Tilting at Windmills
Page 22
“Well, Brian, we meet again,” he said, extending his hand. He was dressed impeccably, three-button suit, tie perfectly tied, black hair slicked back, revealing maybe a bit more gray than I remembered. John’s statement about no one but idiots wearing suits popped into my mind, and I actually grinned. Of course, the joke wasn’t that funny, since there were two idiots in the room. I stood, feeling nervous. My stomach was turning somersaults.
“Justin, uh, thanks for seeing me.”
“Of course. Please, have a seat. Coffee?”
“Sure. Black,” I said as I accepted the chair situated in front of his mahogany desk. Justin instructed “Corinne” to bring me some coffee, and she left the room. I crossed my legs one way, then the other. Was it as obvious to him as it was to me how uncomfortable I felt?
No sooner did I settle on a position did Corinne return with my coffee; Justin already had his, and he took a generous gulp from his mug before setting it down on a coaster.
“Your ten-thirty appointment . . . what shall I do—”
Justin cut her off. “Just let me know when he arrives. I’ll handle it from there. Thank you, Corinne.” He smiled devilishly, his eyebrows dancing along with his grin.
“Oh, and Corinne?”
She looked up.
“Close the door on your way out.”
She nodded once, and then she did as commanded, the click of the door louder in my head than it actually was. Everything, actually, had a sense of taking place inside my head, as though this were a dream and at any moment I would wake up. Just another nightmare to count among the many others I’d had lately.
I didn’t wake up. This was real and I was in Justin Warfield’s office. He wore a supercilious grin like an accessory to his suit.
“Brian Duncan,” he said as he took off his jacket. Rolling up his sleeves to expose those hairy arms, he took a seat and then stared across at me. He drew a pen across his upper lip, like he was smelling it. “So you’re back.”
“Back?” I asked. “Depends on what you mean by that.”
“In New York City—and in my office. To me that means you’re back, and I hope for good this time.” His grin widened; I was pleased to see a poppy seed from his morning bagel stuck between his two front teeth. It reminded me that Justin was just a person, another human being, and no different from—no better than—me. Blood surged through my veins, my confidence returning.
And so I jumped into it.
“Am I back? Well, yes and no, Justin. Sure, I am back in New York City. But have I returned for good? No. And who’s to say what’s ‘good’ anyway, since no doubt you and I have different definitions of that word. For you, good is merely what pleases you; there’s no concern for others.”
He let my remarks slide off, staying as cool as the room. “I sense hostility, Brian, and I’m not sure it’s warranted. Look, you asked for this meeting—that’s fine. But I put off a very important client to give you the thirty minutes you requested. You’ve got twenty minutes left and the clock doesn’t have room for any time-outs. So let’s keep playing, okay? The ball, I think, is still in your court.”
“Nice metaphor, Justin. I’m not sure what sport we’re playing, but I think you’re about to strike out.” I paused, pulling my thoughts into words, remembering that the high road was best. “I originally asked for this meeting because I wanted to apologize. For my behavior this past spring. I’m sure my quitting was the last thing you expected—needed, actually—and believe me, that wasn’t how I envisioned things happening. On my way over here, I thought you deserved to hear why I left as I did.”
“And now?”
“What do you think?”
“What I think is this: You came to get something off your chest, and you can’t leave until you do. I sense you’re looking for closure, Brian. So let’s dispense with the double-talk and get on with it.” He checked his silver Rolex. “You have sixteen minutes.”
His condescension annoyed me.
“The day you and Maddie returned from your meeting with the Voltaire executives was the same day I returned to work. I can’t tell you how much I needed to come back after being so sick—being confined to my apartment—hell, my couch. Being tired all the time, not wanting to see anybody, do anything, that can drive a person crazy. So I was eager to get back to work, to throw myself into it. But circumstances, uh, intervened, and I was unable to stay on here.”
“A medical condition?” he asked. “Maddie hasn’t said anything about—”
“No, Justin. And contrary to the popular opinion around this office, it wasn’t jealousy over Maddie’s promotion, either. What precipitated my decision to leave happened before you even made that announcement. Suffice it to say I received some rather upsetting news regarding my personal life, and I let it affect my professional life. I just couldn’t figure out what really mattered anymore.”
“A midlife crisis, Brian? At thirty-four?”
I shrugged. “If you like.”
“So you wanted to apologize and let me know . . . what? That you’ve got your head screwed on straight and you want to get back in the game? You want your job back, huh?” I started to interrupt him, but he cut me off. He was speaking his favorite language now, and I was curious to see where he was going with this. I had a feeling he’d misjudged the situation; he still didn’t know the specifics of why I quit, and I was certain that once he did, he would change his tune.
“Brian, I’m willing to put aside your lack of consideration for my business, as long as I get you back on the payroll. What do you say—do you want your old job back?”
The expression on his face, the eagerness in his voice—there was only one response that came to me. I laughed. Outright and heartily.
“Justin, you just don’t get it, do you?”
He feigned betrayal; but I knew he was faking, because I knew what true betrayal looked like.
“Okay, Brian, I’ll give you the presidency and your own staff—plus the salary and the perks. Anything, Brian; just put the past where it belongs and come back to work for me.”
“No, Justin.” It wasn’t like him to reveal his desperation, and I have to admit to a certain satisfaction of being on the receiving end of it.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
Was this the moment for me to finally reveal what I saw that day in Maddie’s apartment? I was definitely in the power position here, and I was tempted to move in for the kill. I was about to open my mouth when Justin’s intercom buzzed and Corinne announced that his ten-thirty appointment was waiting in the lobby. He looked at me squarely, then said, “Send him in.”
“We’re not finished,” I said. “There’s something else—”
Justin waved off my protests, concentrating instead on readying himself for his guest by rolling down his sleeves, unnecessarily slicking his hair back, and throwing his jacket back on. He was back in uniform, and I realized then that whoever was coming in, he was important. And I hadn’t been asked to leave. A power play had been set in motion, and only at the last second did I realize how naive I’d been. Justin had to have had an alternate plan in mind in case he couldn’t convince me himself. He wouldn’t be Justin otherwise.
The door opened and Corinne, all perky smiles, announced Justin’s guest, a silver-haired gentleman with skin as tan as an island dweller and a suit that made Justin’s look off-the-rack.
“Justin,” Dominick Voltaire said, shaking his hand. Then he turned to me, smiled an incredible wealth of white teeth, and said, “Brian Duncan, wonderful to see you, wonderful to have you back. Can’t tell you the scare you put into us. I trust you’re back to full health, huh?” And he laughed, patting me on the shoulder like we were old pals ready for a friendly round of golf. Truth was, we’d met only twice before during those tentative days of corporate courtship. I’d been part of the team that had won them over, and from the sound of it, he thought I was still an influential part of the team. He was shockingly unaware of the actual situation.
For once, he’d fucked himself.
“Mr. Voltaire, it’s very nice to see you, too, sir, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken about a few things.” I caught Justin’s wavering expression out of the corner of my eye, saw him shake his head. He’d bypassed desperation; this was pure fear. “Justin just offered me quite an opportunity, but just prior to your arrival, I found myself in the unique position of turning down his incredible offer. I won’t be returning to the company, and I won’t be working on the Voltaire account.”
Voltaire’s affable nature crumbled, transforming him suddenly into the powerful executive he obviously was. “Warfield, what’s the meaning of this? This young man is obviously confused . . .” He stopped, turned back to me. “What do you mean, ‘not returning’? When did you ever leave?”
“Uh, Dominick, let’s have a seat, talk this through.”
Voltaire simply raised his hand to Justin, immediately shutting him up.
“Explain yourself, Mr. Duncan.”
And to Justin’s absolute horror, I told my story about the ‘personal crisis’ that led to my leaving in the spring, how I’d come today to apologize for my sudden lapse of professionalism, how I was doing it solely so I could put it past me, move on. Voltaire listened, his displeasure increasing as the story unfolded. When I’d concluded, his attention was focused on someone else. Justin had gone an unhealthy shade of white, despite his well-cultivated tan.
“Is there anything you’ve done in the past four months that I asked you to do?”
“Uh.” Justin attempted to say something, his voice quavering nearly uncontrollably. “I did as you asked the other day—Ms. Chasen no longer works here.”
Although Justin confirmed my suspicion, it had little effect on Voltaire. Maddie’s presence—or in this case, the lack thereof—was the least among Voltaire’s cares. He turned on his heel and said, “Mr. Warfield, I believe our relationship is severed. The attorney will handle the details—today.” He didn’t bid me farewell.
Justin and I were alone.
“You sabotaged me, you bastard,” he said.
“You invited Voltaire into this mix, not me. So, if anyone has sabotaged anything, it’s you, Justin. But if it’s any comfort, nothing you could have said or done would have convinced me to work for you again. You see, Justin, I don’t like it when my boss manipulates my life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s just say that I hope it was Maddie who came to her senses—not just before you kicked her out of the company but before you kicked her out of your bed.
“Oh, and Justin? You didn’t strike out. You got sacked.”
That was when I took my leave, following not far behind Dominick Voltaire, but unlike the powerful business executive, who’d left angry and feeling cheated, I left with elation and a spring in my step.
It felt liberating to finally tell Justin the truth. Now I had one more mess to clean up. I had to have one last conversation with the woman I once thought I’d be spending the rest of my life with.
“I’m here to see Madison Chasen.”
“Your name, sir?”
“Duncan. Brian Duncan.”
“I’ll call up,” he said. His nametag read EDGAR, and he was probably around sixty years old, had probably been a doorman for years. You get a cushy union job like doorman, you keep it. He picked up the intercom and held up a finger to indicate each passing ring. On five, he spoke.
“Miss Chasen, a Mr. Duncan is here to see you. Shall I send him up?”
This, of course, was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, and apparently I came up a winner. His fingers folded in his hand, all but one, the thumb, which he left up, like a movie critic’s.
“That was easy,” I said, as he hung up.
“Twenty-one oh one,” he instructed me, and gave me a smile.
The thing about being a doorman, you get a sense of your tenants and of their guests, and I guess he detected some sort of history between Maddie and me. Perhaps he believed in love. Or perhaps he was just a nice guy. He waved me over to the elevator, and in seconds I was speeding up to the twenty-first floor.
Maddie, John had told me, had moved, two months after she’d gotten the promotion at Beckford Warfield, into this posh building on the Upper West Side that had amazing views of Central Park. As I soon discovered, there were only two apartments on this floor, and they must be decent-sized—and expensive. For a second, I wondered if Maddie would still be able to afford it. Then the door opened.
Maddie was dressed in shorts and a halter top. Her silky hair was neat, as were her makeup and her smile. Her eyes—those were another story, one I was familiar with. I saw in them much sadness and regret.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” I said back.
“I heard you’d come back. To the city.”
“John looking out for both of us again?”
She shook her head. “Nope, someone at the office. She e-mailed me, said you’d been by to see Justin this morning.”
I checked my watch. “A mere three hours ago.”
“So then you heard.”
My head bowed slightly, as though I’d heard someone had died. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, that’s about all you can say.”
“Look, Maddie, can I come in? Maybe, we could—”
“Talk?”
“We need to, don’t you think?”
She opened the door fully, letting me in. “Yes,” she said simply.
Once inside, Maddie closed the door and escorted me through a vestibule and into the living room. The place was spacious, tastefully decorated with all-new furnishings and artwork. I recognized none of it from her previous place; clearly she’d taken to her new position at Beckford Warfield with zeal, elevating her lifestyle to one that befitted a corporate executive making a nice six-figure salary.
“Wow,” I said. “Nice digs.”
She settled down on the plush sofa and folded her feet beneath her. I took a seat opposite her, in a fancy wing-back chair. For a second, I looked out the window, saw her fabulous view of the park and beyond. Airplanes were approaching LaGuardia.
“How’s Annie?” she asked.
“Okay, I guess. We’re, uh . . . let’s just say we’re taking a break,” I said, perhaps a bit too defensively, but glad, too, that she’d broached the subject. This was a meeting in which nothing could be held back, not feelings, not emotions, and not the truth. Wounds healed, and in time you needed to remove the bandages. Sometimes with one swift pull, the pain fierce but ultimately short-lived. This conversation would probably be like that.
“I’m sorry, Brian. What I did—well, it was unforgivable.”
“Maddie, it’s okay . . . now. When I was still in Linden Corners, I was mad and I couldn’t understand how you could be so destructive. To make Annie think I’d cheated, betrayed her. I didn’t know you had it in you to be so cruel.” I paused, and the only sound in the apartment came from the central air-conditioning system.
“It’s not over, Brian, between you and Annie—I can feel it,” she said, and then, somewhat to herself, added, “I never should have listened to that jerk.”
“What jerk?”
“That guy—at the bar. He’s the one who told me how to screw things up with you and Annie. ‘Just make her think he’s sleeping with you again,’ that’s what he said.”
Chuck. It had to be Chuck, because only he knew the kind of reaction a cheating lover would have on Annie. At least I now knew what Chuck and Maddie had talked about at the b
ar. I squelched any anger I felt toward him, realizing now was not the time.
“He manipulated you, Maddie. But don’t expend any more energy on him now. Besides, one situation at a time, okay?”
“Is that what I am—a situation?”
“I think what you are—what we are—is unfinished business. You’ve apologized to me for, well, for screwing up my relationship with Annie. I’ve come to apologize, too, for leaving you without any explanation.”
“Brian, we don’t have to go there . . .”
“Actually, we do. Because I can’t move forward until I settle all the issues of the past. I can’t let New York City go until I come clean.”
“Sounds final. You mean—”
I nodded. “I’m not staying. John’s taken over the lease on the apartment and he’s busy selling my stuff—the old furniture, things I put in storage back in March. I’m just here to close this chapter on my life. I have to. Before I can go home.”
“To Linden Corners?”
I smiled, ever so tentatively. “Yes.”
“If it will help, I’ll talk with Annie, tell her—”
“Maddie, it’s not necessary, really,” I said, and then I asked her about the job. “What happened?”
She let out of a sigh of exasperation that only slightly masked her bitterness. “Simple. We were going to lose the Voltaire account, which meant millions of lost revenue for Justin. They wanted you on the account, not me, and so I was given an ultimatum—get you back . . . or else. If I succeeded, Justin would pawn me off on another account and you’d be the sole executive on Voltaire. But, what he didn’t say—though, knowing Justin, it was easy to guess—was that if I failed in my mission to bring you back, then I’d be out on my ass. I had no doubt that was what would happen and that Justin would do his best to blackball me in the industry. So I did what I could to get you to come back to work. I think I must have been deluding myself—it wasn’t Justin who said ‘any way possible.’ That was my own thinking. I was trying to hold on to everything I’d worked hard for—the job, this apartment. God, it all seems so irrelevant now. But at the time, it was all I lived for, and it meant ruining the life you’d worked so hard to create. The . . . love you found with Annie. Brian, I’ve been foolish . . .”