7. Go Forth and Calculate
7
Go Forth and Calculate
ANDREW
From: Victor Lynch
To: Andrew Jones
Sent: November 1, 9:26 pm
Subject: Client dinner
Good job today on the briefing. Looking forward to seeing your work on the project.
The client dinner is Monday the 11th, 8 pm at La Colombe Bleue. Don’t be late, and don’t forget your date.
- Vic
Victor Lynch, Chief Financial Officer
“ M aybe you should be on camera for this one.” When I said it, my stomach clenched.
“What?” Oliver looked up from adjusting the tripod. We stood on the corner of Washington and Columbus. People mostly ignored us as they bustled past on Saturday at midday. “Why?”
“Because…” Because my boss thinks these videos are unbecoming of a bank vice president. But I couldn’t force those words out. “Because you never take a turn on camera.”
His right cheek crept up into a slow smirk. “I’m the brains of this operation. You’re the pretty face. Besides, I never paid attention in trig.”
“Trigonometry is easy. I’ll write you a script.”
He squinted up at the top of the Transamerica Pyramid, then at its shadow creeping toward our feet. “We’d lose the shadow before you were done.”
“You do know trig! You know exactly how this works.”
“You know this shit like the back of your hand. It’s your passion. Why don’t you want to do the video?”
I sighed and picked up the meter stick. “My boss.”
“But Reva loves our videos. At that last foundation event, she told me she watches them with her daughters.”
“She quit.” I still got a sick feeling when I thought about it. Work wasn’t the same without her. “Now I report to Vic, the CFO. Temporarily. Until they can hire a replacement.”
“Who do you think—oh. Oh! You want the job?” He rubbed his chin. “You don’t want that job.”
“Coming from a CEO, that’s pretty rich.”
“You know I never wanted the position.” He screwed his phone into the tripod with more force than necessary.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I’d been too caught up in my feels to protect him from the memory of losing his business partner last year. Oliver had loved his Chief Technology Officer role at their startup, but now he held the entire company on his shoulders.
“’S okay.” He shrugged. “Our operations chief does all the work.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing good work. Simon would be proud.”
“You think so?” When he lifted his face, it was twisted in pain. “I’m terrified of fucking up what he built.”
I squeezed his shoulder. “What you two built together . The company wouldn’t have amounted to much without your ideas.”
The tension melted from his shoulders. “Thanks, man. Not just for that but for everything else.”
I knew what he meant. He’d come from an upper middle class family, and he’d been able to handle the venture capital funding, but when the money from their IPO rolled in like the waves at Ocean Beach, he’d been overwhelmed. After meeting him at a bank party, I’d straightened out his finances and set him up with the right balance of investments to keep him comfortable while also easing his conscience with charitable contributions.
“Thanks for helping me with my nerdy hobby,” I said. “You’ve got to be the highest net-worth cameraman in California.”
He squinted at the top of the building. “As your cameraman, I advise you to get off your ass and start rolling. You’re losing that shadow.”
I looked down. It had reached my feet. “Shit. Let me reposition.” I shuffled back on the sidewalk until the shadow covered the bottom of the meter stick but not the top.
“I’ve got you in frame,” Oliver said. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
While he counted down, I shoved all thoughts of my job out of my brain and remembered the drawing one of our young viewers had emailed us. She’d sketched squares in the Fibonacci pattern I’d shown in the video along with the spiraling curve through them, and she’d colored the shapes in pastel shades.
Fuck Vic. I was doing this for her.
“Welcome, math nerds! Today, we’re talking trigonometry. What’s trigonometry?” I screwed up my face in a fake confused expression. “It’s the math of triangles.” I paused for the cut where I’d explain the concepts of angles and ratios.
“And now I’m going to show you how we use trigonometry in real life. We’re going to find out how tall this building is.” I pointed at the Transamerica Tower. Oliver would splice in a shot of it later. “How would you measure a building that tall? There’s no tape measure long enough. And don’t say you’ll look it up on the internet because we can measure the height of that building using this measuring stick, a laser measure, and trigonometry.”
I demonstrated how to measure the height of the shadow on the stick, the length from the bottom of the stick to the tip of the building’s shadow, and the distance to the bottom of the building.
We cut there. Later, I’d insert an explanation of similar triangles and the rest of the math, including the diagram I’d made. I’d have to do that as soon as I got home. Tomorrow, after brunch with my family, was for catching up on my extra work projects. But I wasn’t going to think about all that. I had to keep my energy up for the kids.
I reset so the Pyramid was behind me for the end of the video. “And that’s trigonometry, math nerds. Go forth and calculate!”
After he stopped the video, Oliver said, “See? You didn’t want me to do that.”
“You could’ve done it. You’ve got the right level of nerdiness.” I dropped the laser measure into my backpack.
“I may be a nerd, but you’re the one who geeks out about math. You’re passionate about it. And the kids who watch. It’s like you’re talking directly to them. You love this shit.”
Maybe that was why my stomach twisted at the thought of anyone else, even Oliver, speaking to our subscribers.
“I guess I do.”
“And they love you. Our viewership is up enough that our check this month could pay both our rents.”
“Fortunately, our day jobs pay our rent. That’s why all the income from the channel goes to literacy,” I said.
“Well, the literacy foundation is going to be thrilled this month, which is why you’re going to tell Vic to shove it up his ass if he tells you to stop.”
Could I do that? “But I need this promotion.”
He snorted. “You could live off your trust fund for the rest of your life.”
“No, I couldn’t. I mean, technically, I could. But that wouldn’t be living up to Jones family expectations. I’m already the black sheep since I don’t have my own company like my brother and sister.”
“What about Natalie? She’s unemployed.”
“She’s the baby. And she’s in school. If she gets her shit together before I do, they’ll probably make me change my name to Smith.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fuck your family if they can’t accept you as you are.”
“Hey.” My scalp bristled. “Only I can talk shit about my family.”
He held up his hands, palms out. “Okay, so what do you have to do to get this promotion?”
I checked that we had all our gear, then trudged down the street toward where my car was parked. “I’ve got to wow him with the two projects I picked up from Reva. Then I’m supposed to show up at a client dinner”—I winced—“with a date.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said, bumping my shoulder. “As your platonic, bisexual date.”
“Wow, um, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Ah, you think Vic would prefer a date of the more traditional variety?”
I stared down the long row of parked cars. “I kind of told him I’m seeing someone. Seriously. I made her a female someone.”
He snorted. “Mr. Love-em-and-leave-em is in a serious relationship?”
“It’s not like that. I date people.”
“You break up with them before they can break up with you. Classic Andrew Jones.”
I remembered what Winnie had said. “Maybe you’re right. When did you get to be so smart?”
“A year of therapy has given me perspective. But what are you going to do about this date?”
“I don’t know. I only have a week to figure it out.”
“You could hire an escort. That works in the rom-coms.”
“Like a Pretty Woman thing?”
“I was thinking The Wedding Date. Who do you think is more fuckable, early 2000s Debra Messing or Dermot Mulroney?”
“Debra Messing,” we said at the same time.
“Have you seen her recent photos?” I asked. “Still gorgeous.”
“I do love a redhead.” He bit his lip. “Maybe you should email her and ask her out.”
“I’ve got to find someone I could realistically be in a serious relationship with.”
“Guess you’ll have to ask everyone you meet. Excuse me,” he said to a pair of twenty-something girls paying at the parking meter. “Would one of you pretend-date my friend here?”
“Sorry about my friend,” I said, gripping his arm and dragging him away. “I’m not that desperate.”
He smirked. “Aren’t you?”
“Not yet.”