Five
Icalled to tell Dylan the good news, and she was glad to hear it and just a little jealous.
She and I had been a creative team for years, and she was not crazy about the idea of someone taking her place.
Once I explained that no one ever could, she was happy for me.
And then I told her I was really okay about being fired.
It took nine more times of me saying, “I swear to God,” and her asking if I was super sure before she almost, maybe, believed me.
When Michelle called, I gave her the same speech about being okay without the endless assurances. I wished her well and hung up. I didn’t answer when she called back. What was the point?
Everyone checked on me after that, Wade and Gina among them, and I realized there were more people at the firm who gave a damn than I’d thought there were.
But I didn’t want to have dinner, and I didn’t need to have drinks and talk since I was not, really, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Yes, I had heard that Fallon quit, and, yes, that was interesting.
Yes, we could have dinner soon, and I was truly fine.
This was all in a flurry of phone calls after lunch. After two, as I finally put away the scattered laundry, watered the plants, and made a grocery list, there were more calls. I was surprised by the one from my new ex-boss.
“Mr. Rowe?” I asked as I walked through the store, gathering the ingredients for crab stuffed with tuna and spinach. I was craving it.
“Jory,” he breathed out, “at last.”
Had I missed other calls?
“Were you not answering on purpose?”
“No. Did you maybe call Sam?”
“Sam?”
“My husband,” I reminded him. “His number is only one digit different from mine.” I smiled into the receiver, biting my lip. How funny would it be if Sam’s phone, wherever the hell it was, had been ringing off the hook all day? “I think maybe you called him.”
“Oh … perhaps.”
I cleared my throat. “Something you wanted? I gave my keys to the sec—”
“Jory,” he rushed out before clearing his throat, “there’s been a mistake.”
“How so?”
He coughed. “It seems that Mr. Fisher told Nora he only wanted to proceed if you supervised the project. He didn’t want you off the project.”
So, it was good that I had deleted the fuck you very much email I had written the man instead of sending it to him.
I was also glad I hadn’t told Dane that Hayes Fisher was a dick and to cancel his appointment.
Which was crappy, but I was going to do it, and Dane would have screwed him over because he simply liked me better.
“Oh.”
“And the things that were said in our conversation this morning were—”
“All true,” I told him. “I am immature, and I am loud, and I do give my opinion away far too freely,” I said, paraphrasing him. “And I do dress a little too casually, and I do talk too much, and I do annoy a helluva lot of people.”
“Jory, I—”
“It’s true,” I sighed. “And for that reason, it’s probably good that I’m goin’ with Fal to Benchmark. Having me around is a liability you don’t need. This way, you don’t have to deal with it.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“Mr. Rowe?”
“You’re going with Fallon?” he asked me, clearing his throat.
“Yeah.”
“I see. You and Fallon … to Benchmark. When, may I ask?”
“In a month.”
“I see.”
“He told you, didn’t he?”
“He said he was leaving for Benchmark. He didn’t mention you were going with him though.”
“Oh, well, he should have.” I would call Fallon and tell him that when he talked to other people, he needed to lump me in with him. “So, I’ve gotta go, but thank you, sir, for everything, and I guess for firing me since I have a new job that sounds like it’ll be a better fit.”
“Jory, I would really like the oppor—”
“Thank you, sir. Good night,” I said and hung up.
I then called Fallon.
“Hello?”
“Hey, this is Jory. Can I talk to Fal?”
“Jory?”
“His new partner, Jory.”
Ticks of silence went by. I had been getting that a lot.
“Oh! Yes, Jory. He told me you … I thought we were—”
“I just have a quick thing to say to him if I could.”
There was coughing, then, “Yes, um, sure, yeah, hold on.”
I grabbed the shallots and the mango chutney as I waited.
“J?”
“Hey.” I smiled into the phone. “When people ask you who your partner is, say it’s me, okay?”
“What?”
“I just talked to Mr. Rowe, and he said that—”
“Becker called you? Why?”
“Becker?” I teased him. “I thought that was funny earlier ’cause I mean, shit, you were on a first-name basis with our old boss, you know?”
“Just—what did he want, Jory?”
“Something about there being a mistake. I dunno. I wasn’t really listening, but he said he knew you were going to Benchmark, but he didn’t know I was going with you. So, do me a favor and say it, okay? Tell people we’re a team. Strauss and Harcourt—it sounds good, right?”
He sounded hoarse when he spoke. “Yes, Jory, it does.”
“So, say that, all right?”
“I will.”
“Okay, so that’s—”
“Becker,” he said, cutting me off, “he didn’t change your mind?”
“Change my mind about what?”
“C’mon, Jory. He wants you back.”
“Maybe, but not really, and he for sure doesn’t like me.
He just puts up with me. And this morning, he said all kinds of crap about me that he felt was actually true, or he wouldn’t have said it in the first place, so it’s fine.
I couldn’t go back, and I don’t wanna go back.
If you don’t want me around, I don’t wanna be around, ya know? ”
“Yes, I do know.”
“Okay.”
He sighed deeply.
“We’re still on for Saturday, right?” I asked.
“Saturday, for sure, but how ’bout tonight as well? I have friends coming over. They’re congratulating me for taking the plunge to get my career on track. Why don’t you join us?”
That sounded good actually. “Yeah? You sure?”
“Very.”
“Well, I’m actually at the store if you wanna tell me what you need.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No.”
“Can you grab me some white wine—your choice—ice, and some kind of cheese that goes with fruit and crackers?”
“Absolutely. Two bottles of wine or three?”
“Three would be perfect.”
“Okay, where do you live?”
I was confused. Normally, I knew what I did when I did it, but this time, I was at a loss. When my phone rang, I answered on the second ring. I didn’t check the number.
I just said, “Hello?”
“Angel.”
“Oh, hey, Cris,” I sighed, having memorized the man’s voice with just one meeting.
“You know my voice.”
It was a big deal to a lot of people. I never really understood why.
“Course, but you’re also the only guy who calls me Angel.”
“Okay.”
“Which you should stop doing.”
“I’ll try,” he told me, clearing his throat. “You sound terrible, by the way. What’s wrong?”
“I dunno, but I pissed off Shane, and I have no idea what I did.”
He chuckled. “Since I have no clue who the hell Shane is, could you maybe start at the beginning?”
So, I explained to him how I had gone to the condo in Lincoln Park, been buzzed up through the security door, and stood outside on the welcome mat, waiting to be let in.
The door opened, and the man there was thrilled to see me until I told him who I was.
Shane McGill looked me up and down and then left me there, haunting the doorstep, as he walked away.
I didn’t know whether to keep standing there or go in or ring the doorbell or what.
I poked my head in after a few minutes, and Fallon was there to warmly greet me, apologizing profusely for his significant other. I had no inkling as to what was going on.
Everyone else was nice. Fallon’s friends were fun and interesting, and even though I made myself busy in the kitchen, I’d still had lots of time to visit.
“Angel.”
“What?” I asked, interrupting my narrative.
“Did you maybe think that Sean—”
“Shane.”
“Sorry. Shane. Did you ever think that maybe Shane wanted to host his own party?”
“No, it wasn’t like that, and he was pissed at me way before—”
“Lemme ask you a question.”
“Sure,” I said as I walked toward my car, never upset when other people cut me off since I did it all the time myself.
“What’re you wearing?”
I laughed. “This is not one of those phone—”
“Just tell me, smart-ass,” he said, chuckling.
I looked down my body. “Jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, sneakers … nothing great.”
“Okay, I know what’s wrong.”
“What? No you don’t.”
“I do,” he said, and I noted how deep and soft his voice was.
“You know you could make, like, millions of dollars as a phone-sex operator?”
Long silence.
“Hello?”
“Do you ever think before you speak, or do you just think it and say it at the same time?”
“If we’re friends, like you said we were, then I just say whatever pops into my head. I only censor myself if I don’t really know you.”
“I see.”
“Why?”
Heavy sigh from him, then, “Christ, Angel …”
“Christ, Angel what?”
“Okay,” he groaned, “now listen to me. The problem is that your new business partner, Fallon, his boyfriend is terrified of you.”
“I’m sorry?” I hadn’t heard him right.
He laughed at me. “God, you’re cute. How old are you?”
“I’m not cute. I’m twenty-seven!”
“Oh, baby, I would’ve thought you were twenty-three, twenty-four tops.”
“What does that—”
“Angel, I promise you, the partner wants to drop you into a wood chipper.”
“What?” I said indignantly. He did not. “That’s disgusting.”
He cleared his throat. “What did your new partner say?”
“I dunno. He just said that Shane had some concerns about me, and so we probably shouldn’t hang out when we weren’t at work, and … I mean, I don’t wanna cause him any—”
“It’s the boyfriend’s insecurity. He just doesn’t know you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“If he knew you better, he’d know that you would never hit on your partner at work. You’re in a relationship with your man already.”
I sighed, thinking about Sam, the man who hadn’t even called to let me know he was in town. “Yep.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“No,” I muttered defensively.
He cleared his throat. “So, apparently, from when I saw you last, you have a new job.”
“Yeah.”
“Doing what?”
“Kind of what I used to do at my old job, not at my business.”
“You had your own business?”
“Yeah,” I sighed wistfully.
“Tell me about it.”