by Jerry Cole
She put her notepad down and looked at me sympathetically.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll both be able to move forward,” she said. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Her offer was humbling and brought up a sudden bubble of emotions. I didn’t expect to be moved by a cup of coffee, but here I was, trying not to get misty-eyed as my would-be assistant offers me the simplest of courtesies.
A cup of coffee and a moment to pull myself together.
I nodded and she walked off to the little kitchenette that was down the hall. Marcelo had probably given her a grand tour already. He’d probably briefed her on how to “ruin” coffee so that it tasted just right. He’d probably alerted her to all of my quirks and idiosyncrasies and she’d probably taken copious notes and studied them carefully. Everything was in place. The transition would be seamless. That was his job, after all. He made my life seamless and smooth.
And, he could do it even while lying in a hammock wearing a speedo and a pair of black ray bans. Ugh!
There was no way in the world that the old woman would look half as good in a swimsuit.
“Here you go!” Mrs. Moraz returned just as Marcelo arrived, looking pleased with himself.
“Oh, I see you two hit it off,” he said as she handed my favorite mug full of coffee to me.
“I hope I got it right,” she said. They were both watching me expectantly as if the results of this one sip of coffee would determine all three of our fates.
I put the cup to my lips and sipped. The familiar taste flooded my mouth and coated my tongue. She’d managed to recreate the miracle, but it wasn’t as satisfying as it normally was. It tasted right, but it wasn’t the same.
“That’s great,” I said. Somehow, I couldn’t sound as happy about it as I had intended. Neither of them seemed to notice. They looked at each other and shared that smile and nod that proud parents give each other when their kid lisps his way through his first Easter speech.
This was it. The official passing on of the baton. Marcelo could breathe easier now. I was no longer his problem.
The thought made me angry. I couldn’t go down without a fight. I was not about to turn my whole life over to Helen Moraz, no matter how nice and competent she was. I WANTED Marcelo. I NEEDED Marcelo. He was my wingman and although I believe in the equality of the sexes, his very prim, very matronly, very female replacement didn’t have the necessary qualifications for that position. She would have to go. I would fire her myself.
“I trust you finished all of your paperwork with HR?” Marcelo handed the woman a glass cup of Herbal tea.
“Yes, although I was a little confused. Mr. Dunlevy was listed as my direct supervisor, but another Mr. Dunlevy was listed as my official employer,” she said.
“Ah, yes, well Patrick was unavailable at the time so I had his father handle the final details. Technically, Patrick can assign you to work or not but he can’t fire you without his father’s approval.”
Marcelo didn’t bother to look my way at all as he spoke. He knew me too well. He’d done this on purpose, to keep me from getting rid of his replacement and guilting him into extending his stay indefinitely. He knew I would. That’s why he’d arranged everything ahead of time because he knew I would’ve found something wrong with every applicant, fired every new hire, and generally made leaving impossible.
He was good. Too good.
“Oh!” Helen turned and looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. She was a smart woman. She could read between the lines. The message was loud and clear.
Patrick Dunlevy doesn’t want you here, but he has no choice because his father holds the purse strings.
Coming from anybody else, I don’t think I would’ve cared much. I was the spoiled son of a rich man. That was the role I was destined to play for people. But Marcelo was different. Or at least I thought he was. He’d never treated me as a silly insipid child in need of a babysitter. He’d always believed that I had redeemable qualities. Or at least he’d convinced me that he did. Because he believed, I believed as well.
Okay, I was still a liar and a coward. I was still impulsive and greedy. I could admit that. But I had my moments. I could be generous. I could be...honest? Maybe not all the time. But, who could be honest all the time? It was just easier to tell people what they wanted to hear. How else was I supposed to convince them to give me what I wanted? Surely Marcelo understood that? Didn’t he?
“None of this was my idea.”
I don’t know why I blurted it out like that. There was no request to follow it up with. I wasn’t accusing anyone of foul play. I was simply stating a fact.
“I had no idea you would be taking his place until he handed me his resignation, which, it turned out, I am not in any position to reject. HR handles all of his payroll and benefits and as long as he abides by the terms of his contract he is free to come and go as he pleases,” I looked a shocked Marcelo in the eyes. “I stayed up late last night and did my homework.”
I went into my office and closed the door, putting the excellent cup of coffee on the desk and staring at it with renewed hatred for the beautiful man who’d managed to teach somebody else just how I like it.
Through the door, I heard the two of them talking to each other in hushed tones. I could tell by the sound that Marcelo was apologizing for me and Helen was being reasonable about it.
“He’s still grieving,” I heard her say.
“Yes, but still…”
My vision got wavy and I wiped my face only to find my fingers damp. I was crying? I had tears in my eyes.
Grieving?
Was that what this was? Was I grieving? I’d been to a dozen funerals in my lifetime. I was even sad about the passing of some of them. I’d truly liked one or two. I never recalled feeling this strange sucking sensation in the middle of my chest when others had passed on, but the loss of Marcelo was driving me crazy and he hadn’t even packed up his desk yet. I honestly had never had a break-up since high school.
Let's just say that it was disastrous for all parties concerned. I wasn’t sure how to handle this. Marcelo wasn’t my lover...any longer, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t mean anything to me. That didn’t mean that I didn’t want him in my life. He was the best part of my day.
Every day.
Fuck!
Why didn’t he know that?
Chapter Three
That woman was a demon.
She screened my calls, picked up my dry cleaning, politely “handled” the annoying locals who came to complain about one thing or another, and kept me on schedule all week long. She was fastidious about filing paperwork and never messed up my lunch orders, no matter how complicated or bizarre they seemed.
I hated it.
I’d been on-time and efficient all week long. I’d barely made a pass at any of the waiters who served us lunch. I didn’t crack off-color jokes at the expense of fat middle-aged clients after tedious meetings. I hadn’t even bothered to snicker at the ignorance of the ladies I met who obviously had fantasies of bedding a rich playboy and perhaps scoring a shopping spree or two.
I worked.
I slept.
I did it again.
By Friday I was ready to go on a rampage just to break up the monotony. And normally that was exactly what I would have done, except…
Except there was something about Helen’s matronly demeanor that made me FEEL like a bad boy. And, despite my obvious upset, Marcelo was still hanging around, helping out, watching my every move. I wanted to show him that he hadn’t flummoxed me. I could carry on even without him. I thought, maybe if he didn’t see me like a petulant child he might be more inclined to come back. Maybe not as my PA, but in another, equally intimate position.
“Marcelo, that guy who comes here every day. The one with the funny walk. Nick something, isn’t it?”
“Nick Sanders.”
“Ah, yes, Sanders. What does he do, exactly?”
“He’s a property manager,” Marcelo sa
id.
Not a good match then. I’d have to find another position for him. Or maybe I’d just make one up. Of course, I’d have to convince my father to sign off on it, but he knew good talent when he saw it. He would pay top dollar to keep a man like Marcelo around. He was the son he never had, but still horrifyingly gay.
I was deep into my scheming when Marcelo knocked on the door and walked in, sitting down in the chair in front of my desk the same way he did so often and placed a red envelope on the desktop in front of me.
“There are a few things we need to wrap up before I leave. I would leave it to Helen but she’s new and we’ve been working on these projects for a while now.”
He looked excited, the way you look just before you open a birthday gift. It made me sick to my stomach.
“You’re really going to leave me?”
He looked up at me and frowned.
“I knew you were mad at me for something. I figured that much out. But I always thought, whatever it was, you and I would eventually work it out. You’ve been mad at me before. We got through it,” I said.
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Yes, you are. If you’re not mad then why would you want to leave so badly?” I got up from my seat and came around to sit on the corner of my desk. He leaned back and looked up at me expectantly. “I’ve been doing my homework. I looked into how much the average executive assistant makes and you are paid well above average, sir. Not to mention your benefit and severance package. You’re going to be a very comfortable man for a very long time, assuming you don’t acquire any major debts or expensive habits.”
“True,” he admitted.
“So, why on earth would you want to leave all of that for nothing? No new job? No waiting fortune that you inherited from a distant aunt. Hell, you’re not even expecting a child. And then it dawned on me...you must be mad about something. You’re teaching me a lesson. I understand. I can be an asshole. But you, you—”
“I’m not mad, Patrick!”
I was brought up short by the aggression in his voice. It had been a long time since he’d called me Patrick, and even longer still since he’d done it with any kind of annoyance. When he was angry with me he usually reverted to Sir. But this was different. This was a loud, aggressive “Patrick”.
“If you’re not mad then I don’t know what to think, Marcelo.”
“I’m sad, Patrick. Do you get that? I had a sister who was young and full of life and laughter and she got very, very sick. So, I did what any good brother would do. I uprooted my entire life to help her. I endured the world’s worst job with the world’s worst boss and managed to make both of them mildly enjoyable so that I could make enough money to get her treatment in the hopes that ONE DAY she would be well again. And when it became clear that it wasn’t going to happen...that she wasn’t going to get better,” Marcelo’s voice broke as tears slipped down his face. “When I knew she wasn’t going to make it I worked harder to make sure that her last days were as comfortable and happy as possible. And now she’s gone, and I am sad.”
“I know that,” I said. “But it wasn’t sudden. You knew she was sick.”
“So?”
“So, why didn’t you…” I stopped myself before the words could fly out of my mouth. I saw his face get tight as if he’d just been punched though neither of us had said a word.
“Why didn’t I what?”
Why didn’t you cut it off before you could get hurt?
Those were the words that my mother had said to me. Cut it off, like a dead tree branch. I remembered how horrified I’d been when I heard her say those words. Love wasn’t something that one just cut away like a diseased limb. It was supposed to be the only thing worth fighting for. It was supposed to be the only thing worth dying for. Whether it was a vague, altruistic love for humanity or deep personal love, love was supposed to be worth any amount of pain and sacrifice. I’d believed that once, and yet here I was looking at a man whose heart had been broken and telling him that he should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve discarded that pesky love before it had a chance to destroy him.
I was a monster.
“Why didn’t you take some time off?”
“I did.”
“I mean, longer. Why didn’t you take more time off?”
“As you said, I knew it was coming. I didn’t need to spend as much time putting her things in order. We had a chance to do that before she passed. Besides…”
“Besides what?”
“Besides, I needed to return to normalcy. I needed the routine,” he looked up at me with disappointment in his eyes. “I needed to see your face.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
“Because seeing your face every day reminded me that I deserve to be with somebody who would give a damn when I died and to live a life full of happiness. Seeing you every day reminded me that I deserved more. I did what I had to do to take care of Ariana, and I don’t regret it at all. But now, I have to take care of myself so I don’t end up like you.”
Once again, I found myself speechless and struggling to catch my breath. That sucking feeling in my chest grew more intense and I could barely speak.
It turns out that I was the problem the whole time. He was leaving me because of me.
“So, you’re really leaving me,” I said. My voice was high, thin, and whiny. Hearing it made me cringe.
“We were never together. I’m leaving a job that has consumed my life so I can have a real-life,” he said.
“No, you’re not! You just said you are leaving to find somebody new! You are leaving ME!”
“Mr. Dunlevy, I—”
“Don’t Dunlevy me! Don’t fucking ‘manage’ me! Don’t you fucking dare! You aren’t just leaving so you can have your nights and weekends free. You are leaving so you can find somebody else!” I turned into a hysterical housewife, flapping my hands about and letting tiny droplets of spittle fly from between my teeth.
“Patrick!”
Marcelo stood up and took a moment to regain his composure.
“Everything you need to know, do, or sign is right there in the folder. I’ll send Helen in to go over everything with you at the end of the day.”
He turned to leave and I felt a strange panic choke me.
“Marcelo!” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Don’t leave me. I can be better. I know I can. I just don’t think I can do it without you.”
He took a deep breath but didn’t turn back to look at me.
“You’re going to have to, because I can’t stay.”
“I can do it,” I begged. “I can be better. You just have to stick around and see it. Please, Marcelo. I…”
“I can’t, Patrick. I can’t do this anymore,” he said.
“Is this because we don’t...you know,” I couldn’t bring myself to call what happened between us in private fucking. It was more than that. I don’t think I realized it until that moment, but it was. It had been so much more. “Because I would agree to restart that part of our agreement if that’s the problem.”
He spun around to face me, his eyes red and his nostrils flared.
“Jesus Christ, Patrick. In case you forgot it was me, ME who broke it off with you. I was the one who decided we had to draw the line between our personal and professional lives. ME! And it is obvious that although we ended that issue a long time ago, you never truly moved on. You are the one who doesn’t know how to draw or respect boundaries. WE aren’t a thing, PATRICK. We were NEVER a thing and any chance that we had to be more than what we are sailed into the sunset a long time ago. YOU made sure of that.”
“Me?”
In an uncharacteristic move, he ran his hands through his hair, took off his jacket and settled his fingers on his slim hips. He looked nearly feral and, despite the seriousness of the moment, I couldn’t help but feel slightly aroused by the sight of him.
Okay, more than slightly.
“You aren’t just a horrible boss, you’re a shitty friend, P
atrick. You are juvenile and incapable of responding to real, deep, human emotion. I just told you that I am still grieving for my sister and somehow this is still all about you! You didn’t give a shit about what I thought about you until it meant I might leave you. And, not because you love me and can’t live without me, but because you don’t want to have to work with Helen because she’s a woman and she doesn’t look hot in a swimsuit.”
“How did you know that? I didn’t say that out loud!” I couldn’t hide my shock at hearing my thoughts reflected back at me.
“I KNOW YOU, Patrick Dunlevy. I know you very well. But you don’t know anything about anybody else. You don’t even care to know.”
“That’s not true.”
“Did you know that your father has you followed by private security when you go to Asia?”
“Of course I do. His guys are never very good at keeping out of sight.”
“Did you know he does that because he’s afraid you’ll get your ass kicked while cruising some underaged money-boy.”
“I NEVER cruise underaged anything!”
He exhaled loudly and rubbed his temples.
“You’re missing the point...again, of course. What else could I expect of you?”
“I understand your point!”
“Really? What is it?” He crossed his hands over his chest and leaned against the wall, waiting for me to speak.
“You...want me to be a better boss and a better person. You want me to care about people that aren’t me. And you think I don’t care about anybody else, but I do, Marcelo. I care. I’m just not very good at showing it. I don’t use heart emojis and serenade my lovers. That’s just not me. But, I can be better. I can improve.”
“I hope you do,” he picked up his jacket from the chair and turned to leave again.