Bo's Café (12 page)

See you Wednesday.

Andy

No. I don’t want him at my work.

Minutes later I’m lying in bed trying to figure out why. Maybe it’s because who I am at work and who I want Andy to see are
two really different people. I turn off CNN and spend the next hour staring at the darkness, defending myself and devaluing
Andy and his friends. But my pitiful charade disgusts even me. I’m like a sixth grader hiding magazines from his mom. I slowly
shake my head in the dark. The next morning I e-mail Andy.

Andy,

I’ve got some time between 10:45 and 11:30. I’ve attached a map. Have the receptionist call me, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.

Please don’t wear a suit. I don’t think I could handle it.

S.

(Friday Morning, April 3)

I’m staring at my screen, waiting for the call that Andy is in the lobby.

What is my problem? I’ve got a top-floor office overlooking one of the most expensive and vital business districts in the
country. I’m VP of one of the most innovative and successful companies in Southern California. He’s a marina operator. Chill.

I glance at my watch for the eleventh time in as many minutes. It’s 10:42.

God, what are You doing to me here? Why did You let this guy into my life?
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.

I want to shut down this whole thing with him. But I have this sense that if I don’t face this stuff, whatever it is, it’s
going to ruin me. And… if I do face this stuff, it’s going to ruin me… . Maybe I should just get sick. I feel like I’m coming
down with something. Yeah, maybe I need to go home, cancel this meeting.

I’m snapped out of my daze by the receptionist’s voice. “There’s an Andy Monroe here to see you.”

As I turn the corner into the lobby, my fears are realized. Andy’s talking to board vice chairman Phillip Castleman and human
resources director Whitney Rhodes.
Great.
They’ve seen more of my worst than anyone but my wife.

Phillip sees me crossing the courtyard and yells out, “Ste-ven, you didn’t tell me you were friends with Andy Monroe. I’ve
know this old carpetbagger for decades. We go back to the MBA program at Pepperdine.”

“Well, hey, how about that?” I respond with a weak smile.

This is not unlike former girlfriends at a sleepover, comparing notes. I’ll bet Castleman has been feeding Andy all sorts
of dirt about my status around here.

“Hey, look, I hate to break this up,” I say, “but Andy came to see
me
, thank you.”

As Whitney walks away, she counters, “Fine, but Andy and I are having lunch together. And no, you can’t join us.”

Phillip says to Andy, “I’ll see you around noon, when you and Steven are done. Deal?”

“Deal,” Andy calls back, as Phillip disappears into the crowd intersecting the lobby.

Andy and I grab a couple of lattes from the second-floor coffee shop and sit down in front of a secluded picture window overlooking
the enormous lawns and ponds sprawling in front of the complex. Andy seems quite taken with it all, rising from his chair
and standing and staring. I’m talking a mile a minute about nothing. Certain I’ve just been the topic of conversation, I just
can’t face what he’s going to say when I stop.

“This is absolutely beautiful, Steven,” he finally says, interrupting my babble. “What an incredible view.”

I jerk back to the present. “Yes, it is. I hide up here. Nobody much comes to this spot. Sometimes this is the only place
in the whole complex where I can make sense of anything.”

“You’re kidding me. Nobody? See, I’d think people would be staring out this window all day long. I would—I may, actually!
I might apply for a job in the coffee shop just so I can come up on break and look out this window.”

Then it’s quiet, as we both know something needs to be said, but neither of us appears to know how to approach it. The suspense
is killing me, so I begin. “Look, I think I know what you and Phil were talking about.”

“Steven…”

“Please, I need to get this out. Let me give you my version.” I dive in. “First, I’m sure he mentioned there’s talk about
canning me. That’s a half-truth at best. Yeah, there are some on the board who want to get rid of me, but honestly, from where
I sit, it’s jealousy. I’m thirty-four. Most of them are in their late forties. You do the math.”

“Steven, it’s not like that.”

“Andy, it’s okay. I like Phil. He’s a good guy. He’s gone to bat for me on several occasions. But for all appearances, his
hands aren’t clean. He’s got his own butt to cover. Finding a younger scapegoat is a convenient way. I’m not saying I’ve done
everything perfectly. But until they give me some room to create my team, I’m set up for failure. I’m covering for half the
positions in this place. I can do in half the time what most of these six-figure kiss-ups are doing in their safe jobs. For
all the talk of innovation it’s no more than a good-old boys club.

“And I can’t believe Whitney wants to talk with you!”

“I asked to have lunch with
her
.”

I pause. “You did? Listen, I’m sorry. I just think maybe you need to hear both sides before you make assessments.”

He’s silent, staring out the window. And I start to wonder if I may have misread the situation.

Andy stares out the window for a long time. “Are those mallards, Steven? Am I looking at mallards? You’ve got mallards in
that pond, don’t you? Never can really tell what makes one a duck, the other a mallard. I guess they’re both ducks. But those
are mallards, aren’t they?”

I can’t believe this guy. “Did you hear a thing I said?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Every word.” He nods while still gazing out the window. “It’s just that you’ve got a veritable marshland
out your window here. I’ve never seen anything like it! I’m expecting hippos or gators to emerge from those reeds at any moment.
I need to come fishing here. You think they’d mind? Oops, sorry. Forget I asked. You’re the ‘they,’ aren’t you?”

“Were you listening to me, Andy?”

“Yep.”

“Then what did I say?”

“Well, I think you were telling me your version of reality so I could make a better assessment of what to believe.”

“And?”

He turns and slowly walks to a seat directly across from me. He thumps the bottom of his coffee cup with his index finger.
“Well, Steven, the trouble is, now I’ve only got one version.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, nobody told me anything.”

“What?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Phil didn’t talk to you? You and he and Whitney weren’t…”

“Nope. Just talk. ‘Is-your-brother-still-with-Intel?’ kind of stuff. There
was
some lively discussion about the clam chowder here, which led to a lunch invitation.”

It’s quiet again. I’m staring out at the pond, watching a pair of geese glide peacefully across its surface. Across the room
there is a clatter of silverware. Someone is asking the girl behind the register for a packet of Splenda.

“I don’t know what to say,” I mumble.

“What do you
want
to say?”

“I don’t know. I want out of this moment.”

“So, go ahead. Maybe you have a call on another line?”

I look over at him. He’s wearing a smile that says,
Gotcha
.

“There was no other call the other day.”

“I was in business once too, remember?”

“Andy, I’m the head of marketing in the very company I dreamed about when I came out of the University of Washington. Nearly
every indicator would say I’m doing a really good job. The
Wall Street Journal
did an article on me two months ago.
Me.
I’ve arrived. And now something I can’t seem to control or even name is about to sabotage me. And none of my training has
prepared me to solve this one.”

Andy looks into my eyes. “Well said, my young friend.”

I get up and take my place at the window.

“Last evening I was in a restaurant with half a dozen colleagues after a leadership meeting. Somewhere between drinks and
dinner, I found myself sitting back, observing conversations from the outside. Half listening, half staring, I kept drifting
back to lunch with your friends at Bo’s. I was hit by a couple things.”

I glance back to Andy. He’s grinning.

I look back out the window and say, “Sometimes I wish I’d never met you. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, my wife said the same thing a time or two.” He chuckles. “So you were about to give me some observations.”

“No one in this company knows me,” I say. “I’ve been with these people, most of them, for over two years. We talk sports,
the economy, rival companies, product; we gossip about those who don’t show up; we tear others down; we make dry and sarcastic
humor. It’s fast and clever and hip. Most of the time I’m in the middle of it. But I can’t come up with one time when anyone
asked me how I was really doing.

“I’ve been dying inside these last few months, and no one sees it or wants to see it. For all I know, everyone around me is
melting down too. But I’d never ask. We all act shocked when someone leaves or implodes from the pressure. But really, everyone
anticipates it. It’s part of the package that comes with the long hours, the privilege, and the privacy of what we do. Andy,
I’m thirty-four, and I’m learning more every year how to keep people from really knowing me. These last few months I’m finding
I really hate it.”

Andy nods. I can tell he’s really listening. “You said you had a couple observations?”

“Yes,” I continue. “I’m a Christian. Actually, I’ve been a Christian at most about nine hours a week. At church—when we go.
I was a Christian praying with my daughter on the rare nights I was home before she went to bed. And I’m a Christian on the
board of an inner-city ministry in Inglewood. All I do is show up and offer to pray, really, but the rest of the time I don’t
really have a role. My relationships are purely utilitarian. I have the camaraderie here that profiting from defeating financial
enemies brings. But it’s nothing like Bo’s. If any of us dared show weakness, we’d be torn apart. There’s no real affirmation
or friendship, just the boasting in a job well done. You don’t trust and you aren’t trusted. We’re just well-paid mercenaries.”

“So why are you telling me this?”

I look down at my coffee. “You were in business once too, remember?”

“Fair enough. Do you want to continue?” he asks.

“I think I do.” I take a deep breath. “Anyway”—I motion with my hands at the buildings around us—“I carry this world home.
I think I love Lindsey, but mostly I try to buy her off, appease her. I fake interest in the events of her day by nodding
and giving the appropriate responses. But much of the time I’m somewhere else, rehearsing all the undone garbage in front
of me. I do it almost without noticing.”

Andy stands up and slaps his hands together. “Well, look, it’s the middle of a pretty busy workday. I’ve already taken up
too much of your time. Steven, I know this is thin consolation, but I’m really proud of you. I think you’ll look back on these
few minutes and say that this may be where things started to turn.”

I turn from the window. “You know, just when I think I’m starting to figure you out, you say something like that.”

Andy laughs. “I just wanted to say it so that when it happens you’ll think,
Hey, that marina guy was pretty sharp after all.”
He places a hand on my shoulder. “So, listen, I’m gonna go meet with Phil and then have an innocent lunch with Whitney, and
then I’m out of your hair. We won’t talk about you. I promise. I’ve just got to get to the bottom of this whole chowder issue,
or it’ll eat at me all afternoon.”

I shake my head. “Andy, you’re a very odd man.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, pretending to tip his hat.

“Before you go, I want to ask you something about Bo’s. I don’t know, I think… it did something to me.” I look down at my
shoes. He stands back and folds his arms. I feel weird telling him this. “It’s like I got a picture of what things could be
like. There’s something there I don’t get. But I want to. Do you think I could drop by again sometime?”

“Hey, I don’t get to pick the crowd,” he says. And just like that, Andy gets up to leave. “Steven, thanks for this. Did Phil
ever tell you he once climbed out of one of those little suspended cars in the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland? He was dangling
from the side and trying to use his feet to knock over one of the steeples in the little pretend town below. Disney guards
kicked him right out of the park. Gave him a lifetime ban. True story. I mean, who do
you
know who’s been banned for life from Disneyland? Charles Manson never got a lifetime ban.”

Walking away he yells back, “Hey, thanks for taking the risk of letting me hang around here.” He smiles and then whistles
his way down the stairs, two steps at a time.

I work late before heading south. I think I’m avoiding going back to my room. I think the staff is beginning to feel sorry
for me. I’ve been there longer than some of them. They don’t even bother putting that sign on the sink about my towels anymore.
I guess they figure I’ve made up my mind about wasting their water.

The lobby is mostly empty as I walk through to the elevator. My shoes are making that conspicuous
click-clack
echo across the marble floor. There’s a new kid behind the counter. He can’t be eighteen. As I walk by he beams brightly
and says, “Hello, sir. Welcome to the Marriott.” I feel like saying, “Kid, I
am
Mr. Marriott. You’re fired.” But I’m too tired.

Back in my room, I peel an orange and set up my laptop before changing out of my work clothes. I see another e-mail from Andy.
It’s titled “I don’t care what you say, I’m fishing in that lake!”

I open it and scroll down.

Steven,

Okay, so we’ve been at this for about three weeks. It’s time for an exam. This exam is not about you. It’s about me. I’m figuring
you’re asking if this old guy is someone you can trust.