“Tell me,” Chris said, feigning exasperation. “Because you sure know how to drag out a story.”
“I’m just trying to let you in on my thought-process. Anyway, the upshot of it is, I’d love for you to work with me and Shawn on doing something with new media.”
“New media.”
“Yes. I know I called you old, but you do know what that is, right? Digital, interactive, internet-based …”
“Yeah, yeah. I know what new media is, Riley. I just mean, what do you mean ‘doing something with’ it?”
“You once told me that while you were developing SE, at some point you realized that removable media was almost dead. Right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I know I’m late, but I’m starting to see that that might be the case for my magazines. The print version is where I’ve concentrated my efforts, making sure it looks and feels good. That the pages are laid out like The New Yorker or something. And y’know what happens by the time we go to print? Like every single time?”
“What?” Chris asked, though he knew the answer.
“The content is stale. Almost always. A new permutation of an issue, a problem, or even a public personality preempts whatever we’ve printed.”
“You know that though. That’s why you have a website.”
“Yeah, but even websites are becoming obsolete, Chris. I’m talking about having a truly interactive platform that lets people engage with the material. Where almost everything is hyperlinked to video, audio or other content. Where people can manipulate the platform to get information in the way they want to get it.”
“Keep talking.”
Riley let her feet fall off the coffee table and leaned forward. Her eyes were bright with excitement.
“You know I don’t know anything about technology. What I just said is basically the extent of my knowledge about the platform. All I know is I want some multimedia something-or-other. Someone would have to do that part for us. But I want is for you—us—to develop the content.”
Chris nodded. “Like what’re we talking about?”
“Online only documentaries, short films, the works. On issues, on people … on the arts. Whatever we want.”
“Well, not whatever we want,” Chris said. “Because you don’t build a brand that way. You need identify a space where you want to play. Otherwise your presence is too nebulous for folks to know what you are, or what you’re about.”
Riley leaned back and shrugged. “See? That’s the kind of thinking that makes me know that I need you. You get things like that, just intuitively. I have to be taught them. And frankly, I don’t know if I have the patience to learn.”
“Do you have a business plan?”
“Funny you should ask that.” Riley sang. She got up and went behind her desk again, returning with a few sheets of paper, stapled in the corner and handed them to him.
Glancing down at it, Chris looked back up at her. “This is your business plan? This is a pamphlet”
“No, silly.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s my concept paper. I want you to do the plan. Get someone to work up the numbers and we’ll, you know, go halfsies on it or something.”
“Halfsies?” Chris said. “On what could be a multimillion-dollar business?”
Riley’s eyes opened wide and she smacked him on the leg. “That’s what I mean! You just went there. Multimillion-dollar … And we don’t even know what it is yet! This is why everyone wants to work with you, Chris Scaife. When it comes to this stuff, you’re a freakin’ god.”
It was only once he got back to his home office that Chris realized something—he no longer had a staff. Just eighteen months ago, there were about a dozen people he could have called and told them that in the next day or so, he needed them to put together a report on the performance of new media companies and their market forecast. He could tell them he needed to know what the nut would be for a start-up, and what kinds of ‘products’ were most likely to catch on.
Now he had nothing. Well, almost nothing. While he didn’t run the joint, he still had SE.
Sitting behind his desk, which had mostly gone unused these days except by Robyn, he turned on his computer, and at the same time reached for his phone. He dialed Turner’s number and waited, confident that he would get an answer, no matter what.
“Boss Man. What’s good?”
“I need you to loan me some people,” Chris said. “Maybe just two. To work with me out of my house this week.”
“No problem. Anyone in particular you want?”
My wife, Chris thought right away. If you could give me back my wife that would be a solid.
“Nah. Someone who can do market research. And someone to do some scheduling.”
“When you need ‘em?”
“Tomorrow morning, nine-thirty a.m. out here at my place.”
“Just the two?” Turner seemed to be making notes.
“Yup. For now.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a few weeks.”
“Okay. Done.”
“Thank you,” Chris said. “I appreciate it.”
And the silence that followed reminded him that those words were not ones that Turner was accustomed to hearing from him.
“So … is this some top-secret project?” he finally asked when he’d gotten over the shock of hearing Chris express gratitude.
“Just exploring something. Could be a new SE venture, could be a new company entirely. Not sure yet.”
“A new company? Nah, man. You gots to let me in on that, bruh.”
“When there’s something to let you in on, I’ll let you in. So, you gon’ send me two people tomorrow. Good people.”
“No question. The best.”
Chris hung up and leaned back in his chair. And smiled.
“She asked for you.”
Chris looked up from his monitor and for a moment was both confused and surprised to see Robyn home so early. Balancing Landyn on her hip, she had her pocketbook on the opposite shoulder.
“Who?”
“Elaine Richards,” Robyn said, almost testily. “She looked surprised to see me. And then she asked for you. Like I was a sloppy substitute or something.”
“Did you give her that look you’ve got on your face right now?” Chris asked, looking at the computer screen again. “Maybe that’s why.”
“And I guess you smile at her.”
Chris sat back and surveyed his wife standing in the doorway, their son in her arms. Her eyes were rimmed in pink, and there were dark circles beneath them that he couldn’t recall having been there that morning. But of course, he hardly saw her when she left each morning anymore, and now that he thought about it, maybe he hadn’t seen her this morning at all. She had also already kicked off her heels and was only in stockinged feet.
“Why don’t you let me have him?” Chris said, indicating Landyn. “And you can go get changed so we can have dinner. Where’s Caity?”
“Upstairs.” Robyn stood there for a few moments more. “My mother’s coming for dinner. I forgot to even tell Mrs. Lawson that, and now …” She bit her lower lip, as if staving off tears.
“It’s fine. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Getting up from behind his desk, Chris went to her and took Landyn, who reached out at the last minute and grabbed a handful of his mother’s hair, causing her head to jerk forward.
Clutching the baby’s fist and making a sound of frustration, Robyn pried herself loose.
“Can you … I’m not sure I can do dinner tonight,” she said. “Can you call my mom and let her know? Maybe we should just do it another night. Because I’m just … I’m too exhausted to …”
“Okay,” Chris said, looking at her closely. “Go on upstairs. I’ll take care of it.”
But when Chris called his mother-in-law, she insisted on coming over anyway, and by then, Robyn was in bed and asleep.
Carolyn took over the kids’ bedtime prep and when she was done, joined Chris downstai
rs for dinner. They ate quietly for some time, both of them picking at their food.
“Robyn has never known her limits, Chris. You know that.”
Carolyn spoke suddenly, almost startling him.
“I know.” He nodded.
“So, are you going to do something with that knowledge? Or just watch her crash and burn?”
“She’s my wife. Not my child. Me telling her what to do … that’s not how our marriage works.”
“Is that so?” Carolyn asked. “So, is it working?”
Chris said nothing. Because the answer, at least lately, was undeniably not. But he had to go with his gut. And what he knew in his gut was that if there was one thing about him and Robyn, it was that no matter the distraction or detour, they would find their way back to each other.
“I’m going to sleep here tonight,” Carolyn said. “And help out in the morning. If that’s alright with you.”
“Of course.”
“Well, you have a good night. I think I’ll go up.” Carolyn scraped her plates clean, put them in the dishwasher and then left him alone with his thoughts.
Robyn sat up with a gasp, and Chris turned to look at her.
He had been reading in bed, pages that he’d found online about the advent of new media and the growth of Facebook- and YouTube-exclusive series. Not only were people not watching broadcast and cable television as much, but even some of the more popular streaming services like Netflix were flattening in growth. A brave new world was still out there for web-only content though, and his mind had been busy, spinning out a dozen scenarios for how to capitalize on that when he heard his wife’s sharp intake of breath and saw her shoot upright in bed next to him.
“You okay?” he asked.
Robyn sank back against the pillows, nodding but not speaking.
Chris put aside the papers and turned out the bedside light.
“C’mere,” he said, opening his arms.
Robyn moved closer and he pulled her against him, so her head was resting on his shoulder. Her shoulders lifted and fell in a deep sigh.
“What was that about?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess a bad dream.”
“Like what? Legal briefs chasing you around a conference room table?”
He felt her smile and she relaxed a little more.
“Or maybe you just need some rest. Some real rest.”
“I was sleeping.”
“But maybe not at rest. You want to tell me what’s happening at work?”
“You said I should talk to people at work about work.”
“That was a shitty thing for me to say.”
“It was.” Her voice was thick.
He looked down and saw that Robyn’s eyes were filling. It was easy for him to forget—and he often did—that as strong as Robyn was, she got some of her strength from him, from them. If they were solid, she was solid. If they were weak, she weakened as well.
He was to her what she was to him—a best friend as well as a lover and a spouse. And sometimes he was also a mentor. That was the hardest role to fill. And it was harder still to fill all those roles at once.
“So, tell me now. I’m listening.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
He didn’t ask what ‘this’ meant. He knew she meant all of it—mothering, ‘wife-ing’, working. The last time Robyn said something like that to him, he told her she was wrong and that she could do it. He had practically forced her past her self-doubt and knew when he did it that it was the right thing. This time, he wasn’t as sure.
“What do you want to do?”
“I just don’t want to fail.”
“At what?”
“Anything.”
“That’s a pretty fucking high bar,” Chris said.
Robyn laughed softly. “Well, isn’t it the one you set for yourself?”
“And look where it got me.”
“Yes. Exactly. You built something amazing and …”
Robyn sat up and Chris sat up with her, leaning against the headboard.
“Are you trying to be me?” he asked, only half-joking.
“No,” she said, exasperated. “But you set a standard. You didn’t let anyone stand in your way, you didn’t let anything stop you, or slow you down, and …”
“And I almost lost my kids, Robyn,” Chris said. “They were growing up without me and I almost didn’t notice.”
She didn’t answer, so Chris knew he had her attention.
“You know why I bought Deuce that truck?”
“Because I’m charming and persuasive?”
Pulling her back against him, Chris kissed her on the forehead.
“Yeah, but that’s just my cover-story,” he said. “I buy him shit like that because there’s still part of me that feels like I have to make up for the stuff I did, and some of the stuff I didn’t do while he was growing up.
“Ask me what Deuce was like when he was six or nine, or eleven and I can’t tell you. As much of a nightmare as Sheryl was, the more I think about it, maybe I was a nightmare, too. I don’t know how much of that still lives in his psyche, but I know it’s still there.”
They both sat with that for a while, in silence. Chris didn’t know what Robyn would take from what he said, but he felt better having said it. Long minutes passed before she spoke again.
“I’m tired,” she said, finally.
“So, sleep.”
Robyn moved closer, held him tighter.
13
There were voices in her house that she didn’t recognize. Robyn opened her eyes and tried to orient herself when she realized that there was light coming through the windowpanes. Light, when it was usually still dark when she got ready for work.
Sitting up in bed, she muttered a curse and looked at the clock. It was almost ten. How could she have slept that long? By now, everyone in the legal department would be there, except her. Rebecca would be there. Jamal may have come looking and not found her at her desk.
Reaching for her phone, she made a quick check of her appointments and was relieved to see that for a change she only had one meeting, and it was at three that afternoon.
But it was an important appointment. Kendrick Cruise and his attorney were coming in to hopefully sign the revised contract. After honing her way back in on it, Robyn had worked her tail off on it with Rebecca as her second-string and sent it back over to Kendrick’s counsel two days earlier. According to Rebecca, he said it ‘seemed to be fine on preliminary review’. That was lawyer-speak for ‘I reserve the right to tell you something completely different later.’
Robyn was banking on the ‘preliminary review’ holding strong, and Kendrick walking out of the SE offices having signed on the dotted line. But for now, her only mission was to get showered, dressed and hightail it into the office.
She had all but forgotten about the strange voices until after she had showered and pulled on simple black slacks and a white cashmere turtleneck. There was no time to dither about clothes today. On her way downstairs, she heard the voices again, and to add to her confusion, bumped into her mother coming out of one of the guest suites.
“Mom?”
“Good morning. I hope you got some good rest.”
“Yes. I did. But what’re you …?”
“Chris called and told me you weren’t up for visitors and I told him I was insulted that either of you would consider me a visitor. So, I came over and helped out a little with the kids.”
Robyn hugged her. “Thank you, Mommy. I was really burnt-out yesterday, but I think I’m good now, and have everything back in control. We should have a proper dinner tonight, or another evening.”
Her mother looked at her strangely for a moment then pursed her lips. “Well, if you feel better, then I’m glad.”
“I thought I heard people downstairs. Is there someone here?”
“The nanny came. And there were a couple young people with Chris. I don’t know who they are.”
“With Chris?”
Her mother nodded. “I believe so.”
“Where? In his office?”
“Yes, Robyn, I believe so,” she said again.
“Well … he never mentioned anything to me.”
“I suppose he must have thought you were much too busy with your own work.”
Ignoring the implication, Robyn headed downstairs and toward Chris’ office. When she got there, she found him sitting at his round meeting table, along with a young woman and a young man, both of whom she recognized from SE. His face bore a look she hadn’t seen in a long time, of focus and extreme concentration. It was an expression so notoriously forbidding that it had staff hovering at the door to his office, afraid to cross the threshold unless expressly invited. They even had a name for it back then. They called it Scaife-Face. When he was giving you full Scaife-Face, you interrupted him at your peril.
But it had never bothered Robyn.
When she entered, the young man stood, and extended a hand. He looked starstruck, there was no other way to describe it. As though he’d happened across an exotic animal in its natural habitat.
“Mrs. Scaife …” he began.
“Robyn,” she said automatically. She allowed him to shake her hand.
“I’m Scott Lo…”
“Yes, Scott, I remember you,” she said. “You helped me out on a few projects at the office. Good to see you again.”
“Dina Stein,” the girl said, lifting partly out of her seat and extending her hand.
Robyn took it, but her eyes were still on Chris. And just like the old days back at SE, he looked impatient for the social niceties to be done with.
“Chris, d’you have a second?” Robyn indicated the hallway.
Shoving back from his seat, he followed her out to where she led him out of the earshot of the two young people in his office.
“Why’d you let me sleep so late?” she asked, although she knew that wasn’t what was bothering her.
“You needed it.” Chris touched the side of her face briefly.
She sighed and looked away. There probably wasn’t any point arguing against that.
Four: Stories of Marriage Page 47
