29. A Modern-Day Pee-wee Herman
29
A Modern-Day Pee-wee Herman
ANDREW
Meeting invitation: Lunch
From: Victor Lynch
To: Andrew Jones
Start time: Wednesday, January 22, 12:00 pm
End time: Wednesday, January 22, 2:00 pm
Location: La Colombe Bleue
Message: none
I pulled up to the valet stand in front of the French restaurant. This had to be it, the moment when Vic would either offer me the promotion or let me down. Gently, I hoped. For the past three weeks, his assistant had paraded a handful of external candidates past my office to Vic’s. Every one of them sauntered in looking assured, and each one laughed with Vic as they came out, displaying a confidence I could never feel anywhere but in front of my computer monitor, perfecting a financial model.
The presentation to the board had gone…not great. I’d been fired up about my latest model, eager to explain it to them. I had even—I cringed a little, remembering—brought a set of dice to demonstrate the fundamental principles.
They weren’t impressed. They didn’t want to talk about financial modeling as much as they wanted my opinions about how to better serve the bank’s customers and potential areas for growth. Topics I’d never thought about because, frankly, I didn’t care. Why couldn’t they let me do math and supervise the other mathematicians? Had Reva done all this?
But, if I was honest, my sense of unease over the last three weeks wasn’t only because of the botched presentation or even the slate of more qualified candidates.
It was because of Carly. At the festival on New Year’s Day, we’d gotten so close to where I wanted to be. When she’d almost, but not quite, said she loved me. And now she was busy. I didn’t blame her. It was award season. Her phone rang nonstop. Helen and all her friends needed her opinions on their formal looks. It wouldn’t end after the Oscars in March. After that, she had a long list of local clients to style.
She was like my dad, dedicated and driven. But some days, she couldn’t spare even fifteen minutes for me. Sometimes it was only a text. And without the stress relief of making videos with my best friend, a text wasn’t enough.
I handed the keys to the valet and strode around the back of the car to stand on the sidewalk. Vic’s choice of venues didn’t give me any clues about how our lunch would go. La Colombe Bleue was the kind of place my parents went for dinner. It was nice enough and popular with people at a certain income level. It was a place to see and be seen, to be sure to run into someone you knew.
Had Vic brought me here so I wouldn’t make a scene if he told me he was giving the job to someone else? Cold prickles erupted in my belly, and it wasn’t only because the host led me past the table where we’d had dinner with Brad that night.
I straightened my tie, the blue one Carly had told me to wear, and pulled open the door. She was in LA styling Helen for a premiere, but her text this morning had declared that lunch was good news. I almost believed her, hoping that as close as we’d become, her aura of magical success might encompass me too. Like when one of my soccer teammates was having a stellar day, we all seemed to play better.
“Here you are, sir.” The host’s voice startled me.
Vic was already seated, his expression giving nothing away. He stood to shake my hand. “Jones.”
“Afternoon, Vic. Sorry I’m late. I was working on a model, and I lost track of time. I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”
“Not too long. It’s good to see your dedication to the work. Something to drink?”
Unbuttoning my suit jacket and easing into the chair, I narrowed my eyes. Was this a test? “Water’s fine, thanks.”
Vic waved off the server and grasped his lowball glass. “To new beginnings.”
I raised my water glass. “New beginnings.” Fuck, I wished he’d come out and tell me if the new beginning was a new boss for me.
He sipped his drink and gave me a steely stare. “You didn’t make this easy on me, kid.”
“I—I’m sorry?”
“It was hard to get a read on you. Don’t get me wrong, you do excellent work. Everyone’s impressed with the new risk model.” He paused, his glare seeming to pierce my skin, right to my heart rabbiting in my chest. “I’d have thought someone with your background would have more…vision. You know?”
“Vision? I’m great at anticipating risk. And pretty good at predicting gains.”
He waved a hand. “Not that. I mean strategic thinking. Ideas for growing the bank’s position.”
I kept the grimace off my face. I didn’t give a shit about the bank’s position, as long as it paid everyone’s salary and protected our customers’ assets. But Vic didn’t want to hear that. “I care about the bank.”
“I’ll need you to work on your strategic thinking. I’m signing you up for coaching next month.”
“Okay.”
“Because our vice presidents can’t yammer on about stok—stok?—”
“Stochastic processes?”
“That. At cocktail parties.”
“What are you saying, Vic?”
“I’m saying…” When he smiled, his teeth were sharp. “The promotion is yours.”
It was all I could do not to whip off my shirt like I’d scored a soccer goal. “Really? That’s fantastic!”
“It’ll require hard work. The quants aren’t the easiest to supervise. They’re a bunch of prima donnas who think they can manage themselves. And you’ll need to train someone to take over your work.”
“Wait, I won’t be continuing my modeling work?”
He shook his head. “You’ll be too busy managing the team to be a quant yourself. You’ll present their work to me and the rest of senior leadership. And once in a while, to the board. After you work on your soft skills, especially vision and executive presence.”
Executive presence? I sat back in my chair. I didn’t think I’d ever enjoy presenting to the board no matter how many workshops I attended. Building models and talking about them was fun. Could I enjoy only helping the team with their models?
“I’ll need you at one hundred percent, Jones. Fortunately, you’ve got Carly to help you with social events. She’s good at those things.”
My heart skipped in my chest. Carly. She’d be happy for me. Plus, she could help me with strategy. She had a brilliant vision for her business.
“We’ll expect you to represent the bank at all times.” He lowered his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Of…of course?”
He dipped his chin like he needed more.
“When I’m managing the team,” I said, “I’ll support all the bank’s directives.” Even the ridiculous ones like requiring the financial engineers to wear suits and ties. I’d lead by example and wouldn’t tug my tie off as soon as I sat at my desk.
“I mean at all times. Including weekends.”
“Weekends? I’ll be working Saturdays?”
He rolled his eyes to the frescoed ceiling as if the painted blue dove could help him explain this to me. “I mean that ridiculous video series of yours. Take it down.”
“Take it down?” I shook my head. He couldn’t mean it. “We’re already on hiatus. I haven’t posted a new video in a month.”
“Bank vice presidents don’t make videos for children like some modern-day Pee-wee Herman. It’s got to go. No new episodes. Remove the old ones. Delete the whole goddamn channel.”
That kid at the festival flashed into my mind. I’d never get to show him the cool trick for multiplying by eleven like I’d promised. “But?—”
“Let’s talk compensation.” And with that, Vic moved the conversation to incentive plans and stock grants.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how disappointed Oliver would be when I told him about the videos. Would he agree to keep making them? He’d have to be the one in front of the camera, but I’d write the scripts and edit the videos. Regardless of what Vic said, we didn’t have to stop. We just needed to retool. I couldn’t give a hundred percent of my life to the bank. Not like my dad had done with his company.
As wonderful as Dad had been, I wouldn’t repeat his mistakes. I had no intention of dying before my fortieth birthday.
But Vic wouldn’t appreciate that, so I smiled and nodded and ate as much of my grilled salmon as my roiling stomach would accept. After he put the bill on his company card and we separated outside, my phone was in my hand.
It wasn’t my mother’s number I pulled up.
It wasn’t Oliver’s, either.
It was Carly’s.
She was the one I cared most to impress now. The sinking sense of disappointment when she didn’t answer confirmed why she’d been my first call. I wanted to share my success with her. Only her. I wanted the promotion to be our secret for a little while.
I loved her, and maybe now, as a bank vice president, I’d be worthy of her.
I left the good news on her voice mail. Unlike most of my friends, she actually checked it.
I ended my message with, “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you. I love you.”
A few hours later when my phone rang, I snatched it off my desk, excited to receive Carly’s congratulations, hoping she’d tell me she loved me too.
But it wasn’t Carly. It was Charles.
And when he told me the news, I flew out of the office, leaving behind both my laptop and my pride over my promotion.