Thinking of You

by Rachel Kane

  Her fists aren’t as big as some of the ones that have hit him before. The blows aren’t nearly as strong. But they’re pushing him towards the door, like being buffeted by an ocean wave. She’s practically incoherent, but she doesn’t need to make sense. Her meaning is clear:

  Charlie isn’t allowed to turn people down. He’s not allowed to say no. He’s not allowed to have control over his own body, ever.

  The door slams shut, and he’s outside, in the cold.

  If I had any sense, I’d call Val.

  The one person in the world he can trust, the one person who would take no for an answer, who would respect Charlie’s rules, his boundaries.

  But…no. Not tonight. Charlie is shaken by what just happened. He needs to be alone to process it.

  She’s going to make trouble for him. God only knows what she’s going to tell people.

  He wishes he could run away. Not just to the bus. But away. Another town, another state, another world.

  Hands shoved into his pockets, breath fogging, he starts for home…

  …except, of course, he doesn’t have his bike anymore. And it’s night. And home is far away.

  “Can I come over?” he asks into his phone. “I know I said I wouldn’t, but…can I?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he tells Val, but it’s a little strange how quickly Val accepts that.

  Something’s off about Val tonight. He looks cagey. Like there’s something on his mind.

  Maybe they both have things going on, things they need to work through in silence.

  The boxes of decorations have all been opened, their contents removed and organized. There is, indeed, a chart. He’s been busy. Now he’s bringing Charlie a cup of cocoa. Three marshmallows bobbing in it. A world of difference from that gin in a smudged glass.

  “Do you think it’s possible to be innocent?” Charlie asks. “I mean, we’re grown-ups, we’ve seen things, we’ve done things—”

  “What have we done?” asks Val.

  “Just in general. No one makes it through to adulthood being 100% ethical, right? But I miss that sense of innocence so much. Not knowing anything about how the world worked. Not worrying about it. Just playing, and enjoying cocoa and Christmas, and…”

  His voice trails off. It’s not a point he can explain to Val. It’s not a logical thing. It’s something like nostalgia for a time when life wasn’t complicated. When people weren’t throwing themselves at you, when people weren’t making demands. Back before you knew any of that was possible.

  He feels like he’s shaking, even though he isn’t. The chocolate helps. It warms his hands, his stomach, his lips.

  The lips she tried to kiss.

  What would Val do, if Charlie told him? Would he drive down to Wendy’s and bawl her out? Would he get possessive and defensive?

  Would he be mad at Charlie? Jealously so?

  You shouldn’t have gone to her house. That was stupid. Anyone could have seen that coming.

  Yes, but you had to give people a chance. You had to take the risk that they’d disappoint you, so they’d have a chance to do the right thing.

  He looks up, thinking he’ll see Val staring at him, studying him. He expects it by now, these long gazes. But Val’s not looking at him at all. He’s studying his own hands.

  Val would be a bad poker player. There’s clearly something on his mind, but it’s something he doesn’t want to say.

  “I think ethics are made up,” Val says eventually. “A rational framework to explain why we feel we should do one thing, rather than another. But who is to say whether that explanation is right? Maybe there’s no morality at all, just feelings. Confusing, contradictory feelings. In that case, there’s no innocence to go back to, because you’ve always had emotions, and you’ve always been guided by them. Hungers, hurts, desires…”

  Val doesn’t talk like this. For all that Charlie likes him (yes, may even love him), he doesn’t expect Val to be super-introspective and philosophical.

  “I think there’s got to be something outside ourselves,” Charlie says. “There have to be rules.”

  Val nods. “Yes, I believe in rules. I believe strongly in them. I’m just not sure where they come from. Why do we have so many rules that are in conflict? Why do the rules work out fairly for some, unfairly for others?”

  It’s too abstract for Charlie. He’s tired. The day has been long, he hasn’t slept much the past two nights, and all he has had for dinner is gin and cocoa. He ends up just leaning against Val, not talking. Val puts his arm around Charlie, tentative at first, then more comfortable, pulling him closer.

  For a few minutes, at least, the tensions of the day are in the background. Val’s here, and Charlie is safe. I don’t want to rely on someone else for my safety, some part of him protests quietly, but he’s too tired for that right now.

  Tomorrow it’s all going to change, and for the worse, but Charlie doesn’t know that yet. Right now, he’s trying to capture a feeling he hasn’t felt in some time. That peace, the tranquility that comes from lying atop the bus, looking at the stars. He’s trying to get back to that innocent wonder at the universe around him.

  He can almost reach it. It’s so close.

  Sleep catches up with him just as his fingertips brush the infinite.

  20

  Val

  Neil Rumson lived in a run-down duplex near the college. For myself, I didn’t care about the conditions of his housing, but objectively noted them. This was not a man on the rise, and that seemed important to understand. The battered Camry with its back bumper nearly caved in, the unmowed lawn, it all contributed to an air of neglect.

  “I won’t be long,” I told my driver.

  “This gonna be bad?” he asked me.

  “What do you mean?”

  The driver gestured at my outfit. “You got your firin’ suit on.”

  Not a conscious choice, certainly, but he was right. This was my Brioni Vanquish II, a suit Theo had given to me for my birthday back when we were both with the company. It’s the one James Bond wore in—

  Who?

  Nevermind. It’s an extremely great suit, though. People will think you know all about style.

  There was nothing in my hands. No file. No papers. Just me, my suit, my knowledge.

  I tapped on Rumson’s door.

  Seven in the morning; the sun had not yet made its way up, although the glow of dawn gave everything a mysterious, dream-like look.

  A dream where I was a businessman again, making the hard decisions.

  A second knock. He had to be home. He wasn’t due at his office yet.

  Then came the metallic sounds of locks, the clack of the deadbolt, the jingle of the chain. A tired man with a heavily stubbled jaw and throat stared out at me. He took in my suit, and straightened up a bit. “Can I help you?”

  “You can invite me in, Rumson.”

  Inside was spare. A small TV overlooked a vinyl armchair with a tray sitting in front of it. On the tray was a mug of coffee. The TV was offering the 7-day forecast. Cold, chance of sleet or snow, even though this morning was clear.

  “Who is it?” he asked, scratching his jaw. I watched with fascination as his fingers moved the thick flesh of his jowls around.

  “Who is what?”

  “The one suing me. You’re a lawyer, right? Look, I don’t care what anyone says about me, it’s all a lie. I’m an easy mark for this stuff. I sit in that stifling little office, minding my business—”

  “I’m not a lawyer.”

  He glanced at my suit again, as though to confirm a point. “Who are you, then?”

  “My name is Valentinian Augustus Harrison, and I have come to tell you to leave Charlie McLain alone.”

  Rumson surprised me by snickering. “Oh, now. But you’re not his lawyer?”

  “I’ve already said.”

  “Are you…family?”

  I didn’t like where this was going. “No, he and I are not related.”

&
nbsp; “Of course not. I know what you are, my man. Believe me, I know your kind. You flashed a wad of bills at him to get his attention. Pulled up in that fancy car to take him out?”

  I glanced back at the door. “I think you are misunderstanding the point of my visit.”

  “Am I? Here, let me tell you the point: You’re his nice new sugar daddy, and you want to mark your territory. Now you’re going to bust in here and make threats, to keep me off your boy toy. But let me tell you something—”

  “What is a sugar daddy?”

  No no no, I told myself, put yourself in the business mindset. This is not the time to puzzle over colloquialisms.

  I straightened my shoulders. “Forget all that. Here is what you need to know. If you approach him again, if you make him uncomfortable again, if you touch him again, you will lose your job.”

  He scoffed and turned away. “I don’t know who you think you are. You think I give a shit about Charlie? He’s nothing. He’s trash. Just a fucking homeless kid I hired because otherwise he’s going to wind up in the gutter. You ought to get yourself deloused, if you spend time around him.”

  There were two separate points here to answer him. The first, my standing, as it were. What right I had to make this demand of him.

  But I found myself side-tracked by his second point.

  I found myself…angry.

  Which is a strange thing to discover.

  “You will shut your mouth,” I said. “You will not speak of Charlie that way.”

  “He’s got you good, does he? Well, I don’t blame him, it’s probably the only way he’ll get ahead in life, shaking that pert little ass at men like you.”

  This was not going the way I had planned.

  Emotion was a distraction. This anger I felt, this need to defend Charlie, it was pointless. As pointless as feeling sympathy for an employee you know you must fire.

  In my world, we often use the phrase business decision when we have to do something that is emotionally unpalatable. It allows us to put our feelings aside and get the job done. I’m sorry, you will say, but it is a business decision, and how can anyone argue with that? It is as though the business itself dictates what is to happen.

  I let all the emotion drain out of me. It took a moment, a long uncomfortable moment, but I was pleased to see Rumson was growing as uncomfortable as I felt. My silence was doing my work for me.

  “Now listen,” he said, trying to break the silence.

  “Would you like to hear an interesting fact I learned yesterday? I had a talk with my old friends at my company. You won’t have heard of my company itself, but what we do is buy up other companies. Sometimes the whole thing, sometimes just a piece of them. And one of the pieces we bought was of the Corinth Retail Properties Group.”

  That got his attention. “You… You own the CRPG.”

  I inclined my head in agreement. “A portion. Now, as you know, the CRPG is the owner and operator of the very mall you work for. They hired you, and did a poor job looking into your background, if you ask me.”

  Now a long pause, to let that sink in.

  “You’re threatening me,” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “I’m glad that was clear. If you ever bother Charlie again, you will be fired. And I am not like your former employers, Rumson. I won’t simply let you go, happy to see the back of you, while you apply for your next job. I will pursue you. I will watch. Every job you apply for, I will be there, whispering a word into the ear of the HR department. You need to understand that my resources, compared to yours, are nearly infinite. There will be no non-disclosure forms, no hidden secrets. Everyone will know exactly what you are.”

  He shook his head. “And what are you, with your slick suit and your big threats? You think you’re better than me? Just because you can buy the boys you want, while some of us have to work to get them? If I could own a suit like that, if I could get my hair cut like that, you think anyone would be able to tell the difference between me and you? You come in here, pushing your weight around. You’re the same as me. Don’t get on your fucking high-horse.”

  “I am not interested in your philosophical explorations of the difference between us,” I said. “All I am interested in is your agreement. You will not touch Charlie. You will not harass him. Nor will you tell him about this meeting. He will never hear about it. All he will know is that you have faded into the background of his life.”

  I knew he would agree, in fact I’d known it for the past few minutes. There is a look these men get in the eye. Theo will tell you I’m not good with emotions, but I’ve seen this one so often, I recognize it instantly: The fight against the inevitable.

  Men get this look when they realize they have run their companies into the ground. When they realize you’ve caught them stealing from the corporate till, and that they have no options left.

  Oh, they still argue. They throw things that look like facts and logic in your face.

  But fate has an inexorable logic of its own, and once the machine is in motion, it cannot be stopped. You see it there, in their eyes. A fearful acknowledgment of what’s coming. From denial to acceptance in one hard step.

  “You don’t have to worry,” he said to me. “I hear you, loud and clear.”

  “Thank you for your time.”

  I had not felt like this in ages. That rush of power. It electrifies you, but it’s not a chaotic ecstasy, it’s not the same as excitement. It organizes things; suddenly paths are clear in your thoughts.

  I could see everything before me. Once Charlie didn’t have to worry about Rumson, he could complete his employment as a Christmas elf, and then would need a new job. I would create a job for him, a way for him to feel independent, but still be able to live comfortably. We would work together on his bus, making it livable, making it into something he could be proud of. He would have his space when he needed it, and I would have mine, yet we would still be able to see each other constantly.

  This was the right decision. I had lifted a weight from Charlie, and he would never have to know.

  I missed this. This sense of control, the sense of moving pieces on the board, if I may use a chess metaphor. When I was head of my company, this was what gave me the most pleasure, understanding what was best for my investors, my clients, my employees, and making the choices that would make their lives better.

  But you’ll be keeping a secret from Charlie.

  Yes. A small one.

  Small? It’s exactly the kind of thing he would hate, if he found out.

  Then he just won’t find out. I couldn’t understand why suddenly my mind was turning against me, why I was arguing with myself in the backseat of my car.

  Nor could I understand why my mind was speaking in Theo’s voice.

  This is why you’ve never had a relationship, Val. Because in the end, you don’t see people as people. You see them as chess-pieces to be moved. Just another resource to organize and exploit.

  That wasn’t true. If there was anyone on earth I saw as fully human, fully a person, it was Charlie.

  Then why are you hiding in the shadows, making these decisions behind his back? What’s next, are you going to track down this Wendy and have her exiled from town? How much manipulation are you going to do behind the scenes, to set up your perfect relationship?

  None of this was fair. People worried so much about relationships, about finding the perfectly compatible mate. So what, if I had arranged things to make Charlie more compatible with me? Hadn’t I just made his life easier? Hadn’t I just given him the greatest gift of all, even if he couldn’t find out about it?

  Charlie’s life isn’t a room full of furniture to arrange to your satisfaction. And if you don’t understand the difference, if you can’t fathom how a man is different from a company…then how do you expect anyone to ever love you?

  Oh, sure, you can get someone to be grateful to you. You can get someone addicted to the lifestyle you can offer.

  But deep down, you know that e
ventually they’re going to see the real you. The cold, inhuman you, concerned only with the logic of pure power.

  And when Charlie sees that…he’s going to leave.

  Because you’re not human, Val.

  You’re not human at all.

  21

  Charlie

  It turns out Val has lovely handwriting. Charlie smiles down at the note.

  Dear Charlie, I have a business matter to take care of this morning. Apologies for having to leave early. It was unexpected. Please have coffee and breakfast. I’ve left money for a cab on the table, in case I’m not back by the time you leave for work. Your friend, V.A.H.

  Charlie traces the curves of Val’s initials, the swoop the V makes on the rich, smooth paper.

  It’s the best sleep he has had in a while. He has to admit, it’s much more comfortable here than on the bus. The coffee is better too. Back at the bus he has a jar of instant crystals, but no milk, no cream. The sugar packets he’s slipped into his pocket from the food court at the mall are nothing like the chunky demerara sugar cubes Val has in his kitchen.

  He takes an extra-long shower, and dries himself off with impossibly thick towels.

  I could get used to this, he thinks…

  …and therein lies a problem.

  In some ways, Val’s apartment does not feel real. It’s like a dream, where everything is already thought of and taken care of for you. It’s not the real world. It’s an escape.

  But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Doesn’t Charlie spend too much time trying to escape?

  He’s thinking about Tag’s advice again, the choice between running and harshness.

  Last night was not exactly a triumph for the harshness side. He’d tried to make everything really clear for Wendy, and what had happened? Everything went wrong.

  The life Val offered was a refuge from that, but what if it was wrong to want a refuge? What if the right thing to do was to keep facing the problem, over and over, to deal with Wendy and Rumson and all the rest head-on, repeatedly, until you solved the problem?