Boss

by Scarlett Ross

  “Ainslee, my sweet girl. I’ve missed you so much. I am so sorry just to show up like this unannounced. Colleen told me you had to work today when I arrived. I should have called.”

  “She is a little worker bee, Drake. Everyone at Monroe can’t help but notice how zealous she is in her endeavors.” Aunt Colleen glances at me with a hidden smirk, and I can tell how pleased she is to be able to fool my dad into thinking she has been nothing but a caring supporter since I arrived.

  “She has always been like this, Colleen. I remember Melody saying how she had never seen a child so determined in all her life.” Dad squeezes my shoulder, and the look of pride in his eyes makes all that has happened in the last few weeks worth it. I resolve that I will not say an unkind word about my position about Monroe Enterprises in his presence. His stress doesn’t need to be my stress. I just want him to think I’m happy and couldn’t be enjoying life more. Granted, the happier moments have been occurring but the endings of them are leaving me cold.

  “Dad, I’m just so glad to see you! How long are you in for? Where are you staying? Are you hungry?”

  Dad throws back his head and laughs heartily. “Hey, kiddo, who’s the parent here, and who’s the child? Unfortunately, I am just here overnight. Colleen offered me to stay here, but I couldn’t possibly put anyone out on such short notice. I was thinking maybe if you like we could grab dinner together in the village? The little Mediterranean spot we used to go to back in the day if it’s still open? I can sort out a room afterward.”

  “Drake, please, it’s no imposition at all. You are more than welcome to stay overnight or even for the whole weekend. We could all have dinner together and reminisce about old times. I have so many photos of Melody I have been meaning to share with Ainslee, but she’s been so busy with work. Wouldn’t it be lovely to share them together? It already feels like old times having you here. Ainslee, why don’t you go tell Manuela to fix something special for dinner and be sure to have another place setting added.”

  She is absolutely unbelievable. She wants me to go tell the cook, who has been given implicit instructions not to include me in meals as well as to refuse me any food I might request, to fix something special? My head feels like it’s going to explode off my body cartoon style and blow straight through the roof. And what photos? She hasn’t mentioned a word about photos of Mom since I arrived.

  “Colleen, that’s very kind of you, but I had hoped to spend some alone time with Ainslee. We didn’t get much of a chance to visit before she left, and I really have to be getting back tomorrow.”

  Dad reaches for my hand, squeezes it, and gives me a wink. Something tells me he’s keen to exactly what has been going on that Manning residence.

  Colleen looks like a popped balloon, but she’s too much of a pro at deception to let her guard down for more than a minute. Smiling graciously, she tells Dad she understands completely and to enjoy our evening. I go upstairs to change, and when I return, she is nowhere to be seen.

  “Ready kiddo?”

  “Yes, I’m starving. And you’re in luck because Casbah is still very much in the village and still has the most delicious hummus in the city. Plus, they still give you enough naan to feed a small army even if it’s just you.”

  “Well, then, let’s go!”

  Stepping outside, we are in luck as we immediately are able to hail a cab. My anxiety raises a bit considering the outcome of my last taxi ride, but our driver says nothing more than to ask our destination.

  “Casbah, please, on East Fourteenth and First,” I tell the driver and settle back into my seat. Dad is looking out the window, and I realize it’s been quite some time since he was in New York. Does the city seem completely different or the same? Does he still feel a rush when he sees the sights, or is it just painful memories of a time long ago? I’m sure the little visit to Aunt Colleen’s did little to help his fragile psyche. She no doubt regaled him with tales of my mother and our shared holidays, vacations, watching Chelsea and I grow up.

  “Dad?”

  He turns and thankfully there is nothing on his face but a smile. “What’s up buttercup? How are you? You know you agreed to keep in contact with your old man, but I haven’t heard much from you since you got here. I even got on Faceblock to see if I could find you.”

  “Facebook, Dad, it’s Facebook. You know I’m not a very social media savvy kind of person. My life is too boring.”

  “Well, your generation seems to think they are terribly interesting, and everyone wants to know their every move. The things I saw, let me tell you! Privacy is a thing of the past, apparently. What’s with everyone posting those self pictures from fancy bathrooms? Darndest thing I've ever seen.”

  This is what I miss the most. Dad just being Dad and not pretending to be hip, trendy, or cool. He has always been this way, so very comfortable in his own skin. I always said if I could aspire to be like him in that respect, I would save myself so much grief. Yet, now that I think about it, I have been pretty comfortable in my own skin since I arrived. Huh. I’ve been wearing the clothes, talking the talk, and most of the time, walking the walk. I’ve been so preoccupied by the men and revenge and all of it that I didn’t stop to realize maybe I was accomplishing something even if I couldn’t feel it at the time.

  “Ainslee?” Dad has been speaking while I was having my little epiphany I realize.

  “Sorry, Dad, long day. You were saying?”

  “I was just wondering how things have been going at Monroe. I know Colleen was saying you were quite busy and had adjusted very well, but she’s not always the most reliable source.”

  “Things are great, Dad. I admit settling was a bit rough at first, but I have gotten the lay of the land. How are you? How’s the cigar shop?” Deflecting is the only way I am going to get out of this conversation without straight-up lying. And that is a line I refuse to cross no matter what. If he comes straight out and asks me, “So have you had sexual encounters with any of the officers at Monroe?” I’m not giving names or details, but I will say yes.

  “Ainslee.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. He suddenly looks so exhausted and old that I worry he’s about to tell me he isn’t okay. He has cancer. He has lost the cigar store. All manner of horrible thoughts plague me, and I grab his hand.

  “Dad, what is it? Please, you’re scaring me.” I have lost one parent at a young age. I don’t think I can lose the other and be okay.

  “Ainslee, Savannah called me.”

  Oh no. She couldn’t have. But as I search his face, I know she did. She also can’t lie to my father. My secrets have been spilled. This is not a visit, it’s an intervention.

  “She did, did she? Well, I would ask what you talked about, but considering the spontaneity of you showing up and her avoidance in returning my earlier call I imagine I know.”

  The cab pulls up in front of Casbah, but any interest I had in a quiet dinner is long gone. I open my handbag and toss some money at the driver without bothering to count it. Yes, it’s a brat move. Yes, I am twenty-two having a tantrum, but right now I don’t give a shit. How dare she betray my confidence and to my father no less. I swear if I see her right now, our friendship is over. I will slap her so hard her porcelain teeth caps will fly straight out of her mouth.

  “Honey, she called because she loves you, and she’s worried about you. I have to admit what she told me was very disturbing. I was led to believe you took this assistant position to better your chances at a career in the real estate market. Now I hear you’ve been formulating some sort of revenge scheme for years? Ainslee, baby, that isn’t you.”

  I start to walk blindly down the street and hear my father calling out to me. He is right. This wasn’t always me. There was a time I had dreams and hopes. I built models and dreamed of designing homes to later sell. I looked up to women who were in positions of power and dreamed of being the next big thing. I remember being accepted into Harvard and planning my valedictorian speech where I would quote the Margaret Thatcher who once
said, “If you want anything said, ask a man. If you want anything done, ask a woman.” My father was the King of Manhattan, and I was going to grow up to be the Queen. But now, all I can do is think about taking down four men to build myself back up.

  Turning back and sprinting back to where Dad is panting from trying to keep up, I grab him and hug him. There is one question I need an answer for at this moment, and his response is going to dramatically alter or continue my future plans.

  “Do you want revenge ever, Dad? Would you take a time capsule back to 2008 and slay them all for what they did?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. A sheen of tears comes across his eyes. He puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me back to the restaurant. Asking for a patio table, we are seated and just sit in silence for a few minutes. A waitress comes to take our drink order. I order a glass of house red, and Dad opts for scotch, asking for two fingers of Glenfiddich. As soon as she leaves, Dad closes his eyes and begins to speak.

  “It was all a mess. I can’t honestly remember when your mom started complaining of headaches, but I believe it was the middle of 2007. She had been inclined to migraines since childhood, so neither of us thought anything about it. I was working all the time, as you know. The housing market was on fire, and we were prospering so fully I joked to the others we would take early retirement if it kept up. Marshall, Merrick’s father, was always such a dreamer. Expansion was the name of the game, and he wanted it all. He would have bought anything he could get his hands on if we had unlimited funds. Paul Sr., PJ’s father, was the reserved one. He could see numbers and projections in every dealing. He remarked in late autumn that he worried about a fall from studying the patterns of buyers. Elijah, Evan’s father, was the dark horse. He seemed to go from one extreme to the next. One day he would rail at us during meetings about our dwindling cash flow, but then next time, he would back Marshall on acquiring more. Edward, Jamison’s father, was probably the least concerned with any of it. His wife had divorced him unexpectedly, and he was more interested in being known as Manhattan’s newly-single playboy.”

  He stops to sip his Scotch, and his fingers are trembling. Downing my wine in a gulp, I wait for him to continue.

  “Melody was at a charity event when I got the call. She collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. I’m sure you remember. We sent you to stay at Colleen’s that night. The stroke had left her completely paralyzed on the left side of her body. I remember her saying she was right-handed, and right-brained so it didn’t matter as much. Your mother always could find a silver lining in everything she did. I fell to pieces. Your grandmother would say how remarkable it was that such a behemoth of a man needed a wisp of a woman to hold him up. But she was right. Melody was my north, south, east, and west. My working week and my Sunday best.” Tears fall down his lined face as he recites part of the W.H. Auden poem he recited at the funeral.

  “Dad, we can stop. I don’t want you to get so upset. I’m so sorry.”

  He sips some more Scotch and continues, “They knew I was sleepwalking through life for those last few months. I would come in and just sit and stare out my office window for hours. I hated not being by her side all the time. Many days, I just wanted to rip down the Adams part of the building’s sign. And they could see that. Ainslee, I’m not without fault in any way, shape, or form. I didn’t review documents. I signed anything handed to me. The last officer’s meeting we had, I ducked out of early to get home to your mother. I should have resigned, taken a leave of absence, anything. But I told myself I could do it all. Ainslee, the men didn’t get the better of me. I got the better of myself. My hubris is what caused our fall.”

  “That’s bullshit, Dad, and you know it. You said it yourself, they saw you just barely existing when Mom got sick. They used you. You were the scapegoat. Could you honestly say you didn’t know they were illegally giving out subprime mortgages without proper backing?”

  “Ainslee, I don’t know. The cash flow increased so quickly, and we started to acquire so much more real estate. How could I have not put two and two together? People making minimum wage were buying SoHo lofts. Blue collar workers had homes worth millions in the suburbs of Connecticut. We had dealings with Lehmann’s for years. When it all went down, it made sense. We somehow had convinced a lot of people, and even the fourth largest investment bank in the U.S., we had secured a mortgage company.”

  The waitress comes back and asks for our order, and I just point at the drinks. She nods and walks away.

  “Ainslee, you asked about revenge. Did I ever consider it? Yes, I did. But I did so in the legal and moral fashion. When Lehmann’s fell, and we went along with it, I spoke with attorneys. But your mother had her second stroke and was dead within a month. I lost the will to fight. I sold my stock shares for what little they were worth, and we left. Marshall had already approached the others prior to this, and the company quickly changed hands and began rebuilding. I told myself then I wouldn’t look back. I had you and enough money for us to be comfortable. I bought the cigar shop, and that was it.”

  “Really? Dad, you built an empire and they took it down with their illegal dealings but poof! It’s gone. Oh well, tomorrow is another day?”

  “Ainslee, hear me now when I tell you that I am just as happy being a cigar store owner as I was running Adams Enterprises. I have processed all my emotions over the years and come to peace with what happened. You seem to feel the need to recoup what we lost, but baby, I don’t want it back. I like my life. I’m happy. Can you say the same for yourself?”

  “I don’t know, Dad.”

  “You have to decide what you want your legacy to be. You are too damn bright and beautiful to let it be about this scheme you hatched. Make your own in the world. Be your own boss. Those men have their legacy now to attend to. They are doing nothing wrong by protecting what is theirs. All those men were merely boys when we fell. You don’t need to take them down. They just merely inherited a business. So, to answer your question, no, kiddo, I don’t want revenge. I want my only daughter to be happy, whether it be working at Monroe or building her own empire. Let it go, my love, let it go. It will eat you up inside, and I can’t stand to lose you to the madness it will create. Let it go.”

  The waitress warily approaches. “Can I take your order yet?”

  We both look at each other. Dad smiles, and I nod. We proceed to order a feast. It feels like the wake after a funeral and the need to gorge yourself to feel sated.

  And as we eat hummus and naan, reminisce about coming here with mom and discussing possible options for a vacation in the fall, I do just that. If my father can let go, then so can I. And the funny thing as I close my eyes that night, I almost believe it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE NEXT DAY I go to see the apartment in Belle Harbor. It’s stunning. Floor to ceiling windows, brand-new stainless-steel appliances, and it is even partially furnished. A wrought-iron queen bed, glass dining table with six red velvet upholstered chairs, and a white linen couch that would be a serious nightmare for anyone with kids or pets. Cindy, the landlord, explains she picks up pieces from time to time at storage auctions and expects me to be able to accommodate any overspill she has that won’t fit in her home. She could store whole sides of beef hanging from hooks throughout the apartment, and I would take it. I made arrangements to move in on Friday, figuring I could take a half-day off to move my paltry possessions.

  Dad had insisted on giving me the first month’s rent after I confessed about the hostile living situation I had been enduring. He made me promise to let him know if I ran into financial difficulties, but I assured him I would be fine. After our talk last night, I decided that my plot against the men of Monroe Enterprises would be laid to rest with the memories of the past. I honestly considered the unfinished business now to be the sexual encounters that kept creeping into my life with them. My days of planning were done. I was going to stay the path and let the cards—or my pants—fall where they may.

 
; Savannah had yet to return my call by Monday morning, and I didn’t blame her. My feelings about what she had done were still very much unresolved. Thankfully my dad hadn’t gone into detail over our dinner but had let it slip she mentioned I might be letting the men get to on a personal level. Flippantly, I dismissed his comment, and he let it slide given the gravity of the conversation we had just had about them. Only my promises to be true to what I wanted and not what I felt I needed to get back for our family would dissuade him from worrying he said. I promised and agreed to figure out what I wanted for the rest of my life. How strange to be thinking about something else other than my plans for redemption. It was almost like losing a source of comfort. I knew no matter what shit I endured each day, my plans would be waiting for me. Like a faithful pet standing at the door waiting to greet me as I came home. But it was empowering at the same time. I could finally choose my own destiny free of the need to settle a score. It was to reinvent myself again. I had made over the outer Ainslee, but now it was time to let the inner Ainslee take the stage. Independence from all that had been tying me down was my new obsession. It was time to get down to business, the business of me being who I wanted to be. Monday morning saw my first order of business, letting the Mannings know I was officially leaving Friday.

  “Found an opening at Motel Six, did we?” Chelsea goaded.

  The strangest thing was I felt no need to respond. We had been sparring for weeks. She feeds off it, and I admit, I did too. But enough was enough. I was leaving, and other than the rare occurrence at Monroe Enterprises, we would likely never see each other again. Taking a chapter from my dad’s book, I say the most unthinkable thing I could ever possibly fathom. “You know what, Chelsea? I forgive you. I forgive you because I pity you.”