by Riley Moreno
He was usually the first man through the door. It never went unnoticed come bonus time. But on this particular morning, someone had beaten Ethan to the punch.
Donna.
Arcadia’s receptionist was a bright woman, always smiling. That smile had recently grown ten times wider on account of a simple piece of jewelry.
She was engaged.
Donna looked up when she saw Ethan.
“Good morning, Mr. Graff.”
She stood and smoothed her hands down her red skirt as she stepped out from behind her desk. Her brown hair bounced as her heels clicked towards him, and she moved to take his coat.
“Hey, Donna. Kind of early, no?”
“Can you keep a secret?” she asked covertly.
“Uh… sure,” Ethan answered. Even as the words came out of his mouth, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know her secret. Donna placed his coat over her arm and leaned in closer.
“I’m picking out flower arrangements.”
She made it sound like her reception was going to be bugged in the hope of obtaining classified CIA intel.
“Okay,” Ethan said.
Donna held her tongue for a few seconds before bursting into giggles.
“Kevin’s working from home today, and I just couldn’t wait! Thought I’d get in a little search time before everyone showed up.”
Ethan had to smile in the face of her happiness. Donna was sweet. More importantly, she was never efficient from the opening bell to the end of day, and who was he to deny her the need to tend to some personal business when she was bubbling to the point of bursting?
Suddenly, Donna’s face darkened.
“I… wow.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You really are the first man in. You… you won’t say anything, will you?”
Ethan laughed and shook his head.
“Of course not. Just… just pick something that matches your dress I guess.”
Donna cocked her head to the side. Ethan knew nothing when it came to anything having to do with flowers let alone those were meant to exist in service of a wedding day.
“Or… or whatever,” Ethan said. “You’ll make the right choice. You have great taste.”
Donna beamed at the complement and offered to get him a cup of coffee.
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Donna was off, and Ethan entered his office. He settled behind his desk and reached again for the McCord file. He placed it on his blotter and turned his computer on. Blotter, computer, calculator, steno pad, pens. Not one thing on the desk gave any indication of his past or his present, and Ethan’s future promised well-organized anonymity in the same vein. That was the way he wanted it.
“Here you go, Mr. Graff.”
She set the steaming cup on Ethan’s desk, and he thanked her with a smile.
“You need anything else?”
“I’m good, Donna. Thanks”
She started to leave, but then she turned back with a question in her eyes.
“Mr. Graff?”
Ethan stayed silent as he waited for her query.
“I… I’m already thinking about a head count. You know?”
He knew where this was going.
“Yes?”
“I know you… well you always kind of keep to yourself. So…I mean… I mean… I don’t want to insult you or anything.”
The chances of Ethan actually attending were slim to none, and he was ready to refuse her politely and save her the cost of the postage.
“But I’d still like to invite you, Mr. Graff. Everyone else will be there. And I just can’t leave you out.”
Ethan tapped his fingers on his desk and considered his best course of action. He’d never be there, but Donna’s desire to include him was touching, and he couldn’t bring himself to smash her wish to bits on this morning. Better to tick of his regrets on the little card that would undoubtedly accompany her invitation and directions to the venue from every conceivable location. By that point, she would be swimming in so many last minute details that his refusal wouldn’t sting quite so much.
“Send me a Save the Date,” he said.
He wasn’t promising anything, but he wasn’t lying either, and it had the effect of retuning Donna’s smile to her face, and she left his office with a spring in her step.
Ethan sipped his coffee, checked his emails, and perused Carter McCord’s file for the umpteenth time. As the office filled with his co-workers and they stopped at his door one by one to wave their hellos, there was a new face in the mix that waited in the reception area. Ethan caught only the slightest glimpse of the man, but he heard the name and straightened his tie. He was on his feet before Donna appeared and announced the expected guest.
“Great. Please show him in, Donna.”
She disappeared and returned in short order with Carter McCord.
He was shorter than Ethan had expected. His hair was slicked back, and he was dressed in khakis, a polo shirt, and a blazer. Ethan took it as an attempt to ape the common man. It was a moderately successful effort.
“Mr. Graff. Nice to put a face with the name.”
Carter extended his hand, and Ethan took it. The kid’s shake was firm yet warm, and Ethan quickly mirrored his smile. Carter had hazel eyes, and there was something that could be called kind in his stare. Donna asked him if he needed anything.
“No thank you, Miss,” Carter said, still smiling.
Kid seemed polite. Once Donna closed the door, Carter whistled.
“Nice, man. Very nice.”
That was the Carter McCord that Ethan had expected to meet. But at least he had the good grace or the good sense to make the pass away from Donna’s ears. That counted for something.
“Have a seat, Mr. McCord.”
“Carter. Please. Hate when people stand on ceremony. Even with me.”
He laughed as he assumed the chair before Ethan’s desk and crossed his legs.
“And while we’re getting so friendly… Ethan? Is that okay with you?”
“If that’s what you’d prefer.”
“I do.”
Ethan looked to the file again. By now he had the reasons for the meeting committed to memory. Carter McCord was looking to diversify, and he wanted some assurances of the best bang for his buck. It made sense for a man with so much mad money at his disposal. But the one thing that didn’t make sense was the selection of Arcadia when he could have any or several of the city’s larger firms in the palm of his hand for a song. They’d rip each other to bits for the chance at his portfolio.
“So why us, Carter?”
“Ethan, do you think so little of your firm? Of your own abilities? Story I’ve been told tells that you’re good at what you do.”
Ethan didn’t argue with the assumption, but it hardly made him an exception to the rule.
“Dime a dozen.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, man. You know you’re stuff, and I like to know that no one’s going to skim off the top if you know what I mean.”
Ethan did, and Carter’s rationalization sounded reasonable enough. Perhaps it was a lesson passed down from his late father, or maybe the senior McCord had made the mistake of assuming that bigger meant better. Total sins of the father stuff. Whatever had brought Carter and his cash to Arcadia was beside the point. The man was here, and he meant business. And Ethan had a job to do.
They discussed stock options, the sure thing, the smart gamble, the bold risk. Carter wanted a piece of every pie. He could afford as much, and a part of Ethan had to admire the fact that he wasn’t putting all of his eggs into one flimsy basket.
“So… what do you think?” Ethan finally asked.
“You do know you’re stuff. Love it!”
Another question crossed Ethan’s mind. Carter’s bid towards securing the future with the possible promise of achieving extra didn’t exactly fit with the image of a playboy whose biggest concern should be the purchase of his next car or lost weekends in Vegas.
Carter narrowed his eyes and flashed a cool grin.
“Cause a guy like me never plays it mature, right?”
He was reading him like a book, but Ethan didn’t let it faze him.
“No offense.”
“None taken.”
“It’s just… it’s curious.”
“Is it?”
“Well, yes. Why the sudden need to get things in order?”
Carter sighed and folded his hands behind his head. For a fleeting second, Ethan wondered if he’d said the absolute wrong thing. Was it possible that the kid was dealing with a dire diagnosis that forced him to grow up fast and get things in order for siblings or cousins or any other heirs to the throne?
“Some might call it a death sentence,” Carter said.
Shit. Ethan had said the wrong thing.
“Carter, I’m so---”
“But not me. It’s just marriage, man.”
It seemed that everything Ethan encountered this morning from Nick to Donna to Carter McCord was on the threshold of new beginnings that dictated the need to plan. Ethan dialed back his apology and smiled.
“Oh. I see. So… congratulations I guess.”
“Yeah. I didn’t see it coming, but when these things happen, they happen.”
That hardly seemed like a ringing endorsement for wedded life. Ethan wondered if Carter had slipped and gotten the girl pregnant. It would explain his seemingly contended resignation to the current situation.
“I see. Sometimes we have to do right by people,” Ethan said.
Carter looked confused before bursting into laughter.
“Ethan, come on! She’s not knocked up if that’s what you’re thinking.”
When it came to Carter, Ethan was making one wrong supposition after another. Ethan didn’t like being pegged for the fool, and he made a decision on the spot to steady the scales.
“Hey, why else to people get married?”
Carter stopped laughing and stared at him hard.
“There’s like love, Ethan.”
So there was. For Donna and Carter and, on some twisted level, Nick. But not for Ethan. Never for Ethan. The reasons why were too complicated to explore, and he’d be even more of a fool to share the story with an almost client who was about to sign on the dotted line. It was better to strike a colder pose.
“Not my scene.”
Carter shifted in seat.
“Really?”
His interest was obviously piqued.
“No way.”
“Huh.”
Carter was silent as he studied his new advisor’s face. He seemed to be searching for the missing piece of the puzzle that he thought he had solved on first glance.
“What?” Ethan finally asked.
“Nothing. Just… well… I mean, you’re not an old guy…”
But old enough that a wife and a kid and one on the way probably seemed a given. Ethan laughed Carter’s assumption off and clicked his pen.
“Quit while you’re ahead, kid.”
Carter leaned in closer to the desk.
“So what is your scene?”
Ethan needed the right answer. An outline of his day-to-day would only serve to make him appear pathetic in Carter’s eyes, and neither Ethan nor Arcadia could afford that idea.
“You know,” he lamely answered.
“No I don’t. Tell me.”
He searched his mind for some story to tell. His mind latched onto that which was most recent. Nick and his new conquest. The blonde with the purple stripes in her hair. Ethan thought fast, swallowed hard, and combined the two.
“Like there’s this little blonde two doors down. Hooked up with her last night. Guess that’s my scene.”
As soon as he said it, he felt as if his mouth was covered in slime for so many reasons. But it did bring a smile back to Carter’s face, and he slapped his hands on the desk.
“Wow! Didn’t figure you for a player, man!”
Ethan just nodded. He’d told the lie, and now he just wanted to change the subject.
“But seriously, Carter. It’s great for you. Sometimes… sometimes even I miss the taste of a home-cooked meal.”
That was easier to say, and Ethan started to relax back into his own skin. They finalized the deal, and Ethan rose from his chair. Carter stayed where he sat and regarded Ethan carefully.
“Home-cooked meal, huh?”
Ethan stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Why not?”
Carter got to his feet.
“Why not tonight?”
7
It was a bad idea. Ethan knew that as soon as he shook Carter’s hand goodbye and agreed to the home-cooked meal with his almost in-laws. He toyed with the thought of rescinding his acceptance on the spot or begging off with an apologetic phone call or email in a few hours or just ignoring that part of their conversation and returning to his apartment as if no one had ever mentioned dinner. Then he could get back to the business of sleepless nights.
All good plans, but Ethan didn’t see even one of them through.
He made his way home, showered, changed, and then he left his apartment for the evening. It felt strange, and he was glad that Nick’s door didn’t crack open at the sound of his footsteps. He just wasn’t up to the explanation, another lie or otherwise. He opted to forgo the subway, and he walked until he was able to hail a taxi. Resigned to his fate, he settled into the backseat like a man on his way to the guillotine.
Stop it.
It didn’t have to be like this. It was just dinner with a friendly kid and his family. Ethan didn’t want to field a barrage of questions, but he could always turn things back to the upcoming of wedding or compliment Carter’s future wife.
Melissa.
When Carter mentioned her name, a curious smile crept across his face. At first glance, Ethan took it as a sign of new love, but then he wondered if there was something else, potential little one aside, that made Carter tie himself down when it seemed like the world was his for the taking.
“Melissa’s so great. And her father is just what I need.”
Ethan could understand that. Carter McCord never knew his mother, and his father had left him not so long ago. Without a family, a man like Carter could become a man like Ethan. It explained everything. Carter didn’t just want Melissa. He wanted to belong to a tight-knit group. Who didn’t? When Carter finally left his office, assured in the knowledge that he’d soon see Ethan again, Ethan didn’t hate him nor did he doubt the young man’s intentions. Was he jealous? Maybe a little. Carter was on the verge of getting everything. As the cab neared the right address, Ethan swore that he would appear anything but envious. It was far from an impossible task. He was suddenly so nervous, and that fact loomed larger than spite.
The taxi came to a stop, and Ethan stepped to the curb. He tossed the driver a generous tip and stood face to face with a hulking doorman.
“What was that name again?” he asked.
“Ethan Graff.”
Ethan was ready for the third-degree, the are you sure you’re in the right place? But the doorman just shrugged and stepped aside.
Ethan entered a lobby of ivory furniture and hushed voices. People looked at him for a few seconds. If that. They were already coming or going to other places, and a clumsy financial advisor who looked older than forty and carried permanent bags under his eyes had no effect on them or their destinations. Ethan relaxed a little when they paid him no mind, and he walked up to the reception desk with his confidence somewhat restored.
“Hi,” Ethan said.
The man behind the desk lifted his head of thinning hair and regarded Ethan curiously.
“Yes. And you are?”
Ethan’s name was of no consequence. It was the name attached to the invitation carried the real weight.
“I’m here to see Carter McCord.”
It only took a quick
glance at a leather-bound book for him to leap into action and show the previously uninvited guest towards the elevator.
“Of course. Mr…. what’s your name?”
Ethan didn’t divulge anything more as he was watched the doors slide shut on the balding man’s red face. Not having to explain the world away because of Carter McCord eased him deeper towards the promise of dinner, and Ethan was calm as his new friend reappeared.
“Hey, man. You’re right on time.”
Carter shook his hand warmly and slapped his back. He led Ethan into a huge apartment that could easily hold five versions of his. The ceilings reached to infinity, and the furnishings were sparse yet tasteful. Ethan defined it his mind as minimalist. There was no trace of the clutter that clogged his familiar corners, but it had to be easier to artfully spread things out when there was so much space with which to work.
Carter nudged Ethan’s arm.
“Impressed much?” he teased.
Ethan shook his head and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his tie.
“Well it is quite a set-up,” Ethan said. Who wouldn’t drop their jaw at the sight?
“Just a place to flop,” Carter said as he headed for the bar. He poured a scotch, swiftly made it a double, and asked Ethan to pick his poison.
“Gin. Neat.”
Carter obliged and handed Ethan the glass. He took a deep swallow and let the beverage buzz through his veins. He had no intention of getting drunk, but a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt.
“Sit,” Carter said as he pointed towards a matched set of sofa, loveseat, and armchair. Ethan’s abode was cobbled together with a chair left behind by the previous tenant and a couch purchased on clearance. They did not match, but Ethan never entertained.