The Overlap (12 page)

I knew exactly how I would make that happen, or at least try to. As soon as I was able to get online I would text him just to “let him know” that I was on my way to New York, and that I had Wi-Fi. And then, if he wanted to and had time he could text me.

Sure enough, right after I texted Zack he answered back only seconds later with:

Wish you were here instead would have enjoyed dinner tonight oh well

Great; another reminder that if this jerk sitting next to me typing away on his laptop hadn’t pulled this stunt, I would be only hours away from my second dinner, my second date, with Zack.

“I thought Dustin was in Chicago?”

The voice coming from my left startled me, and I shot my head to the left and saw Dave staring right at my phone screen. That asshole was looking at my texts! I quickly looked back at my phone and saw that my left thumb was resting right above the top part of the screen where it read “Zack Buchanan” which meant that – unless Dave had been staring while I had been typing before I adjusted my hands – he didn’t know that the reference to dinner tonight was not only not from Dustin, but that it was from some other guy.

I choked back the bubbling anger and made sure I kept my thumb in place.

“He is,” I answered in as even of a voice as I could muster, considering how pissed I was. “It’s from a friend.”

And with that response I flipped my phone over so the screen was facing down until I was certain that he wasn’t peeking anymore, and then turned it back over long enough to flick it to the home screen.

Dave let it go without any further comment, but I don’t think he truly believed me. Tough; it was none of his business, and for all I know maybe he hoped I was texting with some guy other than Dustin because that would mean that maybe he had a shot with me. Even though he was married I could tell that he had the hots for me, or at least a little bit of an office crush. Otherwise why would I have gotten stuck on this crap trip?

Anyway, so much for texting back and forth with Zack – thanks again, Dave! – but the more I thought about it, the more I came to think that might not be such a bad thing. Since I was all set for dinner again with Zack on Wednesday, presuming no travel problems, maybe I shouldn’t come across as quite so available and anxious. He already knew that I liked him and was very attracted to him; no sense in pushing it too much and texting him every couple minutes like a high school girl with a crush. So right after the seatbelt sign went off and Dave got up to use the bathroom I texted Zack to tell him that my boss had seen his text and was acting funny, so I better not text him much more from the flight. He sent back a text without any words, just a single emoticon of a cartoon character’s head with bulging eyes, an open round mouth, and two fingerless “hands” on the character’s cheeks; sort of that “oh, no!” look like the kid in
Home Alone
.

And that was that for communicating with Zack. Dave was just coming back to our row and Steve got up to let Dave in. I could feel my eyes narrow as I glanced to my left as much as I could without fully turning my head. I thumbed my phone to the home screen and checked the time.

11:45, L.A. time; “only” four hours and forty-five minutes to go! OMG, this was going to be unbearable!

*     *     *

The fates must have felt sorry for me and decided to cut me at least a little bit of a break because in our limo from JFK into Manhattan at around 8:45 that night Dave said to the three of us:

“How about we all individually do room service or something like that tonight since it’s so late and we have an early one tomorrow. I’ll take everyone out to dinner tomorrow but this way if anybody wants to get to sleep early, or just relax, you can. Otherwise we’d be out until around 11:00. Sound okay?”

I couldn’t believe how fast Steve, Jack, and I all answered “sure!” or “sounds good!” as we stomped over each other’s responses. Apparently neither Steve nor Jack was up for another couple hours of face time with Dave... at least tonight.

The rest of the night definitely was categorized under “meh.” We were staying at a boutique hotel in SoHo and my room was really nice; my room service dinner was really good; and there were about 125 channels available on television. And there were plenty of clubs within a short walk of the hotel, if I had cared to venture out (leaving the other three behind, of course). So as business trips go, that part was just fine. But the whole time I kept looking at the nightstand clock and (as I adjusted for the time zone change) kept thinking that if I were back in L.A. I would be getting in the shower before my date with Zack; then getting dressed and putting on my makeup before my date with Zack; and then – this
would have
been the best part – actually on my date with Zack.

I had to just keep telling myself that I only had 48 hours to wait and then the date that I was playing out in my mind would be a reality.

What a total f’ing waste of a day.

This “boutique graphics firm” turned out to be a group of four NYU dropouts who were hooked on video games and had some interesting ideas for doing some innovative computer animation in movies, even over slower networks on cell phones and tablet computers. But
only
ideas, despite whatever exaggerated claims they had put on their website that had caught Dave’s attention. They basically were looking for investors to help them turn their ideas into something that was... wait, what’s the word... oh right,
real
.

And the worst part was that even though we realized within twenty minutes of showing up at their office at 9:30 that they had nothing of value to us or to MetroGen, Dave didn’t have the balls to just pull the plug on this colossal waste of time and head back to L.A. Instead, he turned Jack and Steve loose with these guys and I swear I wanted to start a drinking game and take a shot of tequila every time I heard some phrase like “aspect ratio” as geek-speak filled the room. For two solid hours until lunch all of the nerds, theirs and ours, went back and forth about things like better ways to make tree shadows wave across a computer-aided house so someone in a movie theater couldn’t even tell that what they were watching was animated. I mean, this was sort of interesting stuff and all, but not only did I not really need to sit and listen to a group of computer nerds go to the dark side of GeekVille, I
definitely
didn’t need to be doing so in New York. I had nothing to add to the discussion whatsoever, so for the entire morning I just sat there, except for three trips to the rest room two flights down in their converted warehouse office building. (By the way, only one of those bathroom trips was genuine; the other two were just so I could get out of that room for five minutes and regain my sanity).

And worst of all, what they were talking about had nothing –
absolutely nothing
– to do with our firm’s project at MetroGen. So I have no idea what in the world Dave was thinking, even if them “piloting new technology” or whatever Dave had told me on the phone Monday morning had turned out to be more than someone’s dream of the future.

And like they say on the infomercials you sometimes watch when you can’t sleep (or maybe taking a break between rounds of late-night sex): “But wait: there’s more!”

We didn’t even go out for lunch; instead they brought in sandwiches from a deli while the back-and-forth continued. A couple of these guys were having a whiteboard frenzy; they couldn’t write and draw fast enough, and I swear one of the guys from this company looked like he was about to come every time either Steve or Jack agreed that whatever he had just scribbled was an absolute work of genius.

This went on nonstop until 3:30 that afternoon, and
then
Dave decided to tell them that our firm really didn’t do any new venture investing so the best thing they could do is keep us informed about their progress, and we would certainly like to be the first in line to work with them as they developed their technology, blah blah blah; whatever.

And here comes the best part!

I had assumed that even though we had hung around there until 3:30, since there was no reason to meet again tomorrow morning for a couple more hours as had been originally scheduled we would go back to our hotel, quickly grab our stuff and then head right out to JFK – or LaGuardia or Newark, even – to catch a flight back to L.A. tonight rather than tomorrow. My brain was already playing travel agent: if we left New York at 6:00 I could be back at LAX by 8:30 tonight L.A. time and then maybe meet Zack for drinks or even a late dinner around 9:30. True, I wouldn’t be all freshened up after all day in New York, an hour cab ride, and then five and a half hours of flying, but so what; at least I would be back and maybe Zack and I would get together tonight.

But of course, there was no way
that
was going to happen.

Dave decided that since 1) we hadn’t checked out by noon which meant that Tuesday night was already paid for at the hotel, and 2) it would probably cost around $800 to change all four of our tickets, and of course 3) “you all deserve a great New York dinner” that there would be no changes at all in our travel plans. We would stay until the morning and grab our scheduled noon flight out of JFK; end of story.

Dinner was terrible. I mean, the food was good – I guess – but given the mood I was in, plus listening to Jack and Steve replay almost every portion of the day’s discussions, all made the evening unbearable. Not to mention we also had to listen to Dickhead Dave (he was back to that name in my mind after today’s fiasco) do his best to cover for this whole wasted trip.

I got through dinner by doing a version of what I had felt like doing earlier in the day: I played the “aspect ratio” game. Every time either Jack or Steve blurted out that particular phrase I took a healthy swig of my expensive Cabernet. Before our salads arrived I was buzzed; by the time dessert and coffee were served, I was drunk. And by the time I made it back to my hotel room my head was spinning and I was doing my best to avoid getting sick.

Even as drunk and as pissed as I was, I was already worried about the monster hangover I would have tomorrow morning. And I was also hoping that by the time our flight landed in L.A. and I would be on my way to my date with Zack, the hangover would have passed along with every single memory of this wasted trip to New York City.

As far as I was concerned, Wednesday didn’t actually start until we touched down at LAX at 2:30. Nothing before that point mattered; it was all just a continuation of my wasted Monday and Tuesday. The only good point was that I got to sleep until 9:15 since there was no morning meeting, and that was plenty of time for us to have breakfast and make it to JFK for our flight. Of course, my body insisted that I was still getting up at 6:15 since I hadn’t been back east long enough to adapt to the time zone change. Still, a little bit of extra sleep when I had my big date tonight... thank heavens for small blessings, especially when everything else was so ridiculous.

I was lucky on this flight that I wasn’t sitting next to Dave, and in fact was nowhere near him or our other two guys on the plane. I was up front in the third row – fortunately with another window seat – and the other three were all together in the same row way in the back. I had already prepared them that I was bolting off the plane as soon as the front door was opened and I wasn’t hanging around LAX to wait for them. We had all driven separately; nobody had checked any luggage; and I wanted to beat traffic back to my apartment since Zack and I were meeting for dinner at 6:00... which meant that I wanted to be home by 4:00 to start getting ready.

And I sure as hell was not going onsite at MetroGen this afternoon. Dave had started to make noises about “getting caught up because we had been in New York for a couple days” and I shot him the kind of evil-eyed glare that a new consultant such as me should never give a senior manager getting ready to be considered for partner. But I figured that given the mess Dave had gotten us in with this wild goose chase, he was in no position to be making trouble for me within the firm for insubordination or just not being nice. So he backed down even before he specifically asked us. No doubt he would be going there, and I figured Jack and Steve would follow, but I couldn’t care less.

Zack had suggested a tapas restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard called
Solazarse
that he had heard was pretty good and which had opened two or three months earlier, but he hadn’t yet been to. So unlike our first date, we would both be embarking on a new dining adventure. We had our plans all set, and I texted him as soon as I landed to confirm. He just sent back an emoticon smiley face – nothing else – but that single icon said it all for me.

*     *     *

Zack let out a few sympathetic chuckles and rolled his eyes a couple of times as I told him about my Monday – and my Tuesday, and my Wednesday morning – but he didn’t seem surprised. When I had more or less finished the story he smirked and said,

“Well, now you have some idea of why I only lasted a year at that ad agency before going out on my own. There’s people like that Dave guy all over the place, and I couldn’t stand working
for
one of them, which is exactly what I did. It’s bad enough working
with
them as clients but at least they’re less likely to force you to go through stupid wastes of time like you just did without you having any say.”

I shrugged. I was already feeling much better, being here with Zack. He showed up right from work wearing a black silk T-shirt underneath a cream sport coat. He was wearing jeans again and cordovan horsebit loafers that were different from the black ones he had worn Saturday but still Gucci. And after spending much of the past three days in the land where geeky and preppy had formed this weird fashion alliance, I could almost feel a sense of relief being back in close proximity to a good-looking guy who knew how to dress. Of course, my reasons for being in a better mood were much more about the specific person I was with – Zack Buchanan – than just
any
well-dressed guy sitting at the same table as me.