by Alexa Davis
“What I wanted to tell you,” he whispers, “is that we didn’t meet in the store. I didn’t just happen to spot you through the window. I know you don’t recognize me and you may not even remember me, but we went to school together for a while back in eighth grade.”
I feel like I should say something, but I can’t move.
He whispers, “At the office, everyone’s heard me say at least one quote from my dad. They’re great for inspiring fear and discipline, but the truth is I hated my dad. It’s easy to turn a threat into advice if you word it right.
“We were always moving and I was an alien to everyone I met. As soon as I’d get to where I almost had the courage to try to reach out and maybe make some friends, dad would get new orders. We were never allowed to argue. Orders are orders, and I get that. Even where I was supposed to get some sense of comfort, or at least belonging, though, was just praying dad wasn’t home. If he was, all I could do was pray he was in a good mood. He wasn’t in a good mood often.
“There was a lot of stuff that I don’t want to talk about from back then, but after a while, everything was just so bleak,” he murmurs. He takes a breath.
Does he know I’m awake?
He whispers, “When we were in school, I knew who you were, or at least I’d seen you, but we hadn’t crossed paths except in the halls between classes. I was so young and it was so stupid, but at that point in my life, it just didn’t seem like there was any point in going on. Things at home kept getting worse and those who did know who I was at Mulholland Junior High were just brutal. Whether it was because I was the new kid or because I never said anything, it didn’t matter. It feels a little stupid thinking about it now, but back then, that was all I saw. Truth is, it was stupid, but you get beaten down in so many ways, you start believing you deserve it.
“That doesn’t matter now, though,” he mutters. “All that’s lead up, but you’re not awake.” He waits a beat. “Are you?”
I’ve already waited too long, so I don’t respond.
“The first time we ever spoke, I had my belt off and I was standing on a milk crate beneath the limb of one of the oak trees way back behind the school. It was already summer and no one was there, I figured it’d be the best place to get some privacy,” he whispers. “I was holding the belt and just starting to thread the end through the buckle before attaching one end to the tree and the other around neck and I heard footsteps coming through the dry leaves.
“When you first saw me, I was sitting on the milk crate, trying to put my belt back through my belt loops,” he stifles laughter. “It didn’t work so well. When you came around that last tree and saw me, you stopped. I figured I was caught, or at very least that whatever was going to happen would only be more reason to climb back up on that crate once you’d gone again.”
My heart is slamming against my ribcage. I remember him, only his name wasn’t Nick or Nikolai or Nicholas or anything like that. The man lying next to me hardly bears any resemblance to that scrawny little kid with the glasses so thick his eyes looked twice as big as normal. Still, when I saw something familiar in his eyes, is that was I was remembering?
“That didn’t happen, though,” he continues. “You just said, ‘Come on,’ and kept on walking through the trees. I didn’t know what else to do, so I stood up, finally got my belt around my waist and followed you. I don’t think I talked once that first time we went for one of those walks, but I didn’t need to. Right from that moment, it was like you and I had grown up together or something, only I’d somehow forgotten everything I knew about you and you had to fill me in again.”
We had a very different experience of that day. It’s mortifying to think now, but I thought I’d walked up on him either getting ready to masturbate or just finishing. The way he was messing with the front of his pants, I had no idea what was really going on.
It was awkward, but I didn’t want him to hate himself like I was pretty sure I would in his shoes, so I passed it off like nothing was wrong. I’d been in enough knock-down drag-out fights with Naomi, I was confident I could take him if he tried anything. I was embarrassed, though, so I talked.
What embarrassed me most of all was as we kept walking, I became painfully aware that I was getting a little crush on him. The bespectacled, quiet, dorky kid I thought I caught pulling his ding-dong wasn’t exactly who I thought I should have any interest in, however unconscious.
“That’s how I know so much about you,” he says. “After that first day, I thought I’d never see you again. Dad had already gotten his orders for his next assignment. He’d already left, and mom and I would have to follow in a week or two once they’d gotten things going with the house. The next day, though, I went back out to that grove. I didn’t understand why I felt like I had to do that. When I went the second day, I didn’t wear the belt.
“I was out there under that same tree for a while, but sure enough, there you were, saying, ‘Come on,’ and then we just picked up where we left off,” he whispers. “I didn’t even tell you my name until the third day. My first name is Nikolai, but my dad always hated that mom talked him into it. He picked my middle name, he said, because it was the name he ‘should have gotten,’ being that his life was the military.”
As he says it, I mouth, “Cornelius.”
“My little history lesson at the diner was me testing the waters,” he says. “Actually, you’re not awake, so I don’t have to play it cool: I was nervous out of my skull, and I just grabbed the first thing my mind put in front of me.
“Two weeks, though,” he continues. “It was the best two weeks of my life. For the first time, I had a friend. The day before we left, I wanted to tell you I was going, but I didn’t know how. I was thrilled to have someone see me, but didn’t know how to deal with that and having to move the next day. I thought it would be weird to make a big deal about me leaving, so I just didn’t say anything.
“You don’t know this yet, and I don’t know how long it’ll be before you decide you’re ready to, but you saved my life,” he whispers. “Those two weeks gave me a glimpse into a world I didn’t think I was meant to have any part of, and I have loved you for it ever since. All of this is for you. I went to college, intending to make something of myself before I tried to reconnect with you to prove I wasn’t that gangly nobody anymore.” He chuckles, “I didn’t anticipate ending up roommates with Jacque.”
Chapter Eighteen
Culture Shock
Nick
Reeves is droning on about something I stopped paying attention to about ten minutes ago and my cell phone buzzes in my pocket. The man hesitates a moment when I pull the phone up and check the message, but he picks up again after a few seconds.
Ellie just sent me a text, asking if she and Naomi can stay at the beach house again for a few days. She says she wants to get out of the city.
As much as I don’t want to see Ellie’s sister ever, I write back, “Sure thing. There’s a card in my nightstand. Use that when you book the ticket and Trevor can get you the keys.”
“Nick?” Reeves asks.
“Yeah,” I say, “so basically what you’re telling me is that you did such a good job smearing me, if I don’t leave the company, it’s going under no matter what, huh?”
“We didn’t smear you, Nick,” he says.
“I’m sure after a couple more weeks in jail, my former housekeeper is going to get tired of lying awake, wondering if her cellmates are going to shank her in the middle of the night; she’ll open up about everything,” I say.
Reeves exhales. “Can we continue, please?” he asks.
“Sure,” I answer. “You know I can’t say no to you people.”
Reeves eyes me a second and continues, “The problem is we’re at scandal overload right now. Even the picture, which is definitely breaking more your way, isn’t doing anything to slow our plummeting stock price.”
“What you want me to do is the same thing you’ve wanted me to do since before I brought up the idea of the Mulholland off
ice,” I say. “You want me out of the way without any more hassle so you can quietly fire everyone and put the company somewhere you barely have to worry about wages.”
“Nick, we’re past the point of pride here,” he says. “You picked up some friends with the picture, but those friends are pointing all their animus at the company, and are boycotting Stingray and its products in protest. Nick, no matter how you look at it, we’re going to need you to resign or we’ll be forced to start removal proceedings. We’re at that point now, and we can’t afford to wait much longer. The company’s going under.”
“Just out of curiosity, what would that look like: me resigning?” I ask.
“We’d want to make sure you were taken care of, of course,” Reeves says. “We had hoped to discuss those terms with you. Nick, we’re not your enemies here. We just don’t want to see the company go under, and I think you can respect that.”
“I do respect this time it wasn’t a maid with a camera,” he says. “I’m glad you people are starting to grow the courage to stand up for your convictions, bravo.” I start clapping, but for some reason, nobody joins in. Huh.
“Nick, this is serious,” Mason Handler says. The guy may be cold evil wrapped in a wrinkly exterior, but he does have a great name.
Slowly, I nod. “Yes, it’s serious,” I respond, “but I’d rather see this company financially implode than stand idly by while you undermine everything we’ve been trying to do—”
“So you’re saying you want Stingray to go under?” Geraldine, my CFO asks.
“No,” I answer. “What I’m saying is I’m not the one who’s trying to damage the business. You know a big part of the reason we’d kept the public’s trust as long as we have is because of the promise never to take the company overseas or cut salaries to employees below the level of upper management, right? As much as I’d like to take credit for everything good that’s ever happened to the company, that is what made us stand out in the early years. Even when everyone was telling us you couldn’t run an American company like this without outsourcing something. We’ve been proving them wrong for years, and now you’re telling me because you have betrayed that confidence and that you have been doing whatever possible to hurt my reputation, I should be the one to step down?” I ask. “Pull the other one.”
“If it meant the company would rebound, I’m sure there’s not a member of the board who wouldn’t step down,” Reeves says, “but that’s not what we’re looking at here.”
“I know,” I answer. I point at Reeves, saying, “You never trusted me. When the company first started, I knew about the meetings to try and convince Jacque to throw his support behind someone else as CEO. I don’t blame you. When I first started, I didn’t know anything about being an executive, and I had a hell of a learning curve in front of me. You still see me that way. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
Reeves says, “Let’s not make this personal, Nick.”
“I’ll step down if Jacque takes it,” I answer.
“Has he answered your calls yet?” Verne asks, smirking at me.
“You know you can’t stop it if he decides to take the company,” I tell them. “Even if you succeed in knocking me off the top of the mountain, he steps in and you’re not going to have time to smear him out of a job, too.”
“We’re not trying to s—damn it, Nick!” Reeves growls and slams the table with his fist. “Will you wake the hell up already?”
Everyone on the board but Verne averts their eyes. They may be behind every word, but they like to preserve the appearance, however flimsy, of calm objectivity and Reeves is straight up calling me out.
“Don’t you see what you’ve done to the company by not allowing this move before now? From what I hear, you’re still thinking about moving headquarters to Mulholland!” Reeves spits. “If we’re going to talk about people sabotaging things, maybe we should start with that!”
I sit quietly a moment.
It’s been a while since I’ve been yelled at—with an audience, that is. I smile. “I bet it felt good, finally getting that out after all this time, Reeves. Damn it, I’m proud of you,” I tell him. “Also, that’s a no to everything. If you can guarantee me we don’t lose one job here, and that the company will make it intractable that we stay headquartered right here, no matter what you or anyone else who may follow me has to say, I’ll sign the paper right now. You can keep whatever golden parachute you’ve had in mind. But you’re not willing to do that, are you?”
Nobody answers.
I stand up and adjust my tie. “It may just happen that you get me out of here and manage to screw everyone we ever made a promise to, but you’re not there yet,” I tell them. “For now, I want each of you to write me at least a page, but no more than two, on ideas you have to save the company that don’t involve moving it overseas.”
“Homework, Nick?” Verne asks. “Really?”
“Call it a show of good faith,” I answer. “If nothing else, it’ll show the public that you at least considered other options before you decided to screw the world.”
There’s nothing more to say or do here, so I give one more glance to the board and walk out of the room.
After telling Nolan, my lead assistant, to hold my calls, I head into my office and shut the door.
This is really happening. In the room, I project confidence because I can’t afford to look weak, but I’m running out of moves. They’re going to remove me. The investors are behind it. At the end of the day, that’s all that ever matters.
Where the hell is Jacque?
I pick up my office phone and dial the number, but it just goes to voice mail. Jacque sold his shares not long after our IPO made us—him, me, and a lot of others—very rich people. He won’t answer my calls because he’s probably still mad at me for calling him a coward and a traitor after he told me what he’d done.
That was before I ever had this office. It was a while before I learned never to make things personal. Of course, that’s a lesson I’ve found myself conveniently forgetting over the last few months.
For now, I pour myself a drink, sit in my fancy chair, and try to tattoo the view from this window into my brain. It won’t be long until it’s nothing but a memory.
* * *
It’s after nine o’clock and I’m still at the office when Nolan knocks on my door and shows himself into the office.
“There’s a call for you on line two,” he says, “someone named Naomi.”
“Take a message and then tear it up,” I tell him. “Anything else?”
“She says it’s urgent,” he tells me. “She said, ‘Something’s wrong with Ellie.’”
I press the button for line two and pick up the phone, saying, “What happened?”
“Oh, hey Nick,” Naomi says. “Yeah, so I just got to the beach house and there are a lot of people here.”
“People?” I ask. “What do you mean? Where’s Ellie?”
Naomi clicks her tongue, saying, “I don’t think she’s doing so well. You should probably get here and talk to her.”
“Is she all right, though?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
“She’s fine … physically,” Naomi says. “I don’t know. You should probably get here, though,” she repeats.
I say, “I’m on my way,” and I hang up the phone. Sending a quick text to Trevor to let him know I’m on my way down, I leave the office. I try calling Ellie’s phone a few times, but it just rings.
When we pull up to the house, I’m more than a little surprised to see dozens of cars parked in the long driveway.
I get out and tell Trevor if I’m not back out in ten minutes, he can go home from the night. Music is blaring so loud the doors, windows, and walls of the beach house do precious little to dampen the sound.
The place is packed.
People smile and greet me as I walk through, but none of them seems to know where Ellie is, though everyone remembers seeing her at some point in a different part of the house.
Why any of these people are here, I don’t know.
After looking for ten minutes, I don’t find Ellie, but I do find Naomi. She’s nursing a drink and chatting to Rave McAllister, one of the only rock stars I still let into any of my homes. Most of them think they’ve got to be Ozzy Osborne, snorting ants off the ground or they don’t have any credibility. If that’s their thing, it’s fine. I just don’t like being the one to clean it all up afterward. Rave’s okay, though.
“Naomi, have you seen Ellie?” I ask.
Naomi doesn’t even look at me, she just waves her hand in my general direction, I can only assume as an attempt to dismiss me so she can keep talking to Rave.
I tap her on the shoulder and she spins her head toward me, saying, “What?”
“Hey, Naomi,” I say, “welcome to my home. Enjoying the party?” I nod to Rave who nods back.
“Oh, Nick,” Naomi says. “Yeah, I think she’s out in the hot tub or something.”
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
Naomi rolls her eyes. “How should I know?” she asks. “Go talk to her.” With that, she turns back to Rave.
I have tried to like that woman, but I’m convinced it’s never going to happen.
Making my way out back, I cross the deck and make my way around to the side by the pool, dodging people I didn’t invite here all the way. My position is already weak as it is. I don’t need it going public I’m throwing an A-list party while my company’s going under.
First thing’s first, though: I need to make sure Ellie’s all right.
I come around the side of the house to find the pool dark, but filled with people and what has to be almost as many crowded inside the hot tub. To be fair, the hot tub is just about as big as the pool. As if the party wasn’t bad publicity enough, the only clothes or bathing suits I see are collected in little piles around the water.
The few people who bother to notice the lord of the manor’s home erupt in a cheer when they see me, but I can’t find Ellie. I finally spot her about a quarter of the way around the hot tub, talking to a semicircle of people.
