by Soraya May
“Well, Tom! Great to see you out, buddy!” A big guy with slicked-back hair in a silk suit is standing at the table, beaming at us. Tom puts my hand carefully on the table. “Evening, Rick.” From the tone of his voice, I can tell that this isn’t someone he’s delighted to see.
“Never thought I’d see the great Dr. Macaulay out drinking with the boys, now, did I? Or,” he pauses with leaden timing, “the girls, I guess. Are you going to introduce me to your little lady?”
Little lady? Screw you, buddy. I’m about to respond, but Tom gets in ahead of me.
“Rick, this is Ronnie. Ronnie, this is Rick Parsons from Global Finance.” Tom’s voice is carefully controlled, and his lips are tightly pressed together.
“It’s a puh-leasure to meet you, Ronnie.” Rick proffers a hand, and I shake it. “So, you guys know each other from…” This guy is really beginning to annoy me, but Tom shoots me a warning look.
“Ronnie works for me, Rick. She’s part of my team.”
Rick guffaws with pleasure. “Hoo-wee! Very impressive, Tom, my man!” He’s evidently about to launch into something unpleasant, but Tom cuts him off.
“Your team here with you, Rick? They must be missing you.”
“Sure are, Tommy-boy. Just over there.” He gestures to a group of men dressed in identical suits. They look like they’re about to compete to see who’s got the most expensive business card. He bends down and puts his face close to me. “You should give ‘em a little wave, darling. You might be working for us pretty soon if this deal of Tom’s isn’t a rip-roaring success on the day you launch it. You’ve sure got a heap of investors crowdin’ to get in on it. Suckers. They think it’s guaranteed money, but we all know it’s going to come down to those first four hours, right? Win or lose, all right there.”
Tom drums his fingers on the table. “That may be, Rick. That may be. Don’t let me keep you.”
“Well, Tom, there’s something else.” Rick’s evidently been building up to this for some time. “I hear you’re a pretty fair game player, from some of your team.”
“You do.” Tom’s face is carefully expressionless.
“I sure do, Tommy-boy. I sure do. In fact, I hear that you’re quite something when it comes to Liar’s Poker.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So I’m thinking to myself, well, if Tom’s that hot, maybe he’d like to play a hand with me.”
Tom shakes his head. “Not a chance, Rick. I’m done.”
“Really? Don’t tell me that big bad Tom Macaulay has lost his nerve? Pressure getting to you, huh?” Rick leers, and I find myself thinking I really want to hit this guy right now.
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just grown out of it.”
“Grown out of it, huh?” Rick is undeterred. “Come on, Tommy-boy. One round. One hundred thousand. No regrets.”
“No, Rick. It’s not a game to me any more.”
Rick chortles, and slaps his sides in a mock gesture of mirth. “Never thought I’d see the day when I heard you say that. Why, you’re all over the Internet talking about how this is the greatest game there is!”
Tom shrugs. “Everyone makes mistakes, Rick. Even me.” His eyes twinkle. “As hard as that might be for you and Global Finance to believe.”
“You know what, Tommy-boy? I think you’ve gone soft.” Rick’s voice is hard now, and the faux-joviality has gone. “I think you’ve lost your edge, and you’re chicken. You’re afraid to lose. Come on. Prove me wrong.”
Tom slaps the table, and stands up. His eyes are angry, and his hands, by his sides, are in fists. He raises one hand in front of Rick’s grinning face. “You know what, Rick? I will do that.”
Rick laughs. “I knew I’d get you sooner—”
“One hundred thousand, huh?” Tom’s face is unreadable. “I’ll lose a hundred thousand, right now, on the spot. But not how you think.” He reaches for his wallet, and pulls out a business card. “Thing is, Rick, this isn’t a game to a lot of people. It’s real money, real lives. And I have someone,” scribbling on the piece of paper, “very close to me to thank for opening my eyes to that.” He holds up the piece of paper, and in the light I can see what’s written on it:
Tom Macaulay. One hundred thousand US dollars, to a charity chosen by Rick Parsons.
He tucks the card into Rick’s top pocket. “So there you go. There’s your hundred thousand. Call the office tomorrow, when you’ve decided what charity you’d like, and they’ll make it happen. I suggest Women’s Refuge, or the SPCA. But, really, it’s up to you. You’re the—” a pause, in which I can hear quotes forming in the air between them, “winner.”
Rick goes to open his mouth, and Tom holds up a finger. “Shush now. No regrets. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and dance with my girl. Take care, Rick.”
Before anyone can speak, he leads me out of the booth, and onto the dance floor. Rick watches us as we go, but it looks like he finally doesn’t have anything to say.
On the dance floor, it’s dark, and I can feel Tom’s lean body against me. I put my arms around his neck again, just like in his office, and enjoy the feeling of holding him.
“So I’m your girl now, huh?”
He nods. “Damn right. If that’s what you want to be. Now, and for as long as you want.”
“Yeah. I do. Now, and for as long as can be. What happens when other people find out?”
“Hah. Mike and Billy will be over the moon; I never could shut them up about being single. They also don’t give a damn about company regulations, so it’s not like they’re going to tell anyone. Neither will the rest of the team.”
I look over at the booth, but Rick has gone. “You did something very kind there.”
Tom shakes his head. “I did something I should have done years ago. That guy’s an asshole, but in truth, he wasn’t so very far from me.” He bends closer to me, and whispers in my ear. “You opened my eyes, Ronnie. Because of you, I’m more than what I used to be. I’m more than I could ever have been without you.”
I look up, and kiss him as hard as I can. “You’re quite something, Tom Macaulay.”
“So the hell are you, Ronnie Haas.” We sway together on the floor, my arms tight around his neck, his hands on my hips, pulling me into him.
My phone buzzes, once, twice, insistently. I reluctantly pull myself away from Tom, and fish it out of my pants. It’s an email from Barbara, the head of the trainee program:
Dear Ms. Haas:
Congratulations. You have been offered a position with Walters Capital. Full details will be provided from Human Resources shortly. Allow me to wish you the best in your new role.
I stare at my screen, unable to take my eyes off it. Tom, seeing my face, puts his arm around me with a concerned look. “What’s going on?”
I show him the message, and he smiles. “I never doubted that for a second. You’ll be a great asset. I’m only sorry I won’t be here to get the benefit of your,” a smirk, “experience.”
I throw my arms around him again, and kiss him. “God damn you. You’d better not start thinking this means you can order me around as a permanent employee.”
He gives me the who-me look again. “You do realize the idea is that I’m supposed to be ordering you around, don’t you?”
“Maybe. I’ll defer to your authority just this once.” Another kiss on his lips, hard. “But, for now, dance with me. This weekend, something very important.”
“Mmhmm?” Tom crooks an eyebrow at me.
“Yeah. I want you to have dinner with my parents. You’d better get prepared.”
32
I’ve conducted a lot of difficult negotiations over dinner. I’ve argued with people. I’ve had people threaten me. I’ve watched the fate of millions of dollars hang by a thread. All over dinner. So why am I so Goddamned nervous this time?
“Hey, you okay?” Ronnie looks across as me as I pull into the curb. At this point I’d quite rather die than let her know how I’m feeling, so I lay on a Herculean
effort to look as cool as possible. “Sure thing; I’m looking forward to it.”
Heading up the neat little path toward the door, I shift the vase of flowers in my hands, and wish silently I had something to wipe my hands on. It’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. Just smile and nod.
We stand in front of the door, and Ronnie presses the doorbell. Nothing happens for a moment, and then a loud Brrinng! sounds. My hands jerk involuntarily, and the vase slips from my grasp. Time goes into slow-motion, and it heads awfully, inexorably, toward the slate steps beneath my feet.
This date is like the lobby scene in the Matrix. And I’m one of the policemen. Uh-oh.
I make a grab for the vase, and catch it about six inches off the ground. Ronnie looks at me wide-eyed. I know for a fact she’s about to burst into laughter, but I’m mercifully saved by the click of the door opening. I straighten up, readjusting my features carefully.
“Hello, Momma.”
“Well, well. So nice to see you.” A voice from around my chest makes me look down, still clutching the vase between thumb and forefinger. Ronnie’s mother is tiny, impeccably made-up, and bright-eyed, like a miniature bird of prey. “You must be Tomas, huh?” Her accent is clipped, and careful, enunciating consonants like they need to be cleared from the house as fast as possible.
With care, I adjust the vase in my left hand, extend my right, and bend down to kiss her on the cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Haas.”
“And you, Tomas. My, you are a tall good-looking fellow aren’t you? Ronnie, you have a very good eye for men, at least.”
Ronnie hisses. “Momma! Shush!” I keep my eyes carefully in front of me and try to avoid making any expression of any form whatsoever. I hear a cackle of laughter from her mother.
“You know men never mind being complimented by ladies, Ronnie. They hardly ever get it from us, so when they do, they’re always grateful.” She rounds on me. “Isn’t that right, Tomas?”
Uh-oh. I realize with mounting dread that I’m supposed to say something here, and decide to play for time. “Well…” Thankfully, this turns out to be all Ronnie’s mother requires as confirmation that I’m on her side in this debate.
“You see? He agrees with me, he’s just too polite to say anything.” She nods emphatically and rubs her hands together. “Another good sign; a man who knows when to keep his mouth shut. Very good. Come in, huh?”
I look helplessly at Ronnie. She rolls her eyes and mouths you agreed to this, buster at me, before taking my hand. “Please, Momma, let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.”
The short hallway has photos on every wall, and they’re all of Ronnie. As a little girl, playing with what looks like computer parts. Wearing a prom dress, holding a—computer keyboard? In her graduation gown, arms around her friends. Her mother sees me looking at the photos, and pokes my side.
“Isn’t she gorgeous? I always knew she was going to grow up so tall and beautiful like she has.”
Now this is a subject I’m safer on. “She’s very beautiful, Mrs. Haas.” Ronnie’s grip on my hand tightens ever so slightly, but, desperate to say something, I press on. “In fact, I remember the first time I saw Ronnie. I—argh!” At this point, I get a pointed toe quietly jabbed into my calf. I look around accusingly, but she’s looking in the other direction, and I decide to quit while I’m ahead. “Anyway, uh. Yes. Very beautiful.”
Ronnie’s mother leads us into the kitchen, where a man bends over the stove, stirring the pots. At our entrance, he turns and smiles.
“You must be Tom.” He extends a hand, wizened, but his grip is strong and his voice is deep and firm. “Pieter Haas. Good to meet you.”
“Tom Macaulay. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Haas.”
He laughs, a warm, unfeigned sound and I find myself liking him immediately. “Please, Tom. Pieter will do. The only person who calls me Mr. Haas is my doctor.”
“Sure thing, Pieter. It’s great to be here, it really is.” I look around the kitchen. “You have a lovely home; we were just commenting on the pictures of Ronnie in the hallway.” I tense, waiting for hostile incoming stiletto heels, but none arrive; Ronnie appears to be distracted, whispering to her mother.
“Well, you understand, Tom; when you have a child, she becomes everything to you. It’s hard not to live all your life through them.”
I nod. “I see what you mean. You’re very lucky; Ronnie has exceptional abilities, and at the firm she’s already getting quite a reputation.”
Pieter beams. “Of course. I knew she would. Come and sit down.”
In the parlor, he catches me looking at the soccer trophies on the mantel. “You like football, huh?”
I nod. “I used to play in college for a bunch of years, in fact.”
His eyes light up. “I knew it! We must talk about US major league soccer, as you call it. Do you think the standard will ever be comparable to the teams in Europe?”
“Well,” I begin, carefully, “remember that soccer has to compete with a lot of other sports in the USA; basketball, baseball, hockey, football. The success of US soccer teams internationally is pretty surprising despite the amount of money they have as it is.” As I talk, I look up and see Ronnie, framed in the doorway. Her hair is tied back, she’s pushed up the sleeves of her dress, and she’s holding a kitchen knife. She looks back and me, and smiles.
After dinner, we’re walking back down the narrow path towards my car, in the gathering darkness. Ronnie’s hand finds mine, and she walks close to me.
“Thank you.”
I squeeze her hand. “Of course. Your parents are lovely people. It wasn’t a chore at all.”
“They like you a lot.”
I shrug. “I’m pretty sure I could tell if they didn’t, that’s for sure.”
“Ha. You’ve got that right.” Ronnie stops, and we’re standing together on the curb, next to my car. Her eyes are fixed on me, and I’m very aware of how close she is. I want to kiss her, very much.
“Are we doing the right thing, Tom?”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I think we’re doing the right thing. I’ve never met anyone like you, Ronnie. I’ll do whatever I have to do, to make you believe that.”
She smiles again. “I believe you. Also,” a tilt of the head, “as much as I want to kiss you right now, you should be aware that my mother is watching us from the window.”
Dammit.
33
“Lunch in this place never seems to get any better. I don’t know why we come to the staff cafeteria instead of going out.” Abby grumbles constantly about the food, and she’s right, but it’s easy and convenient, and eating out five days a week is cutting into all of our budgets. She picks listlessly at her salad. Next to her, Errol picks up a paper-wrapped bag and stares into it.
“Errol, what the hell is that?” He turns to me with a look of confusion.
“The cafeteria staff seem to have the idea that if you combine two good things, the result is automatically good.”
“Right.”
“Clearly, uh, beef curry is good.”
“Uh-huh.”
“As is a donut.”
“Yep.”
“But,” He holds up the paper bag for my inspection. “This is a beef curry donut.”
“Riiiight. Are you sure this wasn’t designed by some kind of artificial intelligence through reading recipe books, or something?”
His eyes widen. “Do you think that could be it? I mean, you could definitely use the corpus of recipe books to…”
I put a hand on his arm. “Errol, that’s an interesting idea, but in truth I think that isn’t what’s happened here.” His face falls. “It’s completely doable, though, I agree with that. I’m just not sure we should be the test subjects, though.”
Abby looks up from her salad. “Ron, it’s not like you’re going to have to worry about eating in this dump much longer. I can’t believe you got an offer—I’m so proud of you, honey!”
I blush. “Thanks, Abby. I’
m sure you guys will get something soon as well.”
“Speaking of getting something,” Abby smirks, “what about your date with Dr. Sexypants, huh? Come on, you’ve got to tell us what’s going on there.”
I throw my straw at her, and she dodges while still in her seat. “Come on, spill.”
“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands. “Maybe, hypothetically, something has been going on, but you can’t tell anyone, right? Dating your boss is a big no-no.”
At the word dating, Abby almost snorts, but I glare at her, and she does an admirable job of suppressing it.
“Wow.” Adam is goggle-eyed. “You mean, you, and uh, Dr. Macaulay, were, uh…” I nod, feeling awkward all of a sudden.
“Yes, although everyone needs to be clear that it didn’t affect my offer. Offers are made by Human Resources, and they aren’t under the control of any individual department.”
Abby nearly snorts again. “Are you sure? Couldn’t he have leaned on them a little to offer you a job?”
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t. In fact he’d die if anyone even suggested it, which is why I’ve been I haven’t said anything. I’m sorry, guys, I wouldn’t have wanted to keep anything from you.”
“I know, Ron,” Abby voice is gentle. “I don’t mean that you wouldn’t have gotten the job without him. You’re brilliant, and everyone knows it.”
There is a series of nods around the table, and Adam speaks up again. “For sure. I mean, it was you who had all the ideas to restructure the…”
The television screens above us light up, and his words are lost in a wave of sound.
“BREAKING NEWS ON FINANCE TV: SECRET PLANS FOR MACAULAY BOND LEAKED”
The effect on the cafeteria is immediate; everything stops, like an old Western when a stranger walks into a bar. Everyone stops, glued to the screen. It’s Dana Garvey again.
“Today, we’ve learned that the hidden details of the upcoming Walters Capital bond issue are now in the public domain. This reporter recently received a tipoff from an anonymous source which detailed specifics about the complex transactions involved in the hotly-anticipated deal. Later in this report, we make them public knowledge.”
