Diversification #10
“If I leave, I’m dragging you out with me,” Tang cautions Kara.
“Nice try, our stock would collapse if I left—”
“Go mingle,” Michael instructs. “Shake some hands, make the most of your award, and give me some peace—”
“There you are.” A hand on her shoulder—then, as Lili realizes it’s Aleksandr, settling on her lower back, bare skin. She
leans into the warmth of his touch.
“Everything alright?” she asks, looking up at him.
“Just some unexpected details about an acquisition in Europe,” Aleksandr says. “We have a trip to London in a few days, we’ll
sort it out then.”
“Another trip to London?” Kara groans. “I’m petitioning for citizenship this time.”
“You should start petitioning to keep your job,” Aleksandr warns. “This deal is becoming a headache, Taylor. I’m not enjoying
myself. A takeover, really?”
“Petrov, I can lean in,” Tang volunteers, serious and eager.
Kara snorts. “Alright, Sheryl Sandberg.”
“We’re managing fine, Tang. Thank you.”
“Focus on your own market, there’s more than enough trouble there,” Michael adds. “Have you managed to hear anything about
what the CCP’s planning for its amendments to the new Foreign Relations Law yet?”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to get intel on the Chinese security apparatus at a cocktail hour?”
“I think you’re certainly not trying—”
“You alright?” Aleksandr asks, low and just to Lili. The surrounding chatter melts away.
Lili nods. Distantly, she registers the others, although engaged in their own conversation, sneaking glances at them. Looking
past them, she scans the rest of the room. “This is a crowd,” she remarks. “I could go bird-watching with the number of neocon
hawks I see.”
“Now, Lili,” Aleksandr reproaches. “The committee is firmly bipartisan. Healthy U.S.-China relations transcend party lines.”
“Even in countries with only one party?”
Aleksandr winks at her, as he takes a drink of champagne. She suppresses a smile.
“Alright,” she says, “tell me—what’s the buzz tonight?”
He runs a soft pattern at the small of her back. “Well, the question everyone is asking: Is China easing?”
“And are they?”
“They just cut their reserve requirements this week.”
“So, yes.”
“Central bankers,” he remarks. “Central bankers love to talk. About what they are doing, will do, might do. In central banking,
words speak louder than actions.”
“Isn’t all banking in China essentially central banking, really?”
Aleksandr laughs. It’s a genuine sound, and his eyes crinkle. “Well said.” She bites back a swell of satisfaction. “But yes,”
he continues, “they are. With qualifications—stabilize growth, but they don’t want to revive speculation, especially in property.
People too often simplify the opportunities in China to either property or labor. It’s reductive.”
Lili frowns. “Alright, with all of that—pretending we can put human rights issues aside—still, why invest in China? The amount of energy you need to cultivate relationships with the party, with regulators, it’s a lot.”
“Capitalizing on the future requires diversification.”
“Diversification? You mean, you’re finally recognizing that capitalism will eventually collapse under the weight of its own
contradictions and you’re hedging your bets?”
“Much profit has been made in collapses.”
“Aleksandr.”
Grinning, he pulls her in closer, kissing her temple quick. It’s entirely appropriate, dark enough room, others talking loudly
enough, chaste enough gesture of affection, but Lili lets her eyes flutter closed for a second, with the feel of his lips
against her skin. She wants to be alone with him, after days apart—wants the heat, the stretch of him, to be with him; but even more than that, she finds she wants to be next to him, even if it’s in a room full of people she disagrees with,
a party she should abhor—but by his side, in the midst of something important to him.
“I heard you went on a hike,” she says, looking up at him.
His gaze narrows, confused for a moment, before relaxing. “Ah. Yes.”
“How’d you like it?”
“It was beautiful. Ran out, ran back. You said that was one of your favorite places, growing up?”
“Yeah.”
He nods. “I can see why. Ocean, as far as you can see. Like you can be alone, by choice.”
Lili stares at him for a second, because—yes.
“Think you can handle some more socializing beyond this group?” Aleksandr asks, glancing over the room. Against her back,
his knuckles graze up and down her spine.
It’s a room packed with people she’d usually rail against, elites and career politicians and bankers. Most of their ideas
and goals are more than distasteful to her: profit and power, hidden under the language of cultural understanding, bilateral
cooperation, global prosperity.
And she does feel that: the distaste, a bit of shaky concern, skittering around the surface of her feelings, about her possible hypocrisy, what it looks like for her—a fairly fervent democratic socialist—to be here; the shape of feeling like she should be nervous—in this crowd, around these people, with this man.
But instead, she feels remarkably steady: able to hold her own beliefs; able to stand on her own two feet, stand beside him,
in his world, for an evening, with some understanding of the priorities he balances, his perspective that’s different from
hers but not—she realizes—irreducibly incompatible; and more than that—the idea that perhaps compatibility isn’t a measure
of overlap, but rather, intention.
It doesn’t feel like compromise, like bending her morals or convictions, to feel this way, to think this way. It feels like
understanding.
Sudden, within the surprising calm of that realization, she feels the sharp spark of discontent, heart jumping into her throat:
how much this must mean to her—how much he’s beginning to mean to her—for her to feel like this, for her to want to do this.
But before the thought twists into something ugly, she takes his hand.
“Yes.” She nods, smiling. “I can handle some socializing.”
It’s not the usual New York gala crowd of too-rich men and brittle wives, habits of sailing and bourbon, cologne and cashmere,
ivy and red brick. Instead, the gala is full of Chinese and American diplomats, politicians from D.C. and Beijing, bankers
who move between the Treasury and Wall Street; translators and aides mediate interactions at shoulders with the low murmur
of languages; subdued suits, qipao, familiar handshakes, service stripes on sleeves; translucent earpieces, coiled wires slipping
into collars, posture that speaks of hired security; power that gleams low and dark, rather than the flash of wealth.
Surprisingly, people do not glance over her like she expected, as if she’s an accessory to appraise, the usual optics of a
younger girl with an older man. Rather, she’s evaluated like a person to measure: What does she mean, why is she with him?
Sheltered by his name and presence, but more than that—it’s clear, from the way he orients himself around her, that he expects
regard to be shown to her.
Yes, it’s not her world, but beside Aleksandr—with his hand resting at the small of her back or holding hers—subtle but protective, a sense of claiming her, proudly and openly—there is a stutter of growth for her.
Because it’s difficult to see that, and stay; to receive, and not run away.
But she pushes away at that unease lurking, the breath she feels like she’s holding.
Once, Lili squeezes his hand, in between conversations with others.
Aleksandr looks down at her, curious.
Are you alright?
She nods, slight. An attempt to convey something wordless, an uncertain, vulnerable radiance she’s trying to swallow.
Breathe, Lili, she thinks.
Breathe.
“So, a neurosurgeon,” Lili teases, while they wait for the car.
It’s late, close to midnight. Aleksandr’s suit jacket rests around her shoulders, the lining soft against her bare skin. Light
summer rain lingers, the wash of tires over wet pavement. A few feet away, Andrew and Michael laugh, speaking to colleagues
waiting for their cars. A hazy happiness drifts through her: tired but relaxed.
Aleksandr frowns, looking down at her. “A neurosurgeon?”
“The woman you were seeing,” she prompts.
“Ah. Gossiping with Michael?”
“More like sparring, I think.”
“Good to know battle lines are still drawn,” he says. “The day you and Michael join forces will be my downfall.”
Lili smirks, knocking her shoulder against his arm. “Right, so—a neurosurgeon. Impressive.”
Aleksandr raises an eyebrow. “I don’t quite think I can claim her accomplishments as my own.”
She rolls her eyes. “What was her name?”
“Nathalie.”
“Nathalie,” she repeats. The name is French, light, a thin, serene sound. “It didn’t work out?”
“Evidently,” he remarks, a humorous smile as he looks at her, wearing his suit jacket.
“Why not?” It’s not jealousy, but rather curiosity that makes her ask.
“Michael didn’t share any theories?”
“Didn’t he like her?” she teases.
“Michael doesn’t like anyone,” Aleksandr says dryly. “No, she was lovely—married now, Michael and I went to her wedding together.”
“But?” Lili nudges. “Why’d it end?”
Aleksandr shrugs. “It wasn’t fair to her, in the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t let her into my life. Not really. My home, my days, my thoughts—not in any meaningful way. I suppose it didn’t seem
necessary. I didn’t see myself marrying her. Ah, here’s the car.”
The warmth of the night—it blurs, concentrates; an adrenaline course, and then: it cracks.
Aleksandr, holding the door open for her.
The pound of her heart, in her throat, as she gets into the car.
The rustle of silk, as Aleksandr helps ensure her dress doesn’t catch.
Laughter, from Andrew as he settles across from Lili, when Michael undoes his black bow tie, irritated relief at being free.
Conversation, recounting contours of the evening.
“. . . it still would have been better if you’d gone up, it risked looking like an insult.”
“No one was insulted, Michael. Tang leads the work, he can accept the award for the firm.”
The weight of Aleksandr’s hand, clasped tight between both of hers, rests in her lap.
Left hand, bare ring finger—