What Kind of Day

by Mina V. Esguerra

  If she could do it for others, surely she could do it for herself.

  But Melly was not done. “Can I just say something?”

  “You will anyway.”

  “If you need someone, that can be okay too. You can’t expect to solve your own shit all the time.”

  Not exactly what she wanted to hear after her personal pep talk. “It shouldn’t be anyone’s responsibility to do that but mine.”

  “Yeah yeah—but sometimes we do that for each other? You know you can stay on my futon as long as you like.”

  “I know that.”

  “You know we can put our heads together and solve that job problem if you really want my help.”

  Naya’s breath came out, coffee-scented, sounding like a hiss. “Sure.”

  “And…and if there’s an interesting guy who wants to spend time with you, and you like him too…maybe you should do that. Maybe. Just a suggestion.”

  “It’s not a good time to do that right now.”

  “Yeah…but you know how it is with other independent people, right? Independent people with interesting lives just like you? They have their own schedules too. You might miss a moment, and if you don’t speak up, you’ll lose them because they’ll be off on their own way.”

  Which is the exact point of the travel fling. And letting go of your travel fling. And not letting yourself think it’s going to work, when it’s back to the real world, your world, which is worrying about bills and health care and lining up at dull places.

  Melly felt that she scored a major point and dabbed a tissue on her lips, looking smug. “Compromising’s so annoying.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Anyway, you’ll always have me.”

  22

  In the daytime, the lounge at the Carter Pacific looked less sci-fi dystopia, and more…hotel lounge. Even though the walls remained, it seemed sunnier, more open, not as many corners to hide in.

  Not going to lie, Ben felt relief when he showed up there at the appointed time and found both his bosses at the same table, looking like they were talking about work. Tana Cortes and David Alano were at the veranda, overlooking the bay. Laptops, phones, and coffee cups crowded a table that should have been for six. He knew David had a speech at the hotel first thing that morning and the guy was in a suit sans coat, but Tana was in jeans and a casual top.

  They most likely spent the night there, at the hotel.

  See, this wasn’t so unusual, back when they were on the campaign. Tana and David were earliest at every meeting, last to leave too. Rightly or wrongly, it was a common lunchtime topic whether Tana and David were together, if they lingered post-work because they had other plans, or if they were early because they actually had been together the night before. At the time Ben was in his twenties, and to him Tana and David were old and staff shouldn’t be gossiping about what their elders did in their bedrooms. Now that Ben was properly in his thirties, he realized they were just like him—not that old, completely capable of deciding to hop into bed with someone he spent the best or worst day with.

  During the campaign, Ben did watch for any signs that this would make things implode within the team, but they never did. Tana’s comms and strategy were solid, she disagreed with David as often as anyone else did. The trouble was often from the asshole who eventually got the job everyone felt Tana deserved.

  “Ben.” David saw him first. He stood up and they did a handshake that became a hug. He had never hugged his boss before, not even when they won the election. This was…well, he was fine with it. He peered over David’s shoulder and saw Tana smirking in her seat.

  “Morning, Ben,” she said. “We’ll work from here today, if you don’t mind. We haven’t completely worked out all the details of the transition.”

  After letting him go, David motioned for him to pull up a chair. “But I’ve asked them to start the paperwork on your return to the office.”

  “Negotiate for no break in years of service,” Tana told Ben. “Don’t sign anything without checking that part.”

  “He’s a lawyer, Tana. He knows how to check his own employment contract.”

  “Just want him to know someone has his back, David. Because you didn’t.”

  Ben wasn’t sure he wanted to be in this conversation, but it was several months coming. The day he “quit” was the last time he and David even spoke; that week his work phone was disconnected, and the newest of Elmo’s assistants had been the only person to get in touch about any job-related loose ends.

  “I handled that badly, Ben,” David started.

  “The worst,” Tana said.

  “—but it took me a while to figure out how to do this. I apologize for how long it took, Ben, and that it wasn’t soon enough, and that it happened the way it did.”

  “Why did it happen the way it did?” Might as well ask it, now that it looked like things were going his way. “Was there a deal with Buena I didn’t know about? Or shouldn’t have known about?”

  “No, nothing like that. I really did think you didn’t want to do this anymore.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You and Elmo were arguing a lot.”

  “Because he’s an asshole and he argues with everyone.”

  “Ben, I’m not...I made a bad call, and I’m going to make it up to you, but I’m not as dense as you think. You weren’t fine for months. I’m not sure what you’re going through, but when the suggestion came up that someone leaving the staff would be the best response, and you sent an email saying it could be you…”

  “I sent that email at two a.m. and I was tired and we should have at least talked about it.” Ben couldn’t believe he was pulling an “I was tired” defense, but it was what it was. “We were all burned out. I shouldn’t have found out about my firing on fucking Twitter.”

  "All of it was handled badly,” Tana said, her tone stern. “That entire conversation on attacking Buena should not have happened at all, but it did, and your little boys club couldn’t fix what you had broken. It didn’t even work. You’re still so fucked.”

  Ben was glad she said it, because he wasn’t going to. While scraping the shreds of his dignity he saw the aftermath of his firing, how it never mended things with Senator Buena, how their respective offices continued to butt heads on things they theoretically agreed on. It was giving him flashbacks from the worst of the campaign, but yes under Elmo it was happening almost on a daily basis, and with no end in sight.

  So...yes he did look tired in the weeks and months before his firing. He was fighting with the staff a lot. Elmo did start to staff the place with people who agreed with him and his politics, and it was wearing out Ben even when Elmo wasn’t around.

  “I didn’t want to quit,” Ben insisted.

  “Obviously I should have talked to you,” David replied. “But I knew that Tana set up her own company and I thought you were quitting to join her. And then you did.”

  “Hello, don’t make me an excuse for anything,” Tana said. “I reached out to him when I did because the press on Ben seemed the opposite of everything he is.” She cleared her throat and might have kicked David under the table.

  “The adjustment’s been difficult,” David said to Ben, as if on cue. “As a leader, I let some things slide. Understand that it’s an honor, to have you back with us. I know you work hard and you work well, and it’s not going to be fun—it’ll be more difficult from here on out. Tana’s made a huge sacrifice to come back to the office, and I know we need to make it right for you as well. But if you’re willing to stay, I’d rather continue this with people like you with me.”

  Ben stole a glance at Tana, and she was typing something on her laptop. He wasn’t entirely sure why she agreed to come back either, but when she asked for his help and gave him a job, it was better than moping and being unemployed. He wasn’t sure if he should be exploring other things. He wasn’t sure if it was the best thing to go back into that circle of hell.

  “If you decide to come b
ack,” David continued, “you get to keep telling me what you think I should hear. You get to keep me in check. Tana has the same mandate. We should do this for each other.”

  “No one believes we can actually do anything,” Ben said. “I don’t know if you’re aware. You don’t know how many people told me they were happy I was out of politics.”

  Tana’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “Same.”

  David leaned forward, almost placing himself between them. “Then make it count for you. We’re still in a position to get more done on a larger scale, and that’s a privilege. Use it.”

  It sounded like a challenge, to Ben. It sounded like backbone.

  Ben had a lot of time to do a lot of thinking, but it was hard to be all decisive about it when he didn’t actually have the choice in front of him. Now he did.

  True, the job was difficult. True, he was at risk of being burned out. Elmo might not be around anymore, but the very nature of their work meant dealing with people like him, all the time. He focused on this moment, on clearing his work record and getting his job back...but did he have to? Was this what he wanted his life to be?

  What kind of monster did he have to be to go back in there?

  Because it would never end.

  What kind of day do you want this to be? he asked himself.

  23

  Three months later

  * * *

  Dear Mr. Cacho:

  * * *

  Good day! My name is Louise Lazaro, third year marketing major at ABLU, Taguig campus. Our home department is hosting its annual career month, and on behalf of the department I wish to invite you to be the main speaker on our second week. If you confirm participation, you will be speaking to about three hundred business management majors and your session will be one hour and thirty minutes long. One of our instructors, Ms. Llamas, recommended you and said your background in law, advocacy work, speechwriting, and politics will be interesting for the students.

  We hope you can confirm and we look forward to meeting you. My contact info is included below.

  * * *

  Louise Lazaro

  3BM/En

  * * *

  Two weeks later

  * * *

  The young man hosting the Q&A session after his speech was wearing a suit, and Ben thought that was precious. The young lady was in a pantsuit as well. Both of them in college, in their late teens or early twenties, but dressed in a way that made them look “serious,” like adults. Precious, because Ben showed up in blue jeans and a shirt that said Make Good Days under a black blazer. Not the same one that he wore when he saw Naya; he actually had several made. To everyone else it was a black shirt, or a blue shirt, or a gray shirt, but he knew that it carried a pep talk to himself, and that was helpful.

  Anyway. If the students thought suits made you an adult, eventually they’d learn that it wasn’t a uniform, and power could be drawn from something entirely…casual. But he wasn’t going to say that just yet, because it was cute. He had finished his speech at the podium, and now he was sitting on a chair on stage, facing the young man and young woman, both of them also on chairs, holding microphones and index cards.

  “…consider practicing law?” The young woman’s name tag said Louise, and she was asking him this question.

  “I don’t think so,” Ben answered. “I was fortunate to have done well in law school, but it wasn’t for me.”

  “Do you regret going through it? Because that’s years of your life too.”

  “I try not to regret things,” he said. Softer than his answer on job interviews, for sure, but he didn’t want to give anyone in the auditorium the wrong impression. “What happened is I…didn’t question it. It was my path, and when the financial and health difficulties hit my family, I had to make the decision, and I decided to stay on. I’m not practicing now but being there led me to the most fulfilling career I’ve ever had. I can’t say I was wrong to have stayed.”

  “So I think I’m not alone in being a little surprised by how you talk about your work,” the young man, name tag Pau, said. “It always seemed to me that politics is a dirty job that only people with the worst intentions try to do.”

  “I’m not here to change that,” Ben said. “A survival tip: when you feel that way about someone you work with, in government or any career, don’t let your guard down. A lot about this that you learn on the job is figuring out what people want. Sometimes because you need to know it so you can write the things that they’ll understand; sometimes it’s so you know the words to use to reach them. Sometimes when people gain this insight, they use that influence for themselves, or for something that doesn’t help people. Yes we have to guard against that, all the time. So yeah, if I came up here and made you think politics is nice and fun because I said the right things, don’t completely let go of your gut instinct.”

  “So you’re saying we shouldn’t believe what you say?” said Louise.

  Ben shrugged, smiling. “Some people like saying, ‘I know exactly what’s good for you, trust me.’ I won’t be saying that. Even on your career day.”

  “Are you rare?” Pau asked.

  “What?”

  “We don’t think of someone like you, when we think of people who have your job. Are we wrong? Are you actually one of a kind?”

  Ben frowned. “I’m…I’m not rare. I’m not the best there is. Someone in this room could do a better job, eventually, because I’ve made mistakes that you can avoid I’m sure.”

  “What advice do you have for someone who now wants to be like you, after hearing you speak here today?”

  “Ha. Surround yourself with people you admire, who do good things.” Ben looked out into the auditorium, to the escalating rows of students, hundreds of them, and remembered something. “That’s bullshit advice by the way and it sounds easy when you’re here in school, because everyone’s got a lot of energy. Out there, in any career, you’ll be with people who are jaded and tired and might resent your energy. Or you’ll be in a place where you can’t choose who you’re with, it’s just not possible. If that’s the case…hang on to this. What you feel now. Who you know here. Or go on breaks and meet people who can bring that into your life again.”

  “Do you think there are people who can do this, and people who can’t?” Pau asked.

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” Ben said. “I said earlier, I didn’t plan to be a speechwriter. Didn’t know if my candidate would win the senate seat because there are so few of them. There’s a lot of uncertainty in my job, and I’m sure for other people too. Sometimes we don’t have the privilege of choosing to live our dreams. I work with people who are not at all passionate about this, and that’s okay. Find your motivation somewhere, anywhere.”

  “I have one last question,” Louise said, shuffling her cards. “Tell us what your best day on the job was like.”

  He laughed. “There was this one day…I got fired. Spent a whole day doing other things, with other people. Best day ever.”

  “That’s not a day on the job!”

  “My career is all my jobs, all the decisions I made,” Ben said. “That day is part of it. I walked into a van by mistake, and it was the best decision ever.”

  Where was Naya?

  That had been on Ben’s mind all day, plus two weeks. When he got the email invitation to speak he had said yes, and then cancelled a meeting with his new team of writers too so his sked would be clear that day. He hadn’t heard from Naya at all since she walked out of his apartment, and then this? He didn’t know she had started teaching, but it made sense.

  The next day, he left a message on her tour page, thanking her for the recommendation.

  He didn’t get a response.

  But the email thread with Louise and Pau was active, so he’d be speaking at their school event whether Naya ignored him or not. Ben asked for what exactly they needed him to say, and was able to tease out from them that this was a marketing exercise as well. So Ben wrote a version of his usual
“how I got my job” talk but making sure to mention how marketing and branding concepts were helping him.

  He might have asked for a Q&A forum after his talk, in case their teacher would like to participate. Louise said no worries, they had already drafted questions, and she and Pau would be hosting. Ms. Llamas had wanted them to handle the event from start to finish.

  Will she even be there? He wanted to ask, but didn’t, because seeing her was not the point. It wasn’t why he said yes. He said he’d give the talk because he wanted the kids to learn something...okay so it was forty-five percent why he said yes.

  In any case he didn’t see her at all in the auditorium, and at the end of it had to take several zillion photos with many students, and didn’t see her then either.

  Not the point, he reminded himself.

  She would get in touch, if she was ready to see him. She knew where he lived. He spent almost half the year getting his life back on track, and he was getting antsy about three months? Not fair.

  He missed her, but yeah.

  “Hi,” said the student who was shaking his hand after taking a photo with him, “you seem nice but you just reminded all of us not to trust you.”

  Ben shook himself slightly, forced himself to focus on right now. “It’s good to question the way things are, is what I say. Might lead to more reasons to trust, anyway.”

  “Or we could end up like you.”

  Ben put a hand to his heart. The students surrounding him giggled. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

  He didn’t tell them the story of the wall of monsters, how he and Naya still identified with those grotesque creatures, even if they could be considered “good guys.” Maybe that was too cynical to share. If only he could have talked to Naya about it.