Needing Her

by Allie Everhart

  Shelby appears in the hall and we go inside my apartment.

  “Nice place,” she says jokingly, since mine looks the exact same as hers. Same layout. Same furniture. Same wall color.

  “Yeah, I thought you’d like it.” I set the pizza on the kitchen counter. “If you want, I can help you design yours.”

  She laughs as she finds some glasses in the cabinet. She fills them with ice as I grab the soda from the fridge.

  “Do you want to eat in front of the TV?” she asks.

  “Sure, that’s fine.” I grab some plates and napkins.

  She takes a slice of pizza. “Thanks for dinner. I was starving.”

  We bring our plates and glasses of soda to the couch. I hand her the remote. “You’re my guest so you can pick what we watch.”

  “Seriously?” She shakes her head. “You are way too sweet. I can’t believe you’re still like this after being here a year.”

  I shrug. “I’m just being nice. That’s all.”

  She flips through the channels, stopping on a movie. “Look. It’s one of those made-for-TV romance movies. These are so bad and yet for some reason I love them.”

  “Me too. Let’s watch it.”

  After a few minutes, we both say, “Love triangle.”

  She laughs, pointing at the screen. “I knew as soon as that guy got hired at the restaurant.”

  “I know. He was totally flirting with her.”

  “Why do these movies always have a love triangle? Most girls have enough trouble finding just one guy. Who the hell has two trying to date them?”

  “I guess that’s why it’s in the movies. It doesn’t actually happen in real life.” The movie goes to commercial break and I turn to Shelby. “So do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.” She takes a sip of her soda. “I’m not really into relationships. I just date.”

  “When was the last date you went on?”

  “I don’t remember.” She picks up the remote and flips to a different channel. “I hate waiting for commercials to end.”

  “Was it that long ago?”

  “What?”

  “The last time you went on a date.”

  She flips back to the movie. “I don’t go on many dates. Most guys are assholes. It’s hard to find the good ones.” Her eyes remain on the TV.

  She doesn’t seem comfortable talking about this. I wonder why. Maybe she’s been hurt in the past and is taking a break from dating.

  I kind of am too. After Adam and I broke up, I wanted to give up on dating. I didn’t see the point. It could never get serious. Not once the guy found out I couldn’t give him what he would eventually want. But then I thought that if a guy really likes me, maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe he’d be okay with it.

  Despite telling myself that, I still have a hard time dating. I went out with a guy from Yale last year but it didn’t go past a couple dates. Then I went out with a guy who came into the museum. He’s a teacher and brought his second grade class there for a tour. He was a great guy, but on our third date he told me how much he loves kids and wants at least four of his own someday. So that ended that.

  It’s fine. I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t really have time for one anyway. I’m too busy with school and work.

  Shelby points to the TV. The movie just ended and the credits are rolling. “Do you think she should’ve picked Luke?”

  Luke is the childhood friend of the main character and part of the love triangle.

  “No. She’s not attracted to him. She loves him, but only as a friend.”

  “Yeah, you have to have chemistry with a person or it won’t work.”

  “And if you only have chemistry but nothing else, it doesn’t work either.”

  I’ve had both those scenarios. I had nothing but sparks with my first serious boyfriend but we weren’t really friends. And then with Adam, we had friendship but no sparks.

  “How do the right people ever get together?” she asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It just seems impossible to find someone you like as a friend but who you’re also insanely attracted to. And that person just happens to live in the same town as you? And you just happen to somehow meet him?”

  “When you put it that way, it does seem impossible.”

  “Maybe our perfect matches are halfway across the world and we’ll never meet them.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  She sighs. “Yeah. Totally.”

  “We need ice cream. And cookies. You want some? I had some earlier but I’m splurging tonight.”

  “Cookies and ice cream?” She’s laughing. “You’re so damn wholesome.”

  I’m laughing too. “Stop calling me that!”

  “Okay, but can I call you Farm Girl?” She cowers like I’m going to hit her.

  I playfully swat at her. “No! You can call me Rachel. That’s it.”

  As I go to get the ice cream, she heads for the door.

  “Shelby, where are you going?”

  She stops, halfway out the door. “I need some alcohol. All this sweetness is making me crave a shot of hard liquor. But I’ll bring over some wine for your more sophisticated palate.”

  “Sophisticated? I’m not sophisticated.”

  “You go to Hirshfield, daahling.” She says it like rich people talk on TV. “That means you’re sophisticated.”

  I shake my head, smiling, as she disappears in the hall. I like Shelby. She’s funny. I can already tell we’ll get along. Not just as neighbors but as friends. I don’t have a lot of friends here. Last year I hung out with the people in my masters program. We’d go out for dinner or drinks but I wouldn’t call them friends. More like classmates. And they all finished the program last May, so by now they’ve found jobs and moved away. My graduate program is only supposed to be a year, but because I had to work, I wasn’t able to take enough classes to finish on time.

  “Sorry, I only have beer.” Shelby appears with a six-pack.

  “Beer doesn’t go with ice cream.”

  “Then we’ll eat our ice cream and then have the beer. It needs to chill anyway.” She puts it in my fridge, then pulls out a pager. She checks it and her face drops, her eyes glazed over.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She snaps out of it. “Nothing.”

  “Why do you have a pager?”

  “My mom made me get one. I’m not home much and she likes to be able to reach me.”

  And I thought my mom was overprotective. I’d hate it if she made me bring a pager with me everywhere I go.

  “So what should we watch next?” she asks. “Do you have any movies?”

  “Yeah, in the basket next to the TV.”

  She walks over there and I notice the tension in her body, the stiffness of her shoulders. Whoever paged her must’ve been someone she didn’t want to hear from. Maybe an ex?

  As she’s looking through the movies, her pager goes off again. She checks it and her body becomes even more tense.

  “Shit,” she mumbles.

  “What happened?”

  She comes back to the kitchen. “I have to go.”

  “What about the ice cream?” I point to the two bowls which are piled high with ice cream and crumbled cookies.

  She picks up the spoon and takes a big bite. “I love it, but I can’t eat it right now. Can you put it in the freezer and I’ll have it tomorrow?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “Thanks for the pizza. I’ll pay for the next one. I’ll see you later.”

  She races out the door. I check the clock. It’s after ten. Where would she be going this late? And why did she react that way when she got paged? Her hand was shaking when she picked up the spoon to eat her ice cream. Something’s going on with her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  4

  PEARCE

  My attention drifts as my father drones on about a contract dispute we’re having with one of our distributors. I’m sitting in a board room with eight other men, a
ll of whom are at least thirty years older than me. But as the owner’s son, I’m allowed to sit in on these meetings. Actually, ‘allowed’ would imply I want to be here. ‘Forced’ is a more accurate term.

  I have zero interest in chemicals, or the manufacturing or distribution of them. But that’s the business we’re in and therefore I’m expected to be part of it and someday take it over. The last thing I want to do is run my father’s company but I don’t have a choice. Even if my father let me out of my obligation, the secret organization I belong to would force me to run the company.

  Since my father and I are members, the organization is given full access to the products we produce. They can take whatever chemicals they want and use them for whatever purposes they choose. Sometimes we’re told what those purposes are and sometimes we’re not. It’s not our place to ask and so we don’t.

  If anyone other than my father or me were to run Kensington Chemical, they’d find out what was going on and wouldn’t allow it to continue. That’s why the company must stay in the family, but I’m not planning to have children so when I’m gone, another one of the members will have to take it over.

  “I’m not negotiating with him any further,” my father says to Richard, the man sitting next to me. “Tell him those are the terms. And if he doesn’t agree, tell him our relationship ends when the contract ends.”

  “But he’s our only option in the Southwest,” Richard says. “And he knows that, which is why he’s playing hardball.”

  My father slams his fist on the table. “I am NOT backing down. You force him to agree to our terms or you’re fired!”

  The men at the table look at my father with fear in their eyes. Richard is too afraid to speak. I’m the only one who’s relaxed, making notes on a legal pad. I’m used to my father acting this way and his employees should be used to it too, but from their reaction they’re clearly not.

  “What are his demands?” I ask Richard.

  He pauses like he’s afraid to answer, but then says, “He wants us to contribute to his insurance costs. The costs to insure trucks transporting hazardous chemicals are extremely high and continue to go up every year.”

  I turn to my father. “It doesn’t seem that unreasonable of a request.”

  My father shoots me a look to keep quiet. He’ll yell at me later for this. I’m never supposed to undermine his authority, especially in front of other people. But if I’m going to get any respect at this company, I need to start sharing my opinions and ideas. I can’t just sit in these meetings and never say anything.

  “We could offer to pay twenty percent of his insurance costs,” I say. “But in return, he needs to find us however many new customers it will take to cover our costs for the insurance. Perhaps we could do more than cover our costs. Perhaps we could make money on this.”

  The room is silent. My father lets the silence continue for several very long moments, then directs his attention to the CFO, who’s sitting at the end of the table.

  “Cavenaugh, run a cost-benefit analysis of the scenario Pearce just described. Get it back to me within the hour.” He looks at the man next to Cavenaugh. “Saunders, I need a detailed breakdown of our sales and profits in the Southwest and a timeline of when our contracts expire.” Lastly, he looks at Richard. “Don’t think this means you’ll keep your job. Pearce has just bought you some time. If we decide to move forward with this, you’ll need to get the distributor to agree to our revised terms. If he doesn’t, you’ll be out on the street.” He stands up. “Pearce, come with me.”

  I follow him out of the room and down the hall to his office. When we get there I remain standing, prepared for the fight we’re about to have. I know he’s furious with me, but I had to say something in that meeting. I can’t continue to work here and never offer my opinion. I can’t remain quiet until my father retires and then take over as CEO. Nobody will ever listen to me.

  He closes the door and walks over to the window, his back to me. “That was an interesting approach you took just now. Offering your opinion when it wasn’t solicited.”

  “I simply asked a question and provided an opinion on the matter. It was just a suggestion. The final decision on the matter is still yours.”

  “It was a viable suggestion. One that deserves to be considered.” He turns to face me, his eyes narrowed. “That said, you will never again challenge me in front of our employees.”

  “I wasn’t challenging you. I was—”

  “I am NOT done speaking!” He steps closer to me. “You caught me off guard and I do not tolerate such behavior. I will not be made to look like a fool! I am the owner and CEO of this company and my authority will not be challenged! Especially by some inexperienced child.”

  “I am not a child. I’m a grown man with an MBA from Harvard. I’m not stupid and I’m not going to act like I am. I have ideas for how to make this company better and I’m not going to wait until you’re retired to offer up those ideas.”

  My father takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. He doesn’t like showing emotion, even anger. He thinks doing so shows a lack of self control and he’s a man who has to be in control. So when he does show anger, it means he’s beyond furious. But right now, he’s not at that point.

  “If you have something to share,” he says. “An idea. A proposal. I am open to hearing it. But you will not offer it up in a public setting. You will discuss it here, in my office, or in another private location.”

  “If I’m going to be CEO someday, I need to start earning some respect, not just with our employees, but with our clients and the industry as a whole. And I’ll never gain that respect if you don’t allow me to share my opinions or recommendations with others. I need to own those. I need people to know they came from me.”

  He ponders that for a moment, then says, “Going forward, you will offer up any and all thoughts and ideas with me privately. If I agree to them, we will discuss ways to present them in a public setting that will not harm my reputation or undermine my authority. If I choose to present them as my own, I will. And you will not say otherwise. Do you understand?”

  It’s not what I want but it’s a start. At least now I’ll get credit for a few of my ideas.

  “Yes. Understood.”

  “Tomorrow we will meet for lunch in the private dining room and go over any other suggestions you have.”

  He never asks if I’m available. He always just schedules things as if my time is his.

  “I can’t tomorrow. I’m speaking at Yale over the noon hour.”

  “Why are you speaking at Yale?”

  “They asked me to take part in their lecture series. They asked several of their alums, all from different fields.”

  “What is the topic of your lecture?”

  “Ethics in business and how they’ve evolved over time.”

  He laughs, but it’s a short laugh. He normally doesn’t laugh. “Ethics. Interesting.”

  He says that because our company lacks ethics. We cheat and lie and do whatever else we have to do to make money.

  “Good for you, son.” He takes a seat behind his desk. ”That will be good PR for us. Make them think we’re following the rules. When these students go out in the real world, they’ll learn for themselves that having ethics is the fastest way to put your company out of business.”

  “Yes, well, I need to get back to work.” I leave while he’s still in a halfway decent mood. I didn’t expect that to go so well. He seemed to agree that I need to start taking a stand at work, making my opinions known.

  My father rarely agrees with me. Or if he does, he tries to hide the fact that he agrees with me. To him, agreeing with me means he’s giving up control and he never gives up control. That’s why he made those conditions, telling me I had to meet with him privately before I presented my ideas in public. But earlier at that meeting, I took charge. I did what I wanted to do, despite knowing there would be consequences. It was a small victory for me. I stood up to my father. And I won.

&
nbsp; It felt damn good. I finally felt like I was my own person for once instead of just Holton Kensington’s son. It felt good to challenge him. And to win. I need to do that again.

  I replay that meeting in my head and it gives me such an adrenaline rush that I can no longer sit at my desk. It’s 5:30 and I’d normally be at work until eight or nine, but tonight I need to get out of here and celebrate my small but important victory.

  I drive down to Westport to one of my favorite seafood restaurants.

  “Would you like your usual table, Mr. Kensington?” the hostess asks when I arrive.

  “Yes, but I’m going to have a drink in the bar first.”

  “Of course.” She smiles. “Go ahead.”

  The restaurant is busy for a Tuesday night so I’m surprised she’s letting me have the table without a reservation. It just shows the power that comes with being a Kensington.

  “Scotch, please,” I tell the bartender. “Neat.”

  He nods like he already knows. I don’t usually sit in the bar but I’ve seen this bartender before. He’s a man about my age. I’ve noticed he never looks directly at me. He always seems nervous around me. I don’t know why.

  “Pearce Kensington.” I hear a woman’s voice and feel her hand on my shoulder.

  I turn to see a woman slightly older than me wearing a black dress and extremely high heels. Her blond hair is cut short, outlining her petite face.

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “Rielle Hanniford. Future CEO of The Hanniford Group.”

  I smile at her confidence. “Is that so?”

  The Hanniford Group is a very successful investment firm, headquartered in Greenwich. Rielle’s father is the CEO and she has three older brothers who want the position when he retires. I met her brothers at a party in the Hamptons a few years ago but I’ve never met Rielle.

  She takes the chair next to me at the bar. “Are you doubting my abilities?”

  “Not at all. Is your father retiring soon?”

  “He’s considering it. He’d like to get into politics.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “He’s hoping to run for president.”

  “That’s ambitious.” I take a drink. If she only knew what a waste of effort that would be, she could save her father a lot of time and money.