by D. D. Marx
#
Every Monday, I dread the trip to the airport, knowing I won’t get to see those sweet baby faces for several days. This week is more of a challenge with the announcement from one of my favorite colleagues and friends, Maddy. She’s resigning. Her real passion in life is horses. She’s an equestrian and competes in national jumping showcases. She realized there was a niche market for clothing for female riders, so she is starting her own line of active wear. I am so proud of her. She’s so brave. I wish I had the guts to take a leap. At least I get to send her off properly because I’m heading to our annual meeting in San Francisco. Management flies the entire team in for a long weekend to do some team building and strategy work for the upcoming fiscal year. Tonight, they rented out a private room at a hotel overlooking the Bay. Spectacular views and cocktails are flowing. They are handing out awards when things start to get a little fuzzy. Next thing I know; I wake up at seven in the morning with a text from Maddy.
Liv, I am so sorry I had to leave to catch my flight. Call me as soon as you wake up. Do you remember . . . quitting last night?
“I did WHAT,” I yell as I sit straight up in my bed. The swift motion creates a sudden urge to puke. Danny, oh my God, what have I done?
#
Red pulls up near baggage claim to greet me from my return flight. I open the door and get in.
“So this getting drunk and making poor decisions thing seems to be becoming a pattern. First a one-night stand, and now you quit your job. You might need a full-time handler,” she jokes.
“Shit, Red. What have I done?”
“You’ll be fine. Deep breaths. On the bright side, you can at least take the summer off with me.”
“I just bought a condo.”
“You have a year of mortgage payments saved, plus you have three more months until you close. You’ll have another job by then. Concentrate on the here and now. You’re going to be extra busy this summer anyway,” she pauses, “helping me plan my wedding,” she blurts out.
“WHAT? Oh my God. That is such wonderful news!” I grab her finger to get a closer look at the exquisite three-carat, tear drop platinum diamond ring. My heart sinks and tears begin to flow.
“Those are happy tears, right?” She questions me as I nod in agreement, knowing I’m lying. These are sad tears more than happy tears because this is it. I’m the last Mohican. It’s only me. The last one standing. Garrett, Jane, and now Red have all found their soulmates, and I’m in denial and unemployed. How do I keep ending up here?
“Of course they are. I couldn’t be more thrilled for you guys. How did he propose?” I ask, trying to keep the focus on her happiness.
“He said he’s had the ring for a while but wanted the element of surprise. He told me he had a work event overnight in the city. I got all dressed up, and he surprised me with a suite at the Drake Hotel. He got down on one knee when the bottle of champagne arrived.”
“Aww. How romantic and perfect timing because my calendar just opened up.”
“Perfect because you know I want you to be my maid of honor. So, first order of business is the bachelorette party. We plan to have a short engagement, so let’s try to do a trip this summer. Nothing crazy, just the two of us. How about a Vegas spa weekend?”
“The maid of honor is officially on the clock.” I’ll ensure this is the best wedding ever.
#
Blue Fish knew I quit on an alcohol-induced whim, so they offered to give me my job back but my heart just isn’t in it anymore. No bridges were burned; just time for a change. They paid me my accrued vacation, annual bonus, and stock options which will cover me for a year. Plus, I have a big nest egg in savings. I can get used to this not working thing. I’m getting into a nice routine. I never have a spare moment in my day. This weekend is Red’s wedding shower followed by our Vegas spa trip. We’re staying at the Bellagio. I was able to score a low rate because it’s summer, and we’re going mid-week since neither of us have any work commitments. Red’s only requirement, outside of sun and spa, was to eat at a new restaurant called Mint. It’s the restaurant where they film the reality cooking show Delectable. She’s a huge reality TV fan. She wants to be able to say she ate here. It’s the least I could do since she didn’t ask for a stripper.
#
Jitters are starting to set in as I reach the year marker of my self-induced sabbatical. I’m down to my last twenty thousand dollars in savings, and jobs at my salary range take a while to land. The interview process alone can take up to two months, depending on how good their recruiting department is. I barely get the words Danny, bring it…. when my phone rings. It is an executive recruiter.
“Hi, Olivia, my name is Tim Heslop. I’m calling from Elliott Browne. I found your profile on LinkedIn. Do you have a moment to chat about a senior level marketing position I’m trying to fill?”
“Hi, Tim. Sure,” I said as I ask Dan about his involvement with the perfectly timed phone call.
“Great. Let me start by saying your credentials are very impressive”
“Thank you.”
“The position I’m calling you about today is Executive Director of Marketing Technologies with the pharmaceutical company Hellyxia Healthcare. Are you familiar with them?”
Oh my God, of course I’m familiar with them. A couple of years ago they released a state of the art clinical drug called Brcaxia, focused solely on curing women with the BRCA1 gene. Women who inherited a gene that would guarantee, with an eighty-five percent certainty, they would be diagnosed with breast and ovarian cancer in their lifetime. This new drug is the first of its kind in the marketplace, bleeding edge medicine and is already reporting a success rate of eighty-two percent, remarkable. It is changing the face of cancer for women.
“Yes. I am very familiar with Hellyxia.”
“Wonderful. Hellyxia is looking for someone with a strong background in both marketing, as well as technology. The position is responsible for implementing and maintaining technologies to track the progress of a new drug they’ve launched. Still interested in hearing more?”
“Yes, I’m in an active search as we speak. What are the next steps?”
“I have a copy of your resume here. It states your latest role was with Blue Fish, a marketing technology and strategy firm; is that correct?”
“Yes, the constant travel was wearing on me, so I took some time off and am now looking for something more local. I was a senior manager in their marketing consulting practice.”
“Okay, well I’ve gone ahead and presented you to the Hellyxia leadership team because they are anxious to get the position filled. They’d like to get you in as soon as possible. Does next Tuesday at eight a.m. work? It will be a full day of meetings. They like to complete all their interviews in one day. You will meet with all of the senior executives, take a tour of their facility and then lead a strategy session.”
“Yes, that would work great. Thanks again for the phone call and for considering me.”
“Absolutely. I will follow up via email with all the details on the agenda and address. We’ll be in touch.”
“Great, thanks again,” I cheerfully respond, trying not to give too much away and seeming too eager. I need to leave room for negotiation tactics. This opportunity wouldn’t be just a job. It would feel like getting paid to volunteer for an amazing cause. Dan is all over the place with signs. I’ve heard “Small Town” three times this weekend.
#
Traveling out of town every week, I had the luxury of staying within a couple miles of the client’s office so I didn’t have to factor in rush hour. Hellyxia is just over the border in Indiana. About sixty miles. I leave around six, leaving myself two hours, assuming traffic will be heavier coming into the city, but I live in a town that has traffic at four a.m. on a Wednesday. Traffic becomes a massive parking lot, and now I am sitting in the thick of it, praying I make it on time. Just under the wire, I enter the lobby, ten minutes to spare. Before long, t
he executive assistant greets me and leads me to the executive conference room. It’s decked out with all the latest technology. Of course, a company like Hellyxia has all the latest technology. An enormously large, plasma TV is mounted on the wall for video conferencing and presentations. The pale blue walls create a very soothing environment. The wall has beautiful landscape photos from all over the world. Although I’m nervous, I’m just as confident. I may not have been the best student but what I lack in book smarts I more than make up for soft skills and street smarts. Critical life skills such as being a strong communicator, being an excellent judge of character, having a very sarcastic sense of humor and, oh, yeah, talking to dead people. Not all of them apply to this situation, but I know I can always call upon my improvisation skills if I get backed into a corner.
Over the next several hours, I meet individually with the Head of Pharmacy, the Chief Marketing Officer (CMO), the Chief Operations Officer (COO), the Brcaxia Product Line Director and several other directors throughout IT. If I get the job, the people in IT will be my peer group. The position reports to the Chief Technology Officer (CTO), Doug Hemsworth. He is, unfortunately, out of the country, traveling to an International clinical technology conference, so I only meet with him briefly over the phone.
After lunch and a tour of the campus, we all gather back in the conference room. I lead a technology strategy session outlining the overall requirements within the business, define the technologies required to deliver on those business objectives, develop an annual budget and high-level project schedule to meet those goals. I feel great about the day. This position would be a perfect fit. The exact role I’m looking for, although the commute might be a bit brutal. As I got in the car to head home, I said, Okay, Danny, if I got the job, I need to hear “Small Town” by noon tomorrow. I haven’t even hit the highway when “Small Town” comes on the radio. Like I said, he never fails me.
Chapter Six
(Finn)
The doctors monitor Christine through tests and scans every three to six months to ensure the cancer stays at bay. We made it eighteen months before its dreaded return. This time around, the doctors are much less optimistic. It has now spread to her bones, and they’ve told us there is nothing else they can do. Deep down, I think we both knew this day would eventually come but preferred to live in denial. How does one deal with their own mortality? How am I going to stand by and watch my wife suffer, knowing she will never recover? How will I ever accept living a day without her? I have so many questions, zero answers, and feel empty.
We pack up and move from Paris over to the United States to live with Christine’s parents in their small town in Indiana. They feel there are many more medical options to pursue here in the states and refuse to give up. We are on the waiting list for a new clinical trial drug called Brcaxia. It’s a state of the art drug targeted at women with breast and ovarian cancer and has a high success rate.
Over the next several weeks, Christine begins her slow decline. We request hospice to come to the house to keep her as comfortable as possible. Each passing day is a different rollercoaster.
Some days she is alert and responsive; other days she is very quiet and just sleeps. Flowers from loved ones surround her as family and friends come from near and far to say their final goodbyes.
The nurses have indicated it’s getting close so I need to say what I need to say. How do you put into words all the things you ae feeling, apologize for everything you never showed her, tell her how much she taught you, describe how her love changed you and your view of the world, yet allow her to let go to be in peace? How do you convince her that you will be okay without her? Act like your faith in this world isn’t shaken? Pretend that you’re confident she is going to a better place, to be with God? I don’t know how to say any of those things. The only thing I know is how overcome and consumed I am with fear and doubt. I beg her to find a way to let me know she is always with me. We agree on two things: butterflies and rainbows. Whenever I see either of them, I will know she is with me.
She slips away peacefully during the night. We are all there: her parents, Julia, Mac, and me, exactly the way she wanted it. Now, I am left the shell of a man—devoid of feeling, numb. Christine’s mom makes most of the arrangements because I’m not functioning. Julia and Mac do their best to keep me distracted but know I’m going through the motions. The next three days are the hardest days I’ve ever faced, my worst nightmare. The only consolation is the butterfly that landed on my shoulder as we left the grave site. Her first sign letting me know she’s at peace.
#
“Finn, bloke, I don’t know what to say or do for ye, lad. I’m heartbroken for ye,” Mac says.
“I don’t know what to do, where to go. What to do next. I cannot imagine returning to my life in Paris. There are too many painful memories,” I moan as Julia helps Christine’s mom clean up from the funeral lunch.
“For goodness sake, yer standing in the room where Christine’s hospice bed was four days ago, and now we’re putting away folding chairs. I have no words of comfort. I can only offer what I know. My friendship. Come stay with Jules and I in New York for a bit. Just for a few weeks until you can process everything. I don’t want you going back. You belong with us,” Mac insists.
“Aye, only for a week or so until things settle down a bit.” I reluctantly agree but inside I’m grateful. I don’t want to be alone. I can’t ask for better friends, really; they envelope me with love.
#
Mac takes me to his set where they are shooting his sitcom. His show is in its second season. It’s the top-rated show on Thursday nights. The studio is in a very non-descript building: a huge, old, dilapidated looking warehouse in the meat packing district. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s invigorating to be behind the scenes. The set bustles with energy, people everywhere. Mac alone has ten people dedicated to him. He has his own personal assistant, someone that helps him run his lines, craft services, hair and makeup, and a few extra people floating around. He has his very own trailer; he’s quite the super-star. He introduces me around to the cast and staff then is whisked off to hair and makeup until he is called to set. I have no idea what goes into shooting one thirty-minute episode. They make it seem so easy on TV, but it’s labor intensive, a long day for the cast. It takes a full week to shoot one thirty-minute episode. Every scene, on average, is shot in five takes. This episode is about his character’s girlfriend’s hot, gay sister coming to New York for a visit. She’s a nudist and is very comfortable with her own body. She and her sister don’t see anything wrong with her parading around naked in front of him. It’s very funny and Mac is killing it. The writers are amazing. I have no idea how they come up with such hilarious content week after week.
The plan is working. I am so distracted by watching Mac that I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. Julia comes to visit us during the long breaks in between scenes while the crew preps for the next shot. I soon find out they have ulterior motives for wanting me to hang around set. Mac’s director and producer are about to start filming a reality cooking show for the Cuisine Network called Delectable, and he wants me to become a contestant. Without realizing it, I had already auditioned. They asked me to cook for the hundred plus folks on set for the last three days this week, claiming their catering company crapped out on them. They offered me the final spot on the show right then and there. The show will be shooting in New York over the next twelve weeks. They searched the Unites States for sixteen of the most up and coming, aspiring chefs. The winner will receive two hundred and fifty thousand dollars and be named the head chef for a year at the new restaurant Mint in Las Vegas. The contestants will be sharing a brownstone in Brooklyn and will be competing in a variety of challenges and contests for local celebrities including millionaires, socialites and Broadway actors. Judges are the top-rated network chefs. The producers ambush me and want me to sign a contract today. Feeling trapped, I get up to walk outside for some fresh air. Mac
chases after me.
“Finn, bloke, come on, ye need to do this. This is the distraction ye need right now.”
“Aye Mac, I’m a broken man, ye know that. I don’t have the passion to commit to something like this, especially now.”
“Quite the contrary, laddie. This is an opportunity for ye to dive deep into yer passion to help yer soul heal. Christine would want ye to do this. She’s yer biggest fan, and ye and I both know ye have what it takes to win this whole thing. Ye’ll be close to Julia and me, and it’s only three months. What’s waiting back in Paris for ye, anyway? Ye need a fresh start, a new beginning.”
“I don’t know, bloke. I’ll think about it.”
Later that afternoon, as we’re leaving the studio, a ferocious thunderstorm comes to an end, illuminating the biggest and brightest rainbow I’d ever seen. That sealed the fate on the decision. I signed the contract the next morning.
#
Mac takes me to the brownstone in Brooklyn where filming will take place. It’s phenomenal. The grand walk-up entrance is laid out with a curved staircase lined with intricate, metal gates. As I walk in, I’m greeted with an open concept floor plan with lofted twelve-foot coffered ceilings and a wall of windows overlooking the small but luxurious garden. It has four floors, eight bedrooms on two different levels, eight bathrooms, and two kitchens. The furnishings are nothing short of exquisite. The studio owns the property. They plan to host out of town actors on local projects when the Delectable taping is over. They partnered with the Home Network to design the space.
Cameras are everywhere. There isn’t any place to hide for the next twelve weeks. Everything you say and do from this point forward will forever be on film. Contestants begin to arrive one by one. There are eight men and eight women in total from all over the United States, ranging from Boston to Texas and of all ages. Some of us have formal training; others claim to be self-taught, and two are specialized pastry chefs. I’m a combination of both. I am self-taught, have formal training, and my most recent position was head chef.