For Money or Love

by Heather Blackmore

  “Also, though I said it derisively, frankly I can’t imagine why you don’t date. You’re obviously smart or you wouldn’t be in the program, and look at you. Your cheekbones are perfection, you have a celestial nose my stepmother’s friends pay plastic surgeons to emulate, and your gray eyes are hypnotic. You could have any man you wanted. Assuming he let you pay,” Jess couldn’t help adding.

  “I don’t have time, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be interested.”

  “In dating?”

  “In men.”

  Jess was incredulous. “Did you just come out to me?”

  “I did.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “That I’m gay?”

  “That it was easier for you to come out to me than have lunch with me.”

  “Having lunch with you wasn’t the problem. Having lunch there was the problem.”

  “Because of the cost.”

  “Yes.”

  “You ax prospective dates based on income?”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  “That wasn’t the question.”

  “I told you, I don’t date.”

  The reasons were becoming all too clear. TJ was attractive and likely hit on routinely, but she had a damnable pride that probably put off potential suitors faster than claiming an STD. “When someone asks you out, do you hand them a job application to weed out anyone above a certain income level?”

  “Come to think of it, that must be why the number of billionaires knocking on my door has trickled lately.”

  “You do realize you’re interning at an organization that caters to people for whom a lunch like that is the equivalent of eating at Subway?”

  “Good to know I wasn’t wrong.”

  “About?”

  “The fact that you didn’t appreciate a single facet of the experience.”

  “You mean the food I didn’t get to order? You’re right.”

  “The service, the uniforms, the muted conversations, the fabrics, the art, the heft of the wine list, the window treatments, the menu choices, the view!”

  TJ was right. Jess hadn’t noticed any of those things. She’d been trying to welcome the newcomer and instead was being criticized for not being awed by a site as familiar as her hand. Jess kept her remarks as cool as steel. “If you can’t accept wealth, you’re interning at the wrong establishment. We market to people and organizations with hundreds of millions, and yes, billions of dollars. If you can’t stand to be in a room with them, I suggest you rethink the next few months.”

  The sedan slowed to a stop outside the firm’s offices.

  Jess remained seated. “I won’t be back today. You’re free to leave for the day or have Gary give you something to do.”

  *

  With a free afternoon, TJ stopped by the blood bank, which often gave movie passes to thank donors. Today was no exception, and she gratefully accepted.

  Once home, she went to Kara’s doorway, pleased it was uncharacteristically open. Kara, sporting the look she’d adopted in middle school of black skinny jeans, T-shirt, and a men’s cardigan, lay on the bed playing her Nintendo. The handful of games she owned was long stale from overuse, but TJ had come to believe that to Kara they were like dog-eared books. The stories were familiar, the characters old friends. Maybe it didn’t matter that they couldn’t afford new games every week.

  Negotiations took place over homework and movie selection, and they dissected the movie’s strengths and failings during their meal.

  TJ didn’t require too much family time except for dinner, and typically Kara would immediately head to her room afterward. Tonight she lingered, rimming her water glass with her finger.

  “How’d it go today?” Kara asked.

  TJ spoke over her shoulder as she scrubbed the plates. “Fine, I suppose.”

  “Must’ve been pretty bad for you to leave early.”

  “The person I’ve been assigned to isn’t exactly…I’m not sure I can learn from her.”

  “So, like, Mr. Ferris?” Kara’s freshman-year foreign-language teacher had been as helpful to the students learning Spanish as whistling to communicate with birds. Kara had complained, suggesting she’d learn more from Spanish language audiobooks than attending his class. TJ had agreed, and instead of suffering in his class each day, Kara went to the school library and followed the lessons. She was now in Spanish AP.

  “I don’t know if she’s that bad, but we definitely don’t see eye to eye.”

  “About what?”

  TJ didn’t want to talk to Kara about her exchange with Jess. But it was rare these days for Kara to be so unguarded, and TJ didn’t want their time together to end. When their mom had died—which to TJ was far too passive a way to describe it—TJ had been forced into a guardianship for which she was ill prepared. Kara blamed herself for the loss while TJ blamed their mother. As Kara grew older, she retreated into her games, growing more sullen and standoffish.

  Cars were the only thing these days that pulled Kara out of her doldrums, a subject that often put the two of them at odds. Their relationship had morphed into a bifurcated not-parent, not-sibling thing TJ couldn’t describe. Now, their closeness was sporadic. She didn’t know how much of Kara’s moodiness was due to normal teenage angst or to feeling worthless.

  For several months after their mother’s passing, Kara, twelve at the time, had often cried that she wasn’t good enough—wasn’t enough, period—to keep her mother interested in this life. Since then, Kara never talked about their mother. And neither did TJ.

  TJ set down the glass she was cleaning and dried her hands. Two chocolate muffins had been warming in the oven, which she tossed into two bowls. She dropped a dollop of ice cream onto each one and sat next to her sister, who immediately began to eat.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about something she said.” TJ interpreted Kara’s full-mouthed mumbled question as only a sibling could. “Scary I understood that.” TJ sucked on a small bite of the mint chocolate chip. “She asked if I weed out prospective dates based on income.”

  “You talked with your boss about dating? On the first day?”

  “Not talked about it, exactly. It came up.”

  “Did she hit on you?”

  “No! God, she’s straight as a pole.”

  “Paulina Zeilinski just transferred from Warsaw, and she’s anything but.”

  TJ pushed her sister’s shoulder. “Smart aleck. Fine. Straight as an arrow. Broom. Line.”

  “How do you know she’s straight?”

  “She wore a sign.”

  Kara returned the shoulder push. “Do you?”

  “Do I wear a sign?”

  “Weed out prospective dates based on income?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like women come up to me and say, ‘Hi, I made two million last year and here’s a copy of my 1040. Want to have dinner?’”

  “Probably not a great pick-up line.”

  “For a lot of women, it would be.”

  “Gross.”

  “I know. But part of me thinks she’s right. What if I judge people based on how they live? More specifically, their earnings? How does that make me any different from people who judge me based on the sex of the person I prefer in my bed?”

  Kara grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “Sex and bed. You never talk sex and bed.” She scooped another spoonful of ice cream and muffin into her mouth.

  “Never mind.”

  “She rich?”

  “As Croesus.”

  “Who?”

  “Iranian Bill Gates, sixth century BC.” Unless a history lesson related to automobiles, Kara lost interest, so TJ often modernized and packaged historical facts into sound bites to keep their conversations on track.

  “She hot?”

  “What does that have to do…were you not here for the part about the arrows and lines?”

  “What if…what if a beautiful, bright heiress worth bazillions asked you to dinner?”

  “H
ow could I enjoy the meal? How could I ever pay her back? I’d sit there and think of all the ways I’d fall short and how I couldn’t remotely give her anything she’s used to.”

  “Why would you need to pay her back? Dude. Pretty—”

  “Don’t call me dude.”

  “Don’t interrupt. Pretty, smart heiress is—”

  TJ scoffed. “You can scrap smart.”

  “Goes without saying if someone asks you out. But dimwitted heiress is asking you on a date, not pulling out her little black bookie book to track who owes who.”

  “Who owes whom. And I can’t accept something for nothing.”

  “I’m speaking colloquially, Grammar Police. She wouldn’t be asking you to. She’d be asking you to respond with, like, part of you, not part of your checkbook. She’s surrounded by people who could do that, but she asked you. What if you’re the antidote to her having to deal with all the Class As trying to get into her pants because they paid for some fancy dinner?”

  Class As were assholes. TJ didn’t allow Kara to swear. When either wanted to call someone a nasty name, they were Class As.

  “I don’t know that I could prevent them from trying.”

  “If she knew you were by her side, she wouldn’t care that they did.”

  “Fake heiress in said fake situation sounds intriguing, but don’t you have some homework to finish?”

  “So she’s hot.”

  “Homework.”

  Chapter Two

  “Why can’t she learn about sales? You’d make a far better teacher,” Jess said.

  “She’s gay?” Brooke asked, completely sidestepping the question.

  Jess pushed the eggs on her plate around with her fork, feeling every bit the petulant child. After telling her sister about the disastrous outing with the intern, the only thing on Brooke’s mind was business. Brooke wasn’t inquiring out of personal interest. “You’re not going to help me, are you?” Jess asked.

  “Interesting.”

  Jess watched the wheels turn in her sister’s mind. Brooke was hatching some scheme. “You could make her get your coffee every morning,” Jess said.

  “I don’t need another assistant on my heels like a Chihuahua. Is she pretty?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “I want to know if she’s attractive. Describe her.”

  “I don’t know. Ask Gary.”

  “Come on. Are we talking Grace Kelly or Winston Churchill?”

  Despite herself, Jess snorted. Brooke could always make her laugh. “Definitely not Churchill. But not Grace Kelly’s kind of pretty. Not as feminine. More like…I don’t know. Attractive for sure. Good-looking.”

  “Pantsuit, no makeup?”

  Jess nodded. “With eyelashes that could fan Cleopatra, who needs it? Dark-brown hair in a shortish, wavy bob I’d call contemporary messy. Trim. Tall.”

  “Invite her to the party.”

  “Why?”

  “She sounds just like Muriel’s type.”

  If laid flat, Muriel Manchester’s dollars could blanket the globe twice over, covering the Earth’s landscape with green and white pictures of elderly white men with bad hair. Magnate had been trying to land Muriel’s business for ages.

  “We’re not playing matchmaker,” Jess said.

  “No. We’re trying to show Muriel we embrace diversity.”

  Jessica laughed. “Since when?”

  “Since always.”

  “We don’t employ a single person of color, almost no women, no gay people, and no one with a disability.”

  “That doesn’t mean we’re averse to doing so. In theory. And we have our first lesbian. Might tip the scale with Muriel.”

  “Even if TJ accepted, how exactly do you propose we inform Muriel of our incredibly diverse practices? Hire Neil Patrick Harris for the evening’s entertainment and throw a rainbow LED necklace around TJ that flashes ‘I feel pretty’?” Though the thought was ludicrous, the mental image of subjecting her father’s typical guests to such a display amused her. It would definitely spice up the evening.

  “First of all, she’s an intern. You don’t invite her. You insist she attend. Second, it’s not about getting her together with Muriel. It’s about us being accepting and welcoming, conveniently in Muriel’s presence. Make sure she brings a date.”

  “You want a lesbian couple parading around one of Daddy’s parties.” Jess had been at the receiving end of too many of her stepmother’s public smiles that said “What a pleasant surprise” concurrent with the disparate murmured audio that said, “What in God’s name is this?” Lilith would call security at the sight.

  “There needn’t be any parading. We’re not talking drag queens. We’re talking you and me laughing and getting along swimmingly with our lesbian guests. Bonus if Muriel happens to notice.”

  *

  TJ walked along the side path beyond the courtyard, carrying a Tupperware container and a cup of water. The firm’s offices disappeared from view as the walkway wound through the sheltering trees to a minipark.

  Dropping onto a bench seat, she closed her eyes and inhaled the garden scents of lavender and jasmine. Alone in this small sanctuary, she simply enjoyed the moment. The peacefulness of this spot reminded her of home. Daily she traveled unforgiving streets only to cross the threshold to her apartment and joyfully leave the world’s ugliness at the door. Here in this setting, the yards separating her from the firm’s office felt like miles, and she reveled in the divide.

  Day two of one of the most sought-after internships imaginable, and she had yet to learn anything. Three months wasn’t long to gain a comprehensive understanding of a business and write a lengthy case study about an aspect of it that warranted examination. TJ had hoped to document the strategy and execution that made Magnate’s success exceptional, but being stuck in marketing without a marketing expert made the task seem impossible.

  Another deep breath helped temper the frustration. Lunch break meant taking time out, and damn it, she would focus on this moment outside, not what was waiting for her inside. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. How did she get here?

  TJ cleared the plates from table twenty-three and wondered whether someone had switched them for natural stone tiles. After two hours on her feet without a break, they felt that heavy. The Saturday-night shift meant more tips, but the work was exhausting.

  She approached the middle-aged couple at table nineteen and faltered mid-sentence as she recognized her former teacher. “Nice to see you, again, Professor.” It was the fourth time in two months she’d waited on him. “One might get the impression you had something on your mind other than the bouncing beef tenderloin.”

  Professor Ridge introduced his fellow diner. “Deadline’s Friday, TJ.”

  TJ addressed Diane, his companion. “Would you care for a glass of wine or cocktail this evening? Perhaps a citrus martini?”

  Diane bent down for her purse and pulled a card from a cardholder. “If you’d like help with any part of the application, please call me. I’m a graduate counselor and can provide feedback on your essay, personal statement, and statement of purpose. Whatever you need. And yes to the martini.”

  TJ placed the card in her vest pocket and eyed Ridge. “More of the soft sell, Professor?” She had to give him points for tenacity.

  “This program was made for you, TJ. I’d say don’t disappoint me, but don’t disappoint yourself. This is a great opportunity, and you know it.”

  Ridge had been one of the few attendees at her mother’s funeral. He was the only teacher—the only person—she’d told of her difficulties caring for a parent with end-stage alcoholism, playing guardian to a tween, and working full-time while taking night classes. Four years ago, when the strain of her family’s fragile finances had finally forced her to abandon her educational aspirations and take a second job, she visited him during office hours to apologize for dropping his course. She’d broken down in his office under the crushing weight of her obligations.

&
nbsp; Ridge had found a way to help. One of his friends owned Zelda’s, the restaurant where she now worked. On the strength of Ridge’s recommendation, the friend hired her. The increased tips at this more upscale restaurant allowed TJ to scale back to one job and re-enroll in school.

  Ridge was intent on her applying to a new accelerated program that would allow her to earn an MBA in Nonprofit Management. It targeted the best and brightest underserved students, those with limited finances. The program only provided loan / scholarship awards that carried a service obligation. The loans were forgiven when graduates hired by qualifying nonprofits met the two-year service commitment. Otherwise, the loan became due with interest.

  Businesses that had integrated philanthropy models similar to those of Salesforce and Google wanted to be seen as community-focused and socially aware. They supported the program by providing paid internships. Interns would gain real-world business experience and prepare a case study as to the primary element (e.g. supply-chain management, customer service, product innovation) that set the company apart. The university would select the best report to polish and publish in its prestigious Business Review as best of breed, an honor for any business.

  Ridge had told TJ he’d had her in mind from the outset of the program’s design. TJ was adamant about her lack of interest in grants or scholarships designed for financially struggling students. Yet she didn’t want to incur massive student loans. Even if she were willing to go into debt, no funding sources covered both student and family expenses. As her family’s breadwinner, she had no options.

  Until Ridge. His creation brought industry and nonprofits together, aligned their goals, and promised positive outcomes for student, firm, and foundation alike. For students like TJ, who wanted to run her own charity one day, Ridge’s program was perfect.

  TJ started at the sound of footsteps, and when she looked up, her eyes met Jessica Spaulding’s. Tension crept into her shoulders. Yesterday’s exchange had stayed with her more than she wanted to admit. Three months was a long time to work in close proximity with someone with whom you didn’t see eye to eye.