Chapter 5
Rich/aka Ricky
Earlier
Even the closed door won’t deafen the vibrating bass shaking the walls of our apartment. There’s no sense telling Max to turn down the music. I learned that fight wasn’t worth my breath. Besides, I’ve rarely won that argument since we first moved in together. Truth be told, I prefer the music to what it’s hiding. Max Brenner and I met at Foot Locker, the store in the mall where I work part time. While I’m ready to leave the days of selling athletic shoes behind, Max is living his best life.
The idea of living together came from me. Max, five years younger than me, constantly complained about living with his parents. My apartment had two bedrooms, and a roommate meant half the expenses. I hadn’t thought the whole thing through. Cramming extra classes into each semester, as well as taking summer courses, meant I finished my degree a semester early. When combined with a part-time job, it left little to no time for much of anything else.
Max makes up for my lack of socialization.
That is why, if I were a cartoon character, there would currently be smoke coming from my ears. In the three-dimensional world, my temples are pounding in time with the bass. The music is Max’s way of letting me know that I’d rather hear the booming sound than the noises coming from his bedroom. From the glittery purse and strappy high heels in the living room, I know he’s got some girl in there.
Her name, I have no idea.
I gave up trying to keep track a long time ago.
Max practices what he calls free love, as if he should have been born fifty years ago. He would have made the perfect hippie in my grandparents’ generation.
Lying back on my bed, I flop my arm over my forehead and stare up at the ceiling. My degree is complete, and I want a real job, one utilizing that piece of paper. It’s my fault for thinking the job offers would roll in. I should have started looking earlier. The thing is, that after eighteen months of watching every dime, I want more.
I close my eyes and let out a long breath.
More.
I want more.
First on my list is a house or apartment for myself.
Second is a life beyond school and work.
Fuck, I’m thirty-five years old, and I have little to show for my life.
When my parents sold our land in Riverbend—a small town in southwest Indiana—they gave a healthy chunk of the profits to me. After all, over the last ten years, I’d put in as much, if not more work than my dad, keeping the farm going. That nest egg is smaller than it was when I first put it in my bank account, but I’ve managed to keep most of it by watching my expenses.
To say I’m tired of living whatever this life is with Max and his parade of women is an understatement. I’m ready for a life.
My life.
I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, it’s morning and the apartment is peacefully quiet.
“Fuck,” I murmur as I roll off the bed and reach for my phone. In my head, I’m doing mental gymnastics.
What day is it?
What time is it?
Am I late for class?
Am I scheduled to work?
Running my fingers through my hair, I concentrate on the screen.
Shit. It’s noon on Tuesday.
I remember that classes are done; I have my degree. That is, until I start working on my master’s degree. I’m not scheduled at the store until the three-o’clock-to-closing shift. I’m about to exit my room when I see the name of a firm I have been dreaming of working for on an email: Parker and Stevens.
Preparing myself for a “Dear John” in the form of a hiring, not dating, response, I click the email open. My eyes bug as I read the email not once, not twice, but three times.
Mr. Dunn,
Thank you for your time with our interview procedure. Herold Parker and Ralph Stevens would like to extend an invitation to the next phase of our process, a dinner with our partners and select members of our team.
Date: Friday, …
Location: Hotel Carmichael
Cocktails: 6:30 p.m.
Dinner: 7:30 p.m.
Please RSVP by Tuesday at 5:00 p.m. We apologize for the short notice; the holidays delayed our invitation.
The partners would like to get to know you in a less formal atmosphere. A plus-one is acceptable and encouraged.
Contact Tillie Johnson at this email address with any questions and your confirmation.
Thank you,
Tillie Johnson
Assistant to Ralph Stevens, Partner
“Fuck,” I say louder, looking around for a camera or something to indicate this is a prank. No cameras. I open my bedroom door. Max’s door is partially ajar. The disaster left behind by Tornado Max is threatening to invade our hallway. However, judging by the lack of noise, he and whoever was with him are gone.
I think about the email.
It is dated yesterday. Somehow with my work schedule and the distraction of Max’s music last night, I must not have seen it.
RSVP by Tuesday.
“Shit, shit…” My mind goes in a million different directions. This is the cherry on the top of a sundae job. The dream firm, the one I’ve been wanting ever since Marilyn mentioned their name.
Marilyn.
I search my contacts for my sister’s number. Devan’s a seventh-grade science teacher in Riverbend. Her ringer is probably off, but I hit the call button anyway.
“Ricky? Is everything okay?”
“You answered.”
Devan laughs. “I’m eating lunch at my desk. You caught me. What’s up?”
“Does Marilyn work for the firm Parker and Stevens? I remember she had an internship there.”
“Why do you want to know where Marilyn works?”
“Dev, just tell me.”
“You never told me the two of you kissed.”
“Yeah.” That was our cover story. “None of your business.” Now I sound like a ten-year-old fighting with his sister. “I have a third interview with Parker and Stevens, and I wanted to talk to Marilyn if she works there.”
“She does. Do you need her number?”
I’m about to say yes. Before the word materializes, I suddenly worry she won’t take my call. “No. If she works there, I’ll call her at work.”
“Okay. The bell is about to ring. I have to go.”
“Thanks, Devan.” I disconnect the call.
The last time I spoke to Marilyn was at Devan’s wedding. She said she didn’t hate me. I’m not sure that means she will be willing to help me, but I need to find out. This dinner could be the key to me getting out of this apartment and a real life.
Checking Parker and Stevens’s website, I find what I could have found without calling Devan. Marilyn’s picture, a short biography, and the title Wealth Consultant – Fiduciary are staring back at me. For a moment, I take in her photo. In a business jacket, she looks professional and as pretty as she did at the wedding.
How had I not paid more attention to the blue of her eyes?
Taking a breath, I chastise myself. I already fucked things up with Marilyn once. I need to keep this professional.
When I call the number on the screen, I’m told she is out of the office. I leave a message.
Now, I must wait.
I’m supposed to RSVP by five o’clock tonight.
After a cup of coffee, I get into the shower, contemplating going to the dinner solo. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Why would the partners suggest a plus one? As the hot water rains down on me, I answer my own question. They want to know more about the applicants, such as if they’re stable and in a committed relationship. They hired Marilyn, and she isn’t married.
That thought is like a punch in my gut. I should have asked Devan that question. Maybe she is married. Why didn’t I ask? Her name on the website is listed as Marilyn James. That means she’s not married. Or she kept her maiden name.
My head is swirling with these new thoughts.
Surely Devan would have said if Marilyn is in a relationship or married. Then again, why would she?
My internal debate ends with the ringing of my phone.
I turn off the water and reach for a towel.
The name “Parker and Stevens Wealth Management” is on the screen.
Taking a deep breath, I answer the call. “Marilyn, thanks for calling me back.”
“Ricky?” Marilyn asks. “What’s with the new name?”
Oh, I forget that people from my past aren’t used to the name Rich.
I trap the phone between my shoulder and chin as I wrap a towel around my waist. At the sound of her voice, I remember the way she looked at me at Devan’s wedding, the way the dress accentuated her curves. Trying not to think about her breasts pushed against me when we danced, I work to keep my voice even. “First, thanks for calling me back. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“That’s why you tried to be sneaky with your name.”
A laugh bubbles from my throat. “I’m not exactly sneaky. Rich and Ricky are both short for Richard.”
“So is Dick.”
My cheeks rise. “Yeah, my headhunter thought Rich would look better on résumés.”
“I don’t know, Dick Dunn would certainly catch people’s attention. Why did you call me at work? Do you need a wealth manager?”
“No,” I scoff. Hardly. Making it to the next paycheck is more my speed. Instead of saying that, I reply, “It’s part business and part personal.”
“I’m curious,” Marilyn says. “What’s the business and what’s the personal?” She pauses. “I have a meeting with a client in ten minutes.”
So much for chitchat. “Remember that I went back to college?”
“I remember.”
“I loaded up on the hours and completed my bachelor’s in December. I thought I might see you in Riverbend over the holidays.”
“Couldn’t get a lot of time off. Business, personal,” she prompts.
“Work, well…that’s why I’m calling. I’ve been on more than a few interviews.” My mouth goes dry as I say what I’ve practiced. “One position is with Parker and Stevens.”
“Oh.”
I was hoping for a more enthusiastic response, but I continue, “It’s a starting position, one in research, but it’s a foot in the door. I’m not ready to be a fiduciary yet. I’m hoping to work as an underling and, at the same time, take classes toward my master’s degree.” I don’t pause, afraid if I do, Marilyn will cut me off. “The thing you might already know is that these entry positions are relatively new, and Parker and Stevens has a huge selection of applicants. I was hoping that maybe I could stand out above the rest with your help.”
“My help?”
Biting the bullet, I spit out my question, “Marilyn, will you be my date for the dinner with the partners? It’s only for one date and no strings.” When she doesn’t respond, I add, “It’s a recruit dinner. There will be twenty of us there vying for an undisclosed number of openings. I was hoping?—”
“When is the dinner?”
Inhaling, I take a much-needed breath. A question is better than a flat-out no. “This Friday.”
Marilyn coughs. “This Friday, as in today is Tuesday?”
“That’s the way it works. I only received the email with the invitation yesterday. I didn’t see it until today,” I admit. “It said something about a delay with the holidays. It asked about a plus-one, and I thought of you.”
“Not to be rude,” Marilyn says.
I brace myself for her to be just that. Here it comes, her smartass comment.
She goes on, “Why me?”
Okay, not what I expected. “You know the partners. You work for them. This is one friend helping the other.”
“Hmm.”
Taking a deep breath, I lay it on the line. “Help a friend out.”