“Two? Really? I had no idea. So tell me, Mr. Flores, why doesn’t my keycard ever work?”
“Ah.” Manny raised his eyebrows. “The ways of the office keycard are quite mysterious. But I am a keycard magician.” He motioned to the camera. “May I snap a picture, miss?”
“You have my picture, Manny. You have fifty pictures. We do this every other day.”
Manny positioned the lens. “It’s good to have a few extra on file.”
Leo reached out to fix Lucy’s hair, but Manny shooed him off. “She’s perfect.” He clicked the shutter and processed a new card, which he handed to Lucy with a slight bow. “For you, miss . . .”
“Lucy,” she said shyly. “My name is Lucy . . . well, Lucinda, really.”
“I know, Lucinda Bender,” Manny said softly. “I’ve known you for ten years.”
How about that, Leo thought, watching Lucy laugh.
12
Time passed. Rosa improved. By the end of March, she was back at work full-time. Her gait was steadier, her right arm had better range of motion, her speech was almost clear. But now she had other problems. Despite her physical advances, Rosa was declining in more worrisome ways. At seven weeks poststroke, she should’ve been sharper; instead, she was addled. Names and faces eluded her. A few days earlier, Leo had stepped into her office and found her staring at the wall. “Rosa!” She glanced up, a blank look on her face. “It’s Leo.” Recovering quickly, she lashed out. “I know!” Still, she searched his eyes, looking terribly confused, as if she’d never seen him before.
On Tuesday morning Leo was at his desk when she called from her cell, sounding lucid and happier than she had in a while. “Good morning, Leo,” she sang out.
“Good morning, Rosa. What makes this morning so good?”
“Fake it till you feel it. My niece taught me that. It’s one of those sayings that sounds dumb, but is actually smart. So listen, I’m cabbing today. It’s freezing out, like polar ice—way too cold to walk. Hold, please.” Leo heard a grunt as she climbed into a cab, a sigh as she settled into the seat, and then her voice directing the driver to Fifty-Ninth and Lex.
“Rosa, wait! You’re coming to the office. Hand the phone to the driver, I’ll tell him—”
“Don’t be such a bossy boss! You and Lucy both need to back off. For your information, I have a dentist appointment this morning, but if I don’t hang up, I might throw up.” She laughed. “Hang up or throw up. Sounds like ‘fake it till you feel it.’”
Leo wanted to relax but couldn’t. Rosa, he knew, didn’t have a dentist appointment; she was covering up her mistake. Lately, this happened with alarming frequency. Her mind was appearing to yield and unwind, along with her management style. Staff meetings, once tightly controlled, began to meander. Paperwork—reports, P&Ls, proposals—was tossed out, unread. She was even slipping on the easy stuff—budgets, salary negotiations, staffing—fundamentals she used to do in her sleep. Though he, Lucy, and Katie were still on the case, it was clear to all of them that Rosa wasn’t the same Rosa anymore.
“Hey, Leo.” Rob stood at his door. “Do you have a second?”
“You’re in early,” Leo said, barely looking up from the Atlanta office lease, which was up for renewal soon. Call Massy, he added to his mental list.
Rob glanced behind him. “I came in to talk to you.”
“About?”
“Brainstorming? Facilities? We discussed this, like, I don’t know, two months ago? I found the ideal guy to replace Peter, but Rosa kept canceling his interview, so he took another job. I can’t get her on the phone at all, even to discuss options. Leo, she’s really fed up with me.”
“Rosa’s been preoccupied.” Leo didn’t know whether to be thrilled that he and Lucy were succeeding at covering for Rosa or annoyed that Rob was so disturbingly unobservant.
“Yeah, Lucy said she was having health problems. I noticed she’s been in and out.”
“Well, it was a little more than health problems. Anyway, Rosa’s much better now.”
Rob nodded. “Like I was saying, I’m in the hole, projectwise, and need some new ideas for recruiting. You and I never did have the brainstorming dinner we talked about a while back—which I know was totally my fault; I had that last-minute parent-teacher thing—but if you have time . . .” He trailed off, clearly reluctant to ask for Leo’s help. Funny how two months ago, Leo had been the one begging for his attention. Now their roles were reversed. Guess it’s true that the less you think about someone, the more likely they’ll come around.
“I’m happy to brainstorm, but I’m slammed myself. How about after work—a drink, dinner?” He glanced at his calendar. “You good for Thursday? Mexican?”
“Perfect; Thursday it is.” Rob seemed relieved. “Thanks, Leo.”
“How deep in the hole are you?” Leo asked, genuinely curious.
As Rob leaned forward, they heard Rosa’s voice down the hall. “Yoo-hoo, Leo, I’m here!” When she reached his office, she looked surprised to see Rob. “Mr. Hirsch! You’re in early.” Rosa seemed to be in a great mood. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair shone, and except for the unblended foundation under her jawline, her makeup was expertly applied.
“Just getting a jump on the day, Rosa,” Rob told her.
“Good to hear. Hopefully we’ll have a new Peter soon.”
“We will. By the way,” he added, testing her, “how was the dentist this morning?”
“What dentist?” She gave him a quizzical look. “Who said anything about the dentist?”
A finger of panic ran up Leo’s spine.
ON THURSDAY NIGHT, Leo slid into a booth at El Ranchero, opened his laptop, and connected to the free Wi-Fi. He’d forgotten the volume was cranked up, so when a bunch of e-mails came in, the whoosh of jet engines roared through his speakers loud enough to make other diners look around. “Whoa,” he said, fumbling to turn it down. “Sorry, too loud.”
“What was that?” Rob craned his neck, trying to see Leo’s screen. “Was it a plane?”
“Yeah, it’s this sound thing for my e-mails. My friend in IT downloaded it for me.”
Rob’s laptop was open, too, but he was studying the menu. “Want to eat first? I’m starving.” A waiter stood over them, pen poised. “I’ll have a margarita on the rocks. But no salt. And a steak burrito—oh, and nachos. Nachos okay, Leo?”
“Great. I’ll have a margarita, too, but frozen. And a tossed salad with chicken, please.” A bowl of chips sat on the table. Leo selected one—tumbling off the wagon—then nudged it toward Rob, who grabbed a handful and ate them quickly, one after the other.
“Excuse me,” Rob called the waiter back. “Make mine frozen too.” He grinned at Leo. “I always feel funny ordering frozen drinks—too girlie, maybe—but I love them.”
“You should get what you like; in fact, I’m gonna get enchiladas instead of a salad.” That Rob had changed his order felt meaningful, but Leo wasn’t sure why. Dr. Saul would know, but Leo was too busy to see him these days. At another table, a woman started choking. Both Leo and Rob turned to see a man jump out of his chair. For a second everyone froze, but the woman caught her breath, and motioned for him to sit, she was fine. “Hey Rob,” Leo said, turning back. “How funny would it be if that guy called nine-one-one and your buddy Evan showed up?”
“Not very.” Rob grabbed more chips. “But it would be one way to see him again.” He studied his screen as he chewed. “Leo, I appreciate your help. Christ, I have no idea how I fell so far behind. Actually, I do: I’m sick of my job and can’t face my work.”
Surprised by Rob’s candor, Leo settled comfortably into the booth. It was nice to be out, away from the office, not worrying about Rosa. “It’s no problem, Rob. Happy to give you a hand.”
Their drinks and nachos arrived; both men dug in. Tomorrow, Leo swore, Special K. Rob wasn’t in the greatest shape, either—he had a middle-age-man belly—but next to him, Leo felt like a hungry, hungry hippo. “So it’s good Lucy got ov
er her obsession with Evan, right?”
“I wouldn’t know. We haven’t talked about Evan; to be honest, I barely see Lucy anymore.”
This hadn’t occurred to Leo, that Lucy spending more time with him and Rosa meant she spent less time with Rob. “She’s been pretty busy, I guess. But you know who asked her out? Manny Flores, head of security.”
“A security guard?” Rob looked doubtful.
“That’s what I thought at first, but she was pretty responsive to him. You know that laugh she gets when she’s nervous?” Mimicking her, Leo made dolphin sounds.
Rob snickered. “I know Lucy pretty well; no way she’d date a security guard.”
“You seem jealous.”
“I’m not—not at all. I just think it’s unrealistic.”
“People change as they get older. They become open to new things. I mean, look at us. We’re both different than we were twenty years ago. At Revlon, I mean.”
“Yeah.” Draining his drink, Rob signaled for another and then glanced at Leo’s empty glass and held up two fingers. “You used to be weird as shit. What was going on with you back then?”
“My father was dying. He had leukemia. I was in shock, depressed, insane—all of it.”
Rob sucked in his breath. “Whoa. Jesus, Leo, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Also”—Leo waved, lightening up—“I was weird as shit.”
Weird, faggy, pudgy, pale—Leo had always been a misfit. Unlike his ropy, athletic parents who worshipped the sun, he wasn’t built for South Florida. With his terrible skin—acne and eczema—and fat body, he felt elephantine, particularly next to his kid brothers, who grew tall and lean. As an adult, Leo invested in microdermabrasion, dressed above his pay grade, and called in a salon SWAT team to deal with his hair. He wasn’t ugly now, just unremarkable: brown hair and eyes, everyman features. And his weight still plagued him.
“I didn’t have a close family,” he told Rob. “My parents loved me, but loved my twin brothers more, both of whom are handsome and outgoing. I often felt like an interloper when we went out together.”
Rob scoffed. “I’m sure they loved you all the same. My daughters like to complain that Maddy and I favor one or the other, but we don’t; we love them equally, just differently.”
“It’s nice of you to say that.” He hesitated. “But once we took a trip to Disney. On Space Mountain, my parents tried to sit with Scott and Stuart, but they couldn’t all fit in one car. ‘I want to ride with my twins,’ my mom said. My dad got up, but instead of sitting with me, he sat by himself, so we both rode alone. I was only nine.” Leo didn’t expect to tell Rob this story, though it was a defining childhood moment. His parents did a lot for him, including paying a chunk of his tuition to the University of Florida. And God knows he hadn’t been an easy kid. But being an Authentic Person meant saying “I was my parents’ third choice” to himself, and sometimes to the world.
“That’s fucked up,” Rob said. He was about to say more, but their entrées appeared. “I mean,” he added once the server left, “it seems thoughtless, and I can’t imagine doing it, but did you ever ask why? Maybe your dad needed time to himself. Hell, I love my kids, but there are moments when I’d rather bash my head in than spend one more second with them. Maybe he needed to get away—not just from you, from everyone.”
“Yeah, maybe. I try not to dwell on my parents.” He gave Rob a woeful smile. “They’re dead, so it’s easier and harder. To answer your original question, my dad was sick, and I was conflicted—I didn’t want him to die, but I was angry and couldn’t tell him. It feels awful when someone discounts you, and you want more than they’re willing, or able, to give.”
“Like I said, Leo, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m also sorry I was so cavalier. But I know how you feel.” He paused. “That’s how I felt about Evan, I mean, as an example. He is—he was—my best friend, but he can be a real dick sometimes. I was anxious to see him, and the more he kept blowing me off, the more anxious I got. After a while, it felt really shitty.”
Although Leo was a little bothered that Rob was comparing a dead father to a lost college friendship, he let it go. Rob clearly needed someone to talk to; Leo needed someone, too.
“You may not know this, Leo, but I’m a pretty passive person.” Rob grinned. “That was a joke. Seriously, I don’t push myself to meet people, so I don’t have many friends—male friends—guys to have a beer with or . . . I don’t know . . . do whatever. I wish I did.” He looked pained, as if admitting this was costing him. “As far as Evan, I’ve thought a lot about why seeing him matters so much. It’s been nine years since our last real conversation; when I e-mailed him, I wasn’t sure he’d reply, so why does it even matter? I don’t know; I can’t come up with an answer. I just do—did, rather. At this point, I’m done caring.”
Rob took a bite of his burrito, and Leo started on his enchiladas. The two men ate in silence, though not an uncomfortable one. “Hey,” Rob said after a while. “Will you show me that e-mail thing—the plane sound? That was cool. Maybe I can set it up for my kids.”
It was clear Rob was done talking about serious things, so Leo didn’t push him for more. He was just glad he was able to be his Authentic Self with a man he’d like to consider a friend. Though he could be wrong, it felt like Rob was being his Authentic Self, too. Which, all things considered, didn’t happen often. Turning to his computer, Leo tapped out a few e-mails, including one to [email protected]: Hey Rob, thanks for dinner. Your buddy, Leo. Then he increased the volume, pressed send, and the two men listened as the jets soared up, into the ether.
13
KENNETH VERVILLE, SENIOR MANAGER, COMPENSATION
APRIL 2010
I found a quote!” Kenny whooped. “It’s exactly what I need to blow this guy’s mind.”
Janine sighed. “Baby, you need the basics: education, experience, five-year-plan. Don’t borrow trouble by getting fancy. It’s late,” she added, nuzzling their sleeping mutt, Dog.
Yesterday, Easter Sunday, had exhausted them (church with Kenny’s parents, dinner with Janine’s). Tonight they would’ve preferred takeout sushi and sex, but Kenny had a job interview in the morning, so Janine was helping him prep. While Kenny could see his wife was tired, if he kept going she would too. He loved her for that—not just her stamina but also her willingness to stick by him, come hell or high water. At Wharton, their roles had been reversed. Kenny was the gifted academic, Janine the student who veered off course. But out in the real world, where practice trumped theory, Janine led the charge. Even so, in this case, Kenny disagreed with her approach. To wow Donald Lee Kwon, he had to do more than spout typical job blah-blah-blah; he had to slide into CFO shoes and see the world through CFO eyes. Tomorrow, Kenny had to showcase his ability to think.
“Listen to this, Jeannie: ‘What a man can be, he must be.’ It’s by Maslow, the guy who did the pyramid of human development. Remember? From Management Theory?”
“I got a C in that class.”
“No, wait. The pyramid illustrates how we evolve; basic needs at the bottom, higher needs at the peak. It has cross-discipline applications, which is why it’s so genius—”
Janine held up her hand. “Baby, it’s too much. Stick to the script. Otherwise you’ll look like an egghead professor. There’s a difference between being smart and being brainy. Smart gets you the job; brainy gets your lunch money stolen.”
Kenny lunged across the cushions and wrapped her in his arms. “I am an egghead professor, Jeannie; that’s what you love about me.”
In fact, Kenny’s professorial persona was what had brought them together. In B-school Janine was a party girl who’d come to him, the egghead TA. “I’m failing,” she said, holding out her notebook. “Can you help?” Of course he’d help, that was his job, which was why, instead of noticing her tight jeans and sweet ass, Kenny had focused on her work. But after only a few sessions, thanks to Janine’s expert maneuvering, he asked her out. Love soon followed.
“You know what, Kenny?” Pinned beneath him, Janine’s voice was muffled. “It’s your interview, handle it however you want. But I’m done for now, and so is Dog.”
Kenny smiled. “Trust me”—he kissed his wife and then Dog—“this one’s in the bag.”
“TELL ME AGAIN where you are?” Donald Lee Kwon, CFO of SCA Capital Advisors, scanned Kenny’s résumé, then shot his cuffs to check his watch.
Tag Heuer, Kenny noted. Fifty grand, easy. “Ellery,” he repeated, rubbing the face of his own, lesser, Cartier tank. Although he was never a watch guy—or money guy, frankly—Janine’s family had taught him the value of quality. “Ellery Consumer Research—”
“Bet you guys got decimated last year, right?” Fluttering his fingers, the CFO simulated an explosion. “Advertising, marketing, research—ka-boom.” This appeared to amuse him.
Kenny didn’t feel right in his clothes. His Hugo Boss jacket, which fit perfectly when he put it on a few hours before, felt too tight. His tie was nearly asphyxiating him. “Actually, our numbers are up ten percent.” An unconvincing liar, he glanced at his hands. “We’re set for a banner quarter.”
“Still, crazy time to be job hunting, right?” Slender and tall, Donald Lee had surprisingly thick hair for a man in his sixties; shaggy bangs shaded his eyes. When he swiped at them with manicured fingers, Kenny noticed that the executive’s pinkie nails were long and sharp. Like his bangs, this trait was a departure from SCA’s reserve, and hinted at a rebellious streak. At first Kenny welcomed this—he fancied himself a bit of a rebel, too—but now the guy seemed like a psychopath. “I’d hate to be trolling for work,” Donald Lee added, wrinkling his nose, as if offended by the stench of unemployment. “It’s fucking chaos out there.”
Kenny swallowed. According to Rory, the HR assistant, this meeting was only supposed to be a formality: one in-and-out with the Big Man, and the director’s job was his. But fifteen minutes later, Kenny still couldn’t pierce Donald Lee’s cloud of negativity. (Kenny was lucky to be here at all. SCA Capital, a multibillion-dollar hedge fund, rarely interviewed anyone except Wall Street insiders, but Janine’s former boss made a call on his behalf—which reminded him: Send Les bottle of Johnnie Walker.) On the phone, Rory had been enthusiastic. “Donald Lee will love you. Just be yourself.” Janine had said the same thing last night. Kenny was being himself, so why was he tanking?
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