Thinking of You

by Rachel Kane

  He wants to say, Why don’t you stop Wendy from fraternizing with me? But for all his trouble with Wendy, she’s on his team, and he’s not going to tattle on her. He does wonder what she’s up to, telling people she’s staying home because of him. Did they even talk yesterday? He can’t remember. All this lack of sleep has left him in a haze. He’s going to need a night off. Or at least a night where Val doesn’t keep him up until three.

  Don’t think about Val right now. Not with Rumson standing right there.

  If he could talk to Rumson—if Rumson were just a guy, a normal manager, someone who didn’t have dark motives and hungry eyes—he might ask him about Wendy. What’d she say to him when she called in sick? Get a better picture of what she’s up to, what she has planned. But that’s not going to happen, because he can’t talk to Rumson. Tag’s right, Charlie isn’t harsh. He believes in flight, not fight. Rumson makes him want to run away.

  It’s not even fear. Fear is something else. Fear’s what he feels when he thinks about how close he’s getting to Val. About how he’s breaking all his personal rules, all his boundaries, in order to spend a little more time with this man he’s falling for. Now that’s scary.

  Here’s something he can barely admit to himself: He knows it’s going to go wrong. It always goes wrong. He’s not looking for the signs yet. Call this the honeymoon period. He’s so happy.

  But he’s scared of happiness. Happiness has blinded him before, shielding him from the warning signs.

  No. The thing he feels with Rumson isn’t fear, it’s disgust, it’s a need to get away. He can’t be harsh with Rumson. Can’t ask him what he needs to know.

  Just before he takes his place back in line, he pulls his phone out and taps Wendy’s number.

  18

  Val

  “Of course I’m disappointed,” I said, “but if you’re sure…?”

  “I think I just need a good night’s sleep,” Charlie said. I hated how far away he sounded on the phone.

  “I came up with an algorithm for how to put the ornaments on the tree with maximum randomness,” I said. “I have a chart.”

  He laughed softly. “Don’t decorate the thing without me, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come here? I’ll leave you alone. I have so many bedrooms—”

  “Nah. I appreciate it. I do. But I think I just need to be back in my own bed for a night.”

  I thought about his sleeping bag, his blankets. But what could I say? “Stay warm, Charlie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I love you, I thought. I didn’t say the words. I hoped he felt the same. We were both shy about that phrase.

  The phone screen darkened. I was sad that I would spend the night alone…but had a consolation.

  I saw it sitting behind me as I turned. Gleaming from the Christmas lights that lined my carpet, the bicycle was a thing of mechanical beauty.

  I had never considered bicycles before. To me, they’d always been something other kids rode. Whenever I’d try to ride Theo’s bike, I’d fall and skin my knees and palms. I quickly stopped trying, I’ve never understood this passion for bikes that others have. Some of my staff, claiming to be environmentally conscious, had biked to work, and it always seemed inefficient to me, all those calories, the need to change clothes the minute you arrive to work…I just didn’t get it.

  But now?

  Now, with this shimmering miracle of engineering in front of me?

  I thought I might understand.

  The frame was carbon-fiber, stronger than steel but much, much lighter. You could easily lift it with one hand, and it confused the senses with its sturdiness. It looked nothing like the gawky things Theo and his friends would ride as kids. There was something low-slung and elegant about this bike, something that suggested high speeds and agility. It had an electronic shifting system, as well as a pivot system that allowed the bike to flex over rough terrain, keeping the rider at maximum comfort, as I learned from the brochure, and from the man at the bike store. (Do you want to try it out? he’d asked, and had looked surprised when I said, No, I don’t know how to ride one.)

  I probably wouldn’t mention to Charlie that it was thirteen thousand dollars.

  He didn’t need to know that part. Although the thrill it gave me, thinking of keeping the price a secret from him, was the most delicious fear I’d ever felt.

  Look what’s become of me. I’m using words like delicious to describe my emotions. I’m gawking at a bicycle. I’m buying presents for my boyfriend.

  Strange, the turns that life takes. I was, at this moment, as happy as I had ever been before. More. That’s the part that stunned me. I was happier now, wondering how you wrap up something like a bicycle, than I had been as the CEO of my company.

  Here was the wrapping paper (20 varieties), scissors (3 sizes, plus a bonus set of pinking shears I wasn’t sure what to do with), and tape (a pack of 40 rolls), now all I had to do was figure out how to put them all together to conceal this thing.

  I might need to make another chart.

  My phone interrupted these thoughts, and I felt a little explosion of hope that it was Charlie, that he was changing his mind. I’d have to hide the bike, maybe in one of the back bedrooms, or maybe one of these closets that held the rest of my purchases.

  That hope deflated, when I saw the number on my screen.

  “Hey Val,” said Micah. “Can we meet?”

  He took a file out of his case, and slid it over to me. We were at a restaurant of his choosing, some modern fusion place I had never been, where the atmosphere smelled of wasabi and cardamom. I didn’t feel right meeting him at my apartment, nor at the places Charlie and I had been visiting. Part of me still felt as though this were a betrayal, even though I knew it was for Charlie’s own good.

  I opened the folder. “There’s not much here.”

  Micah shrugged. “If you want a big investigation, we can do that. I’ve only been at it a day. But I think you’ll find what you need in there.”

  “Theo’s not with you,” I said.

  Micah shook his head. “He’s not a fan of what you’re doing.”

  “Which part, seeing Charlie or investigating his boss?”

  “Any of it.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  Micah glanced around, as though someone might be listening. An old lawyer habit, I assumed. “I don’t necessarily agree with everything Theo thinks,” he said. “I love him, but I think he’s got a real blind spot about you. To him, you’re always going to be the CEO, the man who gives everything up for business. It’s hard for him to adjust to the new you.”

  “The version of me that has boyfriends.”

  “The version of you that has emotions, frankly.”

  “I’m not a robot, Micah. I never have been. It’s not my fault that Theo has that impression of me. Tell me what I’m going to find in this file.”

  He nodded, shelving the personal talk for now. I could see it was a relief for him. He didn’t want to get between me and Theo.

  “First off, your instincts were good. This Rumson guy is dirty.”

  I looked up from the papers. “Financially or otherwise?”

  “He has voluntarily resigned from two other management jobs. In both cases, lawsuits had been filed against the companies he worked for.”

  “Sexual harassment suits,” I said, reading the file.

  “Settled by the companies. All the nondisclosure forms signed, no admission of guilt.”

  “Shouldn’t someone have found out about this when he applied to this job?” I asked. “If they did their due diligence—”

  Micah shook his head. “Unless they knew what they were looking for, I don’t think they would’ve found anything. The records are sealed.”

  “Then how did you—”

  “Better not to ask,” Micah said, with a grim look on his face.

  “So this Rumson can get away with it? He can just go from job to job without any r
epercussions? He never pays for his crimes?”

  The unfairness of that struck me. I wasn’t sure which part made me the most angry, that this man seemed to be after Charlie, or that proper processes hadn’t been followed in his hiring. I don’t like rule-breaking. I don’t like sneaks.

  “The system doesn’t work very well,” said Micah. “People slip through the cracks. Guys like this, yes, they get away with it. Eventually, maybe something will stick. He’ll go too far, get picked up by the police. Someone will be mad enough not to sign a nondisclosure form. Who knows.”

  It would make Rumson confident, knowing that no matter what happened, there would always be a new job on the horizon. He might feel invulnerable. Like he could get away with anything.

  I was going to have to deal with him. I would have to teach him that as powerful as he might feel when it comes to harassing his employees, there were bigger forces that would come down on him. That would crush him.

  This isn’t merely anger, I thought. This is rage I’m feeling. All these new emotions.

  The rage might be new, but the sense of unfairness was not. I’d always hated that. People slipping through the cracks, as Micah put it, was just wrong. It was wrong if bad men could get away with crimes. It was wrong if good people who were down on their luck couldn’t get help, like in the letters Charlie had shown me.

  Too much of the world was unfair, rewarding some, punishing others, but never truly in line with their actions.

  It was up to the people with power to make that right.

  I might not own my company anymore, but I still had resources.

  “So here’s my question,” said Micah, “and I want you to be honest with me. What are you going to do with this information?”

  Closing the file, I said, “You don’t have to worry about that part. You’ve done what I asked, and I’m grateful.”

  “Yeah, and that’s nice to hear you say. But if this guy is bothering your boyfriend, but your boyfriend doesn’t want you to do anything about it… Well, I need to know if I made a mistake, telling you about this. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

  “A little late to ask me about this now, isn’t it?” I said. “Now that I know? But I can assure you, Micah, that the only people who are going to get hurt, are the ones who deserve it.”

  “I’m not your lawyer, and I can’t give you legal advice. But Val, if you go after this guy, you need to know that you have no case. The law won’t back you up, if you hurt him. Just the opposite.”

  “I’m not going to break his kneecaps, Micah.”

  “Yes, I know. But I can see you thinking about it. Anything you do to him, any harm you cause… It could come back to bite you. It could bite Charlie, as well.”

  “For a lawyer, you seem to have very little hope for justice.”

  Micah gave me a half-shrug. “I’m being realistic. Be careful, is what I’m saying. You might want to talk over your strategy with your own attorney.”

  I rose from the table. “Thank you again for your help.”

  “You’re not going to stay and eat?”

  “I don’t believe I am. Good night, Micah. Tell Theo hello.”

  “You’re going to come see your mother again soon, right? Everyone wants to meet Charlie.”

  No family, Charlie had told me.

  Of course, he’d also told me not to buy a bicycle for him. And not to interfere with Rumson.

  God knows how many other rules I was breaking lately.

  Did everyone keep secrets like this?

  “I’m sure you will see us soon,” I told Micah.

  By the time I had summoned a cab, my plan was worked out.

  19

  Charlie

  Wendy’s apartment smells of incense and cloves. It reminds Charlie of Christmas, really, even though she has no seasonal decorations up. He’s never been here before, and didn’t know what to expect, but this place fits her. The couch is draped with bright exotic fabrics embroidered with gold designs; the shelves are full of little gold and terra cotta statuettes, animals and Buddhas and abstract designs.

  “You didn’t have to come,” she says, still standing next to the door. She seems a little unsteady.

  “Everyone says it’s my fault you stayed home, so I kind of did have to.”

  “Can’t I just be depressed? Don’t I have that right? Do you want anything to drink? I have…well, I have gin, and that’s about it.”

  It’s not his favorite, but he accepts a drink from her, and they settle onto the sofa. He’s careful to put space between them.

  “So give me the speech,” she says. “Tell me why I shouldn’t feel let-down that this cute, sexy man that I’m falling for, refuses to even consider me.”

  She’s genuinely sad. That’s what surprises him. Even though he’d made it clear, over and over, she’s taking this hard, as though he’d given her some hope and then dashed it. He’s going back over his conversations with her, wondering if he’d slipped up somehow, given a signal he didn’t intend to give.

  “I can’t tell you how to feel about it,” he says, “but I was always pretty up-front about being gay. I mean…it’s not a surprise.”

  “Sometimes guys just say that, you know?”

  He shakes his head. “Do they? Surely not. I don’t think there are straight guys out their claiming to be gay.”

  “Not straight guys, ugh,” she says. “I’m not talking about them. But cute bi guys, queer boys, there are a ton of you out there, and a lot of times, you say you’re gay, when what you really mean—”

  “Wait, let me just be really clear, okay? I’m not bi.”

  There’s a creeping anxiety in him now. It’s not quite the same as what he feels around Rumson, not the same level of feeling trapped…but it’s not that different, either. Something’s going to go wrong here. He’s going to need to escape.

  You’re overreacting, he tells himself. This is a talk you should have had with her at the very beginning. You just don’t like disappointing people. You’d rather run away from a confrontation, but that ends up hurting them in the end.

  Yet again, Tag’s point was driven home. Charlie needed to learn to be harsh. Not for harshness’ sake, not to be cruel, but because pretending there was no conflict never worked.

  “I think maybe you just don’t realize it,” she said. “I’ve been with a lot of bi guys, Charlie. A lot. I know them when I see them, okay? It’s like gaydar for bisexuality. And you’re pinging on my screen.”

  The gin is strange and oily. He’s not a fan, but he takes another swallow. He’s going to need it, for this conversation.

  “I’m not pinging on anybody’s screen,” he says. “I’ve known I was gay since I was little. I’ve never had a girlfriend. Never slept with anyone but guys.”

  “Then how do you know?” she says. “I mean, how can you possibly know what you like, if you’ve only tried one thing over and over?”

  He almost laughs, because it’s the same sort of thing people always say to Val. You need to get out and explore, try new things, take risks.

  Funny how horrifying that advice became when the person sitting next to you wanted to get into your pants.

  He was going to have to put a stop to this conversation, and soon.

  “Wendy, look. It’s not about you, okay? I’m not turning you down, I’m turning your whole gender down. It’s just not who I am. And you know, even if I were bi, I’m seeing someone. Someone who is really important to me.”

  She scoffs. “Your sugar daddy.”

  “Stop calling him that. He’s a good person.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s good. Good and generous, right? I already told you, I don’t blame you for hooking up with him. A mall elf paycheck doesn’t go very far. But you can’t seriously tell me you like him.”

  That’s when it happens. That’s when Charlie finally decides to be harsh.

  “Wendy, your problem is that you just don’t listen. So I’m going to make this as clear as I can, and th
en that’s it. I’m not going to say it again. And you are not going to make my life miserable about it, you are not going to badmouth me to our friends, because if you do that, you’re just as bad as a homophobe giving me shit for being gay, all right? Now, for the last time—”

  The kiss was absolutely unexpected.

  He’d gotten so wrapped up in what he was trying to say, that he didn’t even realize she was coming for him. Didn’t realize what was happening, until her lips met his.

  He tried to turn his head, he tried to get his hands between them, but she was on him. “God, it’s so hot when you’re trying to be mean,” she said, before going for him again. She took one of his hands and pressed it to her chest.

  “God damn it, Wendy!” he said, leaping from the couch, sending her tumbling to the floor in the process. “Why can’t you get it through your head? I don’t want you! Why does everyone act like they have a right to me? Why does everyone act like what I say doesn’t mean a damn thing?”

  “Get out, fucker!” she yells. She’s louder than him, she’s back on her feet and pushing at him. “You sick fuck, you enjoy pushing people around? We’ll see how you like it!”

  Even now, even now, his instinct is to reason with her. To tell her she has it all wrong. That there’s still a chance to back up from the cliff. A chance to remain friends.

  Her fists hitting his arms tell another story, though. They bring up another instinct, a deeper one.

  It’s not the first time that Charlie’s been hit, no.

  Far from it.

  And it always seems to happen when he tells someone no.

  As though turning people down makes them into wild animals. Drives them crazy. Turns them mean.

  He knows what to do in that situation.

  You have to run.

  You can’t fight people when they’re like this. You can’t reason with them, you can’t make them calm down.