Play Date

by Casey Grant

  Getting started at 9:00, they waited for the Snuffex-Carlotta Ferry to take them on the twenty-minute trip across the lake to Clair Railing’s Vermont home. During the crossing, Nina watched the verdant shoreline pass by, something she had not seen much of since she had left Ohio for the Arizona desert ten years before. “How do you like your room?” said Conrad.

  “It’s very nice,” Nina said. “But I was expecting something more like a Hampton Inn.”

  “You deserve more than that after what you’ve done for us,” said Conrad.

  “I haven’t closed the deal yet, Conrad,” said Nina. “Let’s wait until we celebrate.”

  “We’re much farther along than I could have ever imagined and it’s all because of you. I think we should revise your contract.”

  Nina paused. “Uh, we never signed a contract.”

  “Okay, let’s discuss revising your salary then,” said Conrad.

  “What needs to be changed?” said Nina.

  “I want to change your compensation from the existing forty-thousand a year.”

  “To what?”

  “To something more in line with your value to this company.”

  “Like?”

  “Forty-five thousand per year.”

  “Oh.”

  “You deserve it,” Conrad said, taking in her plush figure with quick glances to his right.

  “Well thank you, Conrad. The extra money will come in handy.”

  “I see your position at Coping Hen changing.”

  “Changing?”

  “I see you and I working more closely together. More as partners, less as employer and employee. Your new title is ‘Senior Editor.’”

  Nina’s breathing was becoming shallow and she was getting warm. She had never given Conrad an inkling—a hint!—that she was interested in anything other than doing a great job. She was a divorced soccer mom of two and had no interest in being some trollop. “I’ve always wanted to be an editor,” said Nina, maintaining her cool.

  “I know,” said Conrad. You’ve mentioned it many times.”

  “With publishing changing so quickly, those jobs are becoming fewer and fewer, added Nina.

  “I would be a great opportunity for you,” said Conrad. You’d be our second editor, along with Ben.

  “Conrad, I want you to know how much I have enjoyed my last four months here. This is the job I have wanted since I was in college, but I’m not clear as to what you’re asking of me,” Nina said.

  “I don’t know what needs explaining, Nina,” said Conrad, “The fact is that I am attracted to you and I want the two of us to work more closely together.”

  Nina’s sober demeanor cracked and so did her tact. “Just what is with that lingerie in my room, Conrad?” Nina said.

  Conrad looked up at her, the shock on his face mirroring hers. “Nina, what’s wrong?”

  “That nightgown lying on my bed! I never gave you any mixed signals. I never led you on.”

  “And that’s why we’re having this conversation,” said Conrad, smiling.

  “I’m not sleeping with you! Do you get that?!” Nina said not caring if anyone else on the ferry could hear.

  “You're being hostile,” said Conrad.

  “You are taking advantage of your position to force me into having sex.”

  “I thought you were attracted to me,” said Conrad in a hurt tone.

  “Where the hell did you get that idea?! God, you’ve made me so uncomfortable!”

  Clair Railings, the widow of Tom Railings, lived in a tasteful country-squalor cottage thirty miles east of Snuffex, across the historic lake, lost in time in Vermont. This was an E.B. White, life-of-the-mind, woodsy, rustic kind of lifestyle, complete with a writing shack out back next to the crumbling boathouse that was destined to become a shrine if anyone cared enough.

  They parked in the gravel driveway next to a late model Jag, out of place here in this studied-dishabille.

  Clair Railings answered the door. Not yet skeletal, she was tastefully decrepit in her early 80’s. Mrs. Railings led Conrad and Nina into the living room. Someone was waiting for them in the room. “This is Binky,” said Clair.

  “Binky?” said Nina.

  “Henrietta Wilson von Binckerhoff,” said Binky as she stood up and extended her hand to Conrad. “Going riding later?” she said to Nina, checking out her horsey attire.

  “This is Conrad Harris and Nina Martini,” said Clair.

  Binky was long and lithe, dark-haired with a pageboy haircut, black stretch pants with a cardigan sweater top cinched at the waist, the hem hovering just above a fetching bottom. Binky was older than Nina, in her mid-30s. Where Nina was a series of (covered-up) curves, Binky was one single and efficient curve from her black Chanel boots to her cranium. If plotted on a graph, the graceful curve would take only the most minimum of equations.

  “Binky here is interested in the collection as well,” said Clair.

  “Wait,” said Conrad. “We weren’t told about anyone else being interested.”

  Clair Railings’ charm was evaporating in a flash.

  “I’m sorry, I only became aware of Binky’s interest in the books just yesterday,” said Clair.

  “We should have been notified of this change,” said Nina.

  “I'm sorry,” said Clair, “There was so little time.”

  “You had twenty-four hours,” said Nina. “You could have called, texted, emailed…”

  “Um, yes, well…” Clair said, stumbling over her words and trying to remember what texting was.

  “I own Élan Press,” said Binky, jumping in. “We specialize in Young Adult fiction.”

  “You, and apparently everyone else,” said Conrad, feeling no further need to be polite.

  “Young Adult fiction for the well-off teen,” said Binky, “Stories set in the places everyone would like to be—Beverly Hills, Grosse Pointe, and the Hamptons. There are already plenty of folks writing stories about confused urchins in Ohio finding the meaning of life in thrift stores. Our protagonists already have everything figured-out for them. All that’s left is deciding between whether they want the Porsche or the Audi for their 16th birthday.”

  “Plutocracy Fiction,” Nina said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been on the phone with Clair every day for the last two months and now you come in at the last minute and derail everything?”

  “The problem is that no one has ever heard of you,” said Binky. “What the hell is “Coping Hen Press’—a chicken’s cry for help after the Zoloft’s run out? And what’s in Scottsdale, other than Nazis and golf?”

  “I thought that the best way to handle this was to have each of you bid on the collection,” said Clair.

  “You turn this into an auction at the last minute after we’ve already flown out here?!” said Conrad.

  “And that’s the problem,” said Binky. “None of you are from here. I have a charming Federal-style stone house at Cobcott’s Cove, just north of Snuffex. I AM Tom Railings’ country. I LIVE the landscape and culture that’s part of these books— all of which were written here in this house, not far from my own stone house, north of town at Cobcott’s Cove, forty-five minutes from here.”

  Suddenly the sound of a loud, high-pitch growl interrupted all. Nina got up and looked out the window. In the driveway, parked right next to their Chevy Cruze rental car, she could see a sleek gray wedge that stood a few feet above the ground. Nina would later find out that it was a Lamborghini Aventador. A handsome man in his early thirties stepped out, followed by a beautiful blond companion. Nina was intimidated but she couldn’t take her eyes off either of them.

  “That must be Leo,” said Clair.

  “Leo? Leo Baldwin?” said Binky, incredulously.

  “Why yes,” said Clair. “Do you know him?”

  “Fuck…” muttered Binky.

  The doorbell rang. Clair got up to answer. In a few moments Leo Baldwin was standing at the edge of the room. Six-foot three, he was the proud owner of a V-shaped to
rso, a pronounced cleft chin, and a head of thick black hair. His smile was something that Nina hadn’t thought possible. “I would like to introduce to you to Leo Baldwin and Lexi Stabler, his Director of Fund Activities,” said Clair.

  “What’s going on here,” said Binky sharply, turning her head back and forth like a Doppler weather radar.

  “We apologize for the dramatic arrival,” said Lexi embarrassedly, “The Lamborghini was the only vehicle that was ready to go this morning. It was not our choice to come on this strong.”

  Oh great, so she’s nice too.

  “Clair, Dearest,” said Binky leaning forward on the plush sofa, “What is a billionaire hedge fund manager doing here at our little meeting?”

  “I have an intense love for the Tom Railings oeuvre,” said Leo, talking to Binky, but staring at Nina.

  “Since when?” said Binky.

  “Wait, do you know Leo?” Nina asked Binky.

  “I don’t pretend to travel in the same circles as Leo, but we’ve crossed paths a couple times,” said Binky.

  “Yes, we have,” said Leo smiling. “And, my, don’t we have a room full of beautiful women today?” said Leo, his gaze still resting upon Nina.

  “Give it up kids,” said Binky, standing up to go. “We’re not going to win this one.”

  “Binky, what’s wrong?” said Clair Railings.

  “I don’t like being screwed,” said Binky.

  “Join the club,” said Conrad.

  “We don’t have a chance with him in the room,” said Binky, heading for the door. “He can outbid us by a hundred times and it’s still just lunch money to him.”

  “The bidding starts at three hundred and fifty thousand,” said Clair ignoring Binky’s impending exit.

  “But that was our agreed-upon sales price,” said Nina.

  “Nevertheless the bidding starts at $350,000!” said the Clair, ignoring Nina’s protests. “Can I hear a first bid?”

  “Okay, “$355,000” said Conrad.

  “$375,000” said Binky.

  “$500,000” said Leo.

  “I’m out,” said Binky still standing by the door, her hand now on the knob.

  “Ms. Railings,” said Conrad, “We will be issuing a press release exposing your duplicity.

  “Will that be on your influential website, ‘The Blogging Hen’?” said Binky. “The one with five hundred page-views a year, equal to the average run of each of your titles.”

  “No, it will be a press release going to real news organizations,” said Conrad. “Including ‘The New York Review of Books’.”

  “I assume I’m the highest bid?” said Leo. His smoothly confident demeanor betraying someone for whom life came effortlessly.

  “Congratulations Mr. Baldwin! “You are the winner!” said an ebullient Clair as Nina stared down at the floor, grinding her teeth and trying to hold her temper. “And by quite a considerable margin,” mumbled Nina, finally looking up and seeing Leo's gaze still locked on her. How could someone so handsome create feelings of revulsion? He was destroying Nina’s first job in ten years! Her dream job!

  And she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  Binky and the Green Bikini

  “Goddammit, what the hell happened in there?!” Conrad yelled at Nina on the ferry crossing back to Snuffex.

  “What happened is that Mrs. Railings is not the person I thought she was,” said Nina. “And don’t yell at me.”

  “You screwed up!” said Conrad, “Let’s not mince words! You did not read Clair right. She totally blindsided you!”

  “You’ve known her longer than me,” said Nina. “Why didn’t YOU see this coming?”

  “That’s not for you to judge—I’m your employer. I hired you to do a job and you failed.”

  “We’re not the only ones who got screwed,” said Nina. “That Binky von Claptrap was also blindsided.”

  “Who cares?! We lost the books! It doesn't matter if someone else lost too.”

  “Leo blew us out of the water, said Nina. “There was nothing we could do.”

  Conrad was silent for a minute. When he finally spoke, his tone was without emotion. “There is one thing you can do to make this better…”

  “Don’t go there, Conrad.”

  “There is one way—and only one way you can save your job…”

  “No Conrad…”

  “Let's go back to the car. I want my dick sucked—right now.”

  “Fuck you,” said Nina.

  “That’s it then—you’re done!” said Conrad. “We’re done!" You're fired.”

  “Because we didn't get the books or because I wouldn't sleep with you?!” said Nina.

  “Both. You’re a well-rounded disappointment.”

  The bar at the Snuffex Inn transitioned outside into the pool patio during the summer months. At 5:00 in the afternoon in June it was a comfortable seventy-eight degrees but there was no one in the pool and only two people sitting at the patio bar. Nina ordered a vodka tonic while thinking about the last thing Conrad said to her, “I’m on the ten-thirty flight tomorrow back to Newark—make sure you are not on it.”

  Someone sat down next to Nina and ordered a Johnny Walker Blue. Nina looked over to see who was flush enough to order such an expensive drink and saw an elegantly attired tall and lean woman. “Binky?” said Nina.

  “Oh, hello,” said Binky. “Are you staying here?”

  “At least until tomorrow. What are you doing here? I thought you lived in Snuffex, in that Federal-style house or whatever.”

  “I just happen to like this bar,” said Binky.

  Nina’s vodka tonic arrived. She took a long gulp, looking straight ahead at the bar, all the while thinking about how she would have to go back to the job search grind as soon as she got back to Scottsdale. If worse came to worse, she and the boys could move back with mom.

  “I’m guessing you’re not originally from Scottsdale,” said Binky.

  “No one is,” said Nina. “I grew up in Cleveland.”

  “You do have that corn-fed look,” said Binky. “There are lots of nice schools in the Midwest. You should feel proud.”

  “Looking at you, something tells me I shouldn’t,” said Nina. “What about you?”

  Binky smiled, “The Stuckwell School, Williams College, anthropology major, interned at McCann Ericsson, became an account manager and got recruited by Goldman Sachs. Worked in the trading department, quit after five years with lots of cash. Fell in love, fell out of love. Started my nifty publishing imprint. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me.”

  “Of course I should have heard of you,” said Nina, startled by Binky’s curriculum vitae while feeling like shit. Nina took in Binky’s languid lines, her easy beauty and effortless intellect. Binky had been doing all the talking, but it was Nina who was now breathless. This woman, not much older than her, had achieved far more than Nina ever would. And Binky had done it without kids and a philandering husband.

  “I have an opening at my press,” said Binky, leaning in towards Nina.

  “You do?” said Nina.

  “I have an opening for an editor.”

  “An editor?!” said Nina.

  “I will need an editor if I have to deal with issuing 130 manuscripts from some obscure author that no one cares about except for that sad idiot you’re working for…oh, and Leo.”

  “I’m not working for the idiot anymore,” said Nina.

  “Really?” said Binky. “Why is that?”

  “I got fired because I blew the deal and didn't blow him,” said Nina.

  “I figured him for a creep. And yes you did blow the deal,” said Binky. “But I did too.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be an editor,” said Nina, realizing that she had just exposed her lack of experience.

  “I would love you to be my editor,” said Binky, “You may not be familiar with our titles, but our books have runs in the area of fifty to a hundred thousand. For Harper Collins, that may not be so great, but for my
operation, here on the “Adirondack Coast” on the shores of Lake Champlain, those are killer numbers. However, I can’t support another editor if I don’t have those Tom Railings books.”

  Nina fell into a dark funk. More quid pro quo, more pay-to-play. “I have no way of getting you those books,” Nina said.

  “Then I couldn’t possibly hire you,” said Binky.

  Nina looked downward, her eyes glued to the bar-top.

  “That's what you were doing at the house today,” said Binky.

  “What?”

  “Looking downwards in defeat. People pay attention to body language you know.”

  “You obviously do.”

  “And do you know who else does?” said Binky, “Leo Baldwin. He stared at you the whole time. Even when he was talking to Clair, he was staring at you.”

  “That’s creepy,” said Nina.

  “Go back to Scottsdale if you can’t deal with sexual attraction. This guy can get any girl he wants. He certainly doesn’t need to be staring at you. Be flattered.”

  “Okay, and so?” said Nina.

  “‘So?’” smiled Binky. “Is that really what you just said? ‘So?” Look… there is an easy way to get those books back into my possession. And I’ll help you.” Binky reached into her purse and pulled out a credit card. “There’s a green bikini on the mannequin in the gift shop. Green is your color—you’re going to take my card and buy it and meet me back here in ten minutes.”

  “I’m not going to walk through the hotel in a bikini,” said Nina.

  “Then buy a cover-up too,” said Binky.

  In the changing room Nina slid into the bikini bottoms and top. What the hell is this about? Is Binky some kind of lesbian? The suit wasn’t too revealing, full-backed, something she might have purchased herself. Nina looked at her body in the full-height mirror. She saw some flaws, but was impressed, wondering for how many more years she would stay this way.

  She walked back through the hotel hallway and met Binky back at the bar.

  “Here, let me see,” Binky said as she undid the tie on Nina's cover-up, pulling it open and revealing the green bikini. “How many children?” said Binky.