14. Easton
14
EASTON
M y stupid board has called an emergency board meeting. I’d like to complain, but I can’t, seeing as I did the same thing.
“What was so urgent?” After my date last night, I couldn’t sleep, I was so excited. Six a.m. came especially early this work week. My eyes are still burning, even after my commute to the office. “You all look exceptionally crabby.”
“You should have been the one calling us in here,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “To explain this.” She points at the television on the wall.
It’s black.
“You need me to explain how a television works?” I frown. “I can just call tech support to?—”
Her phone must have been buffering or something, because a video blares to life just then. It’s Bea’s gorgeous face, standing by the punch table last night. At first I’m confused, but then I hear what she’s saying.
“My shoes came from DSW, my dress is from Nordstrom Rack, and my watch?” She waves it at the guy she’s talking to. “It’s a hand-me-down from my sister. ”
The guy, who’s smiling at her rather creepily, bugs me. I didn’t even notice him hovering around her last night, but now I want to know who he is.
“What do you think about Easton’s company?” he asks her. “Sacrifice Nothing—that’s the name.”
“It’s kind of a stupid name,” Bea says. “I mean, everything in the entire world that matters requires some kind of sacrifice, right?”
It is kind of a stupid name, but I would never say that publicly, and it’s awkward that she did. Awkward, but ultimately, not really that big of a deal.
I turn toward Mrs. Yaltzinger, but she points. “Keep watching.”
The man I now kind of hate tilts his head. “How so?”
“I get that it appeals to people who have never had to give anything up, and I suppose that’s the whole idea. Their overpriced stuff is for people who want to have it all, but really, they’re fooling themselves.”
“Are they?” The jerk’s smile is so smug I want to smack it off his face.
“Let’s assume the money they have to spend to buy something from that label isn’t already the trade-off,” Bea says, “because they just have so much. They’re also clearly valuing things that won’t really bring them joy. The overpriced clothes and shoes and watches are just another empty patch for the holes in their soul.”
Shoot. That’s pretty damaging. The holes in their souls ? Come on, Bea. A little less pretentious coffeeshop critique and a little more thought about what kind of people you’re talking to would be nice.
She was, after all, at a party full of my friends.
The man knows he’s got her, I can tell. “You’re not like all the people who buy Easton’s brand, then? ”
“Vapid, you mean?” she asks. “Spoiled?” I shake my head. “I certainly hope not.”
Alright, that’s pretty bad, but when Mrs. Yaltzinger shuts it off, I breathe a tiny sigh of relief. It’s not the first bad press we’ve dealt with, and this sort of thing always blows over.
“This is who you’re dating?” Mr. Dressel stands up. “This woman who goes on television and criticizes the people who buy your brand?”
“A woman who wears DSW and Nordstrom Rack ?” Mr. Jimenez says. “Really?”
I shrug. “So she’s frugal. People should appreciate that she’s relatable.”
“Oh, plenty of people do,” Mr. Jimenez says. “In fact, they’re touting her as the Evita of the fashion industry.”
I snort. “Does that make me an authoritarian dictator?”
“You think this is funny?” Mr. Dressel asks. “We told you to find a girlfriend so you could grow the brand. Instead your girlfriend, so-called, is desecrating it.”
“Be careful what you wish for, er, demand?” I sigh. “You’re all overreacting.”
“You have to break up with her immediately,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says, “which should be immediately obvious. Most of the rabble who are jeering and commenting on her video aren’t the type of people who would buy Sacrifice Nothing, but who knows what else she’ll say?”
“Look.” I don’t get angry often, but when I do. . . “You barged in here and started ordering me to date to inspire a launch I had no desire to make. Then you set me up on a date with an awful woman who I couldn’t bear for even a full meal, much less more. And now that I have met someone, someone I really, really like, you’re telling me I have to dump her, because what? Because she’s not a socialite who has thousands to blow on overpriced luxury goods?”
“Like it or not, you’re the purveyor of those overpriced luxury goods.” The vein in Mr. Dressel’s forehead is throbbing. “So, yes. We’re telling you to dump her.”
“Or else?” I ask. “Or else. . .what?”
“You retained control of your company since the IPO,” Mr. Dressel says. “Mostly. And I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I’d just like to point out that you yourself retained only forty-five percent of the stock.”
“My parents own another ten percent,” I say. “And there’s no way?—”
“Hello, Mrs. Moorland?” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “And Mr. Moorland. Are you there?”
“Hey, Eastie,” Dad says. “I’m sorry to hear that this weekend’s party was a bit of a mess.”
“But you know, when we make messes, we have to clean them up.” Mom has never once said anything like that to me before. In fact, I’ve spent the better part of my life cleaning up her messes.
“If we have to force you to dump her, we will,” Mr. Jimenez says. “But we’d rather this not get nasty.” He’s smiling, but I’ve never hated him more.
“I think this meeting’s over.” I walk out, heading for my office. The second I close the door, I call my parents. Dad ducks my call, but Mom picks up.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom says. “I’m sorry that got ugly in there. It was really unnecessary.”
“You can’t be serious about telling me to dump her, right?”
“Of course not,” Mom says. “But you have to admit that it’s complicated.”
“I gave you those shares so you could use them as collateral on the home loan you needed. How is any of this complicated? They’re my shares.” My hands are balled into fists at my side, the phone pressed against my ear by the force of my shoulder.
“The thing is, we needed that loan because your dad had an unparalleled opportunity to go in on an investment, and well.”
The investment failed.
It’s literally the only constant in my life. If there’s a bad idea, Dad’s the first to sign up. Mom persistently refuses to stop him. She’s usually standing beside him waving pom poms.
“What are you planning to do if he lost the loan money?”
“The only way we can pay off the house note is to sell the shares,” Mom says. “It’s really our only remaining asset. Unless you happen to have some money you could lend us.”
I grit my teeth.
Those shares are worth millions and millions of dollars. I don’t have that much money just lying around, not without selling shares myself. I do have a few investments I could possibly sell off, but even that takes time. “You told them you’d vote with them, though, when I gave you those shares for a company I made . . .why?”
“They told us that this girl—she could devalue the entire company. If that’s true, we can’t afford to support you in dating someone like that. We need those shares to hold their value now more than ever, and so do you. You just can’t see it, but we’re trying to help you make smart decisions.”
I’m not even disappointed. I should’ve expected something like this, honestly. “Thanks a lot, Mom.”
“But darling, surely you understand that the kind of woman you date reflects on all of us, and your sister married a Richmond, so now more than ever?—”
I hang up.
And then I call Bea.
She doesn’t answer, so I call again. And again. And again. Finally I stop being a stalker and send her a text. HAVE YOU SEEN THE VIDEO?
I’M SO SORRY.
I close my eyes. She has seen it, and clearly she feels bad. There’s no way that she would have said anything like that to anyone she thought might—it hits me then that the video was likely doctored to make it look even worse than it was.
This is my fault, of course, for having such a stupid business model that someone speaking the truth could devalue my entire brand. Sacrifice Nothing is a pretty vapid brand name. Anyone who has lived for more than a dozen years knows that important things—most things worth having, in fact—require some kind of sacrifice.
But rich people are my target demographic, and the idea of never compromising and never giving up anything appeals to them. Never mind that most of them have sacrificed time with their families, their ethics, and likely also their souls for the money they spend on my products. That’s the reason this whole thing is such a big deal. Rich people are the only ones who can afford my products, so we can’t afford to have them feel criticized by the face of the brand.
I NEED TO SEE YOU.
THAT’S A BAD IDEA, she texts back. LESS BEATRICE IS YOUR ONLY PLAY RIGHT NOW.
I’M NOT SUGGESTING WE POSE FOR A BILLBOARD AD, THOUGH IT WOULD BE A BEAUTIFUL SPREAD WITH BOTH OUR FACES ON IT, AND I’VE GOT JUST THE SLOGAN. “HOLE IN YOUR SOUL? TRY SACRIFICE NOTHING . IT’LL PATCH IT FOR A HOT MINUTE.”
She doesn’t reply.
COME ON, BEA. AT LEAST LET ME COME BY.
Why am I asking? I know where she lives. She doesn’t respond, but I don’t need her approval to bang on her door. I take the Volvo again—the XC90 is my least attention-grabbing car, since I left my 4Runner at Mom and Dad’s. It’s not like I’m Jake Priest or anything, but given the current status with the trending video, it would be nice if I wasn’t seen running right over to her house.
When I knock, I expect Jake to answer and yell at me, so it takes me by surprise when Bea yanks the door open. “What?”
“Hey! You answered.”
“I’m not some hotshot with a butler,” she says. “I always answer my own door. You’re mistaking me for Emerson.”
She’s making jokes, so it can’t be that bad. “Look, I’m sure that guy baited you, and I know?—”
“I’m an idiot,” she says. “Given half a chance, I’ll always say the wrong thing.”
“But in this case, everything you said was true.”
“Thank you for not being angry,” she says, “but I know that must have been embarrassing for you, and I’m really sorry.”
“No, what’s embarrassing is that my board is so angry that they want me to dump you.” I run my hand through my hair. “They’re being so stupid and unreasonable about it.”
“We weren’t together in the first place,” she says, “ which is what I said to the half a dozen reporters who have tracked down my number.”
“Bea.”
She shrugs. “Your board’s right. You can’t be tied to me, not with this mess I made. It’s only because of a connection between us that it’s even newsworthy.”
“That was the best date I’ve had. . .ever. You had fun, too, I know it.”
“I did,” she says, “but not enough fun to destroy a multimillion dollar company.”
I roll my eyes. “Destroy? It’s not made of paper maché.”
“I’m not trying to sound arrogant,” she says. “I’m just trying to take responsibility. What I said—it was unguarded, and Easton, I say stuff like that too often. I’m not good at things like this. There’s a reason your board doesn’t want you dating a waitress.”
“Beatrice?” A man behind me is peering around my shoulder.
Bea closes her eyes and mutters, “I should’ve just stayed in bed today.” Then her nostrils flare, and she squares her shoulders. “Easton, it’s time for you to go.”
“You must be Easton Moorland,” the man says. He’s tall, he’s broad-shouldered, and he has a winning smile, for an older man. It’s a smile that has been used a lot , a smile that most everyone in New York knows. “How unfortunate to find you here.”
“Why are you here, Grandfather?”
Bea’s grandfather is the governor of New York? Seriously?
“You may not be tapped into social media, but I am, and let me tell you, darling, you are trending. ”
“Easton.” Somehow, she turned my name into a plea. “Later. Okay? ”
“Swear you’ll answer when I call, or I’m not leaving,” I say.
She nods. It’s small, but it’s there.
“Good. He’s leaving.” The old man beams. “And as long as you stay away from him, you just took the first step in your life toward making your old man proud.” He’s beaming. “You’re a woman of the people. If we play this right, you could probably even run for office yourself.”
“There’s nothing on earth I want less than that,” Bea says.
I’m chuckling as I walk to my car. For a waitress the board doesn’t want me to date, she sure seems to have some interesting secrets, and I intend to discover every last one of them. If anything, I’m more intrigued than ever.