by Karen Grey
Before I can figure out whether or not that was a compliment, he claps his hands together. “Now let’s go win friends and influence people.”
Back at the office later that afternoon, after Steve calls with Will’s phone number, I take a moment to roll my neck. The scary popping noises are loud enough that Analyst Brad can probably hear them from his cubicle next door. Whenever the green numbers glowing on my computer screen start to run together, I know I need a break. After carefully saving and printing my work, I pull a sheet of paper from my desk drawer to go over my List of Pros and Cons for Calling Will.
Cons first. One: I am currently on a carefully crafted path to success here at Rhodes Wahler and I can’t afford distractions like relationships. Two: Working twelve-to-fourteen-hour days, I don’t have a lot of time for dating. Three: I’m not even sure he likes me. Four: His values and mine seem to be pretty different.
Okay. That’s a strong list of cons.
Now the pros. One: Well, there’s only one. I can’t stop thinking about him. And then another thing occurs to me, which I carefully print in the pro column: I haven’t had sex in over a year. Maybe that counts for three pros?
Whatever, Kate. Yes, it’s irrational, yes, it’s a risk, but sometimes you have to go with your gut, and that gut—or, rather, the region south of your gut—is telling you to Just Do It.
Five big breaths later, I pick up my phone and dial Will’s number. My heart is pounding in my ears so loudly I can barely hear the mechanical voice of the answering machine greeting, but I’m pretty sure I manage to leave a message congratulating him on his success with the commercial and casually giving him my phone number. Or numbers. All of them. I just couldn’t seem to stop talking until the machine cut me off.
Having completed the task, I retuck my blouse, slip my feet back into my heels and head downstairs to the ladies’ room. Ours is a grand old dame of a building. She has ornate cornices, hand-milled crown molding and antique plumbing that regularly gets what I call The Vapors. The facilities on my floor have been under repair for weeks.
Walking purposefully, as if I’m heading somewhere important, I make for the stairwell. When I hear raucous laughter coming from the break room, I speed up to get past whatever shenanigans are going on in there.
A male voice breaks through the laughter. “Kate!”
I keep moving.
“Kate, hold up. We need to ask you something.”
Against all reason, I turn my head. Mark with Glasses jogs out of the doorway to grab my elbow. Before I can come up with an objection, he’s dragged me inside. “We’ve got some new samples we’re checking out, and we need another female perspective.”
“All right, I’m coming.”
I pause in the doorway to take in the scene. Mark joins a circle of men surrounding a red-faced young woman—one of the accounting clerks, I think. They appear to be playing keep-away with some sort of balloon, but the woman is ducking from the flying missile rather than trying to grab it. When it hits her on the head, she flinches and it falls to the floor.
One of the guys picks it up. “Michelle! It’s monkey in the middle, not dodgeball!”
Another guy grabs the balloon and turns to me. “Kate will play, see?”
Instinctively, I grab the projectile before it hits me in the face. Holding up the damp object in my hand, I understand why Michelle looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. It’s not a balloon, it’s a water-filled condom.
What a bunch of assholes. I don’t have the wherewithal to tell them what I really think of their game, but I elbow my way to Michelle, put an arm around her shoulders and escort her out the door. Once she’s safely in the hall, I turn around and whack the condom across Mark with Glasses’ chest.
It breaks, soaking his shirtfront. “Oops!” I say sweetly before turning to hustle Michelle away.
“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t—” Michelle’s sobs finish her sentence.
I pat her gently on the back. “Come on. Let’s get you a cold paper towel, and you can take a minute.” I keep us moving toward the stairwell and my original destination. “Those guys are unbelievable. They don’t just cross the line, they’re building condos on the other side.”
Fifteen minutes later, Michelle’s calmer, and I’m on my way back to my desk feeling quite proud of myself. I’ve never stood up to the men’s reindeer games before. It was easier somehow when I was defending someone else. I wish I could tell the story to Will, to let him know that I had rescued someone. Maybe I’ll get the chance. If he calls me back.
Man, my emotions are more reactive than the market these days. Giddy one moment, frustrated the next. Exactly why I don’t need a man complicating my climb up the corporate ladder. Congratulating myself on this logic, I haul open the heavy door to the stairwell.
“Agh!” I squawk, finding myself face-to-face with none other than the source of my emotional rollercoaster. Did I conjure him out of thin air? “How did you get here so fast?”
“Um.” Will pauses, a hand on the iron handrail. “I just walked over after my audition on Newbury Street?”
“Oh.” Still confused, I try to picture the scenario. “Do you have one of those answering machines where you can call in and get your messages?”
“Uh. No?”
Movement down the hallway catches my eye. Two Steves are headed our way, so I step fully into the stairwell and close the door behind me. “How did you know where I work then?” Atypically, he’s dressed in a tailored suit and tie, though a colorful vest peeks between the lapels. “You didn’t have to dress up to come here, you know.”
He smiles finally, revealing that asymmetrical dimple. “Oh, I know. The suit’s for the audition, which had me in the neighborhood. Jay told me where your offices are, so I thought I’d stop by.” His brow furrows. “Is it not okay? Are you not allowed to have visitors or something?”
I wave my hand at the door behind me. “No, no, it’s just—there were guys coming and they’d tease me mercilessly if they thought I had a boyfriend.” My hand waves even faster. “Not that you’re my boyfriend, I just mean they’ll take any excuse—”
My hands now flutter in the air like a trader signaling last minute price changes on a Friday afternoon. It takes a bit of effort to press them against my sides. “I mean, I avoid giving them any information about my personal life. I need for them to forget I’m female so they’ll actually listen to me. Guys, ya know?” I shake my head. “Sorry.” I erase that thought in the air between us. “Those guys. Not all guys. I’m sure you’re different.”
“Well, I hope so.” He laughs, hopefully with me rather than at me.
“Anyway, I’m glad you came by.” I lean against the railing, crossing my ankles to seem all casual. “So, an audition? Was it for a play?”
He sighs. “No, it was for another commercial.”
“Oh, yeah. Congrats on the coffee commercial. That was really funny.” I tip my head, going for flirtatious. “So, you decided to diversify after all?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and joins me on the landing, eyes on the ground. “Yeah. I’m still not sure about the whole thing.”
“Why not?”
“I was excited about getting a commercial on my first time out. At first. But it was such a mess. The shoot went late, and I almost missed a performance. It was awful.”
“You almost missed a performance? But you didn’t?”
“I made it just in time for curtain, but I felt so unprofessional and it was…”
I search his face for clues when he doesn’t go on. “Did the play go badly? Or the commercial?”
“No.” The word barely escapes past his locked jaw. “I just don’t want to be a sellout. I’m happy with being a theater actor. Even if other people think that’s lame.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”
Something just doesn’t add up here. His emotional response is preventing him from calculating his opportunity costs. Why, I
’m not sure, but I do know that it’s never a good bet to make business decisions based on feelings.
He clears his throat. “Listen, do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?”
I picture the agenda on my desk. I need to finish a report for the scheduler before I leave tonight, but I’m almost done. “I guess I can.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Oh, it’s not like I’m chained to my desk. I just have to get the work done.” I check my watch. “I was taking a break anyway, so I can take a longer one. Is it still nice out? I’d love a walk around the block.”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful. Not too humid.” He lengthens his neck before tugging at his tie. “Which is good since I’m not used to wearing this monkey suit.”
I risk a light touch to his arm before leading the way down the stairs. “Lucky you. I have to wear one every day. And stockings and heels,” I throw over my shoulder.
“Yeah, I had to wear those once, and they nearly killed me.”
This stops me mid-step. “Excuse me?”
He leans in close. “Don’t make fun or I won’t tell you the story.” The low vibrations of his voice zip around inside me, waking up every single one of my erogenous zones.
Facing forward again so he can’t see my face, which is surely bright red, I continue down the stairs. “I’m not sure I want to hear this story.”
His laugh echoes in the stairwell. “Yeah, I’m not sure you should.”
WILL
It’s a short walk from Kate’s office to the Commons. After we pass through the wrought-iron gate, leaving the noisy traffic of Tremont Street behind, I glance over at her. “So, I’m sorry if I kind of left in a snit the last time I saw you. That was bunk.”
Her face catches the light as we step out of the shade, making me want to trace its shadows and curves. Especially her temptingly kissable lips. She takes off her severe suit jacket revealing slim, toned arms.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“I said, I did wonder if I said something wrong that made you angry.”
“Sorry. I was, uh…” Back to earth, Will. “Well, yeah you did. But it’s not you, it’s me.”
She stops in the path and faces me. “Did you come to my office to break up with me? I mean, we only had one—I don’t even know if it was a date!”
I run a hand through my hair. “No, no. I’m just—there’s a reason why I’m an actor and not a writer.” I laugh, but she obviously isn’t seeing the humor. “Words often fail me, especially when it’s important.”
She crosses her arms. We’re in the middle of a path and lots of other people are out enjoying the late afternoon sun, so I take her elbow and steer her over to a shaded bench. Truthfully? I’m not really sure why I’m here. I don’t think dating is smart when I have so much on my plate, and I’m still not sure I can deal with her working in finance, but I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. So when Jay mentioned that Steve and Kate’s office was so close to his, I somehow ended up here. It didn’t hurt that Jay also said that Kate had been looking for my phone number.
She clears her throat. “So, what’s important?”
Brevity is the soul of wit, Hamlet says. “Okay, so I like you. I mean, we seem to have opposing views about a lot of things but—I like you. And I’d like to see you more. I do have a busy schedule and I don’t know how—”
She holds up a hand. “I get it. I work twelve-hour days, at a minimum. And I’m starting to travel more for work.” She takes a deep breath, which makes me smile. “But I like you, too. And I would like to see more of you. So there.”
“So there.”
I nod, and just enjoy the view. Deep-set brown eyes streaked with gold dominate her heart-shaped face.
“And our values may not be as far apart as you think.”
I’m doing my best to listen, but her pouty lower lip makes it hard to concentrate on the actual words.
“On a work trip recently, I saw for the first time that there are real costs to the work I do. That was disturbing.”
When Kate gets going, it’s like someone’s lit a fire behind those eyes. Her pale cheeks pink up, and her voice gets more expressive.
“I still believe that our economy does a good job of fostering innovation through competitive capital investment. Sometimes that creates problems, like people losing jobs or pollution. But sometimes it solves problems, like with drugs that save lives and more efficient ways to grow food and… and fabric that you can run in when it’s cold that wicks the sweat away from your skin so you don’t get overheated or chilled. Oh, and—well…”
Something has tripped her up and made her cheeks flame red. “What?”
“I don’t think I can talk to you about this.”
“Why not?”
“It’s… female… organs… related.”
I laugh. “Listen, I may have grown up with brothers, but I live with two women right now.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, not romantically. I rent a room from them.” I nudge her knee, an excuse to touch her. “So you can tell me.”
“Okay.” She wiggles on the bench. “The very first thing I invested in, as soon as I’d saved up enough money and was old enough to buy stock, was Tambrands. The company that makes Tampax? I believed in the quality of their tampons, which I’ve used my whole life.”
I’m enjoying this monologue way too much to interrupt. Or let her off the hook.
“I mean, since I was old enough to need them… you know.”
My nod has her sailing through a bunch of details about why they were such a smart buy, embarrassment left behind. The odds that I’ll ever have enough extra cash to invest in anything are extremely low, but as is the case with acting, often it’s the subtext of the speech that’s important. This woman is passionate about the stock market. Maybe she’d be passionate about other things as well.
“Sorry. That was weird, huh?”
“Nope. Not weird at all.” I look down, surprised to find my hands clenched in my lap. Not sure if it’s wanting to touch her or thoughts of my dad’s failures with money that have me tensing up. I tip my face up and focus on the warmth of the sun for a moment before saying my bit. “I guess I see how what you’re doing is important to the economy, but individuals who don’t have your background can get themselves in trouble with investing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just… something that happened to someone I know.” I shrug away those thoughts. “Anyway, the commercial I got might’ve been a fluke. Who knows if I’ll ever get another.”
“Well, if it were me…” She lengthens the last word, seemingly waiting for my permission to continue.
Maybe it can’t hurt to hear what she has to say on the business of my career, so I bite. “If it were you?”
“Diversification is usually the way to go. You know, not putting all your eggs in one basket?”
“Or one theater?”
“Right. On the other hand, a company—or a person—can fail if it gets overextended or puts too many resources into a market where there’s no demand.” She taps her chin and then shrugs. “Research is often the solution.”
“Research? Like what?”
As she elaborates, I have to admit that she has some good ideas. Studying what kinds of things are being shot in Boston, how many roles there are for white men in their late twenties and how many actors there are in that pool. She gets all excited talking about trade papers and year-over-year comparison models.
“I’ll ask around, maybe talk to someone at the union. But I’m still not sure it’s what I want to do. Or even if I’d be good at it.”
She waves a hand and actually says, “Pshaw. You could sell anything. You sold me, anyway.”
I bow slightly. “‘If it were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces.’”
“Hey! I’ve actually heard that quo
te before.”
“It’s from The Merchant of Venice.”
She nods. “Ah.”
Before I can get up the nerve to ask her if I can kiss her, she looks at her watch, squeaks and says she has to get back to work. I hold out my free hand, which she takes. Just before we step through the park gates, I lean over to speak softly in her ear, my heart hammering away in my chest like a boy asking a girl out for the first time ever. “Hey, would you want to go on a bike ride with me this weekend?”
Flopping down on the bench in our back hall that evening, I kick off my shoes and hang up my gym bag. Mondays are always dark in the theater, so I have a regular basketball night with high school buddies who also ended up in Boston after college. None of them are actors, so it’s usually a nice change of pace. Lots of trash talk and always a good workout.
Tonight, though, had been a bit much. The guys would not stop dodging me on the court saying, “Oooh, you can’t catch me, I’m a coffee cup!” Like that was the funniest thing ever.
It was kind of funny.
The first time.
The thing that kills me? There was also a new respect there. Last summer, when I had a leading role plus did half the fight choreography in As You Like It, I couldn’t even get them to the show. But I do one commercial and they can’t stop talking about it. Can’t stop asking how much money I made.
“Will! What are you doing back there?” my roommate Pam yells from the kitchen, setting off Rufus, our yappy little dog.
“I’m just taking off my shoes!”
My other roommate Deb chimes in, “Get your butt in here! We’ve been waiting for you to get home!”
Everybody’s barking at me. “Okay, hold your horses!”
After dutifully putting my shoes on the shelf and hanging up my sweatshirt, I head for the kitchen to find Deb and Pam sitting at the table with odd looks on their faces.
Rufus greets me in the doorway, his front paws just reaching my knees, and I scratch his head. “Where’s the fire?”
Pam clears her throat. “You have some important messages to listen to, and we didn’t want you to miss them.”
