He’s right though. Wednesday was a great night. And not because I had three orgasms. Although it’s good to have a reliably consistent man. One who says “of course you get to come first” and means it. Grant is the first guy I’ve woken up next to in the morning and didn’t have a panic attack. Well… the first few mornings don’t count. Now I’m good.
“He’s coming over for dinner after his meeting tonight.”
Drew’s eyes light up. “Did he mention bringing anything with him?”
“Yes,” I sigh. “He’s bringing the new Xbox.” If I’m not careful, I’ll have to watch out for Drew to steal my boyfriend.
“Your boyfriend is the best.” Drew throws his other foot up on top of my desk and now I have two muddy work boots on my nice clean surface. “You should marry him.”
“No!” Is he crazy? I don’t even know how Grant feels about kittens.
“Well at least keep fucking him.”
“Yes, Drew. I’ll make sure and keep him happy so you can play video games.”
He smirks. “That’s all I ask.”
Yes, I’m definitely concerned about Drew’s loyalties. “It was a rough start to Wednesday, but it turned out well. For a few minutes it was like Grant was surrounded by his rich friends and forgot I was breathing.”
Drew shrugs. “He seems like a nice guy. Cut him some slack.”
“He talked over me like I didn’t even exist.”
“Guys want to show their girls off, Clare. It’s a compliment.”
“A compliment?” I quirk an eyebrow at his answer.
“Yeah, like a good dinner.”
“I’m not a meal.”
Drew laughs and stands from his chair. His feet land hard on the tile floor. “No, but if you were, you’d be prime cutlets.”
“See…” I shake my head and follow him to my office door. “No girl wants to be referred to as prime cutlets.”
“That’s because no girl understands what a compliment prime cutlets is.”
“You really think it’s a compliment to be compared to a side of beef?”
“Yes.” Drew opens my door, but stops before walking out. “And a cutlet is not a side of beef. It’s a thin slice of veal.”
“Oh yes, that definitely makes it better. Every girl wants to be referred to as a dead baby cow.” I’ve never been able to figure out if all men are this stupid or if Drew is in the special class on his own.
**
The bright neon green papers crinkle as I pile up the stack of flyers for the center’s first soccer game against Ryland’s college players. In order to balance both his coaching duties and volunteering at the center, he created optional weekend events for his players to help out the local kids with their kicking and passing. It’s a great opportunity for both sides and now he says we’re ready for the first game.
I’ll be happy as long as we don’t get shut out or have any of my kids get into a fist fight on the field. There are definitely a few players who stand out amongst the pack. The odds of any of them getting into a program like Stanford are one in a billion, but Ryland has promised to make calls for a few players if they keep their heads up and out of trouble. There is more than one local community college with a soccer team. I hate to make promises or get someone’s hopes up when I don’t control the outcome, but an opportunity of this nature would be life changing.
Tomorrow I’ll put out the flyers and make the RDA girls aware they have a commitment that Sunday afternoon. They’ll be here with literal bells on. Or worse, pompoms cheering from the sidelines. Marissa showed off her Stanford temporary face tattoos at the last girls’ brunch. She’s ready to get out there and support Ryland’s team. This will give her a practice opportunity. And of course at least one of them will bring food. You can always count on there being food when you get two or more RDA girls together. A knock on the door draws my attention.
“Can we use your office?” John asks, peeking in from the hallway.
I stand. “Of course. Sure. What’s up?” It’s never a good sign when someone needs to use the office for something and they ask super calmly and politely. Here’s hoping it’s something minor.
Even if I have a feeling Drew will try and steal Grant’s attention tonight, I’d still like to get home with enough time to change my clothes. Take a shower. And put on something cute. The jeans and black hooded sweatshirts I wear every day to work don’t inspire take-me-now lusty feelings. Not only is Grant the first guy I don’t panic waking up next to, but he’s about to become the first guy I make an effort for on a Thursday night.
He has no idea how rare that is.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re not going to talk me into it!” Travis yells from somewhere farther in the hallway.
Okay, so definitely important then.
I hurry and wave John in so I can figure out whatever is wrong with Travis. Once he leaves the center, he’s on his own devices to solve this problem. While he’s here, we have two caring adults to help him work through whatever would cause him to yell at John. It’s something many of these kids don’t find at home.
John holds the door open with his back waiting for Travis to walk in and sit. The teen stomps across the room and throws himself in the chair. The wooden legs squeak on the tile, sliding at least an inch across the floor.
John starts to close the door but I shake my head. “Door open, please.” It’s private enough down the hallway and a closed room with two guys goes against center protocol.
Travis snorts. “Yeah, better for me to get up and walk out.”
“Travis…” I say his name, slowly. “You can leave whenever you want, but you’re obviously upset, and I’d like to find out why.”
“It’s none of your business.” Travis crosses his arms and sends a hard look to John.
He’s more amenable in telling me what I want to know. “Travis stopped in to tell us he can’t play any more soccer games and he won’t be coming to the center any longer,” John says also using a soothing voice.
Travis rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop out. He’s obviously on to our technique. “Yeah and then tell her how you started asking me all kinds of questions. He’s prying into my business.”
I want to let him get his anger out, but I also want to get snarky and remind him it’s what I pay John to do. But there’s a time and place for snark when you’re dealing with teenagers, and right now isn’t it.
“Well John is obviously concerned about you, Travis. I would have asked the same questions.”
“He don’t know me. When has he ever had to make a choice he didn’t want?”
Ah-ha. Now we’re getting somewhere. “That’s probably true.” I hate to distance John from this conversation, but I need to find common ground to bring Travis in the rest of the way. “You and I both know life is full of shitty choices.”
It works and Travis sits up in his chair actively engaged in the conversation. “That’s what we do. Right, Miss C.? Make the shitty choices. Because as soon as you think you’re getting ahead in the game, something screws it up.”
“So what happened to make it so you can’t play soccer anymore?”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing you can do about it.”
I pushed too hard and Travis retreats. His resistance is from his belief I can’t help him…which I probably can’t. It’s one of those sucky facts of life, but there’s only so much I can do from the comforts of my office at the center.
But I also worry he’s gotten himself involved in something far over his head. Drugs or other gang activity. If that’s the case, none of us will leave this room until we figure out a solution.
“I can’t believe you doubt my abilities, Travis.”
“This is too big even for you, Miss C. The next two days you’re going to lose a lot of kids from the center.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” Why are teenagers so damn frustrating? Can’t they tell a story like a regular person?
“Half the kids here have paren
ts working for Del Fray. With them closing we’re screwed.”
“Del Fray isn’t closing.” Surely Grant would have mentioned that fact last night. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Shit, Miss C. my dad works the graveyard shift. Came home talking about it. They made a huge announcement this morning.”
“Who made a huge announcement?”
“The managers and shit. Everyone’s gonna find out by tomorrow.”
My head swirls for a few seconds and I stare blankly at the little dents in the wall. I’m torn between finding words to comfort Travis and telling myself it can’t be true.
There’s no way Grant would close a factory he just bought.
A factory he knows provides jobs in this area.
A factory we talked about last night without any mention of him closing.
Fortunately, John notices I’m struggling and picks up the conversation for me. “Why does that mean you have to leave the soccer program?”
Unfortunately, John doesn’t understand the situation these kids find themselves in.
“Because my dad is losing his job. Who’s gonna feed us?” Travis explains in a salty way only teenagers pull off. “I need to get a job. I can’t let my siblings starve.”
My heart breaks for the pissed off teenager seated in front of me. Because he’s right. He probably will need to get a job. While many teenagers work to earn their own money, Travis won’t be saving up for a new pair of shoes or music downloads. He’ll work to feed a family of five.
It happens all the time. Kids drop out of school to get jobs. They run errands for their local drug dealer before they too are selling full time. Girls get married much too young. The older kids in a family will do what they must to provide for their younger siblings by any means possible.
“The city has many great resources to help your dad find a new job, Travis.” I try to calm the situation and make him feel better, but even I realize the odds aren’t good right now.
“My dad has worked for Del Fray since he turned seventeen. He doesn’t know anything else.” He wraps his arms around his chest and his words prove how smart this young man is. “Our place is rent controlled. We’ll never find a new one and we can’t afford to live anywhere else.”
These are the times when I hate this fucking job. There isn’t a set of words to ease his fears. Everything Travis is worried about is a legitimate concern. His dad is a good man, but he doesn’t have a college education or many marketable skills. If the plant is closed, finding a new position at a similar pay rate would be almost impossible in the city. He’s raising four kids on his own in a city that often does its best to cater to the rich. They sweep everyone else under the rug and act like we’re the city with no problems.
Still, it’s my job to get Travis through this. The best I can anyway. “Right now the important thing is to stay calm. Remember we don’t make rational decisions when we’re emotional.”
“I’m not emotional,” he cuts me off. “But I’m gonna do what I gotta do to help my family.”
“Of course you are, Travis. No one in this room will tell you otherwise.”
“Then why are you trying to talk me out of doing what needs to be done?”
“I’m saying let’s give it a day. If after the weekend you still feel the need, I will be the first one to help you find a job for after school hours.”
Travis laughs, but there’s no humor. “I can’t go to school and work enough hours to provide for my family.”
He says exactly what I’ve worried the most about since he walked in this room. Hunter’s Point has one of the highest unemployment and poverty rates in the city. He needs his high school diploma, but it’s the hardest to get here. Income inequality between the rich and poor has increased dramatically in the last decade. More and more people are forced to leave the city for places like Oakland and other suburban areas. With raising housing rates — I once heard a story of a walk-in closet fetching four hundred dollars a month in rent — and the loss of non-tech jobs, the disparity continues to grow every year.
“How is you dropping out of school going to help your family? You need a diploma.”
“I’ll do an online school. Get my GED.”
Well at least he has given this thought, but it’s still not an acceptable answer. Not acceptable to me at least. “I’m going to leave your name on the books, Travis. I want to see you in here like normal this weekend. And we’ll talk again on Monday. Don’t do anything stupid until then.”
“Yeah,” he says and stands in the chair. “We’ll see, but I’m gonna do what I gotta do.”
“Remember our actions have consequences,” I say to his back as he walks out the door.
John stands as well. “So, this weekend should be fun. How many of the kids have parents employed with Del Fray?” he asks.
I do the quick math in my head. “Half? Maybe more. I need to get home now, but do your best to keep it calm tonight and I’ll schedule extras to keep everyone busy for the next two days.”
Any other time there’s no way I’d leave the center with this bombshell about to go off, but before I can help anyone else I need to find out if it’s true or not.
And I need to find out from the source.
Good thing I have an inside connection with the new owner of Del Fray.
He’s going to find out how interested I am in what he does for a living now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A light misty rain creates a sheen on the windshield. The cab driver turns on the wipers. I scan my phone one more time. The name of the restaurant where Grant is having a business dinner is the last text I received.
“Stop here,” I say when the restaurant La Blanca comes into view on the right side of the road.
The cabbie pulls over and checks his meter tapping on the side rather than giving me a price.
“Can you wait? This won’t take long.”
“Sure, babe, but the meter is running.”
Of course. Story of my life. The meter is always running.
CLARE: I’m here.
I send the quick text and stay in the cab until Grant pokes his way out the front door.
“I’ll be right back,” I say from the cab and make my way across the sidewalk to him.
Taking a play from my own book, I remind myself to stay calm. I need to get the full story from Grant before I jump to any conclusions. The plan was great in the cab, but now with Grant in front of me my emotions war with themselves. I can’t believe my sweet lovable Grant would close down a factory he knows employs a large portion of the families in my neighborhood. The other part of me wants to smack his smug face for being a rich asshole who cares about how much money he’ll make. He fooled me.
There’s no telling which side of me will win out.
Grant stops and tries to give me a hug, but I step back before he’s successful. Touching is not a good idea for him right now.
“What’s up?” he asks stepping under an awning of the storefront beside us. It’s a stationery store with rows and rows of little books and journals for those people with disposable incomes and an intense need to plan.
“What’s up? Why don’t you tell me what’s up? Travis came to the center upset because his dad is laid off. Management at Del Fray told him this morning.”
“Oh man. Travis’ dad works there? I didn’t know.” His left eye squints like the glare from the shop lights bothers him more than what we’re discussing.
“What do you mean? Half the kids who come to the center have parents who work there. I’ve told you this.”
Grant’s lips pinch together. “Yes, but Travis is a good kid.”
“What do you mean Travis is a good kid?” I impersonate his voice. “They’re all good kids.”
“Well of course they are. I just didn’t realize Travis would be affected by it.” His head shakes slightly.
Does he not realize I have a whole center of kids like Travis? “It’s true you’re closing the plant?” I ask, but it sound
s more like an accusation…since it is.
“Yes, once we get the technology moved over to one of our other plants. I’m sure we’d be able to find Travis’ dad something new.”
“And what about the other fifty kids whose parents are losing jobs?”
“What do you want me to do, Clare? I volunteer. I donate money.”
“This is their lives!” I throw my hands in the air my voice rising. “It’s more than throwing money at the problem. It’s doing no harm.”
Grant stops, his eyes taking in my full appearance and distraught expression. “Why are you so upset?” he asks with a pinched brow.
“So upset? Grant, this is my life. These kids are in my care.”
“It’s not personal, Clare. It’s business.”
“It’s personal to me!” I yell at him across less than a foot separating us. “It’s personal for Travis. It’s personal to the hundred people losing their jobs.”
Grant unbuttons his suit jacket and then sticks his hands in his pockets. It’s impossible to see the cute funny honorable man I saw yesterday. Tonight he’s the rich uncaring business tycoon I always worried he was.
“Taking the technology from Del Fray and implementing it in our overseas plant where we have top-of-the-line equipment reduced our expenses almost thirty percent. We didn’t buy the company for the workers. We wanted the patents for the technology.”
“So that’s it? You trade lives for a tiny piece of plastic? It’s about the money?”
“Yes.” His eyes open wide like I understand now. It must make perfect sense to him. “That’s what I’m expected to do. It’s why my grandfather put me in this position.”
“I’ve met your grandfather. I doubt ruining the lives of your new workers were part of his instructions. You bought the company. You bought them too. They’re your concern now. I’m expected to keep my kids in school and off the streets. Two things you made impossible.”
Grant reaches out a hand, and I step back twice. Inside I’m torn. My heart splinters. I want nothing more than to run to him and let him embrace me in a hug that will solve my problems.
But this time Grant is the problem. His hands no longer represent comfort, only pain and hurt. He’s no different from the other people who promised to keep me safe in the past.
Quest (The Boys of RDA Book 4) Page 11