Trophy Life

by Lea Geller

  “Aggie,” he said as I drew nearer.

  “Jack,” I breathed, taking a few big gulps of air to prevent myself from falling over. Despite my last-minute makeover, I felt unrecognizable from the person I was in Santa Monica, but Jack was completely unchanged. I’d been too stunned to take stock on Christmas Day, but Jack was just as I’d left him, or just as he’d left me—lightly bronzed, rested, thin, his cheekbones just the right amount of pronounced. He was also close enough that I could smell him, which only made matters worse. I breathed in his scent and clutched the back of my chair. We stood and stared at each other until Jack moved quickly and wrapped his arms around me. He pulled me close and kissed me, running his hands through my new hair. I did my best to kiss him back without fainting in the restaurant.

  When he had finished kissing me, he kept his face close to mine and smiled. “Hello,” he whispered. I felt his breath on my cheek.

  “Hello back,” I murmured. He held my chair as I stumbled into it, taking his time to push me in, then kissed me again while I sat there. When the waitress returned, Jack ordered sake for both of us and the omakase. She asked if we had any food allergies or restrictions, and Jack told her that any wasabi should be freshly grated, no powdery stuff for us. Other than that—he smiled—we’re easy.

  Easy. Nothing about this was easy. I had so many questions for him. I didn’t know where to start.

  “Jack . . . ,” I said, taking a sip of water, keeping an ice cube in my mouth.

  “Not yet,” he said, knowingly. “Let me look at you first.” I felt his eyes on me, appreciating me. Jack could do that. He could just sit and stare at me forever. He never got bored, never looked over my shoulder for someone more exciting. Even Beeks noticed that. (“I think Brian only looks at food that way.”)

  “You look beautiful, Aggie,” he said. “Breathtaking.”

  I was pretty sure I looked anything but breathtaking, but after all these cold, lonely months, I wanted to bask in his adoration for as long as he’d let me. Apparently after all these months, I also had questions, and eventually, they got the better of me.

  “Where are you staying?” I asked.

  “The Baldwin,” he said. “It’s on the Upper East Side.”

  Of course it is.

  “How?” I asked, feeling my heart race. “How are you staying in a hotel on the Upper East Side?” How are you staying in a hotel on the Upper East Side with all the thin blonde people and their worked-out arms, when I am living in a dusty town house with roaches, mice, and the brown couch?

  “Aggie,” he began, “I have to. I need to raise money, and to raise money, I have to stay in the right places.”

  He didn’t say “alone,” but he might as well have. He needed to stay in the right places, and he needed to do it without me and Grace. My heart thumped in the back of my throat. “No, Jack. I was the one who didn’t have a choice. I had to leave my home. I had to drive Grace across the country and take a job at a middle school. I have to live in a drafty, pest-infested house. You have choices, Jack. You just seem to be making all the wrong ones.”

  He pushed his chair away and stood up, looked around, and then sat back down, composing himself. “I get it,” he said, leaning in, his voice low. “You’re angry, and you have a right to be.” He swallowed and moved his chair around the side of the table, so that we sat right next to each other. “I made a mistake. But you have to believe me when I say that I am fixing it, and that I need for things to be this way for a little while longer.”

  “How much longer is longer?” I asked, trying not to be distracted by his hands, which were under the table and then under the hem of my dress. I felt the warmth of his fingers, and when they pressed into my skin, I had to take a breath to steady myself.

  “I don’t know,” he said. His hands moved higher, pushing down as they climbed up my thigh. “But if you give me a little more time, I can make things better, even better than they were before.”

  “I don’t want better than before, Jack.” Without thinking, I scooted my chair back, away from him and his hands. “I don’t need better. Don’t you get it?”

  “Aggie,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. My God, all I am is sorry. You have to believe me.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Why should I believe you? You promised me that I’d never have to worry again. Jack, I’ve spent months doing nothing but worrying.”

  “I screwed up. I know that.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  He cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brow.

  “Are you going to tell me why you did it?” I explained.

  Jack stared at me. He didn’t seem to be blinking or breathing.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know how I got so lost. I wanted to give you and Grace all the things I thought you needed. I wanted to be the provider I promised I’d be.” His eyes filled with tears and he looked away.

  “But I didn’t need all of it. You have to know that,” I said, now reaching out and taking his hands in mine. “Look at me,” I said. “I didn’t need all the glitter. I still don’t.”

  He met my eyes. I lifted his hands to my lips and kissed them. We both leaned in, our foreheads touching. “Just let me fix this,” he whispered. “Please, just give me some more time.”

  He looked up at me. His eyes were desperate, and a little bit of something else—I couldn’t tell what. But I knew these eyes, this man. Jack had given me a second chance at a family. Why couldn’t I give him another chance, the chance to make things right?

  “OK,” I said, nodding, convincing myself as well as him. “I get it. A little while longer. I can do that.”

  We ate dinner, and I didn’t ask another question. I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t asking because I thought he’d get up and leave, or because I just wanted to enjoy dinner with my husband, without the tense back-and-forth of my interrogation. But there was also something else. Although there was so much I wanted to ask, there was so much I didn’t want to know. I was still afraid of the answers. So I shut my mouth and opened it only to eat, drink, and answer the few questions Jack tossed my way. He asked about the weather, a little about my job, if I’d found a place to work out (I mean, really), but most of his questions were about Grace.

  I described the past few months as best as I could. I knew Jack liked a good milestone, so I showed him some videos of Grace clapping, crawling, and waving, making sure to avoid the many pictures I had of her shoving fistfuls of veggie puffs in her mouth. Mostly, though, I ate.

  Eating was easy. Each time our server brought out a new dish, we’d look at the sushi chef and nod our approval. I made sure to give the chef an extra large nod, letting him know that not only did I approve of each dish, but I was really grateful that someone else had prepared my dinner, and that dinner didn’t involve pasta, chicken, and a bag of frozen vegetables. I noticed people pulling out phones and taking pictures of their food, but I knew I wouldn’t forget this food. Many of the dishes were the same as ones we’d eaten in California, yellowtail with a jalapeño puree, seared crab cakes, oyster with scallions, but not all were familiar. At one point our server brought out something spiny and held it on a plate before us. The spiny creature, a sea urchin, jumped. It returned some minutes later, dead and on a pillow of rice.

  At the end of the meal, as we got up to leave, Jack slipped his arm around my waist, right where he’d put it years ago, the very first time we were in a sushi restaurant together. I closed my eyes as he leaned in to me, his mouth on my neck, in my ear. “Wait,” he whispered. “Wait until you see the hotel. I promise, it’ll make up for all those nights you had to spend in the Bronx.”

  I thought about my fabulous underwear. I thought about texting Stacey and telling her I’d be there in the morning. She’d take Grace, and I could be up at school in time for first period. But I couldn’t. I pulled away, removing his hand from my waist. “I can’t,” I said, holding on to his fingers. “I have to be home for Grace. I don’t think the sitter can stay ov
er, and I have to work in the morning.”

  He looked surprised. “What, you don’t have sick days?”

  I did have sick days, but I’d used most of them for the days Grace was sick. Turns out day-care kids really do catch everything. What I couldn’t tell Jack, what he’d never understand, was that I wasn’t ready to spend the night away from Grace. I felt an ache in my chest when I thought about it. If I couldn’t tell him this, I certainly couldn’t tell him that the other reason I couldn’t run away with him for a night of hotel sex was that I was nervous to leave the boys alone with Gavin. I needed to be around to protect them; I was their buffer.

  “No,” I lied. “I don’t have any more sick days.” I looked at my watch. “I really have to get uptown.”

  Jack looked like a small boy who’d gotten a toy for Christmas only to have it whisked away. “I wish I’d known,” he said.

  “Why? You wouldn’t have taken me to dinner if you knew I couldn’t spend the night?” I had spent all that time trying to stay calm, and there I was, firing up, my heart pulsing.

  “No. Don’t be silly.” He reached out and put his hand on my face. “I’ve missed you. I just wished I’d known that I have to wait a little longer.”

  I got it, or at least part of me did. I was wearing fantastic new underwear, and I wasn’t wearing it to eat sushi. Hell, I’d even shaved above my knees.

  Jack walked me outside, hailed a cab, and handed the driver some cash. I thought briefly about getting out of the cab in a block or so, pocketing the cash, and taking the subway home. Before I got in, Jack said, “One more thing, Aggie.”

  I knew where he was going. I’d been waiting for him to go there all evening. “Ruth Moore?” I asked, picturing her waving to me from across campus the morning after the first snowfall.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you even know her?”

  “She was at USC with me and Don, but that’s not important. I want to know what you’ve learned here. I want to know what you know.”

  “I don’t know anything. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  “If you pay close enough attention, you can find dirt on anyone,” he said.

  “Dirt? I thought I was just looking for information on why she pulled her investments. What are you asking me?”

  I never found out. Jack planted his hands on my waist and leaned in to me as I fell back on the taxi. Before I could ask any more questions, he kissed me, hard. When he pulled away, he kept his hands on me and said, “Just keep your ears open for something we can use to convince her to help us.” He stared into my eyes and spoke slowly. “You know what I’m asking you, right, Aggie?”

  He was gone before I could answer.

  -8-

  The next morning I was staring up at the ceiling in my bedroom, replaying the conversation with Jack over and over in my mind, trying to make sense of his last words to me, when I got my first text from Gavin.

  We have a situation. Be in my office as soon as you can. —Gavin

  I knew that if I was being pulled into a “situation,” my boys must be involved. I texted Gavin back and moved as quickly as I could, trying not to think about what was happening in his office.

  Gavin was waiting for me just outside his door, his hands in position across his chest, his legs firmly planted in a wide stance, as though he were a bouncer guarding a nightclub.

  “They’re inside,” he said.

  “Who is?” I asked, hoping my suspicions were wrong.

  “Who do you think? This time they’ve gone too far.”

  I wanted to see the boys to make sure they were all right, but I also needed some information, even if it was from Gavin’s perspective.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened,” I said. I tried to emulate his stance, to show him that I was just as tough as he was, but I had so much in my hands—my water bottle, my purse, some papers—that it was hard for me to cross my arms across my chest. I tried but dropped everything I was holding. As I bent down to pick it all up, Gavin took a step closer to me, so that when I tried to stand, my head almost hit his crotch. I looked up at the crease of his pants and felt queasy. I shuffled back, on all fours, and slowly righted myself to standing, bringing all the fallen objects with me. Gavin just sneered while I maneuvered, shook his head in disgust, and led me into his office.

  I followed him in and saw a very guilty-looking Caleb, Guy, Davey, and Art all squeezed into two chairs. It was not a pretty sight. As soon as he saw me, Guy began to cry, his tiny frame quivering. Davey was not far behind, blinking back his tears.

  Art was the first to speak. “Ms. P., we really didn’t mean to—”

  “Art.” Gavin held up his hand and spoke in a sickly-sweet tone. “Art, before we get ahead of ourselves, why don’t you tell us what you didn’t mean to do? You didn’t mean to break into the kitchen last night? Or you didn’t mean to steal all the ice cream for today’s merit club party? Or perhaps you didn’t mean to lock Mr. Higgins in his room?”

  “OK, that was an accident,” chimed in Caleb. “We really didn’t know he was in there.”

  “The other stuff, that stuff we did,” said Guy, looking at me and breathing in between sobs. “We did it. It was dumb, I know. But we never get invited to the merit club parties, and we just wanted some of the ice cream.”

  The merit club parties were invitation only. Students who got an eighty-five or above on a test (quizzes didn’t count) or who performed an act of “notable responsibility” were asked to join Gavin for ice cream one morning each month. Needless to say, my boys had never seen the inside of a merit club party. The whole thing baffled me. The ice cream was terrible—cheap, off-brand stuff that came in enormous tubs, neon colors, and only a few uninspired flavors, all of which tasted the same. (Yes, I’d tried it all. It had been a long year.) These kids regularly sneaked off campus to eat better ice cream. Why risk it to steal from the crappy merit club?

  “Yeah,” said a pathetic-looking Guy. “We just wanted someone to ask us.”

  Caleb spoke next. “On our way out, we accidentally locked Mr. Higgins in his office. We thought we were being good by locking doors. We just locked the wrong door.” Mr. Higgins was a security guard with an office near the kitchen. He genuinely liked all the kids, which made the whole thing worse.

  “Because these are your boys,” Gavin said, looking right at me, still smiling, “I think it’s up to you to write this up.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You’re going to write your very first discipline log entry, Agnes. That’s what I mean. You’ve done nothing to bring these boys in line, and it’s about time you started.” He was still smiling.

  “Gavin, I don’t even know how,” I started.

  “Oh, I’ve thought about that,” he said. “I am well aware of your limitations.” He lingered over that last word, sounding out each syllable, Figg-style. “Caleb can help you. He knows the ins and outs of our system.” He paused and smiled at Caleb. “After all, you can’t fake an email from a teacher if you don’t know how to hack into her account. Isn’t that right, Caleb?”

  Caleb’s face sank. “You know about that?” he asked.

  “I know about everything,” he said. “Nothing goes unseen by me.” He walked to the door and turned to us. “Make it a doozy, Agnes. I want to include it in the behavior reports I deliver to the boys at the end of the month. You know, the packets I’ll be sending to their parents in a few months and to high schools next year.” He spoke to me, but he was glaring at the boys. When he had finished speaking, he walked out.

  “Dude, I cannot believe he left us alone in here,” said Davey, suddenly perking up. “What should we do first?” He looked right at Art, who was nodding vigorously. “Wanna take the exclamation point off his keyboard? He loves that thing.”

  “Boys!” I yelled, waving my arms and dropping more papers. “Are you guys really serious?”

  I had more to say, but Art cut me off.

  “Hey, Ms.
P.! What did you do to your hair?”

  The boys looked at me as if for the first time. I ran my hand through my highlighted extensions and smiled apologetically. Why did I get the feeling Art did not approve of my new look?

  “I just kind of liked it better before,” he said, reading my mind.

  Davey chimed in. “You look like my mom.” He put his hand to his mouth as soon as he said this and gasped slightly. “I mean, no offense.” I knew exactly what “no offense” meant for a middle schooler. It was code for YOU SHOULD TAKE HUGE OFFENSE.

  “You do smell super good, though,” said Guy, always trying to smooth things over. “You start wearing Axe?” I could see that as soon as he said this, he wished he hadn’t.

  “Boys!” I snapped. “You cannot mess with Principal Burke’s keyboard! You just did something dumb and got caught. Why are you planning the next dumb thing before the paint is even dry on your first dumb thing?”

  They just looked at me.

  “Do you just assume I’ll keep bailing you out? Don’t you care that you’re making me look like a fool?” I was met with a sea of blank stares.

  “I don’t know why we’re doing this stuff,” said Caleb. “It just feels good when we’re doing it.” I knew there was a larger conversation I needed to have with these boys, a conversation about impulse control and all sorts of things they didn’t want to hear, or weren’t ready to hear, but for now I just wanted to complete the task and get out of Gavin’s office.

  “Caleb,” I said, “here’s my laptop. Let’s get this done. My code—”

  “Yeah, I know your code,” he said.

  “How do you know it?” I asked. Getting my cell phone number from the teacher directory was one thing, but how had this kid gotten my laptop code?

  “It’s easy,” said Guy. “He just watched you type it in a few times.”

  I wanted to bolt, to get as far away from the boys and their misdeeds as possible, but I just glared at Caleb and looked away while he logged on as me. He opened up a new report and titled it ICE CREAM FIASCO AT MIDNIGHT.