”
“I’m glad.” She stretches her arms out in a yawn. “Sorry. I’m not tired. I’m wide awake.”
“Go home and get some sleep. You probably have a good three hours until your girlfriends call
you to go to brunch.”
“I’m not much of a bruncher. I don’t like drinking during the day. Isn’t that what brunch is?”
“Yeah. That’s what it’s become. Clarissa always loved going to brunch.”
“Loved? Did she suddenly have a change of heart when it comes to eggs benedict and bottomless mimosas?”
With everything going on the past couple of days, I realize that I never told Sarah about Clarissa breaking off the engagement.
“She did have a change of heart. But not about brunch. About me.”
“What?” Sarah’s face falls. Even though she was never Clarissa’s biggest fan, she looks disappointed for me.
“Yeah. It happened yesterday at lunch. She broke off the engagement. Gave me the ring back, and everything.”
“She has clearly lost her mind.”
“She told me that she wants to be independent, but I think she’s getting back with her ex.”
“Oh, God. That guy is the worst.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I think I need to go somewhere to clear my mind.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Yeah. I might actually go upstate to my mom’s place.”
“Get out of town for a few days. I think that’s a great plan.”
“You go home. Eric or I will lock up.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Get out of here. And take some bagels with you. It looks like our guests didn’t bring much of an appetite this morning.”
“You probably scared them away,” she says, getting up and making her way to the conference room.
I walk past Eric’s office and see him through the blinds covering the glass walls. He’s banging away at his keyboard. Beads of sweat are threatening to drip off his face and onto his desk.
I open the door without knocking and stick my head in.
“I think I’m going to take that trip out of town we talked about.”
“That’s fine. Just make sure you’re back by Monday. And say hi to Ma for me.”
“Sure thing. You know, if you manage to tear yourself away from your desk, maybe you could take the train up there and meet us.”
“The train? No way. I’d have the service drive me up there, if anything.”
“Having a few hours of alone time might do you some good. And I don’t mean in the back of a Lincoln. I mean in a public place.”
“Come on. Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t taken Metro North since we were kids.”
“Suit yourself. If you come up, maybe you can ride back with me in the Mustang. If you behave.”
“Shut the door, would you?”
I smile and close the door behind me as I continue making my way to my office.
Closing the door behind me, I take the small wooden box out of my bottom drawer, along with the letter Mom sent me.
I tuck the letter and box into my inner jacket pocket and text Ma.
Care for some company?
The draw to stay in the city for the rest of the weekend is there. I want to go back to that club, find Molly, and give her what I know she wants. I imagine her pretty, pink, heart-shaped lips on my cock as I show her what a real man is like.
She doesn’t belong cooped up in her apartment. She’s too pretty for that. She needs to be out and meeting people. Loosen up. She’s too serious. I’d show her something that would loosen her up, and she’d beg for more.
But I have to get out of the city. And I have to check in on Mom.
9. Molly
After researching the Anderson brothers and their firm, and getting my more important research out of the way, I decide that instead of borrowing something from Jess, I’ll go out and buy a new outfit of my own for my first day of work.
I hop into the G train subway station and give a few bucks to the man playing U2 songs on his guitar, case out and filled with crumpled bills. He’s always there, and he always sounds amazing. He has the voice of an angel and is good with the guitar, and I wonder if he ever tried to really make it, and when he stopped.
The train comes quickly and I get on. It’s crowded for a Saturday afternoon, but I get the one empty seat left near the door.
I finally get to the L train, stay on for a few stops, and get out at 14th Street to go shopping at my favorite discount designer store.
It’s a hot day, and I smile because this is always how summer comes on in New York City. Last night was freezing, and today is the day all the women trade in their boots for flip flops and their rain coats for tank tops.
It’s a city of extremes - high highs and low lows. No grey areas. No room for in-betweens. The best of times, the worst of times, and all that. Even the weather follows suit.
When I open the door to my destination, a cold, air-conditioned gust of wind hits me squarely in the face. I feel like the beads of sweat on my back freeze into little ice crystals as I trade in one form of discomfort for another.
I take my time browsing the store. I look at the shoes and settle on a pair of cute patent-leather flats. I pick up a trim little black suit with a cropped jacket and a navy blue shell. Everything looks on-trend and classic at the same time.
There’s a woman browsing the aisles near me - a really pretty, tall blonde woman. She looks familiar. I swear I’ve seen her before.
Holy crap!
Clarissa? Could it actually be Clarissa, Drew’s ex?
Why would she be shopping here? Shouldn’t she be on Fifth Avenue, shopping in some chi-chi boutique?
I try not to stare, but I need to know if it’s her.
Call it research. For my new job. I’m on my way to becoming a real journalist, after all. I shouldn’t stifle my desire to get the scoop.
Tonight at eleven: Wealthy heiress seen shopping at a bargain store. What was she doing there? Coming up after the weather.
Maybe I should go into TV journalism, instead of print.
I try to study her face, without looking too obvious. I notice everything about her - the who, what, where and why, which are the basics of reporting.
Who? I’m not quite sure. I think it’s Clarissa. I try to look for clues as to whether it is actually her or not.
The what? Shopping. It’s what lots of young women in the city like to do on a lazy, hot Saturday afternoon, maybe after some brunching. Go to one of the big makeup stores, try out some new eyeliner, and pick up a few new pieces to freshen up the old wardrobe.
But our mystery woman doesn’t look like she’s enjoying herself. She looks bored. And she isn’t studying the garments or picking anything up or comparing prices like most girls would.
Where? A big discount department store, a place where I would never expect Clarissa to be. It just wouldn’t make sense for her to be here.
And finally, the why. This is the key question. Why would Clarissa be here?
Just as I’m about to reject the idea that it’s her, a man’s voice calls out to her.
“Clarissa!”
I was right! It’s her.
Clarissa looks up and seems instantly more bored than she did a few seconds ago, when she was browsing the rack of shirts with the enthusiasm one would have when trying to decide which brand of cold medicine to get.
“Yeah?” she responds.
“Come here!”
I tilt my head down and bury my eyes in a rack of dresses, but keep stealing little glances at Clarissa and our new mystery guy.
Mystery guy is hot. He has a perfectly symmetrical and tanned face, a five-o’clock shadow, a white t-shirt, dark-wash jeans and a naughty, crooked smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think it was Drew.
But from my research, and from meeting Drew Anderson, I know it isn’t him. But it isn’t Robert Crandall, either.
He pulls her in tight by the waist and presses his lips onto her, giving her a short but passionate and hot kiss, his hand holding her chin softly. He’s tall, and she has to stand up on he
r tip-toes even though she’s wearing three-inch tall lace-up gladiator espadrilles, and the way he holds her makes them seem like new lovers.
But Robert, he is not.
That’s a cold move, Clarissa. Two-timing your fiancee with two different guys?
It would explain what she’s doing in this store - hiding out.
She pushes him away softly, like it’s just for effect and she doesn’t really want him to stop kissing her.
“What if someone saw?”
“Let them watch. I don’t care.”
She locks her hand into his for a second and then swats it away, heading toward the escalator with him following her.
Damn. She can’t even display affection for her one of many boyfriends in public for fear of getting caught, and here I am without a boyfriend at all.
It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault but my own that I’m without a boyfriend.
I wonder what it would be like to be like Clarissa for just a day.
I also wonder what it would be like to be with Drew for just a night.
10. Drew
“Ma?”
I make my way up the crumbling wooden steps and open the creaky screen door.
“I’m in here!”
She has a dust rag and a bottle of cleaning solution in her yellow rubber-gloved hands.
Mom’s wearing black skinny pants and a white work shirt to clean. She’s chic, there’s no doubt about it. I take after her in that department. Like her, I also know how to dress. A red bandana holds her jet-black hair away from her face. She looks like a modern-day Rosie the Riveter, just with a little bit more lemony-fresh cleaning solution.
“Put that stuff down and give your favorite son a hug.”
“Eric is here, too?” she says, putting her supplies on the table just inside the front door and peeling off her gloves.
“Very funny.”
She brings me in tight for an embrace. She smells like the musty old house and marinara sauce.
“Come, let’s sit in the kitchen. I am so happy you’re here. Tea or coffee?”
I don’t like coming here. It just reminds me of the fact that I had to spend my time as a kid in two places, and it makes me think about the fights and disagreements my parents always had about the correct way to raise their sons. I’m thankful that they came to the compromise they did, but being in the country house still makes me feel on edge.