I raised my hand.
“Yes, you.” He pointed to me. “What do you want to ask?”
“Those aren’t really the best computers, right? You’re just using those three as an example to make the rest of—the rest of us work harder, correct?”
The room erupted into murmurs. Everyone looked back and forth between me and the professor.
“No. I’m not,” he said. “These are indeed the best computers in the class, and seeing as though you didn’t bring yours to critique today makes me feel like they’re definitely better than whatever you built. But, since you seem to think that—”
“George’s computer will crash in six weeks.” I crossed my arms. “He’s over-compassing the ram drive with unnecessary wiring. One too many shut downs and it’ll never turn on again. Lindsay’s computer, if you want to call it that, is using all the wrong materials. Unless everyone else in this class is using sticks and stones, a computer with recycled coils and used wiring should never be considered a good computer. Technology isn’t up to date enough for eco-computers yet. And William’s computer, though impressive to look at, is—actually, he pretty much copied Dell’s earliest model and re-drafted a few mechanisms. Any high-school student with half a brain can do that.”
The room fell silent.
The professor took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “Class dismissed.” He shook his head and the students rushed out of the room, as if they were scared he was about to explode.
I stood up and walked down the steps, ignoring the intense glares that were coming from the three computer clowns who were putting their toys away.
“Wait, you.” The professor waved at me. “I want to talk to you for a second.” He waited for everyone to leave the room. “What’s your name?”
“Bill Gates.”
“Your real name...”
“Jonathan Statham,” I murmured.
“Mr. Statham, you’re not a student in this class are you?”
I shook my head.
“Do you even go to this school?”
“No...”
“So, what made you come here today?” He motioned for me to sit in the front row. “You look like you’re still in high school. Are you still in high school?” He waited for me to say something, but I only blinked.
“Okay then...” He sat down next to me. “Tell me how someone randomly shows up to Harvard and knows more about computers than my senior honors students.”
I sighed. I thought about coming up with a lie, telling him that I really was a student and just wanted to drop in on a high level class, but I was tired of lying, tired of running.
“My parents used to—” Accept electronics for the meth they sold sometimes? “They used to um, leave electronics around the house and I would look at how all their parts worked...And I would steal—I mean, I would borrow books from the library and read about computer mechanics...”
“You never went to a tech camp?”
“No.”
“Hmmm.” He rubbed his chin. “So, your goal is to sneak into Harvard?”
I rolled my eyes. “If I wanted to come here, I would’ve accepted the offer.” I realized he was probably going to call the cops on me for trespassing, so I put on my best apologetic face. “I’m sorry for today. I won’t interrupt your kindergarten class again. I’m gonna go—”
“I’m not going to call security on you.” He laughed. Then he suddenly looked serious. “Where are you from?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Okay...Do your parents know you’re here? I’m sure they’re worried sick about you...”
“They’re in prison.”
He looked sympathetic. “Well, your legal guardians must be looking for—”
“I’m eighteen.” I wasn’t a ward of the state anymore. I didn’t belong to anyone, and if his classroom wasn’t so warm I would have walked out as soon as he asked me what my name was.
“You must have made pretty good grades in high school to get accepted here, Jonathan...What number were you in your class?”
Why do I feel like I can trust this guy?
“First. I gave a speech and everything.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out my crumpled speech, tossing it to him. I was hoping he would actually read it for some reason—unlike my foster parents who’d seemed completely oblivious to the fact that I was the valedictorian.
As he looked over the speech, I realized I hadn’t opened the brown paper bag from Corey. I peered into the bag and saw a framed picture of me, him, and Jessica, a flash-drive with “read” scribbled across it, a stack of my parents’ unopened prison letters, and a one thousand dollar check addressed to me. There was an orange post-it clipped to the back of it: “Cash it some place sketchy—like a liquor store or a bail bonds place so I can re-route the information about where it was cashed...Your welcome, Corey. PS—Please let me know if you find the Fountain of Youth while you’re traveling...I’m convinced it’s in New York now...”
“Jonathan, what if I told you that I’ve been looking for a student with your potential to help me out on a new computer that I’m developing?” The professor caught my attention. “A computer that would change everything?”
“I would say I don’t believe you. Then I would say I hope it’s not one of the computers that I saw today.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckled. “Well, what if I said I wanted to help you?”
Ha! “No thanks. I’ve had enough help to last me a lifetime.” I took my speech from his hands, stood up, and headed for the door.
Before I could turn the knob, he jumped in front of me. “I have a one year assistance scholarship that I can award to any student. It’s supposed to be for graduate level students only, but if your background checks out...It’ll cover one year of tuition and a small part of your room and board. You would still have to find a job or two to cover the rest, but I honestly think you would make an excellent student and an even better developer one day. And, if you work hard enough during your first year, I could convince the academic committee to consider you for other scholarships.”
What?
“I’ll do a background check on you tonight.” He adjusted his glasses. “If you are who you say you are and you agree to work with me on this project, you’ve got free classes at Harvard and a once in a lifetime opportunity to work on a national project. What’s your phone number so I can—”
“You think I have a cell phone?”
“I’m sorry...” He looked me over, probably noticing that I was still soaking wet and carrying a dingy and holey backpack. “I just assumed that you...Where were you planning on sleeping tonight?”
I didn’t answer him. I just looked around the classroom. I figured that since my next bus wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow that I’d hide out in the building and sleep underneath a staircase once the janitors were done cleaning.
“My name’s Mr. Lowell, Jonathan.” He walked over to his desk and grabbed his briefcase. “If you don’t have any prior obligations, Mrs. Lowell is making pasta tonight and we have a guest room you can use for a few days while we sort this thing out.”
I looked away from Mr. Lowell and shook my head. I was ashamed of myself. I’d broken every rule of living on the run in a matter of minutes: I wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. I wasn’t supposed to trust anyone. I was supposed to keep to myself until I arrived in New York—until I stormed into IBM headquarters and forced them to listen to my ideas. Yet, there was sincerity in this man’s eyes, and a national project with access to the best technology in the world was too tempting to pass up.
For an entire year, I used every free minute I had to work on Mr. Lowell’s project. In between soaring through my classes and working three jobs to cover the expensive dorm and food costs, I managed to help him earn a seven hundred thousand dollar grant to build more of his impressive L-tech laptop.
Right after he was officially awarded the money, he handed me an envelope that contained a twenty thousand dollar check, s
aying that it would help me pay the remaining part of my sophomore year’s tuition.
I was about to run to the bank and cash it immediately, but he snatched it back.
“You know what, Jonathan? You’re better than this.” He shook his head. “Tell you what, instead of this check, I’m going to give you something even better.”
“A bigger check?”
“Funny.” He snorted. “I’m going to be the first investor in your company. I’ll even host a dinner with my wife to get you other investors this weekend. I don’t think you need to waste any more time taking classes with people who aren’t as smart as you. You need to drop out and start working on your own company. I’ll help you in any way that I can for the first year.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have a company, Mr. Lowell...”
And I want my check back!
“Statham Inc.? Statham Enterprises? Statham Industries! It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He slid my award check into his briefcase and picked it up. “Trust me, in five years, you’ll have the amount of this check times a hundred. As of now, it’ll just be my consulting fee.” He patted my shoulder and walked out of the room.
Chapter 3
Claire
Today was one of those days when I honestly felt like I’d wasted the best years of my life. I’d spent all morning watching the Lifetime channel, going through old photo albums, and listening to one of my other San Fran friends—Helen, talk about how she’d been nominated for “Lawyer of the Year.”
She went on and on about how the ceremony was going to be in Vegas, how they’d booked a celebrity for a guest speaker, and how she just couldn’t wait to lounge in a rooftop pool; all the nominees were entitled to the five star treatment, which included having their own penthouse suite.
Although I was extremely happy for her, I was also slightly jealous. Helen was thirty nine years old too, but unlike me, she seemed to have it all together: She had her own law firm, traveled somewhere new and exciting every month, and the stories she told me about her sex life made me wish I’d had more experience before tying myself down to Ryan.
As a matter of fact, anytime Helen, Sandra, and I had a ‘girls’ night,’ she always overwhelmed us with salacious stories about her newest lover. At first, I thought she was just doing it to brag, but after a while I realized that she was doing me a favor. She was making me see how pathetic my nonexistent sex life was, trying to help me get in tune with something called an “inner goddess.”
But, since I refused to date, I relied on vibrating friends to get the job done: They were effective, easy, and I didn’t have to worry about them cheating on me.
Once I was off the phone with Helen, I decided to do some work. I started looking over my associates’ latest slogan submissions and proposed ad ideas. I read through three of them and shut the folder, making an immediate break for my car.
I’m going to need some serious wine to get through this today...
I rushed over to the grocery store and made my way to the magazine section. I figured I would buy yet another set of magazines to show my associates the difference between good advertisements and bad advertisements.
I picked up InStyle, Vogue, Us Weekly, and stilled once I caught a magazine with “Divorce Edition” scrawled across its cover.
I picked it up and flipped through the pages, shaking my head at the stupid advice the so-called “experienced divorcées” were giving: “Forgive him and let it go! That’s the easy part!” “Try to schedule time for yourself to cry in private!” “Travel alone and see the world as soon as the ink on the papers dries!”
Any woman who was cheated on and says her self-esteem wasn’t crushed is a goddamn liar...
I stopped reading the “How I Kept My Esteem Intact After the Affair” article and sauntered down the spices aisle.
Pepper...Bay leaves...Parsley...Paprika...Paprika? Ryan’s favorite...
I picked up the paprika and froze. I was supposed to brush the thought of him away as soon as he entered my mind. I was supposed to say, “The collapse of my marriage was not my fault,” take a deep breath, and move on to doing something else.
That didn’t work today.
I felt a soft lump rise up my throat and choked back a sob. I closed my eyes and tried to think of a happy memory, but only the worst one came...
I was trembling, shaking so violently I wasn’t sure how I was standing up straight. I was in my kitchen, staring at Ryan, watching him pick up the incriminating photos off the floor.
“Claire...” He picked up the last one and sighed. “Can we please talk about this?”
“About what?” I hissed.
“About what you...about me having an affair.”
“Oh yes! My husband fucking my best friend! For over a year! Let’s discuss that, shall we?”
“You don’t have to be so loud, Claire. I’m trying to—”
“I can be as loud as I want! You’re having an affair with Amanda! She was my maid of honor for Christ’s sake! I don’t even know where to start, Ryan! How could you?”
“Our daughters are upstairs. We—”
“Our daughters? Our daughters! Don’t try to act like you suddenly give a damn about this family! You weren’t thinking about any of us when your dick was buried in—”
“Enough!” He began to cry and walked over to me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...I messed up and—”
“You messed up?” I felt my heart constrict.
“Yes...I messed up and I’m—”
“Ryan...” I put my hand over my chest to prevent my heart from jumping out. “Messing up is picking the girls up late from school. Messing up is leaving the chicken in the oven for too long. Messing up is forgetting our anniversary—which is in two weeks, by the way. Cheating on me? Sleeping with my best friend? That’s fucked up. And it’s unforgivable. How long has it really been going on?”
He sighed and I slowly backed away from our cutlery set.
“Hello? Ryan! How long has it been going on?”
“Claire, listen to me—”
“Tell me! Tell me right now!” I looked away from his eyes because deep down I didn’t really want to know.
“I’ve always had feelings for Amanda...”
My heart gave out and crumbled inside my chest. My knees buckled and my body slumped down to the floor.
He continued, “I had feelings for her but I never acted on them because...” He sat down on the floor. “Because I was in love with you. I never intended to act on those feelings, but last January we were both drinking and one thing led to another and—”
“And you had sex?”
“Yes...And I—”
“Where?”
“Where, what?”
I took a deep breath. “Where did you have sex that time? Where was this happening?”
He avoided my eyes. “Here...You were out of town at that Parker Brothers conference...And I know that I should’ve stopped that day. I should’ve told you, but I couldn’t. I honestly didn’t know how to break it to you because it was more than just sex between us. It was—”
“Are you the father of her baby?” I needed to hear him say it.
He didn’t answer.
“Are you the father of her baby?!” I screamed.
“Yes.” His voice cracked. “I...I’m so sorry you had to find out this way and that I put you through this...I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again. I’ll have to pay her child support, but I’ll let her go. I’ll go to counseling and we can—”
“Are you in love with her?”
“Claire, don’t—”
“Answer me! Are you in love with her?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still love me?”
“Of course I love you, Claire. I—”
“Are you in love with me?”
His silence was the loudest answer he’d given all night. His lack of words unraveled me and forced me to break down right in front of him.
He began talking over my cries, saying words of some kind, but all I could hear was the roaring of blood in my ears, the literal shattering of my heart.
I curled into the fetal position and cried my eyes out. I kept saying, “Get away from me, it’s over,” but he wrapped his cold arms around me and refused to let me go.
I wanted to believe that we could get through this together, that he could fall in love with me again and we could put this affair behind us. But as his clammy fingers caressed my shoulders, I realized that I didn’t trust him anymore. And I didn’t want to hurt myself even more by having to learn how to trust him again.
In the morning, with the one shred of dignity I had left, I calmly told him that I wanted a divorce.
“The collapse of my marriage was not my fault.” I exhaled and opened my eyes.
I felt my phone vibrating and held it up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Mom, I need some Pop-Tarts.”
“Caroline, you have a car and a part-time job. Go to the store and buy them yourself.”
“I spent my last check on an iPod! Besides, Ashley said you were at the grocery store and I can’t do my work without Pop-tarts. Can you get some for me and drop them off at the library? Please?”
Sometimes, I swore that my daughters weren’t related to me. They couldn’t be. At sixteen years old, they had all the book smarts in the world, but their common sense IQ was probably negative.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.” She sighed. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Let me call you back mom! The ice cream truck is coming up the street! I have to get an Elmo-sicle!”
Just as I was about to put my phone back into my purse, my other daughter called. “Yes, Ashley?”
“How long was I supposed to keep that bread in the oven?”
“You weren’t supposed to touch that bread at all, Ashley. I said it was for dinner. It was going to go with the spaghetti and—”
“I was hungry! What was I supposed to eat?”
“Leftover chicken salad, sushi—”
Mid Life Love Page 4
