What Brings Me to You (12 page)

              "Yes."

              "That's nice."

              "It is. You're going to love her, everyone does. She's a really good woman, Charley. I know that must sound really strange coming from me, but as I've gotten older and I've dealt with
lots
of women.” Her head cocked to the side and I mentally kicked myself for saying
lots
. We hadn’t shared the roster yet and mine was indeterminately long. “I know she's a good woman. Probably too good for my dad. She's taught me more about life than he ever could just by the way she lives it."

Charley patted my knee and said in a hush, "You'll find someone like that for you, too."

              I wanted to say I already had, but she still hadn't returned the "I love you" and I really didn't want to freak her out any more.          

              "So why are you so repulsed by the idea of working for HCI?"

              "Didn't I just tell you?"

              "Not really."

              "I did, sort of."

              "Teddy, talk to me."

              "It just bores me, Charley. It's so monotonous and doesn't challenge me. Anytime I think about sitting in one of those offices for forty years, I just want to hang myself."

Mickey had been totally into all of it since he was little. He used to ask mom to tell him the story of the company before bed. I wanted to hear
Peter Pan
. I remember being in dad's office when Mick was eight and I was ten. Dad was trying to talk to us, me specifically, about what he did - or what he was working on but all I could focus on was how high up we were; it felt like I could reach out and touch the sun in the sky through the glass window-walls. All I wanted to do was jump out that seventieth story window and fly up into the clouds. I stood at the very edge of the carpet near the window and looked down at the ants on the street and imagined I was walking on air above them and tuned dad out completely. But Mickey just ate the shit up. Sat, literally, underneath my dad's knees while he worked. He sharpened pencils and organized paper clips and ran mail. When we got older, Mickey would rather be in dad's office than out at the beach or playing football. He'd rather be learning the business at night than watching TV. Mickey got excited about a new merger, a new property, a new patent. He's spent every summer since he was old enough, in the office in Tampa or California or Chicago soaking it up. Mick knew as well as I did that he was the CEOs son and the founder's grandson and had no need to work as hard as he did but for him the motivation was different. For him, it wasn't work. He didn't have to bust his ass to get ahead, but he wanted to because he loved it. Dad awarded him a pretty high profile internship at HCI Chicago, but it wasn't nepotism. Mickey really did earn it, he worked harder than anyone in his class at Kellogg and he had enthusiasm to spare. That's what would make him great and dad loved him for his passion.          

              Dad loved me for my mind. Without trying I could crunch numbers, see patterns, make connections that, even for all of his study, Mickey couldn't. Grandpa Gun used to say that I'd be "next in line" but I didn't want to be. Dad had been trying to groom me for the business, a lot harder than Mickey but I don't know if it was because he really wanted me, or because I really needed to be pushed. I'm the one who dad asked to review proposals and acquisitions. I'm the one who he consulted about the various businesses. Though he really did try not to let on that he did these things for Mick’s sake and because of that and the fact that I tried my damnedest to discourage any spirit of competition between us, Mickey and I had a great relationship. He needed to know I was no threat to his ascension; that I wanted him to succeed because I knew it was his dream to be CEO Olaf Mickel Holmes the second. I wanted him to shine in front of dad and the other internal shareholders whenever possible so I helped him. Coached him. Showed him where I'd made, what was to me, an obvious connection in the data. Andy helped him a lot too; sometimes it was like they shared a brain they worked so closely together. Finished each other’s sentences and everything.

              It was around that time my relationship with dad turned sour. I started pushing everyone away but he pushing me back so damn hard and I just got sick of all the bullshit. Told him I was going to be a writer or a photographer or a chalk artist all the time just to piss him off until he got so tired of me he’d only talk to me when he had to. Then, it was just as easy to just ignore him. I could ignore you too, most of the time, until we were in bed together. I tried my hardest to avoid those goddamn pillow chats; would get up and go as soon as we were done, but you still found a way to talk to me incessantly about responsibility and privilege and blah blah blah. I couldn't stand it, and when you decided you wanted to go to school out West so you could intern in the summer at the Silicone Valley office, I was secretly relieved we'd only see each other at major holidays. I could've gone to Kellogg too, but I didn't want Mick to feel like I was stomping on his dreams, or so that's what I told myself. Really, I just didn't want to be anywhere where I felt obligated to work for HCI. So I stayed and got a little lost.

I dicked around a bit at Flagler (a liberal arts school in the pan handle) majoring in Literature when I really wanted to piss off my dad. After two years I took a year off to "see the world" and I traveled, I mean, really traveled. I backpacked through the westernized European countries, UK, France, Spain, then stayed in a hostel in Turkey for a while. Spent some time in Bangladesh and Malaysia. Went to Russia and raved in Red Square then went to China, crawled through some of the Cu Chi tunnels in   Vietnam then the mountains in Japan. It wasn't as eye opening and spiritual as it probably could've been because the only thing I could think about was how much international ass I could get. I wandered aimlessly in each country, the quintessential wayward playboy in search of his next meaningless fuck. The exception was Turkey. The first time I heard the Muzin do the evening Azan from a minaret with the orange backdrop of the Turkish sunset, I thought I would weep. When I got back, I thought I'd gotten it all out of my system and transferred to Stetson's business school. I hated it there. Mostly I hated living on campus, that atmosphere was very different than Flagler and I spent almost every weekend at home. When I got my degree, I didn't know what to do with myself. I enrolled in the private University of Tampa MBA program because it was close to home and the campus reminded me of St. Basils Cathedral in the Kremlin or the beautiful Minaret in Istanbul where I'd heard the Azan. I bought, or rather, dad bought my Jag as incentive for me to finish getting my degree in business so I could finally work for him, but I stalled. Took another semester off to play around in New Delhi and Budapest. I told my dad it was to prepare me for international negotiations but we both knew it wasn't true. I ended up going back to the same hostel in Turkey for a few days just to listen to the Azan.

              At the time of the party I was still stalling to finish my MBA. I only had a semester left and I just didn't want it. I knew what getting it would mean and I'd rather spend eternity on a crowded, smelly bus in India than sit in an air conditioned classroom with a bunch of dweebs for another second. That Summer I distracted myself with Charley because with her I could feel again. The coldness surrounding my heart started to thaw. The distraction of her became an acute obsession.          

              "So what would you do if you could do anything?"

              "Travel."

              "I mean for money."

              "I don't know."

              "Well, how could you turn travel into a career?"

              "Why are we even discussing this? It's not like it could happen."             

              "Why are you putting limits on yourself, Teddy? You have so much opportunity and I'm not talking about HCI because it’s a publicly traded company. If it doesn't make you happy, then screw 'em they'll find someone else. I'm talking about the fact that your family has more money and power than they know what to do with and you're way too smart for your own good. If the sky isn't the limit for you, then there sure as hell isn't hope for the rest of us. You're making the situation so much more complicated than it has to be. You're a grown ass man; you know what's best for you. They love you - they wouldn't put up with your shit if they didn't.” At this I cocked an eyebrow. She was putting up with my shit ergo perhaps she loved me too. She went on undisturbed by my revelation. “When they know you're happy, content doing what you really love, they'll be happy and then everyone will be happy. Problem solved. Your family was built on a vision. On a dream. They, of all people, should respect that you want your own dream. You want to carve your own path for your life, your own identity independent of HCI. And I think traveling is great! You could write a book or be a reporter or..."

              "A doctor." I blurted. I’d never said it out loud and except for the “playing doctor” Lacey and I did innocently as children and not as innocently as teens, no one knew that was my secret aspiration. Frankly, being a doctor was relegated to being a fantasy. Something I’d think about every now and then. No one, not even me, realized how much I wanted that. Somehow she’d gotten me to admit it.

              "Is that what you want?"

              "I...I don't know. I try not to think about it."

              "Well you should, sir. You're not a spring chicken, you know. Time's a wastin'. Now let me see your phone, I want to play Angry Birds."

              I knew, even before you told me, that you would be at that party. Jesus, Lace, our families are more interconnected than the Royal Family. It just wasn’t going to be like “old times”. I knew what you meant about “falling into old habits” but you were a habit I was going to break.

              As we pulled up to the house I mentally replayed the conversation we’d had while I was shopping for Charley’s gifts.

              “Yello.”

              “Are you seriously bringing that girl to dinner?”

              “Hello to you too, Lacey.”

              “Seriously, Teddy. I know we’re not on the greatest of terms right now, but that’s pretty classless. You know Sig from the times is going to be there. Probably some other press too.”

              “There always is,” Lacey made sure we were constantly photographed together for the society pages. We had been all but married off a couple of years back, which was when I did everything to get out of those dreaded networking, schmoozing  dinners; they were absolute torture for me back then. I couldn't wait to have Charley there on my arm; I knew it wouldn't be as insufferable if I could just be near her. I just prayed that you would be there with a date or something, other than my girlfriend, to distract you.

              “Are you bringing anyone?”

              “
Pfft.
Unlike you, I’m not looking to rub the fact we aren’t together in your face.”

              “I do not need you giving her a hard time in front of the parents, okay?” Not to mention we were never
together.

              “Don’t be ridiculous. I have more decorum than that. Which is more than I can say for you. Or your brother.” Mickey's girlfriend would be there too and, unfortunately, she was a stereotypical dumb blond. They met at Kellogg so I, and the rest of the family, were really surprised     she was that stupid. I was more surprised that Mickey put up with it; her stupidity and the family's comments. Mick did what he was told because he couldn't stand to disappoint anyone, especially dad, but he was holding onto this girl pretty tight. The sex must've been fantastic. I knew that Charley would be a hit and thought maybe Mickey could see what he was missing out on, though he was going to be more into the conversation with all the other HCI head honchos than his girl, anyway. More than I would, definitely.        

              “Mick is just having fun.”

              “
Pfft.
” Again with the
pfft.
“In case you two haven’t noticed, we’re not like everyone else. We can’t just “have fun” and expect it not to end up the press.

              “So?”

              “It’s bad for business,” there was a long pause as if you were collecting your thoughts and I silently hoped you’d lose your train of thought altogether. “Teddy. Listen. And you can pass this along to Olaf. You guys need to grow up. We —you are next generation HCI. You’re like American royalty. Like Prince Charles and Prince Harry of the business world. You cannot parade around these tramps in front of press and business partners. It looks bad. The board will not like it.” This was the reason we stopped sleeping together. More than that, it was the reason we stopped being friends at all. Growing up, we spent so much time together I forgot sometimes that we weren't related. Every summer at our neighboring vacation homes in the Keys, every winter together in Aspen, only minutes away in Tampa. We went to all the same schools and took some of the same courses. You guys were at our place all the time, mom and Claire to giggle and get drunk on Chateau Brion; Dad and Andy to play chess, drink scotch older than me and talk business. Everyone always assumed you and I would get together and take over the world. We talked about it a lot when we were kids, back when we were still friends. When we still had our own little private jokes and a secret world we could escape to from the hobnobbing that we both hated. It was at that time, for the briefest period, that I thought I loved you and you loved me and we’d someday be together.