Driving Me Wild

by Maria Benson

“What happened–”

  Two police cars zoomed past, their force shaking the car and giving me a second to collect myself. “You don’t get to ask.” There was no way I was going to put myself through the pain of reliving my break with Todd and my sad prospects for new employment, not with Dustin. There would be no heart-to-heart.

  He sniffed defensively, a common tick I recalled going back to my childhood. “I am aware of your unemployment,” he said. “Your mother seems to think you should consider seeking legal counsel about how you were treated.”

  “No.” I crossed my arms, shutting off that lane of conversation for good. I had been evasive with Mom about the cause of my firing, leaving her to speculate about all types of evil motivations on Todd’s part. I was weighing my legal options, but wasn’t sure I had the stomach to sue; my personal life was my business, but by dating Ian I had potentially put Todd’s business at risk. If I could just find a new gig, something worthwhile, I was prepared to leave Terry Town Productions in my historical dustbin.

  Dustin stroked his chin. “I can’t help your mother out if she doesn’t request the help. Even when she called me about your troubles, she mentioned nothing about herself.”

  “Don’t test me, Dustin. And by the way, I know about the big settlement you got over that movie.”

  “Yes,” he replied nodding. “I figured Phillip’s loose lips would eventually leak it to your mother,” he said, referencing his attorney with the soft spot for Mom. He sighed. “There is no need for drama here. I have more than enough means to help her out. Only question is, what do I get in return?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, what are you offering me in return for this help?” He extended a long pointer finger, his stare intensifying. “Your mother, yes, aside from the fact she seduced me first, is a victim of my many flaws and shortcomings. Unlike you, she doesn’t owe me any respect.”

  A wave of angry heat rippled from my feet up my entire body. The wave was already at my stomach, making me queasy with rage. My response was a sputter of words. “I-I know you’re not trying to say I owe you–”

  He grabbed my wrist and held it firmly. “I didn’t have to allow your birth, do you realize that?”

  I wrenched out of his grasp. “Don’t.”

  Instinctively, he shot an arm in my direction.

  My defensive reflexes kicking in, I swung an arm out to block him without realizing it still held the very sharp nail file. Not only did I block my father’s would-be blow, I sank the nail file deep into his forearm.

  “Ahhh!” His scream, anguishing as it was, lasted just two seconds before he went quiet and grasped desperately at the file, which was still embedded in his arm. His cold, watery eyes boring into me, his screams softened into a whimper as he slowly eased the sharp tip from his arm.

  My back jammed up against the car seat, I gasped in shock at the river of blood pooling from within the wound. I stared apologetically at Dustin, but found no words, and for a second we were all in the same boat. Jackie, the driver, kept shifting his stunned stare between us, while my father’s ragged breathing and wounded gaze were all he could manage.

  My eyes still glued to Dustin, I reached behind me and popped my door open before Jackie might think to lock it. Glancing over my shoulder for oncoming traffic, I tumbled out of the car, barely staying on my feet and fleeing along the curb toward the nearest corner. Moving at full tilt, I could barely breathe but I fought back a grin. Maybe Dustin hated me, but at least now he had a reason.

  CHAPTER 18

  Michael

  I had just finished lunch, but it had already been a long day. The playboy lifestyle had proven to be more tiring than I’d imagined. Spending every moment seeking the next conquest ate up a lot of brain cells. I feared it was starting to impact my performance at work. I couldn’t get through the day without being harassed by Bobby, who was starting to power trip in his instructor role. He was not impressed with my progress on the day’s homework.

  “It’s nearly two o’clock, and you only got two ladies’ phone numbers so far? We agreed the target was three.”

  “Let me add some color,” I said. “First one was a girl who works downstairs in the gift shop–”

  “Mikey, you can’t think I’ll grant you credit for that?”

  “This girl’s amazing to look at, Bobby. She’s college-age, but too hot to handle. A few weeks ago, I’d never even have thought of talking to her.”

  “Alright, whatever. Who’s the other?”

  “A marketing analyst on the twelfth floor. Short and toned, roughly our age, looks like Megan Fox as a bottle blonde. I’ve made small talk with Ashley for the last year, but never took the leap to get her number. I got it today.”

  “And that’s it?”

  I stopped typing, gritted my teeth. “I’m hanging up.”

  “Alright, alright–look, it’s just I’m seeing a disturbing pattern here, dude. A girl in a gift shop and a co-worker you already know? I’m not sure you had a lot invested in either case. You gotta aim higher.”

  I held the phone at a distance and gave it the finger before pulling it back to my mouth. “So how’s this? Just had lunch with my business colleague Beverly.”

  “Whoa!” Bobby’s voice sounded like he was pumping a fist in the air. “She’s the MILF stock analyst, right?”

  I rested my chin in one palm. “Bobby–really?”

  “Is this her or not?”

  “Yes.”

  He sounded breathless. “A-and this was a one-on-one lunch?”

  “Yes.”

  “So y’all did lunch, then she did you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Come on, man. I can’t be too impulsive with this situation, it could impact my job.” I sighed. “To be honest, Bobby, I’d rather discuss the Beverly opportunity with Scott.” Bobby’s advice was inspirational because it was so vivid, but the guy’s life was a cartoon. Scott, by comparison, always felt like a guy I could more realistically emulate. That made his advice about Beverly all the more critical to me.

  I got Bobby off the phone and rang Scott, lucking up and catching him as he prepared to get out on the golf course with his company’s biggest supplier. He chuckled mercilessly. “Look at the eager beaver. You just had lunch with her, and you already want my advice? Are you looking to pick up where she left off?” He was referring to the hotel room key Beverly had planted on me at the IR conference gala.

  I brought him up to speed on my business lunch meeting with Beverly. We met in the restaurant at Hotel Monaco, a boutique place just a few blocks’ walk from my office. She had texted me an invite two days earlier, and ever since I had been both intrigued and fatigued by thoughts of exactly what she wanted.

  I had artfully dodged her bold come-on the night of the gala, but I knew I’d eventually have to conduct an uncomfortable conversation with Beverly, report her to Star Studio’s ethics and compliance department, or “give in to the flesh,” as my friend Tisha would say, and see where that led me. While I had never slept with a colleague or direct business peer before, I had seen enough horror stories to know the final option, while intriguing, was fraught with risks that could short-circuit my already tenuous corporate career.

  The early portion of lunch had been all about business. My professional objective was to convince her to fine-tune her stock valuation model in a way that put Star Studio in a better light, and I delivered by walking her through past and present financial data that ultimately brought a smile to her face. After agreeing to adjust the guidance she provided to her mutual fund employer, Beverly dipped the tip of one side of her cat-eye glasses’ frames into her mouth, then folded them. “You’re getting more comfortable with this, aren’t you?”

  I sensed a double meaning, but kept my answer straight-ahead. “I like to think so.”

  She occupied the waitress with small talk for a second while the lady refilled our water and iced tea, then grinned at me. “I’m not sure what has changed about you, but I like it. You’ve always b
een smart–it’s clear that Maxwell counts on you when it comes to explaining what’s happened with the company’s past. I was surprised a few months back when he told me I’d be working with you directly. I was getting really tired of drilling him with the hard questions, only to hear ‘Let me check with Michael on that and get back to you.’” She smirked. “Now I get you all to myself.”

  I have to tell you, six weeks earlier Beverly’s words and tone just might have required me to excuse myself and change my underwear. The new Michael Blake, on the other hand, was instinctively reminded of Rule #3: Don’t be easy. Whether I ultimately took the plunge with her or not, Beverly Barrister was going to have to work for this.

  Our conversation continued as we completed our meals, each of us sharing the challenges at our respective companies and some corners of our personal lives. I was pleased to actually get her on the record about her chummy relationship with John Reed, our CEO–they had attended the same private academy as kids and were in the same Stanford MBA class. She even shared a bit about her young son, whom her mother was helping her raise so she could continue elevating her career.

  Beverly had surprised me then, her hand flitting out discreetly to touch mine. “I want to thank you for letting me down easy after that debacle at the gala.”

  Easy, boy, a voice in my head said. Play dumb but not too dumb. I let her hand linger atop mine and met her warm gaze. “No need to apologize. It was a long night, lots of alcohol.” I smiled.

  Beverly stared down into the shiny dark wood of the table. “I have always found you to be a cutie, Michael, and the way you defended my honor caught me off guard, I guess. But the honest truth is, I just wasn’t–I wasn’t really myself. I haven’t been for a while, I suppose.”

  The touch of fragility in her tone, a sound that was truly alien coming out of Beverly Barrister, stirred me. Eyes narrowing, I had moved my chair closer to hers, let our hands continue to rest together. “Bev, what’s on your mind?”

  She raised her eyes to mine, her trademark defiance swinging back into view. “I realized that I needed to make some changes in my life, is all, but I wasn’t sure what that meant, you know?”

  I gave a wry smile. “I know a little something about making changes in your life. The hardest times, I think, are when you realize that you need to make a change, but can’t figure out what it should be.”

  Beverly nodded. “Or how to effect it.” She patted my hands, then pulled hers back in front of her. “I kind of hate my job,” she said, the words rolling out like a confession. “Everyone thinks this is a cushy gig–getting executives to kiss your ring, racking up a nice salary and getting major bonuses when the horses you pick beat expectations.”

  We wound up going down a path I hadn’t expected then, sort of a mutual career counseling session as she revealed the unique humiliations of life as a stock analyst and I opened up about Maxwell’s plan to unofficially demote me by sending me back to the Corporate Finance department. It felt surprisingly good to be transparent about that, but Beverly’s reaction threw me a bit.

  She had loosed a laugh that turned the heads nearest us. I had stood, prepared to prop her up and help her calm down a bit, when she righted herself and waved me back into my seat. “I’m fine,” she said, collecting herself. She looked to her left and right, seemingly taking comfort we were no longer being observed. “My God, Michael, I’m sorry if I appeared insensitive to your plight. I was laughing because it feels like we were fated to connect today.”

  Now I wasn’t so sure she had fully composed herself. “What do you mean?”

  She leaned closer to me without looking too conspicuous. “You’re not leaving Star Studio’s IR department any time soon unless you want to. It turns out I’m already instituting some change in my life, and let’s just say it will give me a new level of influence within your company.” She paused, letting my eyes grow wide at the revelation. “I’m not allowed to say any more than that, but Michael, I’m a believer in your talents and your potential.” She let her gaze roll from my eyes, to my chin, then my chest, before looking squarely at me again. “I’m intrigued by other aspects, too, but as a lady I’ll leave that in your court. I’m pretty out of touch with dating norms and all that.”

  Beneath the table, she put a hand on my knee. “I’m just going to ask you to give me a try, on both sides of the ledger. I think we could be a real help to each other.”

  Seated there with a beautiful older woman’s hand on my knee, my head filled with a vision of me standing victorious over Maxwell and any other Star Studio exec who had ever doubted me. Michael Blake–puppy dog, junior Playboy, not-so-bad-just-yet Bad Boy–was already making major moves. Between that realization, the creamy vanilla smell of Beverly’s perfume and the visible plunging neckline of the blouse beneath her blazer, I had found myself fighting a raging erection.

  “To be honest, man,” I said, completing the flashback for Scott, “I wanted nothing more than to take her upstairs and properly seal an alliance!” I had literally been saved by the bell–my phone had vibrated with a call from Maxwell, who tended to only call my cell with emergencies.

  “Well, you did the right thing abstaining,” Scott said. “You’re in a high stakes situation here, Mike, and rushing in could be disastrous. You get with her and turn into a minute man or worse yet, have no rhythm, and you could get yourself ridiculed on the job, maybe even fired.”

  I collapsed into my seat. “I can’t tell whether you think I should sleep with her or not.”

  “As a playboy-in-training,” Scott said, “you shouldn’t be ruling anyone out. That said, remember this is a step-by-step process. You’ve got more ground to cover before you go there, and it starts this weekend. We’re headed to Freaky Fridays, my friend.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Aimee

  Hopping into Sydney’s Mercedes C-class coupe, I wiped away the latest tears. We were headed out for an evening meant to lift my mood, but I wasn’t going to live in denial. As Sydney sped away from the curb outside my building and made her way toward Lake Shore Drive, I grabbed her iPhone from the console and pulled up U2’s Songs of Innocence on her iTunes.

  As I pumped up the volume of “The Miracle (of Joey Ramone),” Sydney grinned. “You still play all CD’s from front to back, don’t you, Chase? Will you please start building playlists? Steve Jobs rolls over in his grave every time you touch a piece of his tech.”

  I slid on my sunglasses. “Deal with it, Syd. My grandmother always said I was an old soul.”

  Screeching to a halt at a red light, Sydney shrugged. “These old dudes always could jam.” She glanced at me. “You need that calming sound right now.”

  I nodded thankfully at her recognition of my reality. “The pains of life, the lasting impacts of childhood, the necessity of hope as a force, those themes are spread all through these songs. They’re hitting me where I live.” I bit my lower lip. “I can’t believe he fired me, Syd.”

  Accelerating our speed, Sydney shook her head. “You can’t be surprised by that any more, not really, Aimee. Todd just finally confirmed who he was–a hypocritical scold with no respect for an employee’s right to privacy.” When I just sighed in response, she snorted. “You and your men–you can have ‘em.”

  I stared out the passenger window, feeling momentarily unsatisfied by Sydney’s broadside against the male species. The truth was more complicated. From the moment Todd had offered me a job years ago, I had known it was a multi-million-dollar gift-wrapped opportunity with a hair-trigger bomb attached. Todd could simultaneously be a generous business partner, hilarious drinking buddy and an occasionally petty, judgmental boss. By continuing to carry on with Ian after he became Commissioner, I had triggered the bomb. I had probably done well to last three years and rack up nearly a million in total compensation before Todd detonated it.

  For some reason, I wanted nothing more as Sydney and I hurtled to our appointment than to talk things over with a male friend. Someone who could speak from expe
rience and help me process Todd’s stubbornness, Dustin’s neglect, and Ian’s apparent decision to reconcile with Nadine and cut me off. A couple of months ago, the perfect candidate would have been Michael Blake.

  Before he flipped out on me at Winthrop’s, Michael was turning into the best straight male friend I had. While in retrospect I had picked up on his somewhat shy attraction to me, we talked like two people operating without selfish agendas. Michael could really bare his soul when he wanted to. He talked openly about his struggles, his fears, his insecurities. He even admitted that he wondered if he was living up to the hopes and dreams his parents had for him. Looking at Michael’s family from the outside, I had always assumed his life was so perfect compared to mine; his father the PR executive, his mother the corporate marketing director, and his big brother the football star-turned-successful-politician.

  It was clear that Michael loved his family, but I could see how he compared himself to them, and he didn’t seem to think he measured up. Every time the subject of romance came up, I noticed he always tied it into his desire to have a wife and kids; it was like he was incomplete without them. It was obvious that Michael’s failures at the game of love had damaged his pride. Personally, I thought he had mistaken marriage and parenthood for manhood. My own father was proof that there’s really no connection between those two concepts. Maybe that’s one reason I was less concerned with starting a family than someone like Michael was.

  But there was a part of me that believed in love, so I was sympathetic to Michael’s pain. The more I thought about it as Sydney and I sped down Lake Shore, the more I wished I’d had a lighter touch that night at Winthrops’s. Here Michael was feeling like a failure because he couldn’t get a desirable woman despite all he has going for him, and I added to the parade of those passing him by. Maybe he had a right to be hurt.

  Sydney pulled me out of my secret thoughts. “Sunshine, are you asleep behind those sunglasses?”