That Wild Player, page 13
“Hey, CJ.” Derek nods at me, shoots Michelle a friendly smile that I want to scrape off his face with a steam shovel, then disappears.
“What did he want?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing much. There was an error he made on his benefits paperwork. But I fixed it for him.”
“Shoulda told him to fix it himself. What is he, five?”
Michelle rolls her eyes. “It’s my job, silly. And his department has been busy the last few weeks, so I don’t mind.”
I still don’t like it, but I don’t want to waste time arguing over Derek’s inability to turn in properly filled out paperwork when she’s giving me a cute, foxy smile. So I ask, “Have a good day?”
“More or less, yeah.”
“Anybody else bother you?”
“Nope. Not after what you did.” She smiles. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” And I mean it. I wanted to break all Izzy’s fingers. Then throttle her. I don’t understand how she hasn’t been fired yet. If she worked for me, she would’ve been gone years ago. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything is fine.”
I take Michelle to a nice little Japanese restaurant that’s in the neighborhood. I’ve only been once, the last time I was in the area, but it has fantastic food, not the usual generic sushi you see in the States. I want to treat Michelle to one of their amazing tempura sets.
It’s still early enough that there are a couple of tables left. The hostess takes us to one by a window. The interior is distinctively Asian, with wood latticed partitions covered in thin white paper and a few woodblock prints of blue waves and Mount Fuji with a bright red sun rising over the summit. The music, however, is all modern American. Every table has a small glass centerpiece shaped like sakura in full bloom.
I know exactly what I want—their super sumo tempura set, which has everything I like. I look at Michelle. She’s studying the neat, laminated menu, her eyebrows pulled together.
“Anything wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She smiles.
It’s not her usual brilliant smile. There’s a trace of forcedness that betrays her.
“Something’s bugging you. Was it something I said to Izzy?”
I don’t regret a word of what I said to that bitch. And it was pretty tame compared to what I really wanted to say. On the other hand…Michelle seems to care a great deal about her reputation and image at work. And maybe now she’s worried she might be viewed as a helpless type who needs a man to make things right. Some women can be sensitive about that. I’ve gotten into a few arguments with some of my previous coworkers about my tendency to “step in too much.”
Michelle shakes her head. “No, no. You were perfect with her. It’s just me. I’m…” She sighs.
“You don’t want tempura? We can go someplace else.”
“But you like it.”
I shrug. “I like plenty of other things. We can Venn diagram our way out of this.”
“What?”
I put my fingers and thumb together, making a circle. “Here’s what you like.” I do the same with my other hand. “Here’s what I like.” I bring them together until the circles partly overlap. “Here’s what we both like. And I’m sure there’s a restaurant in here somewhere.”
She laughs. “Is that how you tech people explain things?”
“The easiest way. Unfortunately, I don’t have a slick PowerPoint presentation ready. Now, what do really want to eat? If tempura’s out, we could try—”
“I love tempura. There’s nothing like biting into that crunchy breading.”
“But…?”
“I shouldn’t have had pizza for lunch.”
“Why not?”
“Pizza, and then tempura? How am I going to stay fit?”
I give her an exaggerated once-over. “Look pretty damn fit to me. If you get any hotter, neither of us is ever going to get anything done because I’ll never let you out of bed.”
She smothers a laugh and turns away, but not before I catch a hint of flush in her cheeks. It’s sort of cute how she can react like that.
“I guess I could add an extra yoga session this week…or next…and order the Light Fare Special,” she says finally.
A waitress pops up, and we order. She places a pot of green tea and two teacups on the table, then leaves.
“Do you do yoga often?” I ask, as I serve Michelle some tea.
“Four times a week. Never skip it. It’s like a religion.” Michelle sips the tea. “It’s too bad I can’t jog in the morning. That’s the best for staying in shape.”
“Why can’t you jog? An old injury?”
She shakes her head. “I’d have to get up too early. Sammi does it every day.” She shudders. “I don’t know how, because it isn’t like she goes to bed an hour earlier than me.”
“I don’t think that bothers her. She’s like a bulldozer. Or a hungry dog who found a bone.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She made Jan ask me questions.”
Michelle laughs. “STDs? Secret wives and babies?”
“Pretty close.”
“Sorry about that. She can get…nosy. At least she didn’t hack into your accounts. I, uh, don’t think…”
“My…accounts?”
Michelle nods. “Uh-huh. It’s a secret. You can’t tell anybody, and if you do, I’m going to tell everyone you’re lying.”
“Okay.”
She leans closer until I can smell the subtle scent of her apple lotion. “Before she met Luke, she was convinced she was in love with David Darling and hacked into all of his social media accounts.”
I nod. “Dedicated. And determined.”
“She’s also broken a bunch of our own cybersecurity policies.” Michelle gives a martyred sigh. “I always look the other way. What can I do? She’s my best friend, and she means well.”
“Too bad she didn’t block that crazy bitch off the company email server.”
“She probably didn’t realize Izzy would go that far, or she would have. You remember that first day, when Izzy said I was ‘sexually harassing’ you?”
“Yes. By the way, if anybody gives you shit about that, they can talk to me.”
She waves a hand. “She apparently took a picture and tried to post it on the intranet community for Sweet Darlings employees. Fortunately, Sammi caught it before anybody saw it and deleted the entire thread and corrupted Izzy’s login, so she can’t even get a new password made.”
I whistle. “Damn.”
Michelle shoots me a mock-stern look. “It isn’t something to admire. It goes against multiple policies.”
“Why?”
“Because IT has its rules, and we have policies about hacking into the internal database.”
“You can’t achieve everything you want by coloring inside the lines. Sometimes it’s okay to ignore a few policies, make a change or two.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Look, if the Bostonians had been policy-abiding citizens, they wouldn’t have had that tea party and the U.S. wouldn’t have had independence. You and I would be sitting here speaking British English.”
Michelle shakes her head. “Do not tell Sammi that. I’m having enough trouble getting her to behave as it is.”
I raise a hand, palm out. “I solemnly swear not to encourage her,” I say with faux gravitas.
“You’re impossible. Don’t you take anything seriously?”
“You.”
“Well! Aren’t you the smooth talker.”
Except what I just told her wasn’t just a line. I do take everything related to her seriously. Her anger. Her laughter. Her warmth. Her scent. There’s nothing I take for granted.
The idea settles in my gut uneasily for some reason. Maybe it’s because it’s a new feeling—unfamiliar and uncontrollable. People think I made my fortune by being recklessly in love with the unfamiliar and uncontrollable situations that come with new ideas, but they’re wrong. Even if something is unfamiliar, I generally know how to handle it. But this feeling I have for Michelle? It’s radioactive. I need full protective gear.
Our food arrives, and Michelle starts munching on her shrimp tempura with a delicate greed that reminds me of a particularly fastidious cat enjoying her food.
“By the way, are you going to be busy this Friday?” she asks.
“Don’t think so. Why?”
“My friends and I are celebrating. You want to join us?”
“Sure. What’s the occasion?” I ask, girding my loins for something to do with Jan and Matt’s wedding. I’m so glad Jan’s family’s on top of things…and Matt’s parents—well, his mother really—are super involved. The only thing I’m responsible for is picking up Matt’s tux from the local dry cleaner. But since Michelle is a co-maid of honor at the wedding, she probably has to do…well, whatever maids of honor do.
“I’m getting promoted early. My boss told me yesterday, and we can’t get together until Friday after work.”
“Oh! Well, congratulations! Sure, I’ll be there.”
She smiles.
“You having brunch with your parents this weekend, too?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You’re not going to tell them about the promotion?”
The light in her gaze dims, and she looks away, putting down her chopsticks and pulling back. Her eyes shutter, and I feel bereft…like I’ve just been kicked out of a warm house in winter.
“I will, later,” she says. “Probably.”
Her sudden deflation bugs me. If I could, I’d take back what I said…although I’m not entirely sure what I did wrong. Mom still keeps my old science fair trophies from years and years ago, and she won’t throw them out no matter how many times I ask. Wouldn’t Michelle’s parents be proud of her for the promotion…?
I reach out and squeeze her hand. She looks up, then gives me a forced smile. “Mom’s busy,” she says. “And so is Dad. She was really excited that Alexandra asked me to help you, but the promotion is…complicated.”
I nod slowly. This is awkward. Then I realize it’s awkward because I don’t know what to do to make things better for her.
“Mom wants me to move into marketing or something,” Michelle says finally. “So a promotion in HR isn’t…ideal.”
“Better career prospects in marketing?”
“Yeah. If I lived my life the way she wanted, I would’ve become a lawyer. Like Matt.”
“You think you’d enjoy it?”
“Not sure. But I don’t test well.”
“What does that have to do with being a lawyer?”
“There are law schools and then there are law schools, don’t you know.”
Oh boy. I get it now. Her mom has definite ideas about how Michelle should be, and she isn’t measuring up. I’ve seen that with some of my friends from Asia who have “Education Moms,” the term we used to use before Tiger Moms came into vogue. “Are you happy in HR?”
Michelle nods.
“Then that’s what you should do. Not everyone needs to be a lawyer. Can you imagine a world full of argumentative types who’d rather die than lose?”
Her lips twitch, then she laughs. “Objection—this salad is not what I ordered. I wanted the dressing on the side.”
“Objection—your instructions weren’t conveyed with sufficient specificity,” I say, my insides loosening as relief courses through me.
“You know, you’re surprisingly good at this,” she says.
“What?”
“Cheering me up. Thanks.”
The smile she gives me is so radiant that my throat grows tight.
It’s also making me feel a hundred feet tall and as powerful as Goliath. And with the feeling comes the unsettling realization that I care entirely too much about her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
CJ
My dad’s office at Georgetown is pretty typical for a university professor—lots of books, papers and manila folders spilling out from bookshelves and off his desk. His office is one of the larger ones, so he has enough space for two chairs in addition to his desk, and just enough clear floor space for people to get in and out.
He smiles when I enter. His office hours just ended for the day.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, CJ! Finally here to see your old man?” he says in that booming voice of his. His eyes are an unusual shade somewhere between green and gray, and he has a slightly chapped, full mouth. He’s taller than me, broad, with a thick layer of fat over his muscles. He used to play basketball when he was in college, before an injury retired him from the court.
Now he teaches behavioral economics, specializing in the effect of social norms on people’s financial decisions.
We hug. “Finally?” I say, as I pull back.
He takes one of the seats in front of his desk. “Heard from your mom you went by to see her.”
I sit down as well. “She had peach cobbler.”
“Ah.” He sighs. “Nobody makes it like her.”
“Said you gave her the peaches…”
“Yeah, I was at a local farm and picked some up.” He pats his stomach and sighs as though reliving the delicious dessert. “So. What are you doing in town? Come out just to see your folks?”
“What if I did?”
“Ha. Better try peddling that to someone else. Your old man’s not buying it.”
I laugh. “Matt’s getting married.”
“Really? To who?”
“Someone from work.”
“A lawyer from his firm?”
“Nope. He’s working for Alexandra Darling’s company now. He’s marrying her youngest granddaughter.”
“Huh. Well, good for him. Alexandra has pretty grandkids. Nice, too.”
“That she does.”
“So he has a prenup?”
I shake my head. “No. The wife’s worth more, but she isn’t interested.”
“Not smart. He should advise her to have one. Makes things cleaner and friendlier in the event of a divorce.”
My dad, ever the pragmatist. “I don’t think a divorce can be friendly.”
“Sure it can. Look at me and your mom.”
I tilt my head. I never bothered to find out, but now… Suddenly I can’t help myself. I have to know. “Dad… Why is it that you’re happier with each other now that you’re divorced?”
He props an ankle on one knee. “Because we love each other.”
“Really? Then why did you fight all the time?”
Shifting his weight backward until his chair creaks, he sighs. “The best part of a relationship is before the marriage…and after divorce, assuming there’s no fight over marital assets. Marriage is the ugly part. It’s like inter-departmental politics—you have to live with the person, but you’re often at cross-purposes. So there’s tension.
“It’s liberating to be maintaining two separate households. We have the freedom to do what we want, when we want, without having to worry about the other person’s schedule and needs. If we want to see each other, we’re just a phone call away. We can still enjoy each other’s company, go to the theater together, that sort of thing. It’s quite satisfying.” I guess my expression says I don’t get it, because Dad pauses with a small frown. “If you want an analogy…it’s like owning a dog without having to always bother with feeding it and walking it.”
“Then why’d you get married in the first place?”
“Social expectations! They carry an enormous influence over people’s behavior. And the notion that ‘it’s how it’s always done.’ But that doesn’t make it rational. Almost all decisions are made irrationally, despite what people think. That used to be the biggest downfall of economics theory—the notion that everyone is some kind of objective logician. Not true at all. People make decisions based on habit, despite the past being a bad predictor of the future. Or they follow the crowd. That’s how people lost their life savings buying up Enron and WorldCom, speculating in real estate…” He scratches the tip of his nose. “But you can’t be happy and truly fulfilled by doing what everyone else is doing or clinging to how things used to work. You don’t make a fortune that way. And trust me, since the divorce, your mom and I don’t just have better companionship, our sex life is ten times better—more frequent, too.”
I close my eyes briefly. “Thanks, Dad. Did you have to go there?”
“Just trying to illustrate a point. Data is data.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
“I wish Matt luck, and maybe his marriage will work out. But empirical studies show it most likely won’t. There’s a reason so many couples divorce, and it’s rarely about something as practical as financial considerations.”
I nod. I trust my dad on this. Analyzing data and knowing this kind of stuff is literally his job.
And thank God I had the courage to ask. Maybe it was my subconscious watching out for me. For a moment, I was thinking about giving into what Michelle said…and going further than I’ve ever gone with anyone. And maybe even letting our relationship evolve into the ultimate commitment.
But why bother with all that? She only wants what she wants because it’s what society expects. I’m pretty sure she’s never analyzed why she wants it…or even if she really wants it, deep down. We can be more sensible and do what my parents are doing—instead of what society tries to dictate, and ruin a great thing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
CJ
Michelle’s early promotion celebration is taking place at a trendy sports bar. The interior is bright and large with lots of windows and bleached wood. Multiple huge screens show various sporting events, and a couple of guys are shooting pool at one of two tables.
It’s crowded, with a bunch of people celebrating Friday and the happy hour specials of select three-dollar beers and five-dollar cocktails. It’s a good thing I arrived early and grabbed a table big enough for six. When Michelle told me about the place, I knew there was going to be a long wait.
Luke arrives first and finds me nursing a beer and an order of chicken wings. I don’t know him that well, although I’ve seen his books on shelves. He writes the kind of books I’d probably enjoy reading, so I should pick up a copy when I get a chance. He is casually dressed in a black T-shirt, denim shorts and a White Sox cap.
