The Next Big Thing

by Sadie Hayes

  They were at a back corner table in University Café. Patty had called Lisa after the conversation with Marvin, requesting they get together, and Lisa had agreed to meet here ASAP.

  “Well, I guess it all started out okay.” Lisa pulled back in her chair and looked down at her mug. “I mean, I was the last one there, but I swear I was on time.”

  “He didn’t say anything about you being late, so I think you’re fine there,” Patty encouraged.

  “And then he poured me a glass of wine, which surprised me a little because I guess I was in work mode. But everyone else was drinking, so I figured that was a normal part of the thing.” She looked up for more encouragement. Patty nodded.

  “But then…” She paused. “I don’t know, Patty—they weren’t asking about fashion at all. Or about anything, really. They were just pouring more wine, and each man was kind of paired off with one girl and the man with me was—” She paused again and shook her head, as if trying to forget. “I don’t know. I just got a really bad feeling.”

  Patty felt her teeth clench at the implication that her sessions could be unpleasant. “So then what?” she asked.

  “So then I went to the bathroom and all of a sudden felt really nauseous. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off and—and so I left.” She finally looked up at Patty and shrugged her shoulders.

  “And you didn’t feel the need to call me to tell me?” Patty felt her voice betray her irritation. “Not only did you not have the courtesy to go back to tell your hosts that you were leaving, you didn’t have the manners to tell me what you’d done?”

  “I’m sorry, Patty—I just didn’t know—”

  “I’m running a business here, Lisa,” Patty snapped, suddenly finding Lisa’s weakness irritating and pathetic, not empathy-inspiring. “I can’t be caught off guard by angry clients calling because one of my employees was rude.”

  “I was not rude,” Lisa said sternly.

  “What would you call it, then?”

  “I reacted normally to an awkward situation.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “What you sent me to was not a focus group for young women’s fashion, Patty.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “I didn’t care to stay long enough to find out.” Lisa glared at her friend.

  “How dare you suggest—”

  “Are all of them like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Girls meeting men at the Rosewood, after dark, with wine?”

  “No; this one was special and I made a special effort to get you a spot on it.”

  “Well, you should have saved yourself the trouble.”

  “Apparently so.”

  The two girls sat in silence for a moment. Patty’s mind was whirring: How could Lisa be so stupid? How could she be so uptight and dramatic? Had she watched so many bad made-for-TV movies that she thought any man offering a younger woman a glass of wine was somehow inappropriate?

  “Have you ever done one?” Lisa finally asked.

  Patty started to say “Of course,” but then remembered that she actually hadn’t. “Well, no,” she answered, “not myself. But this is the first time anyone—client or Focus Girl—has ever said anything like what you’re saying.”

  “Maybe I’m crazy,” Lisa said quietly, “but I think you should go on one. Just to judge for yourself.”

  “I will,” Patty said defiantly. “Just to prove to you that you’re wrong.”

  Lisa nodded. “Good. I hope you do.”

  “In the meantime, though,” Patty said, feeling she still needed to exercise her managerial power, “I’m afraid I can’t compensate you for the evening.”

  “I assure you”—Lisa had power of her own—“I wouldn’t take it if you did.”

  Patty ignored the sting. “We’re settled, then.”

  Lisa nodded and sipped her coffee, then said quietly, “I look forward to hearing what you think after your date.”

  Patty glared at the word and lifted her hand to get the check.

  36

  Exit, Stage Left

  “This is amazing.” Amelia looked down at the chocolate milk shake on the other end of her straw in genuine astonishment. “How do they make it taste so good?”

  “Don’t ask,” T-Bag said, sipping his own strawberry-banana concoction, “just enjoy.”

  They were at Peninsula Creamery, where T-Bag had dragged Amelia immediately upon learning she’d never heard of it, claiming it was an insult to one of Palo Alto’s finest institutions that she’d never experienced their milk shake. It had been a long day in the computer lab, and Amelia happily accepted the study break, even though it meant braving the rain to get downtown in T-Bag’s car.

  “So, Amelia.” He crossed his hands seriously on the table. “There’s a conversation we can no longer avoid.”

  Amelia felt her lip tremble. Ever since the night of Roger’s funeral, T-Bag had become the closest thing to a best friend she’d ever known other than Adam, and she often felt like she was waiting for the shoe to drop. For him to follow a statement like this with “This has been fun but it’s all done: You’re a total loser destined to have no friends.”

  “What is it?” she said quietly, dropping her eyes back to her milk shake.

  “T. J. Bristol.”

  Amelia’s head snapped up. “What about him?” she said, unable to hide the quiver in her voice.

  T-Bag sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Really?” he said in an are-you-kidding-me tone.

  “What?” she asked as innocently as she could.

  T-Bag leaned forward again. “Listen, Amélie.” She loved it when he used her new nickname. “It’s fairly obvious that you like him.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Shhhh.” He put a finger up to interrupt her. “You would be insane not to: He’s hot and manly and successful and older.” He paused. “However, liking him also makes you a giant cliché: The nerdy computer scientist who never had a boyfriend goes for the hunky frat boy, clearing her schedule to tutor him in dumbed-down Comp Sci assignments in the hopes of a single dribble of testosterone-fueled attention.”

  Amelia swallowed, thinking back on the tutorial at Gates. “That’s a bit harsh.”

  “It’s not the point.”

  “But I don’t like him,” she protested. “Really, I don’t. Not like that.”

  T-Bag tilted his head and made a face. “Whatever. Still not the point.”

  “What is the point, then?” Amelia asked, starting to get annoyed.

  “T.J. likes you.”

  Amelia froze. She felt her skin tingling with the feeling of T.J.’s touch at the computer lab as she let herself believe it had been intentional. T-Bag laughed and reached across the table to punch her arm. “See! You do like him! Otherwise you never would have reacted that way.”

  “What way?” she squeaked.

  “Paralyzed! You’re totally lovesick.”

  Amelia swallowed, irritated. “Oh, I see. So saying he likes me was just to see my reaction? Just to test whether I have a crush on him? You are such a jerk.” She shook her head in disbelief, embarrassed that she’d fallen for his trick.

  “No! I’m serious! He clearly has feelings for you, Amelia. I mean, did you see his drool during ZOSTRA?”

  Amelia felt like her heart had been opened. She’d felt it, too: the way he leaned in a little closer than he used to and told her she was pretty and stayed around to play some stupid computer game. But she couldn’t possibly allow herself to admit it. He was a jerk. He used women and she knew that. Then again, he’d loved Riley. Maybe he was a jerk the same way she was a loser, and it was just a matter of finding the right other person to bring you around.

  “And you know what, Amélie? He’s not as much of a douche bag as I thought he was. He’s got a spectacular inner nerd. And he’s been super nice to me, too, even though I wrote him off as a dumb homophobe.”

  “You don’t think he’s a douche b
ag?”

  “I think he’s in the douche bag closet. Trust me—I know a double life when I see one. Deep down he’s more like you than the frat boy façade he presents. I also think that’s why he’s falling for you—he realizes he can be happy by being his true self.”

  Amelia shook her head. “I don’t know. Even if by some absurd, ridiculous chance you were right, and even if by some even more absurd chance he actually did something, I couldn’t date him. Not with all that’s happened with Doreye.”

  Her shoulders collapsed forward as she said it, along with the fleeting hope that her love life could be such a fairy tale.

  “You really miss it, don’t you?”

  “More than anything,” she mumbled without looking up.

  T-Bag frowned: Talking about boys was easy, but this was fragile territory he wasn’t sure how to tread on.

  Luckily, Amelia continued without coaxing. T-Bag had opened a valve and she couldn’t help letting out her long-suppressed sadness.

  “Doreye was like … everything to me. My time and my identity and the center of everything that made my life better. And now that it’s gone … it feels even worse than if I’d never had it at all.”

  “But look at all you learned,” T-Bag insisted. “That’s what this place is all about: trying things and seeing how they go, and then trying again.”

  “All that I learned?” Amelia looked at him with a twisted brow. “I learned that the only thing that matters is money, and that people—even my brother—are totally selfish jerks.”

  Her voice quivered on the last line.

  T-Bag sighed. He’d never met Adam and they’d never mentioned him before, but he obviously knew the story from the gossip mill.

  “It can’t be that bad,” T-Bag coaxed. “Don’t you still own Doreye?”

  “We split the equity between us, but it vested over four years. So since I was only there for a year, I own less than ten percent. Even though I built the thing.”

  “Have you talked to him since?”

  “Adam? Not since Roger’s funeral. He texted but I ignored him. I can’t face him.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel so suffocated. Everything about campus and this town reminds me of Doreye and Roger and Adam and all these things I’ve lost.”

  “Why don’t you take a break from it all?” T-Bag sat up straight with an idea. “What are you doing for spring break?”

  “I was—” Amelia started but stopped herself, remembering she had no plans. Despite the final projects and looming deadlines, she hadn’t allowed the reality to sink in. “I don’t have any plans, I guess.”

  “Come to Tahoe with me!” T-Bag said with enthusiastic encouragement. “Do you ski?”

  Amelia let out a choked laugh. “Me? Ski? Are you kidding? Do you think Indiana foster homes have competitive ski teams?”

  T-Bag waved it off. “Whatever, you don’t have to know how. Half the people there won’t. Oh, Amelia, you have to come, it’ll be so good for you to get away.”

  “Who are you going with?”

  T-Bag took a deep breath and looked seriously at Amelia. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Amelia looked around her and wanted to say, “Whom am I going to tell?” But she just nodded.

  “It’s super super secret, so please, please don’t ever say a word.” T-Bag’s eyes were serious.

  “Of course not.” Amelia met his concerned tone and leaned forward.

  “I’ve got a sort-of boyfriend in the business school. The trip is with a bunch of his business-school friends.”

  “Ohhhh,” Amelia said, smiling. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “The thing is, he’s not totally out.”

  “Out of what?”

  “The closet. I mean, not everyone knows he’s gay. I mean, he hasn’t really told anyone.”

  Amelia looked quizzically at him. “So how do you?—”

  “We’re telling people I’m his cousin.”

  “His cousin?”

  T-Bag shrugged and laughed helplessly. “It seemed like the easiest thing to say.”

  “Okay, then.” Amelia smiled back. “I would love to join you and your cousin on your business-school trip to Tahoe.”

  “Really?” T-Bag’s eyes lit up. “Perfect! Oh, this’ll be so much fun. Classes end on Wednesday and we’re leaving Thursday at noon.”

  “Perfect.” Amelia sipped the remaining chocolate from her glass and felt a sensation she hadn’t felt in a long time: She had something to look forward to.

  37

  Mourning After

  It was afternoon, but T.J. was still in his pajamas, slumped in a chair at the kitchen table with his legs stretched out and his arms crossed, staring into space while a bowl of Frosted Flakes got soggy in the bowl in front of him. He wore a bathrobe over old flannel pajamas and hadn’t bothered to turn on the light. His mind was in too much of a twist from what had happened last night to deal with normal human routines.

  And yet the discovery that his father had had an affair—had probably had lots of affairs—did not make him sad. It actually made him feel better: like he’d found a missing puzzle piece that confirmed the instinct he’d always had that his father was not a good man.

  As he sat at the kitchen table, his mind raced, slotting the new reality of his dishonest father into all the gaps from his childhood.

  The soccer games he missed when T.J. was in high school: click.

  The fights with Mrs. Bristol in the kitchen: click.

  The I’m-working-late-on-an-important-deal excuses for missing family movie night: click.

  His trust fund: T.J. paused. His eyes snapped up. What about his trust fund?

  T.J. bolted out of the chair and into his father’s office. Without hesitation he started rifling through files, looking for the ones containing his trust fund documents. With each manila folder T.J. continued to get increasingly anxious. He thought back on how Ted had brought up the trust at Roger’s funeral, how he insisted that T.J. sign the papers immediately, and how weird his insistence had seemed. Was there a lie behind this, too? T.J. had signed the papers without hesitation and even willingly transferred his Doreye Inc. equity into his own trust.

  T.J. looked up the number for Johan, the family attorney.

  He called Johan’s line, but an associate who introduced himself as Ryan picked up. “Johan’s in a meeting; is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes,” T.J. said calmly, “I’m trying to find documentation on my trust, but I can’t seem to locate it.”

  “No problem. Let me just pull it up and find out who has privileges; if you’re listed, I can send it to you directly.” He clicked his tongue as he searched his database on the other end. “Is there a particular reason you wanted to see it?”

  “In fact, there is,” T.J. said, working hard to keep his voice steady. “I want to find out about taking control of the trust. What it would require, that sort of thing.” Then, thinking on his toes for a reasonable explanation: “You see, I’m part owner in a company called Doreye and recently transferred my shares of the company into the trust for estate planning purposes. My company’s lawyers”—T.J. prayed his lie made sense—“just asked me to verify that I still control the shares because of an upcoming liquidity event.”

  “Got it,” Associate Ryan said. “Just found your docs. Let’s see…” He mumbled as he read through: “Looks like you’re not allowed to take control until you turn forty.” Ryan paused. “Wait, hold on.” He read silently on the other end of the line. “I’m so sorry, but I’m actually not allowed to discuss the details of your trust with you. Actually, I really wasn’t allowed to tell you the other piece. Can you please not tell? I’ve been here all night and I—”

  “What?” T.J. interrupted. He really didn’t care about Ryan’s long hours.

  “You’re not authorized.”

  “What? But it’s my trust!”

  “Afraid I can’t let out
any information without the trustees’—your parents’—consent.”

  T.J. let his head fall back in frustration. Of course his father would have imposed such limits.

  “So let’s just talk in general terms,” he tried, thinking fast. “What happens when someone moves their shares of a company into a trust like this?”

  “Well, now the trust owns your shares, not you.”

  “And what does that mean, practically?”

  “It means the shares of the company are now controlled—like for buying and selling purposes—by the trustee.”

  “My father?”

  “And your mother, technically.”

  “Can I get my shares back out of the trust?”

  “I suppose if you plead duress and speak with the company’s other shareholders,” Ryan said, “which you know will be a pill given it’s Doreye.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s going to be difficult to get proper sign-off of Doreye’s shareholders when no one knows who Doreye’s shareholders are,” Ryan said as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ryan laughed. “You know, the whole Doreye ownership debacle.”

  “What debacle?” T.J. demanded.

  Ryan was quiet. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously.”

  “We’ve been working on it for, like, the past month with Ross Brown over at PKC. They screwed up—big-time. The money they put up to invest in Doreye was mostly from a silent partner. PKC is really only managing the money. Apparently they didn’t do their homework, and now they can’t figure out who the silent partner actually is—it’s just a circuit of shell companies—and they’re freaking out. They hired us to figure out who’s behind it, but … we’re at a total loss.”

  T.J. was silent.

  “Did you seriously not know?”

  “No,” he said softly, his mind spinning. “Shouldn’t PKC have told me? I’m the goddamn CEO.”

  “Legally they’re not obligated. Under Code 31 of Section 509A—”

  “Yeah, fine,” T.J. interrupted. He didn’t need this kid’s legal jargon right now. As he felt the whole world crashing down on him, he caught a glimmer of hope. “Does it really matter, though? I mean, for my purposes? PKC only owns forty percent of the company, right? So it’s not like they’re majority shareholders.”