“But what is our labor? Doing math? I’m sorry, Harry, but I just spent three months on a database and some spreadsheets that are making rich guys richer and I cannot point to anything beyond that. Future… future of what? So, people can sit down and order an overpriced drink and feel all happy about life?”
“What are you, some kind of socialist, Mark?” I tried to lighten the mood with a patronizing smile, and I caught Mark’s face wavering to pull himself out of a maudlin downward spiral.
“Of course not, I’m American. I just wish I was doing something a little more for the common man.”
I placed my hand on his shoulder and gazed into his eyes, feeling myself slip into an avuncular posture. “I understand, Mark. Believe me. There’s a lot that I don’t know in this world. One thing I do know is money. Money can buy freedom. It can open the door to opportunities we never knew existed. That doesn’t mean that those who earn it, even those who earn a lot of it, are bound in an iron cage. Some people are ruled by the almighty dollar and a slave to it. That’s their problem, but that’s a psychological problem, not a social one. People always get that wrong. No, as bankers we’ve chosen to earn our living, our promise of a better future for civilization–which I do truly believe is what we are doing–by making sure we are just a little smarter than the other guy. We get to build the future the way we want it, not the way the other guy wants it, and we are rewarded for it. As simple as that. Not positive or negative. Just is. Most people are worried about money. What they should be more worried about is making sure they have their head screwed on straight. Then the money will come. Those of us holding the purse strings are not the problem.”
Mark heaved a long sigh and looked up and down California Street as if he meant to catch a taxi. I watched his shadowy face in the moonlight, and he shot me a look of indignant resignation before turning away. I knew I was right. Yet, I felt a foreboding loss in those sad eyes, and they cleaved open my heart, exposing overwhelming pain and loss I had spent years learning how to bury under layers of success and moderate living. He thanked me in a quiet voice and turned to leave. I stood there watching him for a few moments before heading back down into the Tonga room, feeling him still walking up the hill into the night air.
I didn’t see Mark very much the rest of that fall, but I still thought about him a lot and the conversation we had in front of the Tonga Room. When the Christmas party rolled around I attended it but planned to slip out after the customary rah-rah speeches. I couldn’t spot Mark during any of the commotion, scanning the room for him the entire time I stood at the podium during my own short homily on the record-breaking yield on our burgeoning real estate portfolio, which was threatening to dwarf our business lending. We held the party onsite in subdued temper since after the party in September the management of the Tonga Room politely asked us never to return due to a drunken mishap. The centerpiece of the South Pacific themed Tonga room is a shallow pool complete with a floating band. They had to scuttle it in the middle of an Abba song after a table was hurled into it. I suppose the boys can get a little rough after a few too many drinks.
Spotting an escape route, I patted my way towards the side stairwell, and as I reached for the handle I felt a strong grip on my arm. Before I turned I knew it was Mark’s hand. In a sea of dark suits, he wore a white tuxedo as if he were auditioning for the role of Rick in a Casablanca remake. I thought of making a joke of it, but demurred when I saw his peaceful smile, the same one he wore both the day I saw him at the outdoor café and after the mindfulness session.
“Merry Christmas, Harry.” I looked back at him with my best December smile.
“Happy Holidays, Mark!” I moved to leave, but his grip tightened.
“Could I talk to you for a second?” He glanced around, “Someplace private? Looks like you were heading out anyway.”
“Sure, Mark, follow me.” We both bolted through the door and I motioned us up a floor, where we sneaked into my office. I locked the door behind us. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you, Harry. I really appreciate your taking the time–”
“No worries. My pleasure. I haven’t seen you around much recently.” I handed him one of the bottles of beer I pulled out of the small fridge I kept in the corner. I was drinking a little more these days, so sharing a beer with Mark seemed normal; although, drinking in the office outside of scheduled parties was frowned upon. I sat in the chair beside him, resting back with a slight twist towards him, beer dangling from my fingers. “So… what’s up, Mark?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m not returning in January.” He said after exhaling a deep breath.
“Your contract up already?”
“No, but I talked to Judith and I’m at a place where things can easily be handed over to someone else.”
My heart sunk, and I regretted spending the past few months dodging phantoms around the office. I had been too harsh on him back on California Street. All I could muster was a questioning hum. He carried a bit of sadness, but appeared excited to be telling me this. I swigged my beer and felt my lips curl up in frustration masquerading as deep thought. He let the words penetrate in the silence and after several seconds I wondered who should speak next. So, I broke in with a question, trying to hide the distress from my voice.
“Well, I’m sorry to see you go. Where are you off to, young lad?”
“To figure out what I’m supposed to do in this world.”
“Do you have another job lined up?”
“Nope.” He gave me a laughing shake of the head only the young without a care in the world could pull off.
“That seems rather bold.” I could hear that avuncular tone slipping out in my voice. “What are you going to do without a job?”
“You remember in the summer I was reading that book by Somerset Maugham?”
“Maugham?”
“Sorry, The Razor’s Edge... I was reading it that day in the café.”
“Oh yeah, right.”
“Well, it had a profound effect on me.”
“Yeah, so?”
“It’s just that I really identified with the main character. He rejects the so-called good life and travels the world, goes to India to find himself.”
“Intriguing. Does he find what he’s looking for?”
“I suppose so. The title of the book comes from a verse in the Upanishads, ‘The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard.’ Or something like that.”
“You know, Mark. I hate to bring this up, but you are living in San Francisco. Best city in the world as far as I’m concerned, but it’s a transient one renowned for its part-time Buddhists and general flightiness. I really hope you haven’t succumbed to these spiritual vices. I’m no expert. We both know the path to enlightenment is not about practicing yoga and drinking expensive bottled water. It’s also not about going off to India to starve oneself and live a life of abject poverty. There’s a middle ground one needs to strike.”
“Yes, but if it’s as narrow as a razor’s edge, I have to find out where that edge is.”
“But why?” I felt over-reactive heat rise to my head.
“I don’t know. Something inside of me, a little voice, just keeps telling me this is not it and I need to leave. Perhaps the seeds were planted by this book and maybe even that mindfulness seminar we had here. I don’t know. What I do know is that like Larry in the book I need to find my own truth… and if I don’t do it now I’m afraid I’ll wind up like…”
“… like who, Mark? Like me?”
“I wasn’t going to say that!” He shot me an incredulous look. “Besides, you seem to have it all figured out, Harry. At this point, life is probably a piece of cake for you.”
“Hardly, but thank you for the vote of confidence.”
“Well, I’m just trying to figure out which way is up for me, and right now that means going out there, somewhere.”
“Is this about a girl, or a boy, depending o
n which way you swing? Because if it is, let me just tell you that this city is the worst for single people. Everyone’s looking for perfection–and frankly, most of them are aiming a bit out of their league.”
“I just broke up with someone, but it’s not about her. It’s about me and what I want for my life. So, I need to just go somewhere.”
“And where might that be? I mean, what’s your first stop? I hope it’s not India because from what I hear that place is a total mess. Teeming with typhoid, I’m sure.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Mongolia. Maybe that’s where I’ll go first.”
“Mongolia! My God, man! It’s the middle of winter. You’ll freeze like a stone. Why don’t you pick someplace warm, like Fiji? I’ll tell you what, if I were seeking enlightenment, that’s where I’d start.”
“I’m not joking, and I didn’t say I was seeking enlightenment or truth with a capital ‘T’ or anything like that. I’m just trying to figure stuff out, maybe figure out my truth, like I said.”
“Fair enough, but I still think you could do all that right here. I’m not just saying that because I like having you around, I just don’t think it’s out there. Listen Mark, let me enlighten you. I’ve been around a bit, traveled to some countries–been places. This may not be the politically correct thing to say, but it’s close to the truth: most of the world sucks. It just does. Sure, there are nice places outside of this city, outside of the state, but really, the vast majority of it sucks. Everyone thinks Paris is nice, but they don’t pick up after their dogs and all you do is step in other people’s dog shit. Sure, they’ve got great food, but the people are snotty, and Europe is just filled with socialists who are hanging on by an economic thread. Asia, Africa, Latin America–they are called the Third-World for a reason. From what I hear, nothing works right and it’s just one big shit show with people fighting for their lives. Might as well park it here and enjoy the best parts of all those cultures from the safety and confines of one of the many restaurants this glorious city has to offer. See, we don’t need to go out there. Just bring the people here.”
“You crack me up, Harry. You know, if you decide to quit this place you could carve out a great career marketing this city to the rest of the world.”
“They should be so lucky!” He snickered at my joke and I had to laugh too.
“Listen, Harry.” Mark’s voice became subdued and I was no longer talking to some City College boy, but a man who had already spent a thousand years on a mountaintop. “I appreciate you caring for my well-being. We’re all spiritual beings. So, I’ll be fine no matter what. Even if I run out of money, I’ll be in the bosom of the Divine. It’s all good.”
“You seem so sure of yourself.” I felt my tone shifting to skepticism bordering on lambast. The room suddenly became dark and quiet, reminding me of the spooky energy of the séance.
“I am not afraid of destitution or even death. Believe it or not I have faced both already. What I fear beyond those is walking the wrong path for too long. I don’t want to waste this life on things I don’t care about, and right now I don’t care about this city or this bank or the way my life is going. Does that even make any sense to you?”
“Of course it does, on some level. Mark, I may not know you all that well, but I see in you someone with such great potential and I’d hate to see it wasted by sitting around in some cave or going stark-raving mad trying to figure out where your next meal is coming from, or one day waking up to the fact that you could have done so much more starting from a solid footing.”
“There is no solid footing, Harry. We’re all skating around on melting ice and none of us truly knows how thick it is and whether it will crack for no reason.”
“Well, you may have a point, Mark,” I said in resignation, not quite believing my own words. “Anyway, I’m glad you pulled me aside to tell me your plans. I’m leaving for a scuba diving trip over the break, so this may be the last time I see you for a while.”
“Probably.”
“Drop me an email once in a while and let me know how things are going.” He nodded with pursed lips and I wanted to make sure he knew I was serious. “And this goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m not sure where you’re at finances-wise, but if you ever need any assistance, let me know. I don’t want to find out you froze to death in a gutter because you didn’t have enough money for a hot meal or you were slaughtered like a sheep because you couldn’t come up with the bride price for a Mongolian lass you knocked up.”
“Thanks, Harry. That means a lot to me. Again, no need to worry about me. You know, I have a feeling everything is going to be alright. As a wise man once told me, if you get your head screwed on straight, the money will come.” It took me a second to catch his smirk and realize he was throwing one of my lines back at me.
“I might have said that, but it may be bullshit, too. Even if it’s true, it’s far easier to make a smooth transition. This cutting and running off to a godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of winter is just plain madness.”
“Yes, it is madness; but like Virgil said, Fortune favors the bold.”
“I hope you’re both right, Mark. I really do.”
“Me too.”
And with that he downed his beer, shook my hand, and like a man without any cares in the world, disappeared out of my office.
CHAPTER 6 | TOWER ON FIRE
The Monday after the holiday party Kitty and Don gave me their own Christmas present. Kitty had already scheduled a meeting first thing to catch me before I flew out of town mid-week, and I knew something was up since the curt subject line read “touching base.” She and I never touched base on anything, especially after I made it clear that her attempts at team building were a waste of everyone’s time. I suppose I could have been more diplomatic with her, but I couldn’t stand the preachy tone and always going on about how our main role was building people up so they felt good about themselves. I wasn’t from the unearned soccer trophy generation, so her pleas fell on deaf ears. Besides, my guys were kicking ass with the strong financial incentives I put in place. Pats on the back were nice, but padding the bank account was a better way to keep morale up. Or so I thought. Kitty gave a slight knock on my door just after I sat down in my chair. I’d already seen her red shoe poking out from the Persian rug runner.
“Good morning, Kitty.” I forced a smile as she came in.
“Good morning, Harry. I trust you had a nice weekend.”
“I did, thank you. How about you?”
“It was great, thank you. Listen, Harry. I included Don on this meeting as well. He wants us to swing by his office.”
“OK. Must be important, then,” I muttered, fishing for a clue to her designs.
She didn’t respond except to turn on her heels and head down the hall to Don’s office. I noticed a folder under her arm, so I grew curious about what was happening. I knew we had a problem with one of my newer loan officers who’d been caught making too many mistakes on the applications, and I guessed it might have something to do with that–though I’d already warned him that he needed to stop making mistakes if he wanted to keep his job. So, it didn’t seem like an HR issue at this point. I also remember seeing the Credit Manager a little too cozy with one of the female tellers at the holiday party. I was aware of his lechery with new hires, but he knew where to draw the line most of the time. Besides, his job performance was stellar, so I wasn’t about to fire him over a drunken grope. By the time I arrived in Don’s office, Kitty was already sitting, and both wore sober faces.
“Somebody die?” I asked, stifling a laugh.
“Can you get the door, Harry?” Don said, and I took a deep breath, turning to shut it. Normally chummy with me, I recognized something was amiss by his tone. I took a deep breath and prepared for battle. Once I sat down in the chair next to Kitty, Don’s massive mahogany desk separating him from us, he leaned back and looked at Kitty. “Kitty, why don’t you get us started.”
; “Sure, thank you Don.” She opened the folder in front of her as if to read something to me, but then glanced at both Don and me and uttered in a patronizing tone. “Harry, I’m looking at a complaint here.”
“What sort of complaint?”
“It’s a complaint about some foul language and other inappropriate comments made in staff meetings.”
“Okay. What does that mean?” I gave Don a puzzled look, then turned back to Kitty, whose long-faced dramatic display was so typical of her making a big deal out of nothing. “What staff meetings are you talking about?”
“Yours, Harry.”
“OK, is this is a guessing game? Who is complaining about what exactly?”
“Well, I can read through some of the examples of the language used, but I am obliged to protect the identity of the persons filing the complaints.”
“Persons? Complaints?”
“Yes, there are a few complaints filed by more than one person.”
“Great…” I grumbled with more than a hint of sarcasm, my neck feeling hot. Kitty kept glancing down at the folder as though she were trying to hide inside of it.
“The complaint points more to a culture that is non-inclusive, gender demeaning and possibly racist.”
“Gender demeaning? Racist? What the hell are you talking about?” I felt my voice crack in anger and fear.
“Perhaps you can give him one or two examples,” Don butted in.
“Sure.” Kitty nodded her head and flipped through a few pages.
“Harry, did you recently use the expression, ‘let’s open the kimono a bit’?”
“Gimme a break! There’s nothing wrong with that phrase.” I rolled my eyes and appealed to Don. “Don, you know I’ve been saying that years. Heck, we’ve all said it, probably. Perfectly acceptable.”
“What does it mean to you?” Kitty asked with a self-important tilt of the head. This caused me to stumble through in my reply. Instead of answering her, I wanted to wring her obtuse neck.
“Well, in the context of a discussion about revealing information, it simply means we’re going to need to open up a bit more about it. I don’t recall when I said it last.” I let out a hefty sigh. “Look, Kitty. I realize you’re trying to do your job, but let’s not get caught up in politically correct language. We’ve got a job to do here, and last time I checked we’re doing a really good job.”
Crossing Allenby Bridge Page 4