Chapter 21
I’m at lunch with Robert talking about Finn but after our night at Sunset Boulevard last week it feels weird. It’s not as weird as the brief coffee experience I had with Nathaniel Lee Abernathy IV, but it’s weird, nonetheless. Robert only thinks of Finn as a product connected to the Carlos Wong Gallery. I need to do more of that and less thinking about Finn as the guy who is constantly pushing my buttons and hangs out at Plant Daddy working his way into my circle of friends.
It’s almost impossible to believe that Plant Daddy is a few long blocks west of where I’m sitting with my boss Robert at the elegant restaurant on the second floor of the Seagram Building on Park Avenue. The Grill is famous for hosting media power brokers. Modern light fixtures that look like bronze icicles hover above us, and metallic wall sconces illuminate the wood paneling that makes the place feel like the inner sanctum of some private club. It’s the exact opposite of the overgrown greenery and mismatched chairs of the charming cafe I call my second home.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’ Robert asks me as the waiter stands attentively next to our table. He has already finished one drink and orders his second.
I respond with a polite, ‘No, thank you.’
The waiter leaves and Robert says, ‘The Carlos Wong people have a booth at the New International show for Art Week in Miami and they want Finn to be down there. I don’t have to tell you how huge an event Art Week is. Everyone wants to be there in December.’
‘I’m sure Finn will have a great time in Miami. I know he had a studio down there. I’ll block those dates out on my calendar so I know he won’t be available.’
The waiter returns with the drink and Robert takes a small sip and then another. I imagine the pressure involved in Robert’s job makes an afternoon indulgence a necessity.
‘Actually, you won’t be available either,’ Robert says.‘I want you to go to Miami with him.’
‘Miami? Like “thank-you-for-being-a-friend”, Miami?’
‘I’m not sure what that means but the one in Florida. Yes. Our travel team will set it up.’
‘But… but. Robert, I have to be honest with you, I burn very easily and…’ I’m not sure I want to go to Miami. I suddenly get an image of Finn in a tank top and this is not a good idea. Then I remember an even better excuse. ‘I have a family wedding middle of the month.’ I can’t miss my cousin’s wedding. My mother would explode into a million pieces and expect me to use her Dyson stick to vacuum them up.
‘Don’t worry it’s just after Thanksgiving. I wouldn’t need you there the entire week just for the kick-off weekend. You’ll be back in plenty of time.’ Robert’s hairy knuckles wrap around the stem of his glass as he lifts it to his mouth and finishes it with one swallow. ‘I wouldn’t normally ask a part-time staffer but Finn insisted and since the chances are good you’ll be full-time soon it seemed like the right opportunity.’
He insisted? I don’t even know what to think about that. I guess he’s happy with the work I’ve been doing for him.
‘And they want you to write the copy for the gallery catalog. A behind-the-scenes look at the artist. Spend a day watching him work and write it up. Like the Surentox stuff.’ Working with Finn is nothing like working on Surentox. That was steady, boring work with some very nice people. Working with Finn is like a roller coaster I can’t seem to get off.
‘If that’s where you need me.’ I can’t really say no to Robert when I’m trying to get him to hire me full-time.
‘Great. I think this trip will be a good way to help you think about your future at Brands to the Rescue.’
My eyes wander around the dining room taking in all the people in conservative suits looking stressed and clutching gimlets or other cocktails. I had to search my apartment for a tie and finally had to borrow one of Omar’s. I’m not sure this is the type of place where I will ever fit in but Robert is here asking me about ‘my future’. Will this place be a part of it?
‘Sam, your work is excellent. You pay attention to detail, the clients like you and your writing is quite good,’ he says. Quite good. It’s not exactly Michiko Kakutani in The New York Times but that’s the most praise I’ve gotten for my writing in a long time so I’ll take it. ‘But is this what you want to do? Do you want to be a Senior Brand Manager? I thought you had other interests when you started? I need someone who’s committed and passionate about the job. Is that you?’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s me,’ I say but I have no idea if that’s true or not. My first instinct is to give him the answer he wants to hear. Am I passionate about writing press releases and scheduling publicity for people? Is that even something one can have passion for? I don’t mind doing it but I wouldn’t say I’m passionate about it.
I blame Oprah. She’s the one who got everyone all into their passion. I hate that word. What does it even mean? If we all follow our passion, who is collecting the garbage, driving the buses, or emailing the press releases? Not every job can have passion, right?
‘I’m glad to hear it. But I have to be honest there are a number of external candidates who look quite promising.’ Robert nods to a thin man in his late fifties with short grey hair who could be his twin. The man nods back.
‘Oh,’ I say and grab my water glass to avoid having to say anything else.
‘With so many shifts in the landscape, there are a lot of great people looking for new positions.’ This might not be the slam dunk I thought it was. If it weren’t for the fact that I’ll be moving in with Paul in a few months I would happily stay part-time. I make just enough to support myself but splitting the rent on Paul’s terraced one-bedroom in Tribeca would be impossible. Not to mention the dinners out and anything else we might do for fun. If it’s going to work with Paul I have to come into the relationship as his equal. I can’t have him paying and throwing around his money.
‘I understand,’ I say realizing I will need to sell myself to Robert, something I know I’m not very good at. ‘I think I bring a lot to the table.’ Even I can hear how lame I sound.
‘I’d love to promote someone from the part-time ranks. You know you remind me of myself when I was younger.’ He smiles to himself. ‘I was working part-time at Kleinman way before I started Brands. I thought I could write the next great American novel. I finally got a short story published and I counted the beans and you know how much I made from it. Less than a penny a word.’ He signals for the waiter and politely requests another martini.
‘What was it about?’ I ask. I knew Robert had moved from some literary background into corporate but I’ve never heard him talk about it before.
‘Oh, some nonsense about a guy who gets his girlfriend pregnant, and he joins the military so they can get healthcare. Then he dies before the baby is born. All very sad and serious.’ The drink arrives and he takes a large swallow. ‘The point is in the end I wasn’t making any money. It wasn’t a serious way to earn a living. It wasn’t something I could do as a real adult.’
Is this what it looks like to be a real adult? Liquid lunches? Client demands? Suddenly it feels like Robert is The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and he’s showing me Kermit and Miss Piggy weeping in a corner. The Muppet version of the classic is really the only one worth watching. Still, it’s an unpleasant future.
By the time we finish lunch, I expect Robert to be a bit tipsy, but he isn’t at all. We get up from the table, and we walk through the sea of ‘normals’ in dark blue and charcoal grey suits. I wonder how they got here. Am I passing through a room of former sculptors, dancers and poets or did everyone here set out plotting this destination? Maybe life is more about where you end up rather than where you planned to go.