Wanderlust (9 page)

Jason

I wasn’t really sure what, if anything, I should do now. I wanted to stay in touch with her. Now that I’d had a glimpse of her again, the thought of never seeing her again was too terrible to contemplate. But I felt weird keeping in touch with her when she was engaged. I wondered what her fiancé thought about her hanging out with an old boyfriend. I decided to play it cool for at least a few days and think about it some more.

Then I got her text the next day:

Monica: Coffee Sunday a.m.? Would love to catch up more.

I forgot about being cool and texted back almost immediately.

Jason: 10:00 ok? Let me know where.

She gave me her address and suggested that I meet her there. I was nervous at the thought of meeting her fiancé, but then I decided it might remove some of the awkwardness if I just met him and got it over with.

Sunday morning, I picked up a bag of French pastries on the way and arrived at her doorstep promptly at ten. The building was pretty impressive; no doorman, but a beautiful building in an expensive neighborhood. I sighed regretfully, thinking of how far I hadn’t come, career-wise.

She opened the door and smiled when I handed her the pastries. “You know my weakness! Come on in.”

“Nice place,” I said as I looked around. It had a very polished, put-together look. I thought of the apartment I shared with Matt, with its scratched-up floor and grad student furniture. She led me into the living room, which was separated from the kitchen by a marble-topped counter. I took a seat on one of the stools next to it. “How long have you guys been living together?”

“Not long,” she said with a shrug. She gestured at an espresso machine, a gleaming red Ascaso Dream. I wasn’t too up on high-end kitchen appliances, but I could tell it was expensive. “Cappuccino? Espresso? What can I get you?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Fancy. How about a cappuccino?”

“Just a moment.” She flipped a switch and got some milk out of the refrigerator.

“Good thing you were a barista in college,” I said.

She laughed. “I acquired one useful skill, at least.” She took the coffee down from the shelf and began loading up the machine.

“So, where’s the lucky guy?” I looked around in anticipation.

“Oh, Stephen went up to Milwaukee for the day to visit his mom.”

“Ah. Too bad.” Relief flooded through me, but I was also disappointed; I realized I’d been looking forward to just getting this meeting over with. “I was looking forward to meeting him. I thought you said he was from St. Paul?”

“He grew up there, but his parents got divorced, and his mom’s remarried and lives in Milwaukee. So he goes up there every couple of weeks to see her.”

“You didn’t go?”

“Nah, not this time. I’ve got plenty to do around here.”

I got up and moseyed around the room, looking at the wall art and books. A framed photo of two men standing next to each other. Both were well dressed and good looking. “Is one of these guys him?”

There was silence for a moment.

I looked up at her.

“Ah, yes, on the right,” she finally replied, sounding distracted. “And that’s his, um, best friend from college.”

“He looks like a nice guy.” I set the photo back on the shelf. “I don’t see any photos of you, though.”

“Hang on, I have to steam the milk,” she answered and let the hiss of the steam drown out the possibility of talking for a minute. “Speaking of college,” she said, once the steamer was off, “are you still in touch with anyone?”

“Yeah, a few people.” I walked back to the counter. “You remember Chip? He was president of the fraternity our sophomore year. He actually lives up in Lake Forest. Works in the city.”

“Yeah, I remember him. Lake Forest’s just north of here, right? I still don’t know the Chicago area all that well. Do you get to see him a lot?”

“Saw him for lunch the same day I ran into you at the coffee shop, actually. He says hi, by the way.” I smiled. “We don’t get to hang out as much as I’d like. He’s married now, just had a baby, in fact. Between his job and mine and his family, well, you know how it goes.” I shrugged.

“He was a nice guy. I never knew him all that well, but I remember liking him. I thought he was a good influence on you.” She grinned.

I laughed. “Well, he thought you were a good influence on me. Which of course, you were. Who knew I needed so much influencing?”

She smiled as she set two the frothy cups down on the table. I took the pastries out of the bag and placed them on a plate she put in front of me.

“How about you?” I asked. “Who are you still in touch with?”

We started gossiping about old friends and acquaintances. That took us through a couple cups of coffee and most of the pastries.

“I like to see a girl eat,” I said, watching Monica devour her second beignet. “I’m glad you’re not the type to worry about your figure.”

“Oh, I’ll lose it all as soon as I get back to Thailand. All the heat and walking—” she suddenly stopped and blushed. My God, she was so cute.

I pretended not to notice the blush. “Oh, is that where you’re going on your honeymoon? Pretty exotic. Everyone else I know gets a diamond ring and goes to Hawaii. I like that you guys are being different about it.”

Monica gave me an odd look, just staring at me as if she wanted to say something.

I grinned uncomfortably. “What?” I finally asked.

“What what?” she asked, startled.

“You were staring off into space.” I chuckled. “Thought I was the spacey one.”

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” she suddenly asked.

“Oh, no real plans.”

“I have some errands to run downtown. Why don’t you come with me? You want to tag along and maybe we could get a late lunch?”

I smiled, pleased at the thought of spending more time with her. “Well, sure, that would be great. If you don’t think your man would mind.”

She shook her head. “He won’t mind. I’d like … I’d like to get know you again. I’d like us to be friends.”

I met her gaze and nodded. “I’d like that, too,” I said quietly. “Where are we going?”

Monica

An hour later, we were in the REI on Halstead Street. We’d hit the shoes first, and now I was examining backpacks. My current one had been a graduation present from my parents. I was sentimental about it, but it was showing its age, and I didn’t want to hit the road with it again, for fear that I’d have to deal with a tear or a broken strap. I was hoping to find something lighter and more comfortable.

I hefted a green Osprey and tried the zipper.

Jason laughed.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head, still smiling. “You were such a girly girl in college. I think your greatest ambition was to own a pair of, what were they, Steve Maddens or something? And here you are getting fitted for Tevas and testing out backpacks.”

“I was more ambitious than that! I wanted Manolo Blahniks!” I sniffed. I was being funny, but a part of me cringed inside, remembering our joke about him buying me a closet full of designer shoes.

“Not a shoe girl anymore?”

I tried on the backpack and fiddled with the straps. “I have to admit, I do still love shoes, but fancy ones really aren’t practical in my line of work.”

“How’s that going to go now that you’re settling down?” He sounded more serious now. “Are you worried that you won’t be able to work on your business the same way now that you’re not going to be traveling as much?”

I picked up a Deuter backpack. It was more expensive than the Osprey, and frankly not as attractive—I guess looks were still important after all—but it looked like it might be more practical. And it had a detachable daypack, which I liked.

I thought about Jason’s question. How would my job work if I settled down? “Not really,” I finally answered. “I’m location independent, so it doesn’t really matter where I am. I booked two new clients just sitting in Stephen’s apartment last week.”

“You mean your apartment,” he said.

“Oh, right! I keep forgetting.” I laughed, trying to cover up my embarrassment. I hated sounding like such a ditz. “Um, and I have enough experience now that sometimes publishers will pay all my expenses, which is always kind of nice. But usually I get more exotic assignments when I’m already in an interesting place, and they don’t have to pay airfare.” I had to stop myself from telling him about the book chapters I’d be working on in Thailand. It was a plum assignment and I was very excited about it.

“You must have a lot of cool things from all your travels,” he said. There was something in his voice that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He sounded almost … concerned.

“Some. I learned pretty early on that I didn’t want to bring back a bunch of junkie little souvenirs, so I haven’t bought much. But what I have brought back is pretty special.” I adjusted the straps on the Deuter and belted it. I liked the way it felt.

“Like what?”

“Oh, let’s see. I have an antique child’s kimono that I got at a flea market in Japan. Someday, I’d like to display it in a box frame. I have this gorgeous pottery vase from Venezuela. I have an Aboriginal carved box from Australia. A rug from Abu Dhabi, and another rug from Pakistan.” I moved and stretched, trying to get a feel for the backpack.

“Wow, where is all this stuff?”

“It’s at my parents’. You remember their house, right? It’s plenty big enough. Though if they ever downsize, I’ll be in trouble.”

“Well, you and Stephen have your own place now. Can’t you bring it all here?”

I paused for a moment, trying to think this through. “Oh, yeah. I suppose so. Eventually. His place is sort of small, though. Maybe when we get something bigger.”

There was an awkward silence. I couldn’t figure out why it felt awkward, though. Did I sound like a snob, thinking I deserved an upgrade from Stephen’s apartment?

“Well, location independent is pretty cool,” Jason suddenly said. “I’d love to work from the beach.”

“I would, too,” I laughed, “but I’m too paranoid about getting sand in my laptop. So ‘working from the beach’ is more figurative than literal. But I can work from just about anywhere, so that’s nice.”

“So now you’ll be working more from Starbucks than Tahiti. Not as exotic, but still pretty sweet.”

I suppressed a shudder, and busied myself examining the pockets and checking the zippers of the backpack.

“I’m envious,” he added.

“I thought you liked your job,” I said.

“Oh, I do,” he said quickly. “It’s an awesome opportunity, like I said. Great perks, benefits, fantastic experience. You know.” He gestured at the backpack. “Is this the one you’re getting?”

“Yeah, I like it,” I said, feeling pleased at having made a decision.

“Here, let me carry it for you.” He hefted it over his shoulder.

“Thanks. What do you like best about it? Your job, I mean,” I asked.

We began making our way to the checkout counter. Jason looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well,” he said slowly, “Initially, back in San Francisco, I was in sales. And I was okay—”

“I bet you were great!” I smiled. “You’re charming, you’re good looking—who wouldn’t want to buy from you?”

He laughed. “I think those qualities only go so far when you’re selling accounts to grumpy, middle-aged men. I was all right. Not the best salesman ever, but certainly not the worst. But then I got into marketing. And that was really exciting. It was both creative and rewarding. I got to learn about other businesses, come up with new ideas, and we really helped people. When I worked in San Francisco, we were hired by this little winery in Napa Valley. Little family business, small potatoes, couldn’t compete with all the big guys around it, wasn’t looking good. But we turned it around. Thought of new ways they could position themselves, almost tripled their consumer sales, kept ’em in business. Felt really good.” He smiled at the recollection.

“What about now?” I asked. “Do you still get to do stuff like that?”

He shook his head. “Not as much. When I took the job at D&B, they put me in as an account manager. It’s … I guess you could say it’s less hands-on.”

I smiled. “Tough being the boss, huh?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the boss.”

“You know what I mean. The more important you get, the less time you have for the fun stuff.” We dropped the shoes and the backpack onto the checkout desk, and I handed my credit card over the clerk. “I have the opposite problem. I’m doing all the fun stuff, which is great, but I really need someone to help me out with stuff like marketing, landing accounts, administrative stuff. I’ve got all these ideas—I could write a book, videos. I have an idea for an online course—but I just can’t do it all myself.”

“Well, I can help,” he offered, so quickly that I wondered if he’d been looking for the opportunity all along. “You know, I was looking at your site. I think with a good opt-in offer, you could be doing a much better job of capturing names for your email list. Any idea what your conversion rate is?”

“Umm …” I shook my head.

“That’s okay. It’s easy to figure out. You should update your blog more regularly. You’ll update it every day for a few weeks and then go a month without saying anything. You can’t do that. Consistency is key.”

“Whoa, there,” I said, hoping I hadn’t sounded like I was looking for a freebie. “I wish I could afford to hire you, but I know you’re out of my price range. Maybe you could point me toward some good books or something?”

He grinned at me, that goofy, charming, boyish grin that I remembered so well. “Don’t be ridiculous. Listen, you got your stuff and I’m getting hungry. Let’s make it a working lunch, and we’ll talk about getting Adventuress Travel, ahem, on the map.”

I grinned at him. “Ha ha! Let’s go. I know a good diner a couple blocks from here.”

*****

We lingered at the diner for almost two hours. Fortunately, it wasn’t crowded, or I would have felt bad about taking up a table for so long. As it was, I ordered a cup of tea I didn’t really want so that we had some excuse to keep sitting there.

Jason was a wealth of information, and had some really targeted suggestions. I had to wonder how much time he’d spent looking at my site and my Facebook page. His ideas were worth thousands—maybe tens of thousands—of dollars. Even better was how excited he got over the whole thing. He really lit up when he talked about newsletters and conversion rates. It was almost funny, really, to think of this former frat boy-athlete turned marketing geek, but his ideas were priceless.

After the waitress came by for the fifth time to ask us, pointedly, if we needed anything else, I picked up the check. Jason made a belated grab for it, but I snatched it out of reach.

“On me. It’s the least I can do. Seriously, thank you so much for all these great ideas. I’ve been feeling like I’ve been behind the cart ever since I started this business, and now I feel like I’m ahead of it again. Or at least, that I could be. Thank you. You’re amazing.”

He looked truly happy. “Well, I’m glad to help. Like I was saying earlier, this is the part of my job I like best, figuring out how to help small businesses.”

“Well, you’re not only good at it, you clearly have a passion for it. Have you ever thought about going into business for yourself?”

He smiled. “Actually, yeah,” he admitted. “Eventually, I’d really like to just do this kind of consulting. Get away from all the office politics crap.”

I nodded sympathetically. I wasn’t sure how anyone could spend years working in an office.

“I want to do it right, though,” he said earnestly. “You know, make sure I can make a good living. Get bigger clients, bigger accounts.”

“Not small fry like me, you mean,” I said with a smile.

“Actually, I really love helping little businesses. But they don’t usually have much of a budget for marketing consultants. And, hey,” he shrugged, “Chicago’s a pricey place to live.”

“I certainly don’t have a budget, but maybe after I put some of your plans into action, I will. But seriously, isn’t this the kind of thing you could do from anywhere? Maybe
you
should go work on that beach in Thailand.”

“Gosh, that sounds nice.”

“But you’re all career-minded and ambitious, and can’t imagine leaving a major American city to go beach-bum out in the Third World.”

“Exactly!” he agreed, almost forcefully. “I mean, eventually, I want to settle down, get married, maybe have some kids. I’d like to, you know, provide a stable environment, that sort of thing.”

“Wow,” I smiled, but inside I felt a lurch of sadness, “you’re like the opposite of the commitment-phobe stereotype.”

“Hey, even frat boys have to grow up.”

I smiled, but for a moment. I couldn’t meet his eyes. Maybe I was the one who wasn’t ready to grow up.