“D-Man?” Diane said, shaking her head.
“You know how guys are when they get together.”
“But D-Man?”
“It beats Jimbo the Monkeyman.”
The elevator climbed one floor at a time, opened its doors for no one and then closed again.
At the top floor, David Barnes, the founder of Barnes, Inc. stepped into the elevator. He had lived here before his company hit the IPO jackpot. Rumor had it that he stayed in the building because he hated the inconvenience of relocating. I had been trying to meet with him for months to pitch him some business.
I nodded good morning, then saw a little finger pushing the rest of the lights on the panel. I cringed while the hand retreated behind Diane.
“Good morning,” Mr. Barnes said, stepping in. I could almost smell the heavy lemon starch in his perfectly pressed shirt. A scowl crossed his face as he gazed at the glowing panel. Then, Spring poked her head from behind her mother. “Oh, hello,” Barnes said, glancing down. “Who are you?”
Spring refused to come out of hiding.
“When I was your age, I did the same thing. Once.”
Spring poked her head around and pointed at me.
Mr. Barnes looked my way, then returned to Spring.
For a moment, I thought Spring would act like any child her age and cry out of terror and embarrassment. What did I know?
Instead, her eyes grew wide and her face red. Then, she burst into laughter. Within seconds, we were all laughing, watching the doors open and close on each floor. Mr. Barnes even snorted once. This was a man I had never seen leave his apartment without his tie, and I had lived here for two years. He never seemed happy or even agreeable with anything especially something so silly. And yet, he was laughing with Spring.
She had her mother’s smile.
By the time the elevator finally reached the bottom several minutes later, Mr. Barnes was blotting his eyes with the lip of his shirtsleeve and talking to all of us. “Spring,” he chuckled, “you are a beautiful little girl. Enjoy the ducks and the park today. Dylan, Diane, thank you for a wonderful and eventful ride down to the lobby. Dylan, call my assistant and set up some time for us to talk business. Make sure you tell her I said so.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I took a deep breath and looked at Diane with surprise.
“It happens all the time,” Diane said, taking Spring’s hand. “Doesn’t it, Ms. Social? She’s bashful, can’t you tell?”
She was amazing. In my pursuit to get in front of Barnes, I had tried everything from calling him, to sending his office flowers, to dating his assistant and that girl could eat. In a matter of minutes, a little crumb-snatcher had opened his heart, as well as his appointment book. He actually seemed friendly and not like anything I had imagined.
The doorman smiled when we approached him. “Morning, Mr. Hunter, Ma’am. Spring.”
“Morning.” I nodded, but didn’t say anything else because I didn’t want to betray the fact that I didn’t know his name.
“Rudolfo let us in last night,” Diane said, as we passed. “I guess he thought we were safe.”
We stepped outside and I waved down a taxi. Diane had taken me to Grant Park in Chicago on one of those summer evenings when the breeze blowing off Lake Michigan chilled — even through a light jacket. As the sun dropped below the skyline, little sailboats speckled the water with their red and green lights bobbing. We walked from the lakefront to Buckingham Fountain, sipping Merlot from a brown-paper bag like teenagers. Diane liked fountains. I directed the driver to Central Park.
“We’re going to see the ducks!” Spring said.
The driver looked in the mirror, then over his shoulder. “You are? Do you want to go to see the best ducks in the city?”
“Yeah!”
“It’s your lucky day because I know where they are.” Spring leaned over the seat. “You do?”
“Yes. Because I have two little girls about your age who love to see the ducks and the penguins at the zoo?”
“I looooove ducks. Penguins are okay, too.”
Spring and the driver chatted it up most of the way to the park. Diane occasionally prompted Spring with questions, and mostly beamed at her child. I sat back and watched the exploits.
When we arrived at the park, I handed the driver a ten-dollar tip. As he’d promised, we found a huge number of ducks meandering around the Bethesda Fountain just off of 72nd Street.
Walking next to Diane, I noticed the foliage beginning to evolve color. The late summer nights were cooling down. While my favorite season was approaching, these signs meant trouble. It was hard to get a cab when the weather was bad. Flights were delayed. There were puddles and everything got sloppy.
Spring walked a few feet in front of us, scampering intently toward the ducks. Meanwhile, Diane inhaled deeply and then spun, with arms extended as though she were no more than five, herself.
“Um, you might want to scale back on the naked displays of joy. It marks you as a tourist.”
Diane laughed. “But I’m not a tourist. Today is my first day as a New Yorker.”
I found the way she said this to be ridiculously charming and this suddenly made me want to hold her hand. I didn’t usually operate that way. At least it didn’t make me want to spin along with her.
In an effort to get closer to the ducks, Spring had bolted down the steps leading to the fountain. By the time we caught up with her, she’d sat on the lip of the bluestone ledge and stuck her feet in the water. I had no intention of joining her in this, but I did stand along the edge. Mist drifted from the fountainhead onto my face; it was surprisingly refreshing.
After a minute of this, Diane and I sat on a bench where we could watch Spring follow the ducks around the fountain. Many of the other onlookers seemed amused by Spring’s exploits. A few seemed miffed, though. Didn’t we know the little girl could get hurt? Catch a cold? Or even pneumonia? Wasn’t she in violation of at least a couple of city ordnances?
I was about to ask Diane about her plans for finding a job when Spring slipped and fell. I sat up but Diane didn’t move. Spring looked at Diane, saw that her mother wasn’t alarmed and picked herself up to pursue the ducks again.
Diane put her hand gently on my forearm. “Sometimes you just have to let them know that they’re okay.”
“Good thing she wasn’t looking at me. She’d be screaming now.”
Diane smiled and leaned back into the bench. “We would have known if she was really hurt.”
“You would have, anyway. She’s all wet, though.”
“She’ll dry.”
I shrugged. Coming to the park was a distinct change from work and my standard routine for a recovery day. Usually on a Saturday, I’d still be sleeping or lying in bed wondering if I’d done anything the night before that required damage control. I leaned back against the bench where I could observe Diane. I wondered when the last time was that she had an out-of-control Friday night. She didn’t seem to be missing it.
I closed my eyes. The sun felt warm and the noises of the city seemed to accent Spring’s laughter like the point-counterpoint of dueling ducks swimming in the fountain. When I opened them, Diane was gazing at me.
“You look very centered.”
“Is that what this is …centered?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, I’ve heard about this. Very exotic. Like eating rattlesnake.”
“Not big on going with the flow, huh?”
I laughed. “You go with the flow, you get washed into the gutter.”
She adopted a sour expression. “Who sold you on that one?” She said this more forcefully than she had said anything to me before. I straightened a bit in my seat. “If I want to be miserable, I’ll be miserable,” she continued with less intensity. “If I want to be happy, I will be. Look at Spring.”
Spring waddled next to the fountain behind a baby duck.
“If ducks make her happy, I want her to enjoy the ducks. Life’s
too short not to waddle, if you want to.”
I studied Diane sitting on the edge of the bench watching Spring.
Life is too short not to waddle. I could see how that would make sense to her.
I couldn’t have dinner with Diane and Spring that night because I had scheduled one with Waverly. The man I’d slammed on the Crystal Creek account wanted me to eat with him to meet his business partner, Mrs. Waverly, and discuss the future. Billie’s toes would have curled, if she knew I’d gotten this jump on her assuming I did in fact have the jump on her. This was precisely the kind of dinner I lived for. I was a bit surprised that my day with Diane and Spring had made me so reluctant to go.
A Saturday night dinner, so early in the Waverly courtship, struck me as odd, but so did Waverly. There was something very retro about him, though it was hard to argue with his success. After a shrimp appetizer, bottle of wine, and grilled sea bass, we had yet to discuss any future.
“… so we told him,” Mrs. Waverly continued. “If you try to change your market line from running shoes to walking shoes, you might as well develop a new recipe for Coke.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Waverly. The fundamentals of marketing never change.”
“More wine?” Mr. Waverly said, while filling his glass.
“Yes, thank you.” I tapped a napkin to the corners of my mouth. “If we can continue to train the 12-to-17 demographic, get their allowance, their disposable income, you’ll have consumers for life.”
Waverly filled my wine glass about halfway. “How do you suggest we do that in our industry? It’s been a long time since I had an allowance.”
Mrs. Waverly cut in. “I used to give him an allowance, but he’d squander it on women and drink.”
“Yes, thank you, dear.”
I inserted myself into this exchange. “That s exactly what we want them to do. Spend their money. Not on women and drink, at least not until they hit the next consumer tier. But unless I was employed at Waverly Media, it would be unethical for me to discuss the details.” I took a sip of the Beaujolais and rolled it around my mouth. For unethical wine, it tasted rather sweet.
Waverly sat up a bit in his chair. “We have something opening up in the future in our International Operations division here in New York. We have a gentleman, a family man, who has been with us a long time…”
“Thirty-seven years.” Mrs. Waverly added. “We’ve watched John and Charlotte raise two boys, a girl, and five grandchildren.”
“John’s taking early retirement to spend time with his grandchildren.”
Another person who clearly feels that life is too short not to waddle.
Waverly tipped his head. “We’ll miss him a great deal at the firm, but time marches on. We will, of course, replace him.”
“When does he retire?” I leaned back in my chair to avoid seeming too aggressive or too interested.
“Oh, sometime next spring? Is that right, dear?”
“Spring. Perhaps summer, she said, nodding.
Spring Sommers. Until that moment, it hadn’t dawned on me that Diane had named her child after two seasons.
“Yes, Dylan, we believe in families…”
“… and we love grandchildren. Are you married?”
She caught me off guard, but I liked the challenge.
“Dear, you shouldn’t get so personal.” Mr. Waverly said, taking another sip of his wine. “Dylan, after your performance this week, we would be interested in talking with you about a vice president position with our company when the time approaches. While we’re on the subject, though, are you married?”
“No, not yet.”
Mrs. Waverly waved a hand toward her husband. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this. Ever since the nineties, they get so hostile when we tell people we prefer our employees…”
“Our senior-level employees.”
“… to be married. Well, it is our company.”
Waverly shook his head. “How wrong is that? We like stability, Dylan. Many companies don’t agree with us. They think having a family means having commitments and conflicts. They see time with the family as time away from the desk. My wife and I don’t buy into that.”
“That’s right, Dylan.”
“That’s why Mason he’s a good man, your boss is, we’ve known each other for 50 years never remarried. He already had the boy and wanted to spend more time in the office. And that’s why you’re joining us for dinner tonight.”
I wasn’t sure if it was my turn to talk and I went after the wine to delay.
“We’re having dinner tonight because the Mrs. and I like to spend the afternoon with the grandkids. Can’t do it during the week because that’s when we’re busy. We make time for our families. We know what’s important.”
“And we like children.”
Waverly smiled. “Yes, children. Children keep our minds creative. If we cannot perceive our environment like children, we die.”
Mrs. Waverly leaned toward me. “Any prospects?”
“Excuse me?”
“Any serious lady friends?”
I hesitated, but completely unbidden an image of me with Diane and Spring in the park jumped into my head.
“You’re prying, dear,” Waverly said. “Gotta draw the line somewhere.”
For a moment, Mrs. Waverly appeared chastened.
Waverly switched direction. “You’re a director for Mason, Brand, and Partners?”
“Executive Director.”
Mr. Waverly nodded and then stood up, signifying that our dinner was over. “By the way, although you snaked the Crystal Creek deal away from us, we were impressed.” Waverly helped his wife up. “I assume you would like to keep the lines of communication open between us.”
“I’d like that, sir,” I said, shaking their hands. I felt a little off balance, but it had nothing to do with being courted for a bigger position.
As I walked away, I was still wondering why Diane came so easily to mind when Mrs. Waverly mentioned “lady friends.”
Chapter 3
Delighting in Making Me Feel Uncomfortable
Despite the Waverlys’ offer to join them in their limo, I had decided to walk home from the restaurant. They had built their company around a philosophy a bazillion years old. Things had changed in every way imaginable. When I was growing up, my mom had said that someday I’d understand why we waited sometimes an extra hour or two for my dad to get home from work before we ate dinner. I resented everything about this and wouldn’t want anyone to go through that for me. How could I possibly raise a family and have the kind of career that I had?
What’s Waverly’s deal with family, anyway?
By the time my old man had been just a little older than me, he had two kids. My brother, Scotty, is ten years older than I am. Ten years was too much of an age gap to bridge, so we were never particularly close. It didn’t help that he always told me I was a mistake. My mom would watch us while my pop worked his ass off in construction. That’s why I always took school seriously so I wouldn’t have to lose my hearing to a jackhammer. I still work my ass off, but I get paid very well for it and hear just fine.
Somewhere down the road, I always pictured having kids you know, like the generic kids off a TV show with a 21st century wife. She cooks, she cleans, she negotiates huge sports contracts, and she can identify more than a hundred different types of poisonous plants on a camping trip ideal and utterly imaginary. But when you were where I was, what was the point of compromising? If Waverly wanted me, he was just going to have to deal with my standards.
The streets were beginning to hum. Normally, I’d go home, grab a 20-minute nap, swing by Jim’s for a primer scotch, and we’d begin our adventures by 11:00 maybe the Magenta, or that new hotspot over on Grand, or maybe both at least when Jim’s kids weren’t over.
That wasn’t the plan tonight, though. I had company.
I crossed the street to my apartment and three beautiful women walked in front of me. Completely on instinct,
I did the brushing eye contact thing, making sure to touch each of them just for a fraction of a second. This kind of move actually got me some attention in bars, though it had never worked on the street.
When I made it home, I waved to the security guard. I’d said hello to him this morning for the first time in two years. I nodded to him now and he did the same. Things were different with Spring around. When the elevator opened, a few women stepped out. I could detect the scent of Red Door on my left and Boucheron on my right. I could identify at least 20 different perfumes from the inexpensive to the obscene and I was always adding new ones to my memory banks. Diane wore Boucheron, proving that she had considerably better taste in perfume than she did in luggage. I pressed the button for my floor, the scent making me just a little more anxious to get home.
Do family men notice perfume? I guessed that they did. Perfume and legs and cleavage. How could you ever be so caught up in the mundane that you didn’t notice these things?
When I walked off the elevator and the doors began to close, I poked my hand inside and hit all the buttons. I laughed ridiculously at my little stunt and began to wonder if I’d drunk more wine than I thought I did.
It was after 10:00 and Diane had already put Spring to bed.
“Good meeting?” she said, as we sat in the living room.
“Yeah, really good, I think. We’ll see if and when we start talking about money.”
She smiled, but didn’t say anything. I settled back on the couch.
“Spring seems like a good kid,” I said.
“She is a good kid. And she likes you.”
I laughed. “From what I can see, Spring likes everyone.”
“She doesn’t. Sometimes, she only quacks. I was really worried about bringing her to New York. She doesn’t adjust well to change, but I promised her this would be our home from now on. We’d find a place and a nice daycare and this would be it. But she doesn’t believe me yet. The trip to the park helped a little, I think. I think it made her feel good to do something we always did in Chicago.”
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