Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
WIL
Abbey misses another day of work. I’ve been so worried about her, so it was good to see her with my own eyes yesterday.
I admit, when Jeremy told me she’d called in sick that first day, a very small part of me wondered if she was playing hooky for an interview.
But she looked like death warmed over, as Mimi would say, and I hate to say it, but I was glad for the reassurance.
New Year’s Eve with Abbey was everything.
Sometimes, I’ll be in the middle of a conversation with Jimmy or Sam, and I’ll find myself thinking about that dress and her skin and her moans and I’ll need to shake myself out of it.
I want to be with her. Even yesterday, when she looked so pale and wrung out, I wanted to stretch her body out beneath me, press my weight into her, make her whimper.
Jesus, I’ve got it bad. It’s not long now until I can move to my AGM spot—although because I want to be the GM of Woodlake, she’ll have to leave, eventually, too.
But not yet. I still need her here. I need her to stay, and it’s not only because I need a strong media TC.
“Wil, call parked on five-four.” Sam’s voice comes over the store intercom. “Jaws, five-four.”
I take the call at the media desk. “This is Wil.”
“Hey, it’s Cam. How are you?”
Cam’s the GM at Cedar Rapids. He worked his way through the AGM rotation here in the Twin Cities before moving to Iowa.
“You survive the holidays down there?” I ask.
“Yeah, it was brutal, but we made it. You hear that Ford’s leaving Hometown to sell cars?”
Ford’s the AGM at Ridgehill. He’s only got a few weeks left of his rotation, but like I told Abbey, not everybody makes it. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“He said he couldn’t take another holiday. You guys blew everybody out of the water, though, huh?”
I huff out a laugh. “Wasn’t easy.”
“Speaking of, I wanted to touch base with you about your media TC.”
My eyes widen. “What about her?”
“I’m sure you know she applied for the merch manager spot here.”
My stomach drops. I was, only moments ago, thinking that Abbey would have to leave the store eventually. But I had no idea that she’d widen her net and apply to Hometown stores outside of the Twin Cities.
I don’t like it, but I’m in no position to hold her back.
“Wil? You there?”
I snap back to the conversation. “Oh, sorry, bad connection. Say it again?”
“I asked if you thought she was ready for the move or if she’s a little green. She’s only worked there for what, four months? I guess she’s really on the fast track.”
I’m in an impossible position. If I tell Cam that even though she’s new to retail, I do think that she’d succeed in the smaller market store, I lose her—in the store and outside of it. If I lie and discourage him from interviewing her, that makes me an asshole.
I take a deep breath. “She’s great, Cam. You should set up an interview.”
Dad’s waiting for me at the loss prevention desk when I get back from grabbing lunch at Einstein Bros. Bagels at the far end of the parking lot.
“Bring your lunch into the Performance Center, and we can chat,” he says.
“I usually eat in the Dugout,” I tell him, “so I can catch up on emails.”
“Today, you and I are going to catch up.”
This can’t be good.
I have two things in common with my father: our names and our love of baseball.
He grew up as a Twins fan in that storied era of Harmon Killebrew and Tony Oliva and passed his love of the sport down to his children.
You almost have to love baseball if you work at Hometown Electronics, or at least tolerate it.
My biggest love for it now comes from the kids at the nonprofit. But I didn’t get that from Dad.
“You want half of this?” I unwrap my Tasty Turkey on sesame.
“No, thank you.” He sighs. “Chanelle has me on a strict diet. We’ve got that cruise in April, and my cholesterol and blood pressure didn’t look great the last time I was in.”
I look up in surprise. Dad doesn’t talk to me about personal things. Ever. We’ve only ever talked about my grades or my career or the store, and on occasion, the Twins.
“Are you okay?” Is this why he pulled me into the Performance Center, to tell me his health isn’t good?
“Well, I’d be better if I knew I could count on the merch manager at the flagship store to stay the course.”
There’s the father I recognize. Mr. Wilshire.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Revenue’s up, the store looks great considering the product we blew through over the holidays, and my captains are knocking it out of the park.”
“Funny how you should bring Aurora into this.”
“It’s Abbey. Abbey and Jimmy,” I retort. “Of course I’ll bring them into this. They’re a big part of our success.”
“I’m not talking about merchandising or revenue. I’m talking about your career.”
He’s talking in circles. “I don’t follow.”
“You only have a few weeks left of this rotation before moving on to AGM. If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. At work or outside of it. Toe the line, Wil.”
I tilt my head. He’s gained weight over the years, and his face has rounded out under the sandy hair that’s now flecked with gray.
He played baseball in high school but hasn’t made time for exercise in recent years.
I remember only a handful of times he played catch with me out in the yard when I was young.
Chanelle came to my JV games, but Dad never did. Not one.
He usually says what he means, but today, whether it’s because I’m exhausted or impatient or stressed or whatever, I’m not getting it. “Spit it out, Dad.”
“I’m talking about Aurora.”
“Abbey,” I snap. “What about her?”
“You know exactly what about her, Wil. Kelsey saw you dancing with her at the gala.”
“And?” I stick my chin out in a challenge.
“And,” he echoes, “are you willing to throw away your career for a fling with your direct report?”
It’s not a fling, I think, but I’m not going to tell him that.
“This coming from a man who married not only your operations manager but later, a human resources specialist after you divorced the mother of your children.” I somehow remain calm. “You’re such a hypocrite, Dad.”
“You admit it, then? That you’re having a relationship with your direct report?” The way he keeps saying that—direct report—chills me.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying you either end it with this girl or, if you decide to pursue a relationship with her, you can start interviewing candidates for a new media team captain.”
“So, what, you’ll have her moved to another store? Or fired?”
He doesn’t respond at first, and his silence speaks volumes.
“I know you don’t hold much regard for my opinion, but I’ve worked hard to make this company a success.
I want to see you succeed as well. You don’t need this distraction.
Ideally, for your sake, you’ll end whatever is going on with this girl and refocus.
She’s smart, and she was a good hire. But I’m not opposed to ending her career with Hometown Electronics to save yours.
You’re so close to your goal. And remember, a relationship with a direct report goes against company policy, and it’s not a good look for the flagship store. ”
“Stop calling her a girl,” I grind out, and then the boulder of ice-cold anger that’s been growing in my mind bursts into a million sharp shards behind my eyes and I lose my control. “Why is this so important to you? Why do you care?”
“Lower your voice,” he hisses. “I care because you are ten years into a career that matters, Wil, to me, to you, to this family. You need to end whatever’s going on with her by the end of this week, or she’ll be out of a job, and you can kiss your GM job goodbye.”
I’m up and standing before I know it, my chair tipping over behind me.
I won’t listen to this. I move close, right up to his face.
I’m taller and stronger and, right now, angrier.
I want to shout at him, ask him how he got to be such an asshole.
He can’t have always been like this. No way would Mom have fallen in love with such a pompous, power-hungry, heartless bastard.
But then, I deflate. All the anger, all the indignation, seeps out of me, a slow leak. I can’t walk away from this, the position I’ve worked so hard to earn, but more importantly, I can’t put Abbey’s in jeopardy. She already lost one job, and I can’t be responsible for her losing another.
“You win, Mr. Wilshire,” I say quietly. “You win.”
When Abbey comes back to work, I’ll find a way to end our beginning.
Somehow, things get worse after Dad leaves and Jeremy pages me to the Dugout.
“Abbey still out sick?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My answer is short and to the point. I’m out of patience today.
“Hmm. Have you, ah, seen her since the gala?”
“I stopped by her apartment to check on her yesterday.”
“Uh-huh.”
I don’t have time for this. “Jeremy, what’s going on?”
He sighs and slides a document across the desk. I don’t have to do more than glance at it to recognize what it is. Team Member Corrective Action.
“Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head. “Go on, read it.”
Jefferson A. Wilshire IV (Wil), merchandise manager, engaged in inappropriate behavior with a direct report, who for privacy reasons will remain unnamed, at a sanctioned Hometown Electronics event on December 31, 1996.
I look up with wide eyes. “I’m not signing this.”
“You haven’t even read the whole thing!”
“Did she file a complaint?”
“Who, Abbey?”
I’ve had enough of Jeremy’s clueless act. “Obviously Abbey.”
“No, she didn’t file a complaint.”
“Then who told you to do this?”
“You know who it was, Wil. Finish reading it.”
I shove the document at him. “I’ve seen enough.”
“Let me summarize for you. You are not allowed to see her outside of work. Any additional occurrences of this nature could result in further disciplinary action, up to and including termination, blah blah blah. And I could give two shits if you sign it or don’t. Either way, it’s on your record.”
I shake my head. “Thanks for the support, you dick. You’re the one who told me lightning didn’t strike twice.”
“What do you want me to do here? My hands are tied. You don’t tell the CEO no, you know what I’m saying?”
I clench my fists. “You should try it sometime. It’s very liberating.”
Except I didn’t tell him no today. Today, I gave in. Like always.
He frowns. “You think this is a joke? This is your career on the line, and mine.”
I shake my head again. If I get myself fired, fine. But I won’t do that to Jeremy.
“I want to help you,” he says. “But don’t be an asshole.”
I bark out a laugh. “That ship sailed a long time ago. It’s in my genes.”
I don’t sign the corrective action document, but I choose Hometown over Abbey, and yeah, that makes me an asshole, even if I did it to save her job, too.
I slam my clipboard into a plastic bin on the wall. The idea comes to me in a flash. “I heard that Ford left Hometown to sell cars.”
“And?” Jeremy asks. “You want to sell cars, too?”
“No. I want his spot.”
“You want his AGM spot? At Ridge?”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t just jump the line, Wil. You’ve still got what, three, four months left in merch, and there’ve gotta be at least a couple of people in line for AGM ahead of you.”
I shake my head. “There aren’t. Shelly moved to North Dakota and Lars didn’t make it past operations.”
“Huh,” he says. “You really think district will go for this?”
“Woodlake had the best December in store history because the product was on the floor so the team could sell it. I’ve proven myself. I’ve earned this. And—bonus—it’ll make Mr. Wilshire happy because I won’t be around Abbey every day.”
“Wil—”
“No, don’t. We’re done talking about that. I want the AGM spot at Ridge and I want it now.”
“All right, all right, Veruca Salt,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“No. Don’t see what you can do. Make it happen, Jeremy.”
I leave the store and drive to Sam’s, a tiny tract house built in the 1940s that looks a lot like every other tract house in the neighborhood except for the giant Vikings logo painted on the garage door. What a homer. At least it’s easy to find the right house.
“This is a surprise.” Adriana holds Sammi at the front door. “Come on in. Sam’s downstairs.”
Sammi reaches out a chubby, sticky hand to my cheek and says something that could be uncle or dumbass. Either one applies.
Sam’s on the couch in the basement rec room playing NHL 97 on the PlayStation. He looks up in surprise when I come around the corner and sets down his controller. “What’s wrong?”
I sit down in the recliner next to the couch and give him the highlights.
“Shit,” he says after I tell him about Jeremy writing me up. “What a dick.”
“That’s what I said. To his face.”
“So… Jeff told Jeremy to write you up?”
“Of course he did.” My tone is bitter and brittle. My own father. But what do I expect? It’s his company. He can do whatever he wants.
“You think Jeff will go for you skipping out of merch early to take Ford’s spot at Ridge?”
I shrug and tell him the same thing I told Jeremy. “The numbers don’t lie.”
“I don’t know, Jaws. Seems risky.”
“Well, it’s a risk I’ve got to take. He threatened Abbey’s job, too.”
“Jesus,” he says. “So you think leaving now will protect Abbey?”
I hang my head. “Sam. I—we—Abbey came home with me on New Year’s Eve.” I look up at him and his eyes are wide. “We… uh. We slept together.”
“No shit?” he blurts. “That’s awesome!”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not. It can’t happen, Sam.”
“Why the hell not?”
I spare him the laundry list of reasons. “It just can’t.”
“What are you going to tell her? That Daddy said you can’t have playdates with her anymore?”
“Fuck off.”
“Seriously, Jaws. What are you going to say?”
“Well, I can’t tell her that Dad threatened to fire her. She needs this job too much, and she’s applied for at least one AM spot. I’ll tell her that I made a mistake. That I shouldn’t have approached a subordinate.”
“Oh, yeah, great idea. Abbey’s gonna love that. Subordinate. For fuck’s sake.”
“I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Oh, you’re going to hurt her.”
“Helpful, thanks. I’m so glad I stopped by.”
“Guys?” Adriana calls from the top of the stairs. “Dinner’s ready.”
“You staying?” Sam asks. “She made chiles en nogada.”
“Fuck yes, I’m staying.” Adriana is an amazing cook.
“It’s all going to work out,” Sam says as we walk up the stairs. “Hang in there.”
If only I could be as lucky as Sam.