by Carter Blake
“I’ve never heard anything about this. It is right now?”
“Well, it’s supposed to be a meeting only for ownership, managing partners, you know.”
“But then?”
“But then we realize you’re important enough...”
“Am I important enough?” I ask. “Or is it just my dealings with cashflow that necessitate my presence?”
By now I know that the SEC is here—that Maddie’s here—but I’m trying not to let that take over my mind.
“You know, I can’t answer that. I don’t think anyone could.”
That’s a good response.
“It’s the SEC, right?”
“Yeah, the same examiner you’ve been talking to.”
There’s a lot that goes on behind my back. I’m realizing how out of the loop I’ve been, and it’s more of a relief than a disappointment.
But that’s all irrelevant, because I’m in the fucking loop now whether I want to be or not.
“I just want to get this straight: there’s a meeting with—”
“The SEC lady you’ve been talking to,” Roger interrupts me, “if you didn’t remember.”
“No, I remember. And it’s now?”
“Right now.”
Maybe Coney Island is just a sweet little epilogue to an extraordinary, long-ago week. That would be okay. Right?
Roger was right. I need to fucking stand up. So I do.
“You ready there, buddy?” Roger asks, knowing that his patronizing tone will drive me crazy.
“Yeah, buddy.”
Roger nods, respecting the way I throw his tone right back at him. That makes me feel okay, but, fuck, here we go.
The SEC lady. Madeline.
Not Maddie. I can’t think of her that way.
Madeline.
It’s time to figure this shit out.
I follow Roger down the hallway.
“I hope you understand it’s not a bagels and coffee meeting,” Roger says as I follow him, digging his patronizing tone in a little deeper.
That’s okay. I can’t operate as a total lone wolf in this neighborhood. Compared to other people in this business, Roger and the rest of the firm aren’t that bad.
Not from what I’ve seen, anyway.
“Oh, my goodness, no!” I retort. Roger ignores me.
As much as I need to be Mister Barrett right now, for my own good and everyone else’s, Ethan is making himself known.
Also, my legs are getting too fucking heavy to move as we get within a few feet of The Boardroom. This is not a conference room—this is The Boardroom.
That is not what I find intimidating. To me, it’s just another fucking room.
But this will involve the upper management of the firm. And Madeline.
AKA Maddie from my fucking honeymoon in Hawaii that I’m still thinking about—and still would be thinking about even if Coney Island never happened.
My legs are moving again.
This is life, and it can be pretty fucking funny sometimes, even as I look into The Boardroom.
Even as I catch sight of Madeline.
I walk quickly, so I don’t even see her face, her eyes, but I know that it’s her.
I see her golden hair. I see what she’s wearing: a purple suit with white pinstripes. I get just the lightest visual taste of her shapeliness.
I file in, and Roger files in. The partners talking and jabbering—just the usual, casual pre-meeting sort of din.
I’m just here at work. No personal feelings involved.
Maddie’s here.
She’s a fling, though. That’s how we both see it; we agreed on that a long time ago.
Not my only fling, either, and not the only great sex I’ve had. It’s also not the only fling that I’ve returned to long time after it ended originally.
It’s time to stop thinking about that, anyway.
I don’t sit at The Board table very often. That’s what we call it, at least.
Honestly, I’m not a big fan of that weird, varnished wood or that the table is so fucking immense it takes up almost the entire room—but I don’t make a habit of complaining about it, and this time I don’t say a word while walking through the Boardroom.
I don’t look at Madeline or anyone.
I walk over to the far side of the table at the far side of the room, and I sit at the end of the table furthest from the entrance.
Hey, they wanted me in this meeting, so I’m going to take the seat I want.
Just as I get to the other end of the boardroom table, take my uncomfortable seat, and face forward, there she is again.
I can’t avoid looking at her now, in all her purple suit, white pinstripe, and wonderful shapely glory.
“So...” Madeline projects her voice clearly across the old office meeting room.
This is a historic building, over a century old, nicknamed The Cathedral of Commerce. Hearing Maddie’s voice, and the way everyone shuts up, she really knows how to fucking take control of one of the most imposing rooms in the city.
“So, what?” I project back.
Maddie’s eyes widen a tiny bit, and she gives me a be quiet look from down the table. I don’t think anyone notices.
“So, as most of you here know, we’re revisiting some of the issues that we came across during last year’s audit...”
“You mean like some unfilled forms?” Andrew, a junior partner, shouts in interruption from the middle of the table. “Is that why we’re disrupting all our business, so we can sit around a fucking conference table?”
Andrew, who tries to make everyone call him Drew, looks around the table smugly.
“No, we’re well beyond that,” Maddie flings back. “I’m referring to the correlation between some of your securities trading and FDA announcements over the past—”
“The FDA? Miss, we’ve got nothing to do with that. Are you sure you’re in the right place?”
That’s Andrew again, being himself.
“Does your portfolio include pharma stocks?” Maddie’s voice is soft and sweet as she asks, but it has a savagely sarcastic underbelly. Andrew’s face is instantly frozen in humiliation.
As usual, Andrew’s just seeking attention, and watching Maddie shut him down so capably and fearlessly just made my fucking day.
I meet Maddie’s eyes from across the table, ready to step up for Andrew’s unprofessionalism.
“It includes drug stocks,” I tell her, “and it looks like Drew here has finally picked up his prescription for humility.”
“Thanks for your honesty, Mister Barrett.”
“Did I ever tell you my name? How do you know so much?” I look straight at Maddie, with the slightest of smirks, and she stares back at me, struggling not to break her serious expression.
“After all the times we’ve spoken, Mister Barrett, it would be very strange if I never learned your name. Don’t you think that would be strange…Ethan?”
The rest of the Boardroom laughs, and now Maddie is smirking at me, daring me not to break.
I don’t laugh, but I smirk again, meeting her stare. “You’ve got me, Madeline. I should always know better.”
“Hm.” Maddie breaks her stare and looks down at the table for a moment.
There’s a room-filling awkward silence while Maddie blushes slightly.
“I’m going to try to explain this without taking too long,” Maddie begins.
“Take all the time you’d like,” I say. I watch Maddie’s eyes look out the window for a moment and back. “You’re going to need it with this bunch.”
“Right, well...you gentlemen have all made it to the top of the Woolworth Building. None of you would be here if you weren’t good at what you do.”
“The same goes for you,” I interject.
Maddie gives me another annoyed look, but now there’s more than a hint of laughter in her eyes.
“Yeah, so, people don’t get here with being knowledgeable, as I think you all agree.”
“
What’s your point?” Andrew growls.
“Did you miss your nap this afternoon, Drew?” I ask smilingly.
“I don’t need any of this shit.” Drew storms out, making a few of the other execs chuckle nervously.
“I guess so,” Roger comments.
“Please, continue,” I tell Maddie, “I’ll relay everything to him on Snapchat later.”
“What?” Maddie says with a trace of a laugh. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with that...”
“I agree, it’s great. I like the dog filter, personally, but Drew’s more of a Butterfly Crown man...”
“What? No, not Snapchat, I mean being knowledgeable. There’s nothing wrong with that, but in the hedge fund world, it gets complicated.”
We listen politely to the rest of Madeline’s speech. She’s not telling us anything new, but she’s making sure everybody knows exactly why there’s an investigation.
She’s also trying to gauge our reactions, to see if there’s anyone who gets especially uncomfortable as she explains insider trading.
“Is that all?” Roger asks after her speech.
“That’s all from me, but...”
The partners immediately start up their post-meeting muttering and begin filing out. Maddie stays where she is, watching and listening as everyone leaves.
I follow the line of execs as they walk towards the door, but I stop where Maddie is standing, watching as the last partner leaves.
“I know I wasn’t too useful during that meeting,” I tell her.
“Um, I’m not sure how to describe what you were, but it’s not like I was expecting anything from anyone this time.” Maddie’s gathering a pair of large accordion folders from the Board table as she speaks.
“Is there anything in those folders?”
Maddie shrugs. “Odds and ends.”
Maddie continues to stare at the table, her hands holding down the folders, and smiles.
“You’re not still using the dog filter, are you?” she asks.
“What? It’s a classic.”
“Dude...I don’t know.”
Maddie’s smiling, still looking at her folders. She’s not ready to leave, and neither am I.
“Are you going to that show at the Highline Ballroom on Saturday? That band Dead Guys? Their album just came out.” I don’t know why the fuck I asked that, or why the fuck I’m ranting about some band from Brooklyn.
But Maddie looks up from her folders, surprised.
“Seriously? Nobody could get tickets for that. I tried, but they never play at a place that size.”
“I can get tickets, if you want to come.”
Maddie laughs. “If I want to come? If you can get tickets, I’m so fucking there. Give me a call.”
Ethan
Tonight is one of those nights that reminds me that I need to stop spending ninety percent of my time either at work or at home.
Live music is everywhere in this city, all the damn time. And at its best, it can stop time.
That’s what it feels like right now, standing in the middle of the general admission with Maddie.
The energy from the stage, the all-encompassing barrage of crystal-clear sound, the energy in the crowd—it all creates a moment bigger than the future or the past.
Time keeps stopping. Maddie and I acknowledge these moments together, looking at each other, then back to the stage.
But then time marches on, and after two encores, the time-stopping show comes to an end.
The house lights come up, and I immediately ask Maddie a hard-hitting question.
“So, are they coming out again, or what?”
“No,” Maddie tells me, “not likely.”
“Now what?” I ask.
“Now, we dance.”
“Seriously?”
“No.”
But then we dance anyway. Slowly, to the Louis Armstrong song playing over the Highline Ballroom’s PA system.
The crowd clears out as we dance, and the staff comes in to start cleaning plastic cups from the floor.
“After we dance, then what?” I inquire.
“You tell me,” Maddie responds.
The song ends, the house lights get even brighter, and now the only sound is the cleaning staff doing their jobs.
“Is it time to leave yet?” I ask.
Maddie watches the exit, scoping out the hallway.
“Yeah, I think it might be safe now.”
We leave the brightened auditorium and enter the emptying corridor.
“Maybe we can squeeze in one last drink at this bar, if it’s not closing down.” Maddie gestures towards a small bar in the hallway as we pass.
The bartender’s closing shop, taking down the beer cans and wine bottles he has on display.
“I’m not sure if it is,” I tell her.
“Not quite yet, folks,” the bartender informs us.
“We’ll have two red wines, please.” I point to the sole bottle of red wine on the bar. “Actually, you can give us the whole bottle. That’ll be fine, too.”
“You can have the display model.” The bartender uncorks the bottle and hands us two fresh plastic cups.
The house music is still coming through the hallway speakers. Now it’s a clarinet playing Down by the Riverside.
“Mm,” I say, commenting about the music as I take my first sip of the cheap pinot noir.
I don’t know if Maddie knows why I said “Mm.”
“Mm, indeed,” she responds.
“I’m liking this jazz motif tonight,” I tell her.
“Yeah,” Maddie says, looking at something on the ceiling for a second.
“I like tonight in general,” I blurt out. “I don’t know why, but I really do, and I can’t keep it to myself.”
Maddie nods. “Me, too.”
I glance over at the bartender counting his tips.
“What do you really think?” I ask Maddie.
“Um, I think it’s in the fucking greatest. That show...it’s been fucking great. And this wine, well, it’s not bad, either.”
“But what now?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’m probably going to have to pee sooner or later, but I guess we’ll both have to stay in suspense about that.”
I want to tell Maddie that when I left my apartment at five-thirty in the afternoon, I thought I could face anything.
I was well-rested for once. I felt healthy. I had nothing else to do but see her.
But I felt like there was something else I had to take care of, something missing.
It wasn’t boredom. I don’t know what it was.
But now, being here with her at the show, watching her sip wine from a plastic cup, that feeling’s gone.
“When do you think that’ll be? I wasn’t really thinking about when you needed to...you know.”
“Welcome to my world,” Maddie says, and laughs at her own nonsense.
It’s fucking Maddie. She’s really here.
I laugh, too.
“The wine can’t be helping,” I remark.
“Oh, I think it’s helping. I mean, I’m used to the Trader Joe’s two buck chuck...”
“It’s four buck chuck in Manhattan.”
“Fucking tell me about it, right?”
“This is just slightly better, isn’t it” I ask.
I look over at the bartender, who heard me. He shrugs.
“I know I don’t have the same line Trader Joe’s always has out the door,” he points out.
“Yeah, that place is like Studio fucking 54,” Maddie says, which gets me thinking.
I got us into the show, I might as well take Maddie wherever the hell she wants to go.
“Do you want to go there now?” I ask her.
“What, Studio 54? Do you have a time machine? Or do you just mean Trader Joe’s?”
“Anywhere, everywhere. Where do you want to go?”
Maddie gulps down the rest of her red wine, and I do the same.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she
says.
It sounds like the best idea I’ve ever heard.
I hand the bartender a fifty. “No change,” I tell him. He’s silent as we leave.
“That was like, what a two-hundred percent tip?” Maddie’s growing gleeful, her eyes shining with amusement. “Christ, you do like to tip well, don’t you? Now I remember...”
Maddie’s face falls, and she sighs deeply instead of finishing her thought.
“Remember what, Madeline?”
“That I believe in tipping generously.” Maddie sounds barely believable herself.
“What else to you believe in?”
“I guess I believe in the Highline Ballroom. The sound was pretty good tonight, it seems like the crowds are managed well...”
“Do you state all your beliefs in the form of a Yelp review?”
“Do you not?”
“I don’t, but it’s not a bad idea. What else do you believe in that rates at least four stars?”
“Hey, that wasn’t a four-star review!” Maddie responds as we walk side by side towards the exit, seeing the last few stragglers leave in front of us. “I don’t believe in hanging out in Manhattan most Saturday nights.”
“Ah. So, wait, where do you hang out?”
She responds by smiling blushingly.
“I knew it! Williamsburg. That is who you are.”
“Sometimes. Or...yeah. More than sometimes.”
“Oh. Do you want to go there?”
“Fuck, no, not tonight,” Maddie says pointedly. “Let’s just go for a walk. Around here—Williamsburg is too fucking far. But we’ll see.”
Frankly, if Maddie wanted to walk all the way to the Lower East Side, across the Williamsburg Bridge, all the way up to Bedford Avenue, I would do it in a second.
I’d walk with her all the way to Queens, Long Island, the Bronx, upstate, wherever the fuck she wanted to go.
But right now, we’re just going for a walk.
“Okay, let’s go for a walk in Chelsea. It’ll be a start.”
“O...kay.” Maddie says it slowly with a big nod and an even bigger smile.
A wonderful, goofy smile.
Goofy. There’s a word that I haven’t thought of in five years, and that I’ve said maybe never.
Walking with Maddie through the exit, each of us pushing open one of the glass doors, I’m enjoying that word a whole fucking lot.