Spinning (9 page)

“What?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Oh. I uh, had a little accident with a cabinet door.”

“You can come up with a better story than that. Keep practicing.”

“Thanks. And I didn’t steal the account. We just have to focus on the market. If Waverly continues to deliver the same product he’s always delivered, his clients will continue to receive the same old crap they’re used to. They need to look at the expanding demographics of twelve to seventeen year-old males. If we can train them early, there’s a whole market there that we can invigorate.”

“We made the sale already, Dylan.” He leaned forward in the chair and pointed to my coffee cup. “Might want to think about switching to decaf.” He looked down and saw the picture on my desk.

“Who’s this?”

“Oh, they’re some friends of mine. This is Diane and the one with the silly grin is her daughter.”

He took the picture from my hands. “Diane is quite attractive and her daughter looks just like her.” He pointed to Mr. Jimmy. “Is this man her… husband?”

“He’s the hot dog vendor. It’s complicated.”

Mr. Mason put the photograph down and looked around my desk, no doubt noticing that there were no other pictures on it unless you counted the Crystal Creek ad or the headshot of the spokesmodel for the gym account I’d just taken on.

“Before my wife died, I loved to take pictures,” Mason said. “I don’t take so many any more just some of the grandkids. Wherever we’d go, I’d have my camera and Tiki her name was Patrice, I always called her Tiki would make fun of me. That was fine. I just wanted more pictures. Heaven only knows why. I have more goddamn pictures, most of them in a box under the steps.”
He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through some of the old pictures covered in a bent piece of plastic. “I can’t even remove the cover without damaging this old thing. Look here. This is Tiki and, of course that’s a young me, and that’s our boy, Denny, not long after he was born.”

He held an old black-and-white picture that had to have been taken 40 years ago. In the photo, both he and his wife seemed to say, “Look everybody! It’s a boy!” A young Mason and Tiki held the baby with an uneasy grip, but you could tell that the kid wasn’t going to fall… ever.

“Dylan, these are the things I hope to never forget. No matter what happens, I want to remember Tiki this way.” He held the picture in both hands. “Of course, after she got sick, she wouldn’t let me take any more pictures. And these were all I had. After years of taking pictures, it turned out that I didn’t have nearly enough.”

He put his wallet away. “Dylan, I have some memories that are more important to me than anything I could ever hope to do now. That’s what I’m scared of as I grow older… losing my memory. Inside…” He touched his chest by his heart. “I’ll never lose my Tiki. I hope someday, you can feel the same.”

He paused and shook his head, as though he was uncertain of what had caused his little bit of rhapsodizing. Then, he stood to leave, tapping on the file with a finger. “Dylan, you know that you are appreciated here at Mason Brand, don’t you?”

I started to think that he somehow knew about my dinner on Saturday. This was such an incestuous business. “Yes, sir. Of course I do.”

“And you know that your aggressiveness and ambition are things that I prize, don’t you?”

“You’ve made that very clear, Mr. Mason.”

“Good. I just like to check in every now and then.” He gestured with the file. “See what you can do for this account.”

I couldn’t recall Mason ever “checking in” before. I was sure it had something to do with Saturday. Had he somehow seen me with the Waverlys in the restaurant, or talking on the street afterward? I prized my discretion, but I was obviously going to have to be more careful. Regardless of the fact that Mason knew I was ultimately going to leave, it wouldn’t do to have him find out before I was ready.

I looked inside the file. The new account was The Magenta Martini, of all places.

“Hey.”

I looked up to find Laurel standing in my doorway. She was wearing a rose-colored skirt and, if I used my imagination, I could almost see through her shirt. Had Mason ever issued an office dress code, this would have been on the “unapproved” side. I liked it. “Hey.”

“Sorry I disappeared on you the other night. I needed to go because that’s what mysterious women do. Besides, you were kinda unconscious.”

“Sorry. It had been an intense week. Come on in. You wore me out and it took me an hour to clean up. I kept pulling underwear out of surprising places.”

Laurel glanced back to the cracked door and then moved closer, standing only inches away from my crotch. I set Mason’s file over the Polaroid.

“Does it upset you that I left my bra and panties at your place?”

Panties? Where are they?
“Not at all. You smell wonderful, by the way.” I closed my eyes and my head tipped back.
Panties?

“Thanks. Maybe we can do it again?”

“I loved that trick you did against the wall with your leg over your head…”

“I’d love to show it to you again sometime…” Laurel leaned forward, letting her blonde hair fall in my face. It was just my imagination, but I could have sworn that she still smelled like sex; the same smell from Friday night.

“I have to get back to work because,” she whispered, “that’s what mysterious women do at work. I had a grrrrrreat time.”

My breathing had accelerated to teenage proportion. I was still getting my heart rate down when Billie stuck her head in.

“Hey.”

“Hey, what happened to you the other night?”

“Me? Where did you…”

Laurel leaned against the door frame. “Let me know… oh, hi, Billie. Okay?”

“Sure.”

With Laurel safely out of range, I mouthed to Billie to close the door.

“What was that all about?”

“Do I have some shit for you. That’s what happened to me on Friday.”

“Laurel?”

“She dropped by for a few hours Friday, we listened to a little Usher, drank a little wine, a little you know, and then she disappeared.”

“Where’d she go?”

“She was being mysterious. But after she left, I get a knock on the door and I think she’s coming back to search for her apartment keys or underwear. It’s 2:00 in the
morning. I open the door and standing there is a woman and her three-year-old daughter.”

“You were naked, weren’t you?”

“No. I had a robe on, but I probably still gave the kid a complex.” I motioned for her to come closer and slid the picture across the desk. “Here they are.”

“Cute. Who’s the guy?”

“That’s Mr. Jimmy and his hot dog cart.”

“Mr. Jimmy is Asian?”

“Leave Mr. Jimmy out of this.”

Billie rolled her eyes. “So, what the hell happened? A little more
you know
?”

“Nah, nothing like that. Get this… she sold everything, moved to Manhattan from Chicago, and she’s starting over. I’m the only one she knows here.”

“Get the hell out.”

“True.”

“Hey, weren’t you in Chicago a few years ago?”

“That’s when I met Diane. And the math on the kid is close, but not that close. The dad is some asshole-insensitívo who split before Diane knew she was pregnant.”

“Now it’s just the Dylan Hunter family?”

“Just for a few days. If I can keep Laurel occupied during this time….”

“You’d better be careful. I think she’s in heat. I saw three golden retrievers getting all slobbery in the elevator.”

“The funny thing is I had an okay time this weekend.”

“With a pre-fab?” Pre-fab was our term for any unmarried person who had a kid. Jim was our token pre-fab.

“Sí.”

“No.”

“Sí.” I pointed to the picture. “The park, the zoo, and Mr. Jimmy. The kid even gave me some tips for redecorating.”

“Did you sleep with Mom yet?”

“Were you doing shots before work again? I just told you that we didn’t sleep together. She’s a pre-fab.”

“But you like her.”

“Yeah, I do, kinda. I mean, I always did.” I leaned back. “She has a different type of thing going. A sincerity… a genuine nature… an honesty… some shit like that.”

“D-Man, she’s a pre-fab. Be careful or you’ll be Mr. Pre-Fab. Okay?”

“Got it covered. Don’t worry. It was just refreshing to have a little change. Like going to Colonial Williamsburg for the weekend or something.”

Billie looked at the picture. “What’s the kid’s name?”

“Her name is Spring. Everybody loves her.”

“Even Mr. Jimmy?”

“Especially Mr. Jimmy.”

“So is this a charity thing or what?”

I took my feet off my desk.
Charity? No. I really like them …Diane and the kid.
“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Hey, speaking of seeing and/or believing,” I said, “I had din-din with Waverly Saturday.”

“Yeah?”

Billie sat back in the chair. I knew she had as much interest in the Waverly gig as I did especially after talking about him Friday.

“Yep. Him and the little missus.”

“Chicken-pot-pie for three?”

“Angelo’s.”

“Yummy. Ouch, but yummy.”

“He confirmed Mr. Toady’s wild ride for sometime next year. So you can’t have my office just yet.”

“Don’t want it. The windows are too small.” She made a flitting motion with her hand. “Double-dutch?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Eighteen-year-old Macallan?”

“Only one. Had to keep my wits about me and there was the ‘97 Barolo to go with the meal. It was interesting especially their going out of their way to make sure I understood how much they valued family.”

“Did you tell him that you’d taken out a lease on a family just the night before?”

“I left that part out. But it’s good to know more about the culture at Waverly. And if it doesn’t work out for me, maybe you can start working on your romantic endurance.”

She cringed. “I’m not sure any job is that important. Maybe I can hire someone to play my husband at the family picnic. You’re always looking to make a couple of extra bucks, right, D-Man?”

“You couldn’t afford me. ”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Happy Hour tomorrow? The Bud Team is in town and I hear they have an Anti-DUI contract coming up for renewal…?”

“Better not.”

“Corner table at Chuck E. Cheese?”

“Nah, Mr. Jimmy’s coming over to teach me how to cook hot dogs.”

Billie laughed, blew me a kiss, and headed back to her office.

I looked at the picture of Diane, Spring and Mr. Jimmy.
A pre-fab? Not for me. No way.

I pulled a freebie frame from my gratuity drawer and removed the default happy beach couple. Mr. Jimmy would look better in the frame, and so would Diane’s smile. I put the picture in the drawer. This was just a little temporary fun. In the meantime, Laurel would have to wait a few more days. At least I hoped she would. I closed the drawer.

For the rest of the day, I tried to work while considering what everyone had said. I had those plates spinning this time: Waverly and Mason, Laurel and Diane, and even Mr. Jimmy. I have always prided myself on having a sharp memory, able to recall names and numbers without writing them down. I can remember where people stand in arguments, or who was the last one to pick up the bar tab. But with so many plates spinning at once, it looked like a few were beginning to wobble.

Not used to starting my day so early, by the time three o’clock came around, I headed out. It wasn’t my style showing your face late in the office was pretty much a prerequisite but I needed to pick up some essentials for the good of my apartment.

When I got back, Diane and Spring were on the floor playing with an imaginary something. Spring took a swig of juice from her sippy cup and pointed at the tube under my arm.

“What?” I said, pretending not to understand.

She pointed again. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“That!”

“Oh, this.” I removed the tube and set a small brown bag on the kitchen island. “These go together… a present for all of us.”

I unrolled a three-foot roll of white paper. “You can draw on this, Spring. It should fit perfectly beneath the chair rail.”

“That’s so sweet, Dylan,” Diane said, adding her gorgeous smile. “What do you tell Dylan?”

“More juice please?” She giggled.

“Try again…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Spring. But there’s more.” I removed two boxes of organic mac and cheese and a box of crayons from inside the bag. “There are 128 different colors.”

Spring took the crayons and removed a blue, a red, a yellow and an orange one.

I could have bought the 8-pack.
“No, look, there’s,” I started to remove crayons at random, “cotton candy, and outer space, and wisteria and even eggplant.”