Beyond the Point

by Claire Gibson

  Laura leaned her hands against the table, and Dani felt the energy in the room shift in her direction. She wasn’t bold enough to stand up, but she sat up straight and began using her hands demonstratively, the way she’d been taught in her West Point public speaking classes.

  The computer finally came back to life, and Philip quickly advanced the slides until the photo on the screen showed an image of John F. Kennedy, Marilyn Monroe, and his wife, Jackie Onassis.

  “What happens is, he cheats on you. He shops around. Tries different products. And why wouldn’t he?! If every razor does the same thing, with the same results, why not try a different model?”

  The men chuckled and leaned back in their seats.

  “You are not in a monogamous relationship with your customers,” Dani said. “If you want them back, you have to win them back. You have to make them love you again.”

  She paused, thankful that the joke had worked. Jim Webb looked relieved, Laura Klein looked furious, but all that mattered was that Paul Duval was still listening.

  “I met a guy six months ago named James O’Leary,” she continued, the screen showing a silent video of their morning in Boston. He leaned toward the mirror, making one long strip with his razor from cheek to chin.

  “He’s a football coach. An all-American, middle-class guy, smack-dab in the center of your target market. You wouldn’t think he’s a sensitive guy. But he is. He cares about the athletes he coaches. He cares about the kind of men they become. For him, shaving is just another ritual. Like running. Like lifting weights. You don’t do it once. You do it day in, day out, to fight off decay. You do it to prove to the world that you’re still in the fight.

  “Rituals give us a routine. They give us a grounding. Rituals give us hope.

  “It’s our belief that male consumers are ready to be engaged on a level beyond function,” Dani said. “It’s not about how close the razor shaves, but about how that ritual prepares them for the day ahead. About how that ritual makes them feel. Not here.” She touched her cheek. “But here.” She pointed to her heart.

  Images played on the screen in front of them, flashing everyday scenes: A man burning a piece of toast while his child screams in a high chair. A man stuck in traffic. A football coach on a green field, helping a player up off the ground. A soldier in BDUs, staring in a mirror, his face covered in shaving cream. Then the words they’d worked on for months came up on the screen—white letters against a field of black. Dani read the words aloud.

  “Gelhomme Quattro. Your first weapon in the fight.”

  THREE HOURS AFTER the presentation, Laura Klein, Jim Webb, and Dani were still seated at the conference table.

  “Calm down, Laura,” Jim was saying, pressing his hands down on the table in front of him. His voice was quiet but insistent. “Dani was just trying to redeem the presentation.”

  “It didn’t need saving,” Laura said, her voice several octaves higher than normal. Someone had shut the door. “My authority was completely undermined. As far as Paul Duval knows, I didn’t even touch that presentation.”

  You didn’t, Dani wanted to say. But she knew better than to open her mouth; she’d already done enough of that today.

  “They seemed pleased,” Webb said. “That’s all that matters. We’re moving forward.”

  Laura grabbed her things and left in a hurry. Jim put his hands on his temples and shook his head.

  “She didn’t know the slides,” Dani said, by way of explanation. “The way you looked at me, I thought you wanted—”

  “You overstepped, Dani. It makes us all look like a bunch of bumbling idiots to Gelhomme. You don’t think they know you’re Laura Klein’s junior? You gambled with nearly thirty million dollars, Dani. Our biggest client. For most people, a move like that would get them fired. Of all people, I thought you would understand respecting the hierarchy.”

  They sat in silence. Webb stared at the conference table, while Dani stared straight ahead, holding her emotions in check.

  “Laura is going to expect an apology from you tomorrow. And it needs to be a good one,” he said, gathering his things. “You took a big gamble today, Dani. And you better hope it worked.”

  IN THE MIDDLE of May, three weeks after the Gelhomme presentation, Locke Coleman emerged from the international terminal at Heathrow Airport, followed in close succession by two friends who had decided to join him on his trip to London.

  “Holy shit, McNalley!” Locke yelled. “Since when do you drive a Land Rover?”

  They filled the SUV with their suitcases, then pulled out of the airport parking lot, with Dani perched in the right-side driver’s seat. Locke sat beside her, running his hands across the beige leather interior.

  “I got us tickets to Wicked for tonight,” Dani said. “It just debuted in the West End, so people are going crazy for it. And tomorrow, Portobello Road Market sets up right outside my house.”

  “I’m just glad to be out of Fort Hood,” one of Locke’s friends said from the back seat. Will Chapman had strawberry-blond hair, strawberry-blond eyebrows, and a reddish face, trained toward the Thames River out the window to his left. Locke’s other friend, Joel Truman, had light brown skin and deep brown eyes that kept closing, pulled down by jet lag. Will punched Joel in the arm.

  “Dude, don’t give in. You’ve got to push through.”

  After dropping their bags at Dani’s flat, Will and Joel took off for Buckingham Palace, while Locke and Dani walked to the pub next door for lunch. Locke ordered a pint of beer and a basket of fish and chips, while Dani ordered her usual, an undressed Caesar salad with chicken. Her doctor would have been proud.

  Sitting across from him, Dani couldn’t help but notice how little he’d changed in the two years since they’d left West Point. He’d lost the football weight, so his body looked thinner, but his smile was still just as mischievous.

  In the weeks since the Gelhomme presentation, life at work had become even more unbearable for Dani. This visit was the only thing that had pulled her through the rainy days of spring, days in which Laura Klein had continued to act cold and distant, sending most of her communication via e-mail, even though Dani’s desk was mere feet from her own. Luckily, Paul Duval hadn’t just bought E & G’s commercial campaign recommendations—he’d decided to expand the advertising budget by 10 percent. Laura Klein had accepted Dani’s apology, but they both knew she had no choice.

  In preparation for Locke’s arrival, Dani had outfitted the guest bedroom in her apartment with a king mattress positioned to best appreciate the impressive view of Notting Hill’s pastel row houses. His friends were a surprise, but Locke had promised Dani that Will and Joel would be happy crashing on air mattresses. Taking a personal day, Dani had spent the morning cleaning and blowing up two twin air mattresses in the home office. At half past ten, she’d jumped in her SUV and headed to the airport.

  Scarfing down the fried fish, Locke told stories about Fort Hood, his soldiers, his unit, his family. She noticed that he hadn’t mentioned Amanda—and wondered then if they were even together anymore. Locke paused and washed down the food with half his beer.

  “What?” he said. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

  In truth, Dani was enjoying the feeling of sitting across from someone that she knew so well. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been in London until Locke was seated across from her, picking his teeth with a toothpick.

  “Just thinking,” she said finally. “Do you ever wonder how your life would have gone if you’d done something different?”

  Locke focused his brown eyes on Dani’s, and after a pause, said, “Different than the Army?”

  “Yeah. Like, what if you’d played football for USC instead of West Point. Or . . .”

  “Of course. Sometimes I wonder if I would have made it to the NFL or something. But you can’t think that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s easy to imagine an alternate reality better than the one you’re in. No one ever
imagines an alternate reality that’s worse. I can’t question all the decisions I’ve made. I’d drive myself nuts. Where’s this coming from?”

  Dani put her fork down. “Sometimes I wonder why I even went to West Point. I look at all of you, going off to war, and I think, what was all that for? Why did I go through all that pain, just to abandon ship?”

  “You didn’t abandon ship.”

  “Well, I didn’t get on it.”

  “That’s not your fault,” he said. “Let me ask you this. If you could go back, what would you do differently?”

  At this, Dani grew quiet. The truth was, when it came to choosing where to go to college, she wouldn’t have done anything differently. She’d been so confident in her decision, so convinced that West Point was her destiny. Only now, her destiny was beginning to feel like a dead end. Locke’s skin shined under the dim pub lights. The clear whites of his eyes glimmered around his brown pupils as he waited for her answer. The only thing that she would change was sitting right in front of her.

  “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we . . . ,” she started.

  He looked down, picked up his fork, and took a bite of fried fish.

  “If we’d what?” he said, his mouth full.

  “If we’d given it a shot. You and me.”

  The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Locke sighed and finished off his beer.

  She’d splurged on a shiny manicure the day before, and it reflected the pub’s sconces as her fingers danced around the edge of her water glass. She wanted to tell him that it was all for him. The hair, the nails, the new outfit she’d bought to wear when she picked him up from the airport. She wanted to tell him that she’d been dreaming of his visit for months, and wanted every day to be perfect so he’d come back again and again and again until he never left. Instead, she just shrugged. He reached for her hand and squeezed it on top of the table warmly.

  “D,” he said. “I have something to tell you.”

  20

  Spring 2006 // Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  You know, it’ll be the whole family,” Avery stated over the sound of the Foo Fighters on the radio. Her manicured toes tapped the beat on the dashboard of Noah’s 1986 BMW. A black M3 coupe, it had charm, dignity, and a plug-in air freshener to mask the scent of his cigarette smoke.

  “You mentioned that,” Noah said between drags.

  She smacked his arm. Like usual, Noah looked calm, confident, and unfazed by the fact that his car was barreling down the highway toward certain disaster. And yet, Avery felt extremely concerned. She knew how critical her father could be. And worst of all, her brothers would be home. That, in and of itself, would prove to be a challenge. But Noah had promised he’d rather be celebrating Avery’s father’s sixtieth birthday than be at Fort Bragg alone. No amount of warning had deterred him.

  She had to admit, she was grateful that he’d come. These days, his socks intermingled with hers in the laundry. Little golden hairs from his beard trimmings were scattered across her bathroom counter. Their lives were intertwined, and since Avery was no longer working on the Special Forces compound, they didn’t even have to keep their relationship much of a secret. She still hadn’t met any of his friends—simply a matter of bad timing, Noah had assured her. In truth, the fact that he’d had a chance to meet Dani and Hannah last Thanksgiving was a miracle, considering that Avery’s closest friends were both now out of the country. And plus, she didn’t care that much about meeting his friends. When Noah was home, she wanted him all to herself.

  He flicked the lit cigarette through his window onto the road, then rolled the window up, sealing the car from the sounds of the highway. “Don’t worry. I’m good with parents.” He paused and looked her in the eye. “They’re going to love me. Because you love me.”

  Avery shifted in her seat. “Is that some kind of Special Ops trick?” she said. “Force me to confirm or deny?”

  “Well you do, don’t you?” He smiled, took her hand.

  Staring at his profile—sharp jawline, eyes gray like stone—she wondered what he’d seen in the last three years of his life. She imagined him in a war zone, under the cover of night, jumping from a helicopter into unknown territory. Busting down doors. Waving his weapon in the faces of terrified women. He’d said terrorists always sent their wives out first. Using women as a shield gave the men time to escape.

  “I do love you,” she said. “I do.”

  Noah looked back at the road as if what she’d just said wasn’t the biggest deal in the entire world. A determined black column of asphalt rushed underneath them at eighty miles per hour. Avery’s mind raced just as fast. Was that all? He was going to make her say it, and then not say it in return?

  “Every time we’re apart, I think about you constantly. God. I wish . . . I wish so many things,” he said, breaking the silence. He stared at her evenly, his eyes heavy.

  “What do you wish?”

  “I wish I wasn’t gone so much, for one,” he said. “And I wish . . . I wish you weren’t so damn young. You were not in my plans, Avery. But here you are. And yeah. I love you, too.”

  He spoke as if all of his feelings of love existed against his better judgment. But Avery chose not to hear the sadness in his voice. She refused to see the clouds in his eyes, any more than she paid attention to the storm brewing outside. Instead, she began imagining their wedding. They’d have to wait until Hannah got back from Afghanistan, of course. The bridesmaids would wear blue, or maybe hunter green. Green looked good on everyone, Avery thought, and Dani would just have to get over the fact that she was going to have to wear a dress . . .

  “Oh shit,” Avery said, suddenly throwing her hand to her forehead.

  “Not exactly the response I thought I’d get, but I can take it.”

  “No, yesterday was Dani’s birthday. I just remembered.”

  “Dani?”

  “Dani McNalley. We stayed with her in Boston,” Avery said, annoyed that Noah had forgotten her friend. Her cell phone was lodged in the bottom of her purse, uncharged. “Great. My phone’s dead. Can I use yours?”

  In a snap movement, he quickly put his hand over his phone, like a protective shield. She furrowed her brow in his direction—what was that about?

  “Of course,” he said, releasing the phone into her hand. “But we just had a moment. I thought we could, you know. Enjoy it.”

  Avery sighed. Noah was right. Dani would understand. Plus, it was the middle of the night in London. What was one more day?

  While they’d been talking, thick clouds had rolled in, filling the sky with a dark gray blanket. A crack of lightning followed a low rumble of thunder, and soon, thick drops of rain gathered on Noah’s windshield. The wipers turned on, swishing water out of the way, so Noah could see the road ahead. It was all red lights.

  “There must have been an accident,” he said. “Everyone’s slowing down.”

  Avery put her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and believed the future was opening up before them like an empty four-lane highway. They were in love and they were happy.

  That’s how it’s done. You can deceive yourself into believing almost anything, if you want it badly enough.

  “TOOK YOU LONG enough.”

  Hank Adams came down the stairs, staring at the watch on his wrist, as if he’d been timing his daughter since she’d left North Carolina that morning.

  The Adamses’ home hadn’t changed one bit. Beige carpet, dusty oversized light fixtures, a dining room painted red. The phone with its accordion-style stretchy cord was still attached to the wall next to the fridge, right where it had been for more than twenty years. The place looked like it had frozen in time, and it immediately transported Avery back to her childhood. For some reason, she felt like she needed a shower.

  “You stop to pee every two hours?” Hank wrapped his arms around his daughter tight, then pulled back to stare at her. “You nearly missed dinner.”

  Ignoring his comments, Av
ery leaned into Noah’s side and wrapped her arm around his waist.

  “Dad, this is Noah,” she said, looking between the man that raised her and the man she loved. They couldn’t have looked more different. Noah’s muscles were bulging under the sleeves of his light gray T-shirt, and as he reached his arm out, she watched her father’s eyebrows lift at the sight of so much black ink.

  “Thanks for having me, sir.” Noah shook Hank’s hand firmly.

  “Well, she refused to come if we didn’t invite you, so we really didn’t have a choice,” Hank said jokingly. “Can I get you a beer? We’ve got Yuengling.”

  They moved into the kitchen, where Avery introduced Noah to her brothers. Caleb, now twenty-one years old, had the same sheet of blond hair covering his eyes that he’d had since he was sixteen. The tongue of his Rolling Stones T-shirt looked as if it was trying to lick Avery’s chest as Caleb reached out to hug his big sister, who now was several inches shorter than him. No longer in his awkward phase, he’d stretched nearly six feet tall and was considering applying for film school in California.

  Blake looked exactly as he always had—thick brown hair, with a square jaw and clean-shaven face. He’d just finished his residency and had moved back to Pittsburgh to practice family medicine. The most boring kind of doctor, in Avery’s opinion: he’d be treating colds and hemorrhoids the rest of his life.

  “Hey.” Avery’s older brother shook her boyfriend’s hand. “Heard a lot about you, man. This is my wife, Carolyn.”

  “Carolyn.” Avery smiled, reaching to hug her sister-in-law. “How are you?”

  From the looks of it, Carolyn had either gained thirty pounds or was three months pregnant—Avery couldn’t be sure and wasn’t about to ask. They hadn’t spoken since Christmas, when Carolyn had given Avery an extremely ugly sweater from Ann Taylor Loft that still hadn’t come out of the box.

  “I’m good,” she said, reaching for a Yuengling from the counter. Not pregnant, then, Avery assessed. Carolyn lifted her beer toward her husband. “Blake’s been forcing me to go to the gym with him. Me! In the gym! Can you imagine it?”